His extra emphasis made anticipation tingle down her spine. “No sex.”
Cort slung a towel around his neck and walked up to her, leaning down until his mouth was almost on hers. She stared at him, unable to force herself to back away.
He brushed a thumb over her throat. “No promises.”
Then he turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Kaylie stared at the heavy wooden door, her body hot, her skin jangling at his touch and his words.
The only safe place for her was away from him.
He was simply too tempting, on so many levels. More time with Cort, and she didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to resist him. But he would break her, both her heart and her soul, robbing her of the fragile existence she had created for herself. He’d strip her of everything, and this time she wouldn’t recover.
Kaylie looked at the door, knew all she had to do was walk out. Call Dusty again. Leave Sara’s death to Cort. It would be smart. Safe.
But no one in this godforsaken state had a personal motivation to help her the way he did. In this tight-knit community, where she was so clearly the outsider, could she really find the kind of help she needed on her own? Or was Cort’s personal stake in it the only thing strong enough to get her what she needed?
She thought of Trooper Mann’s reaction to her and knew she couldn’t risk putting her family’s well-being in the hands of a stranger.
Her family and Sara were more important than whether she managed to keep her heart intact.
Kaylie had no choice.
She was staying with Cort.
The rain was pounding on the roof.
Fuck, he was thirsty.
Mason opened his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in his left leg. The excruciating burn told him infection was setting in.
His captor had been back several times to drop off food and kick him in the ribs a few times. Hadn’t answered any questions about Kaylie or why he was after either of them.
None of it made sense. If Mason’s old boss had tracked him here, he would have shown up by now, or at least have had Mason killed. Toying with Mason wasn’t part of JC’s business model. Maybe it was one of JC’s enemies trying to use Mason for leverage? Too bad for them that JC wouldn’t do shit to bail him out. A year too late for that strategy.
Not that it really mattered right now. He had no doubt that he’d be dead as soon as his captor had no use for him.
Mason’s only choice was to get the hell out of there before that happened—and before Kaylie was pulled into this mess.
It was still dark in the shed, but he could see a sliver of light under the door.
Light.
Exactly what he’d been waiting for. It was time to get that door open and see what the hell his options were.
Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Mason tossed off the rancid deer skins he’d found in the corner, all that had kept him from freezing to death.
Then he sat up.
He paused to press a hand to his side. Sweat broke out on his brow at the pain. It was getting more difficult to breathe.
His left arm almost useless from the busted shoulder, Mason used his right hand to position his left hand on the shackle. He wrapped his fingers around the steel base so he could drag it as he moved the leg, trying to take the pressure off his damaged bone. He swore at the agony, but it was doable. Holding on to the shackle took enough pressure off his leg to allow him to move.
He began to inch across the floor, using his right arm and leg to support his whole body, dragging himself and the shackle along in the dirt.
Inch by inch.
Slow progress.
Felt like hours.
Probably was.
But Mason finally reached the door. He turned the knob experimentally, expecting it to be locked, but it turned easily under his grip.
Hanging on to the door, his body shaking with exhaustion, he stared out at the woods, carefully inspecting his surroundings, taking note of every relevant detail.
Thick woods. A small cabin barely visible through the trees, probably belonging to the bastard who’d chained him up.
Nothing else.
In the middle of fucking nowhere.
Not even a stick within reach.
Swearing, he pulled himself farther along, reaching the end of the chain before he’d gotten his lower body out the door. He grabbed the chain and yanked it again, as he’d done a thousand times since his captor had left.
And like the last thousand times, it didn’t give.
No sign it was even weakening.
With a groan, Mason let himself collapse, rolling onto his back, staring up at the gray sky. Rain poured down on him, cascading off the roof in a stream that was hitting right beside him.
He rolled onto his good shoulder and held out his hand, letting water fill it and sucking it greedily into his parched mouth.
Again.
And again.
All the while, he scanned his surroundings, looking for something he could use to get away. Refusing to give up. There had to be something—
Then he saw it.
It was about fifty yards away, almost hidden in the shadows of the trees. But he could see clearly enough to know instantly what it was.
A bare arm. A booted foot. Sprawled on the ground. “Hey!” Mason yelled, his voice echoing in the woods. “Can you hear me?”
But there was no response, and as Mason looked more closely, he could see flies buzzing around the person. Whoever was over there was dead. Dear God, was that his family? He forced himself to look more closely to see if he could identify someone he loved. But it was impossible to tell from the one arm and the sprawled leg peeking out from the shadows of the forest. He could tell that the boot was smaller than that of his captor, so it wasn’t that bastard. Was it someone else his assailant had killed?
If so, the man hadn’t even bothered to hide the body. It was just sitting there in the woods as a snack for the wild animals, for anyone to see.
Which clearly meant that the son of a bitch was dead certain that absolutely no one would be coming this way.
No one except Kaylie.
A cold rain was driving hard by the time Cort and Kaylie arrived at Jackson and Sara’s cabin. It had taken Cort longer than he’d expected to repair the plane. After that, he’d had to make a run to deliver supplies to a group of climbers he’d dropped off three days ago, and check on two other groups while he was up there, to make sure everyone was still alive.
Luke had taken his other scheduled runs, but no one had been available for these. Skipping the flights would have risked the survival of three sets of climbers who’d trusted their lives to him, so Cort absolutely had to go.
Surprisingly, Kaylie had understood. In fact, when Cort had told her, she’d gotten a weird look on her face, as if she’d been surprised by his values or something. As if she wanted him to be a hero, or some shit like that.
Checking on his climbers had made Cort think of Kaylie’s family on Denali. How had they disappeared? And who had flown them up there? The pilot was usually the one who knew the most about the climbers’ intentions for the trip. Cort had called his buddy Max to check the situation on Kaylie’s family, to see if he’d heard anything.
No word back yet, and the flight to the cabin had been awkward and silent. Cort had been unable to stop thinking about Jackson and Sara, his mind going down roads he didn’t want it visiting, and the only thing that cleared his head was thinking about Kaylie.
About kissing her. Feeling her body beneath him. The silkiness of her skin.
Cort was taking her tonight.
He had to get back to that place that she’d taken him, or he was going to snap. He could feel himself on the edge. His blood was restless, his mind agitated and distracted, and his senses dulled—any of which was the kiss of death for a bush pilot. Cort needed to be calm and focused, and the only time he’d found that spot had been in Kaylie’s arms last n
ight.
But from the way she had her arms folded over her chest, he knew it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk to convince her.
By the time he brought the plane down, it was nearly dark, which meant that searching outside the cabin for clues as to how the killer had gotten in and out to clean the place was off-limits till morning.
Which meant they were spending the night there.
Cort glanced over at Kaylie as he killed the engine. She was wearing heavy rain gear and was waterproofed all the way up to her long, dark lashes, but she still had diamonds in her ears and her coat was open at the throat, revealing that gold necklace.
Where had she gotten it? It looked like the kind of necklace a man would give to his woman.
Cort hadn’t even been thinking about other men last night, but now…a dark sensation began to close down around him.
Kaylie glanced at him as she unbuckled her seat belt, and she paused, a wary look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shit. The last thing he needed was to start thinking of her and other guys. She was sex, she was the anchor keeping him from going batshit crazy, but that was all she was. Even if she’d been with a thousand guys, it didn’t matter. Yeah…right. “I’m going inside. Meet you in there.” He was down on the slushy ground and away from plane before she responded.
Even as he slogged his way through the sloppy snow, Cort felt like an ass for ditching her in the plane like that. It was against his nature to leave clients to fend for themselves—but she was no longer a client.
She was…Hell, he wasn’t sure what she was.
And it wasn’t like anything was going to happen to her in the fifty feet she had to walk to the cabin.
Cort shoved open the door to the cabin and stepped inside. Shit. He couldn’t leave her out there alone. He was going to go back for her.
A shadow moved on his right, and before he could react, someone burst out of the darkness at him. He hit hard, got flesh, and then something cracked him in the head. He had a split second to think of Kaylie alone in the plane, and he was out.
A powerful flashlight clutched in her hand, Kaylie had made it only a few yards from the plane with her bags when she heard the roar of a snowmobile starting up. It emerged from behind the cabin, headlights illuminating the rainsodden snow.
The vehicle turned toward her, then stopped.
Engine idling.
Lights blinding her. As if the driver was sitting there, watching her.
The hair on the back of Kaylie’s neck prickled. She shielded her eyes against the bright light, trying to see what the driver was doing. “Cort? Is that you?”
No response. Just the ominous rumbling of the engine. The vehicle facing her, waiting. For her to move? Planning his attack?
She peeked over her shoulder, but the plane was too far away for her to make it there before she was overtaken by a snowmobile.
The cabin was still dark. Where was Cort? There was no way he wouldn’t have heard the snowmobile….
Jackson’s slit throat leapt to her mind, and her throat clogged with fear. “Cort!”
The engine revved and the snowmobile leapt into action, shooting right at her.
She dove to the side as it swerved to miss her at the last second, and then it was gone into the woods, the roar of the engine taking longer to fade than the glow of the headlights.
Then the sound of the engine grew louder, and she saw the headlights weaving around trees as the machine made its way toward her again. She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the cabin, running faster as the snowmobile closed in.
Kaylie leapt onto the steps, yelping as her pursuer whizzed past the porch. Something touched her back and she ducked, lunging toward the open door of the dark building.
She leapt inside the door and tripped. She tumbled to the floor and hit a bookshelf. Pottery crashed to the floor and pain shot up her side. Gasping, she rolled onto her side, struggling to get back on her feet. The sound of the snowmobile grew distant. Preparing for another assault? Or leaving for good?
“Cort? Are you in here?”
No response.
Where was he?
Kaylie shoved herself to her knees and felt along the floor for her flashlight. A shard of something sharp pierced her palm, and she winced. Her head bumped into a table, and she felt her way to its surface. She found a lamp and turned it on, squinting as the cabin was suddenly flooded with light.
There was a moan from behind her, and she spun around to see Cort sprawled on the floor, blood streaming down his face. “Cort!” She was behind him in a second, her hands going to his neck.
Dear God, his throat hasn’t been slit.
But as she saw the ax on the ground next to him and realized the blood was cascading from a wound on his head, she realized his assailant could easily have dispatched him, just as he’d done to Jackson.
But, thank God, he hadn’t killed Cort. Instead, he’d left him alive.
Kaylie stared at his ashen face and couldn’t stop wondering: Why had the killer chosen to leave Cort alive?
Consciousness hit Cort with a flash of light and mindnumbing agony in his head. Kaylie. He snapped his eyes open and saw her leaning over him.
Adrenaline rushed through him and he grabbed Kaylie and yanked her down to the ground. He rolled her beneath him, using his body to shield her. He tucked her head under his shoulder, and only then did he pause to scan the room for his assailant.
Empty.
No one was there.
“Cort! You’re crushing me.” Kaylie squirmed beneath him, but Cort didn’t loosen his grip.
“Quiet,” he snapped.
She went still, and he was able to hear the sound of the snowmobile in the distance, growing fainter.
Shit.
The bastard was getting away.
Cort tried to lunge to his feet, and dizziness hit him. He stumbled and went back down on top of Kaylie. With a curse, he dropped his head, fighting the ringing in his brain. He had to get up. Go after the bastard. Now.
“Cort?” Her hands were on his face, soft and warm, frantically fluttering over his skin. “Are you okay?”
He pried his eyes open and lifted his head so he could look at her. Vision was blurry, and he couldn’t focus. Couldn’t see her well enough to determine if she was all right. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”
“Me? You’re the one covered in blood! I thought you were dead, and—” Her voice cracked and she broke off. Her fingers were warm and tentative on his skin, making him viscerally aware of her body beneath him. And the panic in her voice at the thought of him being dead?
Made him even harder. He caught her hand, pressed his mouth to her palm.
She stared up at him, a flush rising in her cheeks. “You’re thinking of sex now?”
“I’m a guy, so, yeah.” Not that he was going to do anything about it. Yet. He’d noticed that the sound of the snowmobile’s engine was still distant, but it hadn’t continued to fade. The bastard was sitting out there in the woods…doing what?
Planning to come back, Cort hoped. He would be ready.
“Let’s go.” He shifted Kaylie off him, then sat up. The room tilted abruptly, and he lost his balance. He pressed his hand to the side of his head and felt the thickness of the blood. Son of a bitch.
He grabbed the table and pulled himself to his knees, swaying dangerously.
Kaylie caught his arm. “No, just lie there. We need to get you medical attention.”
“No.” Cort pulled out of her grasp and lost his balance again. “Gun. Jackson’s room. Get it. Might come back.”
Her eyes widened. “Might come—”
The roar of an approaching snowmobile made her head snap up, and she stared at the open door. Cort swore and shoved her off him. “Get the door!”
She jumped up and ran over to it, slammed it shut and threw the bar across it. Cort shoved himself to his knees. Light illuminated the cabin as headlights filled the living room window. “Turn
the lamp off.” He grabbed the door frame and hauled himself up as Kaylie raced to follow his commands.
The snowmobile lights faded as the vehicle circled around the cabin. The roar of the engine was crushing in the night. Light flashed through the kitchen window, and Cort realized the crazy bastard was circling them. Winding the noose around their necks?
No chance of that. The son of a bitch was a dead man.
While Kaylie hit the lights, Cort staggered toward the bedroom, the roar of the snowmobile whizzing around the cabin making his head spin. Couldn’t tell which way was straight. Too much noise…
Kaylie caught up to him and slipped herself under his shoulder. She wrapped an arm around his waist, silently offering herself as support. His arm snaked around her and he let himself lean on her as he struggled toward the bedroom.
The room was pitch-black, but Cort had crashed there plenty of times during Jackson’s bachelor days. He went unerringly across the room to the gun rack above the bed, and he caught a shadowed glimpse of his options as the snowmobile lit up the room again.
The flash of light sent a wave of dizziness through him, and he leaned against the gun rack for balance. “Bullets are in the closet,” he shouted above the roar of the engine. “Get me the ones in the white box.”
The engine was louder now, and Cort knew the circles were getting tighter, that the crazy bastard was closing it on them. Toying with them. A power trip, to scare the shit out of them until he decided to hand them their fate, as he’d done with Jackson and Sara.
Fuck that.
Cort was ready.
Kaylie ran to the closet and tugged open the door as he pulled a rifle down from the wall. “There’s a metal footlocker in the back right corner,” he yelled.
“Got it!”
Cort moved to the window and wedged his shoulder against the wall for stability, then peered through the glass.
The engine was so loud, Cort knew the bastard had to be circling within ten feet of the house now. There was no room to get any closer. He suspected it was the last lap and the bastard was going to play his hand, whatever it was.
Ice Page 9
