Skating on Thin Ice: The Men of WarHawks- Book 1

by Biggar, Jacquie

  He flicked the switch on the wall; at least the lights still worked. Not so lucky for the phone, though. He set the receiver down and frowned. Maybe the storm was worse further down the hill and had knocked down a phone line, or… It was the or that worried him the most.

  He stopped long enough to light a match to the kindling he’d prepared earlier in the stone fireplace, added a few larger sticks and clutched the poker as he slipped back down the hall, careful not to disturb Sam with her head in his fridge. She’d fiddled with his portable stereo and was jiggling her hips to Ariana Grande while Cleo sat on his counter—where she wasn’t allowed—tail twitching to the beat. Or, more likely, waiting for a juicy morsel to land on the floor. He was shocked by how much he ached to join them; to set his suspicions aside and turn back time to the fun guy he’d been in college. He barely remembered that man. Once he was picked up by the NHL everything went crazy. It was a different, exciting new world and he’d gobbled it up; the comradery, the money, sponsorships, but most of all the wins. He became addicted to the game. And it had cost him his wife.

  He continued down the hall and out the front door, opting to hobble rather than fight with the crutches. The snow was accumulating, fat flakes that coated the steps and crept onto the deck in a frothy white wave. Once again, he cursed his knee—fresh powder and he couldn’t take advantage of it. Skiing was almost as big an adrenaline rush as hockey. He’d met Jess on Whistler. She’d been pure poetry on the hills, the spoiled daughter of a banker. He’d been captivated. They were married six months later and had eighteen months together before she was killed. Little more than a moment, really.

  The air had turned brisk. An intermittent wind sent snow dancing around his head as he made his way around the side of the house. It was dark here, quiet with the forest encroaching on the edge of the property, circling ever closer to taking its land back. Mac wasn’t superstitious, but he had a healthy respect for the supernatural, and his instincts were nudging him to get the hell out while he could.

  He would have missed it if not for the wind grabbing the wire and throwing it into the air like a gleeful child with a skipping rope. He lunged for the end and stared down at the neat slice. Someone had deliberately cut the phone line. They knew there was no cell reception on the mountain and they were trying to stop them from calling for help.

  Urgency drove him through the gathering drifts to the double car garage behind the cabin. Mac’s pulse stuttered. The door was ajar.

  He tightened his grip on the fireplace poker and edged into the dank room, grimacing as the door squeaked a warning of his arrival. Three narrow panes of glass ran across the top of each garage door and afforded him slivers of light to see by. The closest stall contained an assortment of Donaldson’s toys; snow machines, quads, and dirt bikes. No wonder Samson liked to spend time here, he’d made himself a sweet haven.

  Mac limped between the machinery, keeping his head low. A shuffling step on the other side of his truck had him freezing in his tracks. This was his chance. If he could catch this guy, maybe he could find out what was going on. He circled the back of the pickup, hoping whoever it was would be too occupied to see him coming. The door to the passenger side was open, the interior light off. Instead, his uninvited guest seemed to be going through the items in his glovebox with a penlight. What the hell?

  “Hey,” he said, working to keep his voice casual. “Looking for something?”

  The stranger stiffened. He backed out of the cab, hands out to the sides. “Take it easy, there. I was just checking things out as a friendly neighbor. Strange truck and all.”

  Plausible excuse, except he happened to be wearing the same type of camo gear as the guy who’d taken potshots at them earlier.

  “Turn around, real easy-like,” Mac ordered. “I want to meet my neighbor face-to-face.” He kept his weapon ready, just in case.

  The next few seconds happened in slow motion. The intruder turned and flashed the light right into Mac’s eyes at the same time he felt a presence at his back. He started to turn, saw a shovel coming at his head and ducked, but not fast enough to stop it from glancing off his temple. Fireworks exploded in his brain as he fell against the side of the truck.

  “Sam,” he murmured, just as everything went black.

  10

  Sam removed a full container of eggs, a tomato, an onion, a bright yellow banana pepper, and a block of cheddar cheese from the refrigerator and used her butt to close the door. She juggled her armload past the cat and dumped it on the granite countertop. “Okay, Cleo, your turn.” She stooped to scratch her between the ears, then returned to the fridge. “Does Dad give you milk, hmm?” The carton was in the door, the seal broken, so she gave it a sniff before deigning it good enough for her new four-footed friend. A quick search of the pantry and Cleo the cat was daintily eating her dinner, ears flicking at every little sound.

  Sam frowned. How long did it take to start a fire? Maybe Mac was taking his time so she’d do the cooking. Not happening. She wandered down the hall, expecting to see him relaxed on the sofa—instead, the fire was little more than a flicker and the room was empty.

  Puzzled, she was about to leave the room when a glimmer of light caught her attention. She moved closer to the bay window and hugged herself against the draft coming off the glass. What is that? She leaned forward, squinting through the swirling snow into the pitch-black night. There. There it was again. It almost looked like…

  A fire.

  Her heart catapulted into her throat as her brain caught up to her eyes. Horror stories of vast tracts of forest going up in smoke fueled her fear. What could she do? The phone. Hurry, hurry, call for help. She scrambled to the handset thrown carelessly onto the sofa and dialed the emergency number, her fingers trembling with nerves.

  “Come on, come on,” she chanted under her breath, but no amount of wishing could get the phone to connect. The storm must be playing havoc with the lines. Another glance out the window showed the lick of flames climbing up the outer wall of the garage Mac had pointed out earlier.

  Mac. He must have spotted the blaze, as she had, and rushed outside to put out the fire. He would need help. Giving up on getting through, Sam dropped the phone and raced for the kitchen. She’d noticed a fire extinguisher in the pantry while searching for Cleo’s food. Yes, there it was, tucked into a corner and hooked to the wall. She wasted precious seconds figuring out how to undo the clasp before hefting the surprisingly heavy canister into her arms and racing for the door.

  A noxious stench of gas and rubber permeated the air. Thick black plumes of smoke drifted above the dark outline of the trees, obscene against the virgin white of the snow.

  “Mac,” Sam yelled, shocked by the intensity of the fire. The heat slapped her chilled skin and she realized she’d run out of the house without a jacket. No time to change that now, the sliding doors of the garage were totally engulfed, and the hungry flames were eating their way to the only other exit—the side door. She had to do something.

  She pointed the canister at the door and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Vibrating, she looked at the stupid canister. Why had she never taken the time to learn how to use these blasted things? Just as she was about to fling it across the yard, she noticed a ring sticking sideways from the top of the handle. She jerked the pin out and aimed again, and this time a thin spray of foam exploded from the rubber hose. The fire hissed, angry at the creature seeking to destroy its fun. But it knew it would lose against this foe, and baring orange-red fangs, leaped to the roof in a bright burst of sparks.

  Relieved, Sam yanked the door open, wincing when the knob burned her palm, and stepped inside. She covered her nose against the smoke sneaking in through the cracks and gazed nervously around the packed room. The dark outline of a truck ghosted out of the gloom. Hoping against hope, Sam edged her way between ATV’s and skidoos, keeping low to avoid the haze creeping down from the ceiling. “Mac,” she choked. Where are you?

  She was about to give up and
head back the way she’d come when a moan reached her ears over the crackling laugh of the beast. Her heart a hard ball in her throat, she crept around the rear of the truck and gasped, “Mac.”

  He lay crumpled against the tire, his body folded like an accordion. He flinched at the sound of her voice and lifted bleary eyes in her direction. “What happened?”

  Sam hurried over and crouched at his side. “The garage is on fire. We need to get out of here. Are you hurt?” Her hands fluttered nervously. He seemed disoriented and barely glanced up at the roaring going on overhead. If they didn’t move soon, she was scared the roof might fall on their heads. “Can you stand?” There was no way she could drag him out on her own—he out-weighed her by a hundred pounds.

  “Doc,” he murmured, his voice slurred. “You’re pretty when you’re bossing me around.”

  She sat on her heels, nonplussed. Should she be flattered or insulted that he would compliment her in such a backhanded fashion? And what did he mean by bossing? She wasn’t a bully. Her training had taught her the necessity for… A shower of sparks hailed down from above and she screamed and covered her head in terror. When she got brave enough to peek out from between her arms it was to see Mac’s pants smoldering below the knee. “Aah,” she cried, and grabbed the half-empty fire canister. A short spray covered his leg in foam and thankfully extinguished the embers.

  Mac stared at her befuddled. “What the hell, over?”

  She would smile at his outraged glare, but there wasn’t time. “Unless you have a dream of becoming a toasted S’more, we need to get out of here. Now, get up!”

  Her panic must have got through to him, he grunted and groaned but managed to leverage himself up, using the truck for balance.

  “Where are your crutches?” she asked, searching the nearby floor in the gloom.

  He shrugged, then winced, his hand going to the back of his skull. “I feel like someone hit me with a sledgehammer.”

  Lovely. No supports and a half-conscious hockey player to remove from the jaws of hell. A day at the park.

  “Hang on to me.” Sam tucked herself under the arm braced on the truck and encouraged him to walk. “One step at a time. You can do this.”

  It was slow going, and more of a shuffle than a step, but they made it to the ATVs before needing a break. Both were gasping by then, the air hot and toxic around them.

  Mac leaned hard on the seat of the quad, his shoulders bunched in agony. “Go without me,” he muttered. “I’m going to get you killed.”

  Sam ignored him. Scared as she was, there was no way she’d leave without him. “Only about ten more feet and we’re clear. Come on, Wanowski, show me what you’re made of.”

  He flashed her a smile from his soot-darkened face that made her foolish heart tumble. “You’re one stubborn woman, Doc. Okay, let’s go.”

  This time he used the bikes and quads for balance, moving forward like a drunken sailor, but still moving. And then, just like that, their avenue of escape was cut off. A bright flare of orange flame twirled with a plume of black smoke in a ghastly dance, filling the doorway.

  Sam crumbled, defeated. The beast had won after all.

  * * *

  Mac stared at the wall of flames, his jaw clenched in fury. It was one thing for the bastards to come after him, but Sam didn’t deserve this. He gingerly touched the back of his head and cursed his stupidity. The goose egg was a timely reminder; these people meant business. He blinked the cobwebs away and searched hopelessly for an escape route. Damn it, other than a narrow window—he’d never fit—high up on the wall over the tool bench, they were well and truly trapped. At least he could save Sam, that was something.

  He sat on the skidoo seat to give his knee a break and gather strength for what was to come, and that’s when he noticed it—keys. He reached over and, holding his breath, fired the snow machine up. It coughed a couple of times before catching, the engine giving a satisfying rev when he hit the gas.

  He gazed triumphantly at Sam. “Your chariot awaits, miss.”

  She looked at him like he’d lost his common sense. “Are you nuts?” She waved a hand around the smoking room. “There’s no way out of here. We’re going to die.”

  Tears stood out in her blue eyes and sent a knife to his heart. She’d been so courageous, braving the fire to save his worthless ass. If it was the last thing he did, he’d get her out of here safely.

  And then he was going to make his enemies pay.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, uncomfortably aware how important her response was. When she slowly nodded, his chest swelled. “Okay. I need you to wrap that tarp there over your head and then climb on behind me and hang on. Can you do that?”

  Damn, he wished he’d kept his truck keys in his pocket instead of on the hall table under his wife’s picture. There was nothing for it, he had to work with the tools he’d been given. Eyes and throat burning, head throbbing, and knee aching, he still found room to smile at the little red riding hood using his shoulder for balance as she snuggled in behind him—and damn, didn’t that feel good. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he closed his eyes for a moment to take in the exquisite sensation, before covering her hands with one of his. “No matter what, don’t let go. Ready?”

  He felt her nod against his back.

  Okay, this is it. Focus, Wanowski. Straight to the offensive zone.

  He heard his wife’s words in his head and warmth suffused his body. His growing feelings for the woman behind him had left a guilty pit in his gut, but Jess’s guiding spirit reassured him. Maybe the past and the present could meld together—if they survived.

  One last squeeze of Sam’s fingers, damn, they were cold, and he snapped the machine into gear and twisted the handle full-throttle.

  Sam’s scream reverberated in his eardrums along with the screech of steel tracks grabbing for traction on the cement floor. Between one heartbeat and the next, the skidoo torpedoed straight for the burning garage doors. Flames had weakened the wood, but he’d still be lucky if it gave under the snow mobile’s skis. At the very last second, Mac ducked his head and threw an arm behind himself to grasp Sam’s back, gluing her body to his. The skidoo hit the wall with the force of an explosion, wood, smoke and flames shooting everywhere.

  And then they were free, bursting into the sparkling, cold night air and sailing down the road with the wind in their hair and Mac’s lips turned up in a grin of sheer triumph.

  They’d done it.

  11

  The satellite phone rang. Hewett looked at his partner and shrugged. “Better answer it, man. The boss don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Roberts snorted, but reached for the handset anyway. “Yeah.”

  “Report.” The voice on the other end demanded respect.

  Roberts rolled down the driver’s side window and spit into the wind and snow before rolling it up to answer. “We took care of him. He won’t be bothering you no more.”

  “You better be right. If not…”

  Roberts scowled and flipped the wipers to high. “I said it’s done.”

  “Watch your mouth, boy. Where do you think you’re going now? I never said you could leave the area.”

  Christ. Roberts took the handset away from his ear and stared at it. The asshole was tracking them.

  “What’s going on?” Hewett asked, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the dashboard.

  “Nothing.” Roberts lifted the phone to his ear again. “There’s a freaking blizzard and you expect us to stay on this mountain?”

  “I expect you to do what I paid you to do,” the boss growled. “I can’t afford mistakes, and neither can you. Ride out the storm and then go back and make sure you did your job. Understand?”

  Roberts smacked the steering wheel, then had to work fast to correct the tires as they skidded on the icy roads. This was nothing but bullshit. When he got back to town… Yeah, okay. Nothing would happen. He liked his skin right where it was, but shit.

  “Stor
m’s supposed to last a couple of days. I’ll get back to you after.”

  “You’d better. You really don’t want to piss me off.” The boss ended the call and Roberts tossed the phone onto the seat amid the pile of fast food wrappers they’d been subsisting on. Just fun-fucking-tastic.

  * * *

  Reality quickly set in. Now the adrenaline had worn off, Mac’s headache returned with a vengeance. Neither of them had left the house with coats, instead focused on stopping the fire before any real damage was done.

  He slowed the snowmobile and turned back toward the cabin. The storm was picking up intensity, the blizzard hurling snow at the burning garage like nature’s fire brigade. It was too late to save the building, but at least the forest stood a chance.

  He killed the engine and glanced over his shoulder. “Cold?” Sam was practically vibrating, eyes glassy from shock.

  “Frozen,” she confirmed, her gaze on the dancing flames. “Is the house far enough away?”

  He sincerely hoped so. “We need shelter, and since this is our only form of transportation now, warmer clothing.”

  She nodded and then her eyes went wide as she took in his words. “Wait. What do you mean, this is our only transportation? We can call Uncle Thomas, he’ll come for us.” Even as she spoke, her shoulders slumped. “The storm. There’s no phone service. Can’t we just wait it out? The fire is slowing down, we should be safe.” She released her stranglehold on his waist and hugged herself, shivering.

  The goose egg on his noggin said otherwise. The forest was deceptively calm now. The snow layered everything in a carpet of peace, seeming to snuff out the evil that lurked on its borders. But he knew better.

  Sam rose and left a chill in her wake. Mac bemoaned the loss of her thighs wrapped around his, it made him wish for a warm bed and a willing woman. This woman.