by Michele Hauf
Amelie knew now wasn’t the time for argument or reasoning. It was a challenge dealing with the power an agent wielded. Certainly, she had been faced with many such challenges. And ultimately? She’d not been able to pass the cruelest test. To shoot or not to shoot? She’d not realized which side she fell on until it was almost too late. Fortunately, she’d been able to step away and still retain her job at Interpol.
Jason had been punished for something that hadn’t been his fault. One of her own had tricked him? Likely a honeypot sent in to cozy up to him, earn his trust, learn what he knew, then report back to headquarters. It happened all the time.
“I won’t betray you,” she said. “Promise.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Thanks to his training, and his experience in Italy, he couldn’t trust her. Not completely. But she was prepared to earn that trust.
“Thanks, Jason. You didn’t have to tell me that. I appreciate that you did. It’s freezing out here.” She managed a face-crunching smile, then ran ahead and grabbed the station door and held it for Jason.
“Jason.” A woman with frosted brown hair cut close to her scalp stood from behind a desk. Must be the dispatcher he’d mentioned. “This must be your French—er, uh, Yvette, wasn’t it?”
Amelie tugged off a mitten and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you. You must be Marjorie.”
“You betcha. You two dining in Jason’s office?”
“You know we are,” Jason said with a tone that indicated he wasn’t about to take any of the woman’s sly teasing. “I’m waiting on a call from the FBI,” he called as he entered his office and held the door for Amelie. “Patch it through when it comes, Marjorie.”
“Will do, boss.”
He closed the door, and Amelie took the food bag to set their meals out on his desk. “Do I get the grand tour?” she asked.
“Uh, sure, but this old station house is the least interesting place in the whole town.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Marjorie’s Christmas decorations certainly do brighten up the outer office.”
“They stay up until Valentine’s Day, and then we have hearts until St. Patrick’s and—it’s never boring out in reception. Okay, then! Here’s the tour. This is my desk. This is my computer. This is me. That’s my deer rack collection.” He pointed to the two racks, each more than sixteen points, hanging on the far wall. And next to it hung... “And that is the calendar the print shop in the next town makes of local heroes—they donate profits to the Camp Ripley charity.”
“Is that man standing beside a real wolf?” Amelie bent to study closely the calendar hung from a bent two-inch roofing nail. It featured a sexy, bare-chested man with dark hair and a six pack that competed with his incredible dimples.
“Yep, that’s my brother Joseph. They call him the Wolf Whisperer. I told you he works for the DNR and has an intimate connection to nature, wolves especially.”
“I love wolves. They have such a history. Have you heard of the Beast of Gévaudan in France?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s an eighteenth-century werewolf legend.”
Jason chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint, but there are no werewolves here in Minnesota. You like that kind of stuff?”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Werewolves and vampires and all that weird nonsense?”
She cast him a flutter of lash. “I wouldn’t chase a sexy vampire out of my bed.”
“Yikes. You women and your...weird fascination for all things...weird. I don’t understand why having some fang-toothed monster gnawing on your neck is supposed to be romantic.”
“Well, I’m not much for being gnawed myself. Are you on a month?” She flipped up a couple pages of the calendar.
“I was in last year’s edition.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
This time she took him in from head to just there below his belt. Heh. Was the man blushing?
“I’ll have to see about finding a copy,” she said. “Especially since beefcake is another of my interests.”
“I think my mom has ten. Or a hundred. So that’s it. My office,” he said. “Pretty exciting, eh?”
“I like it all. Quaint, but underneath it all I’m sure there’s a vibrant and busy law enforcement team ready and willing to protect its citizens.”
“Always.” Jason thrust back his shoulders. “Now let’s eat and then get to work.”
* * *
“IS THE FOOD that terrible?”
Jason’s voice summoned Amelie from thoughts that were far too deep for what should be a pleasant lunch. Forcing on a smile, she shook her head. “It’s too good. I could get used to this home-style cooking. And that’s the problem.”
“I’ve never had a problem with a turkey and gravy sandwich.”
“I can see why. It’s...mmm...so good.”
Jason leaned forward and caught his cheek in a palm. “Could a turkey sandwich entice you to stay in Frost Falls longer than you’d planned?”
“My gut answer? Yes.” Amelie squeezed her eyes shut. Had she just said that? And the reason it had come out so easily was because there was an excellent incentive for sticking around: freckles and a sexy smile. But. “But I didn’t have a planned end date for this stay. And I’m not sure I can survive this place much longer.”
“You’ve been cooped up in that cabin for weeks. Anyone would go loony bin. You should give some consideration to sticking around awhile. Let me show you how to enjoy a Minnesota winter.”
She ran her tongue along her upper lip. Not an offer any sane woman would refuse. “Don’t you have a girlfriend, Jason?”
He winked at her. “Does it look like it?”
“No. But that makes me wonder why.”
He crimped a brow.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said on a teasing tone.
“Not a lot of young, single women here in Frost Falls. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Isn’t the Saturday-night stripper single?”
He shook his head and chuckled softly. “What about you? Is there a boyfriend back home in France?”
“There isn’t.”
“Yeah? So what’s wrong with you?”
“I work too much and have no social life. But no cats yet.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“So now—” she leaned in closer over her takeout container “—the burning question.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you interested in me, Jason?”
“Hell, yes.”
“I like a man who knows what he wants.” She sat back, pleased with that quick and confident answer.
The intercom buzzed, and Marjorie said, “Ryan Bay is on his way.”
“Thanks, Marjorie. Bay is with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. He’ll want to talk to you,” he said to Amelie.
“Sure. Standard procedure.”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Nothing except attract a hit man to Frost Falls.”
“Is that an accusation? I’m not sure I care for that.”
“Sorry. It’s not your fault.” He set down his sandwich and leaned forward. “Why would someone take out a hit man?”
“Mafia, right?”
“He was a hired gun. Connected to local mafia. And now he’s dead,” Jason said.
“You said the vehicle was stuck in the ditch. Was it forced off the road?”
“Yes. There was a dent on the bumper and tire tracks indicating that. But the driver wasn’t dead when he hit the ditch. Maybe? I initially assumed carbon-monoxide inhalation. Happens in these parts during the winter months. Car slides off an icy road, gets half-buried in the snow. The driver takes the safe route of not venturing out
in a blizzard and doesn’t know the safety precautions for staying in a vehicle when trapped in the cold. Gotta remember to check the exhaust pipe if you’re letting the engine run to stay warm. Doesn’t take long for carbon monoxide to enter the brain and lull the person to sleep. For good.”
He pulled off the plastic cover from the coffee cup and sipped. “But the medical examiner spotted signs of poison.”
“Poison? Why would someone take out the person who was supposed to kill me?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”
She detected an accusing tone and didn’t like it one bit. Sitting up straight, Amelie took another bite of her sandwich.
“You don’t trust me?” she asked.
“I really want to.” He challenged her with a steady gaze. Damn, those freckles would be her undoing. “But I know very little.”
“I know even less. I’m as confused about all this as you are.”
“Every thought I have about this case leads me back to Jacques Patron.”
“But he’s...” She paused. No confirmation of his death had been given. As far as she knew, he could be AWOL. Could he be a double agent?
“Did you have a chance to write out the list while at my place this morning?” he asked.
“No, I’m sorry, the hot shower seduced me.”
She caught his appreciative nod with a subtle lift of brow.
“I intend to get to that as soon as we’re done here,” she said. “Promise. I want to help you. And if there is someone wandering Frost Falls who is so dangerous as to defeat a hit man, then...” She set down the last corner of the sandwich and tucked her shaking hands between her legs. “I’m a little scared.”
“Don’t be. I will protect you, Yvette. Amelie.”
“I know you will.” She stood and gathered her container and plastic utensils and put them in the bag they’d come in.
She turned and wandered toward the window overlooking Main Street, trailing her fingers along the scuffed sill. “I suppose a town this size doesn’t see hit men all that often.”
“You better believe we don’t.” He tossed his things in the bag and joined her.
His presence softened her fears. Standing so close to him, she felt lighter, safer.
“Thank you for what you’ve done for me, Jason.” Her gaze met his, and her lips parted softly. “I mean, Chief Cash.”
Heartbeats thundered as memories of their kisses resurfaced. She moved closer so their legs touched. “You kissed me yesterday at the cabin. A girl might expect another...”
“Nothing wrong with a kiss. And if I recall correctly, you were the one to initiate the kiss on the—”
She kissed him quickly, pleased at his surprised response as his open arms slowly and assuredly wrapped around her back. He felt right pressed against her.
His fiery kiss quickly melted the ice that had taken up under her skin like permafrost since moving to Frost Falls.
She giggled.
Jason pressed a finger to her mouth. “Quiet. These walls are as thin as paper. Marjorie will hear.”
“That’s all right!” Marjorie called out from the other room. “I’m happy you finally have someone to kiss, Chief Cash!”
Amelie gaped, then muffled another giggle.
Jason raised a brow as if to silently say, “See?”
Amelie’s cell phone rang, then immediately buzzed, indicating the caller sent a text message instead of waiting for her to answer. She stared at the screen ID and blinked. Her heartbeat thundered. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.
“What is it?” Jason asked.
“It’s a message.”
“Yeah?”
She turned the phone toward Jason. “It’s from Jacques Patron.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I thought he was dead.” Jason took Yvette’s phone from her and read the message to himself: You there?
“I should text him back.” She reached for the phone, but Jason clasped his fingers about it. “Jason?”
“I’m not sure about this. I know what I heard on that message. It was a gunshot.”
“That doesn’t mean anyone was harmed or even died.”
“True. But the guy hasn’t contacted you since you arrived—what—two weeks ago? And now he does only after the hit man has failed? This doesn’t feel right.”
“You think that’s a text from someone else? Using Jacques’s phone?”
“Not sure. I want to do a trace on this text.”
“I thought your dispatch came up with nothing on the first trace to your phone?”
“She did, but it’s worth another try. Can I take this with me?”
She was beautiful when she was thinking. Bright blue eyes unfocused and head tilted slightly down.
She nodded. “Okay. I don’t have any important information on it. Just a few calls to the grocery store and, of course, to Interpol in Lyon. I’ll write down my password.” She grabbed a napkin, and Jason pulled a pen out from his inside coat pocket so she could write it down.
He took the napkin and wrapped it once about the phone then slipped that and the pen into his pocket. “Just to be safe. If he’s alive, that’s good, right?”
“But if he is, don’t you think I should return his call soon?”
“Let me answer with a different question. If you don’t return his call, will the man think you’re dead? And more important—will believing you are dead please him?”
She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Thinking again. Which was exactly what he needed her to do. Everything about this situation seemed to point the compass toward France, and Yvette’s boss.
“I’m not stupid,” she said. “It could very well be as you suspect. I’ll wait until you can track the origin of the text. If it came from Jacques’s phone...”
“Interpol wouldn’t confirm Patron’s death. If they don’t know what Patron is up to, they could have begun an investigation of their own. Which means it’s possible they don’t know where you are. Patron hasn’t told anyone. That doesn’t sound like standard procedure when an agent goes dark. At the very least, it’s noted and the director would know, yes?”
Yvette nodded. “You’re right, I don’t know Jacques as well as I think I do. And I have a list I need to get out of my head. Once again.”
“It could be key to solving this case,” Jason said.
* * *
AMELIE SETTLED ONTO the chair behind the police chief’s desk with a blank sheet of paper before her.
Jason breezed back in from reception, tucking away his cell phone in a coat pocket. “You going to be okay for half an hour by yourself?” he asked, zipping up his coat. “Alex and I are meeting Bay to go over the medical examination on Charley’s body.”
He wandered over and stood beside the chair. He smelled like fresh, clean air. His overwhelming presence lulled her into a swoony smile.
“I will be with Marjorie standing guard out in reception,” she teased. “This shouldn’t take too long. What will I do when I’ve finished?”
“If I’m not back, you can...” He looked around the office, then opened the bottom desk drawer to reveal the contents. “I’ve got provisions. Snacks and Sudoku. Marjorie will talk your head off it you let her, and she’s got a lot of work to do this afternoon. Think she’s going to head downstairs and do a little cleaning in the cells, too.”
“I won’t bother her. Sudoku, eh?”
“For stakeouts.”
She lifted a brow in wonder.
“Eh.” He shrugged. “I might get to use that book someday. There’s always hope.”
He leaned over, and when Amelie sensed he was going to kiss her on the top of the head, she quickly tilted her head to catch that morsel against her mouth. He didn’t hesitate, finding their connection like a pro. The man pushed his
fingers up through the back of her hair, holding her gently. He tasted like all the things she needed right now. Safety, connection, intimacy.
Releasing a tiny moan as his kiss deepened in exploration, Amelie twisted and moved up onto her knees. She spread her hands up the front of his coat, wishing it were anything but the thick black waterproof fabric. Like bare, hot skin. Could a girl get a little taste of that?
Sliding down her hands, she felt the hard shape of his gun hugging his ribs, and then, at the bottom of his coat, she pushed her fingers up underneath it. The Kevlar vest he wore was solid, but thin. His flannel shirt hugged the top of his jeans and...oh yes, there.
He smiled against her mouth, then with a glance toward the closed door, turned and whispered, “You doing some investigation work of your own?”
“I am. And I found what I was looking for.” Hot, bare skin. Tight, hard abs. A dangerous tease. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“You make me wish the same thing.” He nuzzled his forehead against hers. “I’d take you along with me, but this is police business and...”
“I get it. I’m not an investigating officer.” Amelie took in his scent, his skin, his breath. The moment was so intimate, yet in the background lurked calamity.
With a quick kiss to her mouth, he said, “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” he asked.
“I never flirt.”
“You always mean business. I got that about you.” He kissed her again, taking the time to make it linger as he swept his tongue against hers and tasted her deeply. Then he swore softly against her mouth, nodded and stood up. “If I don’t leave now...”
“I get it. I feel the same. Things are going to happen between us.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Go,” she said. “I’ll write out the list. Then we’ll...see what happens next.”
He strode to the door, pulling a knit cap over his head. “See you soon!”
She waited and waved as he passed before the front window and strode down Main Street. The man couldn’t return to her fast enough. Because he had started a fire inside her, and she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him until all his clothes were stripped away and that investigation practice turned into real-time experience.
