by Michele Hauf
“What happened to them? If you can tell me. You don’t have to tell me,” Jason rushed out.
She didn’t want to tell him.
She did want to tell him. Anyone. Just to release it from her memory. Amelie had thought she was over the grieving—and she was—but it still hurt to think of her mother. And sometimes blurting it out, whether to a stray cat or a cabdriver who didn’t speak her language, seemed to alleviate some of the pain.
“My mother was executed,” she spilled out.
Instantly, Jason’s hand covered hers. His warm fingers curled about hers, and she reactively curled hers around his. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I was nine,” she said. “There was a knock at the door. My mother grabbed me and said I should hide. I started to beg for a reason. What was wrong? She said she had done something bad to help good people. I’ll never forget that.” She met Jason’s gentle gaze. “She did something bad to help good people.”
He nodded and bowed his head. He understood. It was a spy’s lot in life. But a spy’s safety was never ensured, even from those he or she worked for.
“I heard a man enter the house,” she said quietly. “They exchanged few words.” The accent had been French. But her fright and the strain to try to hear the short conversation had kept Amelie from hearing anything more than syllables and sounds instead of actual words.
“My mother cried out. The front door slammed. I knew whoever had come inside the house had left. I waited for my mother to call out again. I waited so long. Then finally I crept out and found her in a pool of blood. It’s all a blur after that. I didn’t see my father until two days later. He was on a covert mission, and it took that long for Interpol to contact him. I realize now they could have contacted him at any time. They simply wanted him to complete his mission before giving him the terrible news.”
Amelie sighed and pulled her hand from Jason’s. She wrapped both arms across her chest. No tears. It was what had happened and it couldn’t be changed. There had been a formal investigation, but no suspect had ever been found.
“My father died when I was twenty. It was...alcohol poisoning. He drank himself to death. He couldn’t handle my mother leaving his life. I almost wished it had been him in her place that day. He was never the same. Doesn’t matter now. They are both gone. And I have accepted that.”
Jason hugged her, which startled her, but she melted into the warmth of his embrace and managed a smile. She’d never gotten a reassuring hug following either of her parents’ deaths. This was a long time coming. She closed her eyes and just let it happen. To feel his heartbeat against hers. To accept that he cared about her. To allow herself to sniff back a tear.
When after a bit he pulled back to look at her, he asked, “You still wanted to work for the government even after all that?”
“I know how things work in the security agencies. Everything is a big secret. Don’t tell. Need to know. I signed on for that at a time...let’s say I was still reeling from my father’s death. But I walked in, knowing what to expect. And that’s why I’m here now.”
“Gone dark.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll keep you safe.” He squeezed her hand, and his eyes met hers. “Do you trust me?”
“I do. Thank you for listening to my sorry little story.”
“It’s not sorry. It’s tragic. I wish things could have been better for you, Yvette. Amelie.” He kissed the crown of her head. He smelled so good. Warm and just so...there.
“I had a great childhood,” she offered. “My parents were the best. And you know, they were always honest with me. Telling me they worked for an organization that saved others, sometimes, as my mom put it, forcing them to do something bad. I always had a sort of knowing that something could happen to them. Didn’t make it any easier to accept. But it was almost not a surprise, if that makes any sense.”
Jason blew out a breath. “My parents are both still alive. Simple, humble dairy farmers. Well, my dad used to be a marine until he had to muster out with a bad back. They are both retired now. And happy. I’m thankful for that.”
“I bet having a son working law enforcement makes them both proud and nervous.”
“I know my mom was pleased when I, uh...left the CIA.”
“You were in the CIA?”
“Not anymore. And that makes my mother a very happy woman, because I could never tell her what I was doing, and the not knowing part is hardest. Now that I’m watching over Frost Falls, she’s decided that at least the one son isn’t in as much danger. My other two brothers. Well.”
“What do they do?”
“Joe works for the DNR. Department of Natural Resources. He’s a nature boy, but I wouldn’t mind having his daily patrol out on a lake or tromping through a beautiful forest.”
“That does sound like a perk. What about the other?”
“Former State Patrol. Uh, Justin got hurt last year. Crazy woman shot him during a routine traffic stop. Left him with some neurological issues. He’s doing good though. But that one certainly tried my mother’s heart, let me tell you. Mostly, we don’t tell Mom about the serious stuff.” He cast her a wink. “How you holding up?”
“Honestly? Since I’ve been staying here at the cabin, I’ve had a lot of time to think about my life and the choices I’ve made. Even made up a list of pros and cons regarding returning to my job.”
“Which won? Pros or cons?”
“I’m not finished. No matter what I ultimately choose to do, I don’t want to die in this terrible, cold no-man’s land.”
He smiled at that. “It is terrible in the wintertime, but it’s my home. For now, I’m focused on protecting you and solving this case. If there’s a killer loose, we’ll round him up and bring him in.”
Amelie believed him. Even though she knew that if whoever was pulling strings behind whatever was going on wanted her dead, they could make that happen. And she knew Jason knew that, too.
“So you’re CIA? Jason, why didn’t you tell me that?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t known you that long. I’m not much for laying it all out there.”
“I can believe that. If I ask nicely, would you tell me about it?”
“Everything you do is nice, Amelie. I like that name. Well, I like them both. But Amelie fits you.” He turned and propped his elbows on the counter.
Everything about his physicality fit her just fine. He was so...there. All man, and smelling so good. The sadness over telling him about her parents had slipped away. Hard to stay sad when talking to such a sexy man. Their closeness niggled at her. The idea of tracing his freckles returned, but Amelie pushed it back. He’d revealed he used to work for the CIA. She wanted to know more.
She leaned in beside him. “Tell me what you’re willing to divulge.”
“That isn’t much. You know the drill. I was in the CIA for four years. Circumstances forced me out. That’s all I want to say. For now.”
He eyed her then, making sure she got his point. She did. Intelligence agencies guarded their secrets. A good agent did the same. Unless she was alone and confused, in a country not her own.
Nodding, she said, “Got it. I didn’t tell you my secrets right away. You’ve a right to yours.”
“Thanks for respecting that. You know,” Jason said, “all this snow really is a lot of fun. You just haven’t done the right things in it yet.”
He had dismissed the CIA conversation quickly. She would give him that. For now.
Amelie leaned against the counter, which put her toe to toe with him. “Is that so? Well, according to the instructions left by the owners, I’ve shoveled, deiced the truck windows and broken icicles from the roof so water doesn’t leak in. And I’ve learned I do like to snowshoe.”
“See? That’s a lot of fun. You said you take photographs? Or is that just your cover story?”
“Yes and yes. It’s my cover, but it’s also a hobby I’d like to turn into a career. I’ll show you the picture of the moose I told you about.” She grabbed her cell phone and tapped into the photographs app. Finding the picture, she turned it toward Jason.
“Wow. That is beautiful. The snow spraying about the moose glitters.”
“Magical,” she said. “But magic aside, I’ve dealt with more power outages than a person should have to in their lifetime. And now this blizzard! I guess I’m not seeing the appeal to dressing in layers and learning that sweat freezes on one’s eyelashes and upper lip.”
Jason laughed. “So does snot. But that’s something you learn when you’re a kid.”
“That’s information I will, unfortunately, never lose.”
“You remember everything?”
“Most stuff. Not conversations, like this. Mostly data and lists. It’s like when you’re doing a mindless task and your brain is focused on that one thing? My brain goes into photographic memory mode. I can’t turn it off. But if I’m writing a grocery list while I’m running about the house or singing or even chatting with a friend, then no.”
“That’s cool. What about books and movies? Do you remember them word for word?”
“Sometimes. Again, it depends on my focus and if I’m distracted by friends sitting beside me in the theater. I can absolutely quote every line from the Italian Job remake.”
“The one with Mark Wahlberg? Wasn’t that one the best?” Jason asked. Then he took on a feminine tone, “‘My name’s Becky, but it’s written on my shirt.’”
“‘Listen, Becky, I’m gonna need your shirt and your truck.’” She quoted the next line from the popular movie.
The man’s laughter was the sexiest thing she’d heard in a long time. Amelie stepped forward, not really thinking, and touched his shirt, dead center over his chest. “Thank you,” she said.
“Sure.” He clasped his hand over hers. “Just doing my job.”
“You’re doing more than that. You’ve given me back the confidence I thought I’d lost since leaving France. You didn’t coddle or chastise me after that attack. You said ‘good for you.’ I need that respect.”
“Well earned.”
And then she reacted, because it felt right.
The man’s mouth was warm, firm and fit against hers as easily as her decision to kiss him had been. She stayed there, inhaling his skin, his breath, his power. One of his hands hooked at her hip and nudged her forward. She pressed her breasts against his chest and then...realized what she was doing.
Amelie pulled away and touched her mouth. “Sorry. I—”
“Please, do not apologize for a kiss,” he said. “It’ll give me a complex.”
“Oh, your kiss was great. Your mouth is so delicious—I mean, kissing you probably wasn’t the right thing—”
He stopped her protest with another connection of mouth to mouth. A hot, demanding union that drew up a sigh from the giddy swirl in her core. She settled against him, and when they parted this time, their eyes met. The crackle of the nearby fire mimicked the spark that had ignited in her belly. Everything about her felt melty and relaxed, attuned to his breath, his glance, his subtle nudge of palm against her hip.
Those freckles were like catnip to her purring desires.
Another loud crackle and pop alerted Jason. He looked aside, then pushed her away. “Oh no!” He raced toward the fireplace.
A fire had started on the rug before the hearth. Nothing a glass of water couldn’t douse but—her notebook was in flames.
“The sparks must have started it.” Amelie grabbed a bowl from the sink and filled it with water.
By the time she made it to Jason’s side, he’d stomped out the flames. The rug bore a small black burn in the tight nylon coils. But her notebook was a tattered, ashy mess.
“The list,” she said. “It’s all gone.”
He shot her a direct look. “Forever?”
Chapter Fourteen
The list was a complete loss. Jason had tried to salvage it, but no going. He’d stomped out the fire the spark had started, making sure no hazard remained. Yvette had scrubbed the rug with a towel and tossed the burned notebook. Those old rag rugs made from tightly coiled fabrics always stood up well to stray sparks. They were a northern Minnesota cabin standard.
“The information hasn’t been lost forever,” Yvette said as she sat on the couch. “But I’ll have to start over now.”
That was one thing to be thankful for—that she didn’t lose the information after downloading it from her brain onto the page.
“I’d appreciate you giving it another go,” he said. “It could prove helpful to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Do I have to do it tonight?”
“No.” Jason blew out a breath, surprising himself when he felt his muscles stretch wearily across his shoulders. He checked his watch. “It’s been a long day. And it’s late. It won’t matter if you start now or tomorrow.”
He sat on the couch beside Yvette. Amelie. He’d better stick with Yvette for the sake of her cover. She’d brought out an extra quilt, and he couldn’t avoid the return yawn when he saw hers. Putting up his feet on the coffee table, he settled into the comfortable couch and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up to his neck.
“I’ll sleep here,” he said. “I know this cabin has only the one room with two beds.”
“You’re welcome to one of the beds.”
“Thanks, but I like falling asleep before a fire,” he said quietly.
“Yes, it is cozy. Do you mind if I sit here awhile longer and take in the ambience?”
“Go ahead.”
She sat next to him, and he smiled inwardly. Nice to have the company. And she smelled great. Among so many other things that turned his senses up to ultra-alert. The softness of her skin teased, so close but just out of reach. The accidental nudge of her knee against his. The sweep of her hair across her shoulder.
Outside, the wind had settled some, but Jason expected the drifts to be tall and deep by morning. He didn’t mind a good snowing in. Especially when it put him in proximity with a pretty woman. And she had kissed him right before the rug had taken flame. Funny to think, but they had created their own sparks.
He wasn’t against making sparks with a beautiful woman. He’d gotten to know her better. She was alone and uncertain. He had known that feeling when first moving to Frost Falls to take on the superfluous job of police chief. But he had made the job his own and was very protective of this town now. Sometimes a guy needed a push in a new direction to restore his energy and positive outlook.
But now that he’d been pushed, he faced the full shove right out of the position he’d grown to love. Damn it, he didn’t want to lose this job, as insignificant and quirky as it happened to be.
But he’d be lying if he said he was satisfied living in this small town. Female companionship was hard to come by. He generally dated women from other towns. Not even dates, more just hookups. How to intertwine his job with a happy social life? Marriage was something he looked forward to, but that would never happen if he didn’t start playing the field and getting serious.
“About that kiss earlier,” he said, eyes closed, content to relax in the warmth.
“I never flirt.” She snuggled close against his side. Mm...that contact did not preach relaxation. “I always mean what I say and do.”
“Unless you’re spying for Interpol.”
Her sigh hurt him more than he expected. “I’m not lying to you, Jason. I trust you. You. The guy who confessed to being a spy himself.”
“Sorry. You’re right. I appreciate that you say it like it is. No playing around.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little play.”
“Gotta agree with that.”
When she twisted and leaned in,
Jason tilted his head. The kiss was a surprise, but one he surrendered to like a refreshing free-fall dive into a summer spring. With the fire crackling across the room and casting an amber glow through the evening dark, the mood took on a sultry tone. Yvette’s mouth was sweet and seeking. Her breasts hugged his arm. He shifted on the couch to hook his hand at her hip.
This was too good to be real. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it was difficult not to. Yvette was the sort of woman he would like to date, to have in his life long-term while he learned about her hopes, her dreams, her desires. And could he ever share the same with a woman?
The clutch of her hand at his flannel shirt tugged, insistent and wanting. He glided his hand up over her shoulder and tangled his fingers in her hair. As soft as he’d thought it could be.
The kiss almost went deep and delving, but all of a sudden, Yvette pulled back and smiled at him.
“Good night, Cash.” She kissed his cheek, then laid her head on his shoulder.
Mercy. Now he would never fall asleep.
* * *
BUT HE DID.
Jason awoke from a snore. The room was dark. The fire glimmered with low red embers. His face felt...cold. As did his feet and legs. Sitting up, he noted Yvette had curled up beside him, her head on the arm of the couch and her stockinged feet against his thigh. There along his leg he felt the most indulgent warmth. But she’d stolen the blanket, and—damn, it was cold in the cabin.
And he could make one guess why.
Getting up carefully, so as not to disturb her, he wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The inner light did not blink on. No electricity. The storm must have taken out the power. Not unexpected. But why hadn’t the generator kicked in?
He checked his watch. It was 5:00 a.m. Hell of a time to wake. If he went back to sleep, he would fall into a comfortable snooze but be groggy around six when he normally woke, yet if he stayed up he’d be tired later in the day.
A shiver that traced him from neck to toes decided for him. It was too cold to sleep. But did he really have to bundle up and go out to check the generator?
