Ice

by Stephanie Rowe

  Kaylie came up beside Cort still smelling of roses. Roses? Here? Now? Insane. But damn, he liked it. Grounded him.

  She handed him a box. “This what you wanted?”

  “Perfect.” He quickly loaded the rifle, then yanked her down to the floor as the headlights lit up the room again.

  She crouched beside him, and he could feel her pulse hammering beneath his grip. “What’s he doing?”

  “Playing with us.” Cort checked the rifle. “Stay low. I’m ending this now.” He wiped the back of his hand across his face to clear off the blood, then stood and jacked open the window.

  He pushed the barrel of the gun out the window, lined up his sights, and waited for the snowmobile to come back into view. But his vision blurred, and he realized that the muzzle of the gun had dipped. With a curse, he rubbed his hand over his eyes.

  Come on, McClaine. Focus, for hell’s sake.

  The engine grew louder, and Cort leaned his head against the wall. Too damn heavy to hold up.

  “Cort? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head and summoned his focus. Headlights lit up the snow, and he slid his finger over the trigger.

  Waited.

  The snowmobile came into sight, the light flashed in Cort’s eyes, and the world began to tip again. He felt his equilibrium going, and he tightened his grip on the gun. Waited until the light was right in front of him, and fired.

  The snowmobile slowed, and Cort fired again. Couldn’t even tell where he was aiming, just aimed for that white light that was making his head protest so badly. Shot twice more, and then the snowmobile kicked into high gear, turned, and sped away from the cabin, heading deep into the woods.

  Getting away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kaylie was shocked by Cort’s appearance when he finally turned on the light.

  His shirt was covered with blood and his face was deathly pale. It was exactly the same state as her dad on that awful day when she was twelve. His rope had given out and he’d fallen more than twenty-five feet to a rock bed below. She still remembered her absolute terror when she’d finally reached him and seen her daddy stretched out on those rocks, covered in blood, his face ashen—that moment of absolute terror until he’d moved his hand and she’d realized he was still alive.

  Cort swayed as he turned, and she caught him. The feel of his heavily muscled body against hers immediately wiped out thoughts of her father. Cort wasn’t her dad. He was raw, untamed testosterone, and he was far from dead.

  He leaned into her, and she staggered under his weight, helping him down to the bed. He landed on her arm, trapping her against him as he eased back. Her face was up against his shoulder, the heat from his body searing her before she managed to get her arm free, leaping to her feet as soon as she could.

  “I have to go after him.” He tried to shove himself back to his feet, but she didn’t move out of his way, blocking him.

  “No chance. You can barely walk. Stay here in case he comes back.”

  Apparently realizing she was right, Cort punched the pillows and sank down into them, one hand pressed to the side of his head. She could see from his pinched expression that he was in extreme pain. He had to be, for him to not to argue with her. “I can’t believe I missed him.”

  She ripped the case off one of the pillows and pressed it to his head, trying to stem the flow of blood. “You need a doctor.” She threw her leg over his waist, sitting on his stomach so she could apply pressure to his head. His erection pressed hard against her, and she pretended not to notice, embarrassed that her body was tingling in response when he was lying there with an ax wound. “We’ll have to call someone to come pick you up.”

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his hands going to her hips, thumbs doing slow circles on her sides. “It’s just a headache.”

  “A headache?”

  “Yeah. I heard sex is a great remedy for headaches.” His eyes slitted open. “You want to take care of this bell ringer for me?”

  Yes. She swallowed. “I don’t think sex would work for gaping head wounds.”

  “Want to try?”

  “No.”

  “Heartless wench.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Sorry if the sight of a man covered in blood isn’t an automatic turn-on for me.”

  “I don’t turn you on?” He opened his eyes, lifting his eyebrows skeptically. “Well, damn, you sure fake a good orgasm. I never would have guessed you weren’t really getting off when I had you under me, and your heels were digging into my ass while I buried myself deep inside—”

  She smacked her hand over his mouth. “Stop it.”

  He grinned, his whiskers prickling against the palm of her hand. “I turn you on. Admit it.”

  “How can you possibly be thinking about this right now?”

  “Because your tight little ass is parked right on my lap, and every time you move, you’re grinding it harder against me.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed and she scrambled off him. Let him tend to his own damn wound.

  His eyes were still glistening with amusement. “If you’re not going to help me ditch the headache, can you at least hand over that fancy phone of yours so I can call our friendly law-enforcement officials?”

  “Of course.” She dropped her hand to check her pockets, and then remembered. “I dropped all my stuff outside when he came after me with the snowmobile.”

  “He came after you?” His eyes turned hard, all amusement gone, replaced by steel. “Tell me what happened. Now.”

  The simmering intensity of Cort’s reaction as she told him was an incredible sensation. She could see his anger building, his fury that someone had tried to hurt her, his absolute determination that no one would come near her again. It was…heady. Exhilarating. Amazing.

  She finished, and he closed his eyes. The muscles in his neck were so tense, she had no illusions he was asleep. “Cort?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Can you think out loud?”

  “Not yet. My thoughts aren’t fit for female ears.”

  She rolled her eyes. Yes, he was still Cort. “Why don’t I go get my phone—”

  His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. “You’re not setting foot outside this cabin without me. For all I know, he ditched the snowmobile a half mile away and he’s hiking back to catch us unaware.”

  “Oh.” Kaylie swallowed and looked at the still-open window. “So maybe we should leave?”

  “No.” Cort levered himself to a sitting position, far steadier than he had been a few minutes before. “I want him to come. Easiest way to catch him. We’re staying.”

  “Fantastic idea.” Yeah, it did make sense, but seeing the blood still leaking from Cort’s head made it a little difficult to drum up excitement for the idea. Kaylie shivered, realizing the window was still open from when he had been shooting out of it.

  She walked over to the window and slammed it shut. No locks. Of course. Who needed locks in rural Alaska? She shaded her eyes and peered out through the glass, but it was too dark to see anything. Though it wasn’t too dark for someone to see inside easily. Oy. She rubbed her arms and faced Cort.

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Same plan as before. Search the place. Just make it fast and be alert to any sounds.” He swung his feet to the floor. “I’m going to go clean up. Find some aspirin.” He sat up and took off his bloody parka. The T-shirt beneath was stained with blood around the neck and down the front. “You know how to fire a gun?”

  She shook her head, unable to tear her gaze away as he ripped off his shirt, revealing a well-toned body and a ripped stomach. He was lean and fit, a body that was strong because of his lifestyle, not because he spent a couple hours a day in a gym and from taking over-the-counter supplements.

  There were several scars on his chest, and the dried blood on his neck seemed to fit him perfectly. With the rifle in his hand and his jeans slung low around his waist, he was wild and untam
ed all the way down to his core.

  And he had an erection straining at the front of his jeans.

  Heat flamed her cheeks, and she jerked her gaze to his.

  “Bed’s comfortable.” His voice was low. Heavy with suggestion.

  She glared at him, her clothes suddenly itchy against her skin. “Sex would be a mistake.”

  He shrugged. “Mistakes happen.” He strode into the bathroom, wobbling only the slightest bit. “Start searching, and keep alert. If you get out of my sight, I’ll be coming after you. So don’t expect privacy from me. Not here. Not now.”

  He turned on the shower and went for the waistband of his jeans.

  She hesitated, heat pooling between her legs as she watched him unzip his pants. “Do you need help?”

  He paused, jeans halfway down his hips, raising his eyebrows at her. “Getting my pants off, or with the shower?”

  “With your head.”

  His eyebrows went up higher, and she flushed. “With the ax wound that nearly crushed your skull. You need help cleaning it or stitching it or anything?”

  He turned his head and peered at himself in the mirror, inspecting the damage. “Been hit worse. I’m fine.”

  Then he dropped his pants.

  Kaylie felt like she was standing on the tracks in front of an oncoming train, but she still couldn’t make herself turn away as Cort bared all. She’d never really gotten a good look when they’d made love the other night, but now…God, he was huge. Hard. Ready. The hair on his belly was dark and curly, diving right down to the thick patch surrounding his—

  “Going to write a report on it?”

  She jerked her gaze away, horrified to find him watching her, an amused smile on his face. “Don’t you have any sense of modesty?”

  “Nope.” He strode deliberately across the floor toward her.

  Her heart began to race, and her nipples tightened. Some faint voice in her head was screaming at her to run, to hide, but she couldn’t take a step. All she could do was watch him approach.

  He reached her, stopping only when his body was mere inches from hers. One deep breath would put her breasts against his naked chest, one twitch would put his penis against her belly.

  He bent forward, his breath teasing over her lips. His hands hovered over her hips. Not touching anywhere, but so close everywhere. “Shower’s built for two.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I can attest that you actually can. Quite well, in fact.”

  “Stop!” She slammed her hand into his chest, and he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” She cut herself off. How did she admit to this man that sex with him would be more than just sex to her? Already, she was finding herself getting sucked into his powerful persona. Becoming intimate with him at this stage…It would be like seeing an avalanche crashing down the mountain and racing right into its path on purpose.

  Stupid beyond belief.

  Suicidal.

  “Because…?” He still looked amused, not at all concerned about her rejection.

  Probably because he could see her nipples puckered through her shirt and knew that she was too close to giving up the fight and letting her hands drift over that washboard stomach—

  God! What was she thinking? With Sara dead, her family missing, a madman on a snowmobile after her? Had she lost her mind? Was she too weak to keep herself from being sucked into Cort’s reckless embrace of life regardless of the consequences or costs?

  She pulled back, tried to find her way back to the person she wanted to be. “Because we’re standing here in the bedroom of our best friends, who were just murdered. It’s horrible to even be thinking about sex right now.”

  “Hey!” He grabbed her upper arms and yanked her close, scowling down at her. “I know Jackson’s dead. I fucking know that. I feel it in every single cell of my body every second of the damn day.”

  “Cort—” She tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into her arms so hard she knew they would leave marks.

  “But I’m not dead. I’m fucking alive.” His eyes glittered with anger, with pain so deep and so entrenched, she felt her own heart break. “I’ll find the bastard who killed him and Sara, and I’ll take him down, but I owe it to Jackson and to everyone else I care about who died too early to keep on living the life they didn’t get a chance to live. It’s an insult to all of them if I don’t.” He shook her once—not hard, but his biceps were flexed tight, trembling with the effort of maintaining rigid control. “So never, ever, even suggest to me that my refusal to die along with him is immoral or insensitive or any of that crap. Do you understand?”

  Wordlessly, she nodded, having no response to the intensity of his response, to the brutal grief he’d shown her.

  He released her sharply, then turned and walked back into the bathroom without even a backward look.

  She didn’t move until after he was in the shower, its steam rising into the air, still stunned by his words. By his truth. After a long minute, she walked into the bathroom and tapped her knuckles lightly against the glass.

  The door opened, and she raised her gaze to Cort’s. Water was streaming down his face, matting his dark hair to his forehead. “What?” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. I—I judged you, and I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  He studied her for a minute, as if trying to decide whether she meant it. Then he gave a curt nod. “Thanks.”

  Cort started to close it, and she caught the door. “My parents are adrenaline junkies, like you.”

  “I don’t ca—”

  “When I was eleven, we were on a climb. On the final day of the ascent, I broke my leg. My parents had never summited that peak, and it was the last day to try to make it.”

  He stopped trying to close the door, his light brown eyes on hers.

  “They didn’t want to miss their chance, so they handed me off to a party on their way down. I still remember staring at them in shock when they took off, hurrying to make up the time my injury had lost them.” What an awful feeling that had been, watching them leave her behind with her leg throbbing and five strangers standing around her. “The people took me back down to our base camp and then continued on their way. I waited alone in that tent with a broken leg for seventeen hours before my parents came back.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You were only eleven?”

  Kaylie nodded, not wanting to revisit that time. “For my parents, getting their fix was more important than anything else, including a scared, injured girl. I judged you wrongly, assuming that you wanting sex meant that you were like my parents, that you were more concerned about your next high than the people in your life.”

  He said nothing, but his attention was fixed on her.

  “So, yeah, I just wanted to tell you that. To explain why I reacted the way I did and to apologize for assuming you had the same values as my parents.” She managed a small smile, unsettled by the intense way he was watching her. “So, yeah, I’ll go search Sara’s stuff. Just wanted you to know. I had no right to judge you about Jackson.”

  Not waiting for a reply, she ducked out of the bathroom, but she felt his eyes on her back as she hurried out of the bedroom to the family room.

  Her parents had been ruthless in their pursuit of their next adrenaline high, and she’d thought that was what Cort was doing. She’d thought that was what she was doing by thinking about him and sex in this situation.

  But there had been naked, raw anguish in Cort’s eyes, in the rigid lines of his body. She’d felt the intensity of his words, the depth of his beliefs. And it had made sense. In a land where there was too much death, so much wildness, and not enough sun…you survived or you died.

  Cort was a survivor.

  How could she blame him for that?

  If she was honest with herself, she wanted to live, too. Not just breathe, but to wake up in the morning an
d feel life rushing through her body like sunshine. She hadn’t found that on the mountains with her family, and she hadn’t found that in Seattle. But she’d been content in the Pacific Northwest, able to embrace her careful life. Being with Cort was changing things. Making her want more. But there was no way to have it all, and she had to remember that.

  This life, this wasn’t what she wanted. Seattle was safe and secure, and that was worth everything to her.

  Kaylie let out a breath as she turned the light on in the family room again, illuminating the floor where the bodies had been. With the dishes on the sink and Sara’s paintings all over the walls, the silence was eerie. Sara should be here. Laughing. God, Sara had had the most contagious laugh.

  All it used to take was the sound of it to make Kaylie start laughing as well. That was half the reason Kaylie had been excited to see Sara. She missed laughing.

  And now…she felt that it would be wrong to laugh again.

  But after Cort’s speech, she just didn’t know anymore. All the rules and beliefs she’d lived her life by…Cort was stripping them away, leaving her with what? Nothing?

  Kaylie didn’t want to be like her family. Or like Cort. But Cort was different from her family. And also the same.

  God, she didn’t know anything anymore. Kaylie shook her head as she headed toward a closed door on the other side of the living room, figuring that it was Sara’s sewing room. All she wanted was a nice, quiet, safe life, and here she was: in Alaska, surrounded by death, chased by a murderer, and wildly attracted to a man who was the antithesis of everything she needed in a man and in her life.

  Yeah, she was managing her life exactly how she wanted it. What a talent she was.

  Rolling her eyes at herself, Kaylie lifted the wrought-iron latch of the sewing room door and entered the room.

  What she saw brought tears to her eyes.

  On a mannequin in the middle of the space was an iridescent turquoise-aquamarine dress. The one she and Sara had designed while stuck at base camp when they were fourteen. They’d both been so miserable, they’d decided to design the most impractical dress they could imagine, one that was the antithesis of the boots, jeans, thermal underwear, and parkas that made up their wardrobes.