Storm Warning

by Michele Hauf

  She never wanted another daughter or son to know the loss of a parent. No matter their crimes.

  Jacques’s chuckle was unnerving. The man was unhinged. If he had been taking bribes and had sent a hit man after her, then he deserved to die. And yet, Amelie wanted him to pay for his crimes. Most importantly, for the innocent woman who had died by mistake, and for killing the woman lying on the floor behind her.

  “I’m waiting,” Jacques cajoled with a tormenting tease to his tone. “You can’t do it. You father would be very disappointed in you, Amelie. You couldn’t cut it as a field agent because you couldn’t pull the trigger. What makes you think you can do it now?”

  She didn’t want him to be right. But—what was wrong with her? All she had to do was pull the trigger. She had been an ace aim in training. She didn’t have to kill him. She could aim for his shoulder so he’d drop his weapon, and then send another bullet into his thigh to incapacitate him.

  Yes, she could do that. Maybe?

  Jacques shook his head and tutted as if she was a child. “Just like your mother. On her knees and unable to defend herself when the stakes were at their highest.”

  “My mother was assassinated,” Amelie yelled in English. She didn’t want to play nice with the man anymore. “Wait. How could you know she was on her knees?”

  Jacques’s smirk curdled Amelie’s blood.

  “No,” she said with a gasp. “You?”

  He shrugged and nodded, before saying in English, “She was a liability to your father’s work.”

  “You bastard!” The gun suddenly felt three times heavier. It slipped in her grasp.

  And Jacques chuckled. “You can’t pull the trigger!”

  “She doesn’t need to,” called out another male voice. “Because I can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The target turned toward Jason.

  Jason had heard him talking to Yvette. It was Jacques Patron. Very much alive. And that man intended to kill his own agent. He wasn’t sure if the woman on the floor was dead. Or what had gone down in the conversation that had all been in French, save the last few lines. But it all stopped now.

  He’d panicked when Yvette had not returned to the station. He’d raced to Olson’s Oasis, and Colette had said she’d seen her stop in at The Moose. There, the waitress had told him about the unfamiliar woman with the great hairstyle and how she’d followed Yvette into the bathroom. It had been easy enough to follow the trail of a woman’s boot prints—deeper in the fresh-fallen snow because she’d been carrying a load—and to the tracks that had led toward the south end of Frost Falls, where a string of abandoned shops and businesses had sat empty for years.

  As Patron raised his arm to fire off a shot, Jason squeezed the trigger. No waiting. No pausing to allow the villain his “this is why I did it” speech. Just take him out, efficiently and quickly. No foreign double agents to redirect his focus. But Patron was damn well going to live to answer for the crimes he had committed against his agency and Yvette.

  Jacques yelped and clutched his thigh with his gun hand. Not a direct hit on the femoral artery. Jason didn’t want him to bleed out. But a painful strike that should lodge in bone.

  Another shot landed in Patron’s shoulder. The bullet entering muscle and bone brought him to his knees. Still, he held the gun. And managed to fire. The shot went high, pinging a steel ceiling rafter.

  This time, Jason aimed, breathed in—and on his out breath he squeezed the trigger. The bullet pinged Patron’s gun, sending it flying from his grasp to land spinning on the floor six feet away.

  With the hostile disarmed, Jason ran forward and kicked the gun he’d wielded toward the wall. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Yvette struggle with the leather strap binding her wrist.

  He rushed to help her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Check Leslie. The woman on the floor. You didn’t kill him.”

  “Didn’t need to. Don’t want to.” Jason tugged out his cell phone and hit a speed-dial number. “Alex.”

  “Yes, Cash?”

  “You locate Bay?”

  “You betcha. We’re waiting for orders. The CIA agent is wondering where you’ve gotten to.”

  Jason had told the agent he had to run out to his truck for something and to make himself at home in his office. He could have used him for backup, but—hell, he’d needed to move, and fast.

  “I found the perp, Alex. Come to the old Reynolds Repair garage south of town.”

  “Will do, Cash.”

  Seeing the strap about Yvette’s wrist was actually a thin leather belt, Jason helped her get out of the clasp. She gripped his forearms as if to steady herself.

  “You sit,” he said. “Take the gun.” He nodded toward the pistol on the plank. “Keep an eye on Patron. Can you do that?”

  She nodded. She was flustered, but he had confidence she could hold a gun on her boss. Another bullet wasn’t required to subdue him. Yvette could maintain her innate need to not harm another human being. No matter what the man had done to her.

  Jason bent to inspect the woman on the floor. A bullet had nicked the side of her neck, and she was bleeding profusely. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “She’s alive.” He tugged out his phone again and dialed. “Alex, get an ambulance on the road as well. Call Ely. Bob Hagar drives the ambulance. He can navigate this storm like Rudolph through a whiteout.”

  “On it, Cash.”

  The woman had taken a bullet to her shin as well as the thigh. With some field triage, Jason could keep her stable. Shedding his coat, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it off. He needed to put pressure on her neck so she didn’t bleed out.

  The woman’s eyes fluttered. Briefly focusing on his bare skin, she said, “Nice.”

  With a smirk and a shiver now that his bared chest had taken on the chill, Jason pressed the shirt against her neck.

  Over his shoulder, he saw Patron topple in a faint.

  Yvette took that cue to join Jason’s side. “Is she going to be okay? Her name is Leslie Cassel.”

  “Should be. Did she kidnap you?”

  “Yes, but she’s on my side. Interpol has been following Jacques for weeks. They needed the information in my brain to implicate him for taking bribes from a gunrunning operation moving through Lake Superior.”

  “Figured it was something like payouts,” he said to Yvette. “Might have been his reason for sending you here. He had contacts in the area. Minnesota mafia.”

  “It makes too much sense now. And Interpol didn’t call me in because they must have had no idea where to find me until recently. Jacques kept my location a secret.”

  She blew out a breath, and her body tilted against his. She was exhausted and probably didn’t realize she’d leaned on him. Jason hugged her about the waist and bowed his head to hers. The moment was bittersweet, but he intended to remember only the sweetness of her body against his. “I couldn’t pull the trigger, Jason.”

  “Because you’re a good person, Amelie. Don’t feel bad for that.”

  “But it’s my job.”

  “It was your job. Now your job is to make sure Jacques Patron pays for his crimes.”

  “I can do that. I will do that. Now tell me how to help. Unless it involves getting half-naked?”

  He chuckled and pulled on his coat and zipped it up. “That was a good shirt,” he said. He switched positions with her, leaving her to triage. “Watch her. I’m going to take care of Patron.”

  He cuffed the man, who struggled, despite what had to be painful injuries.

  “Got ’em,” Jason said, feeling satisfaction for a job well done. “And without the CIA’s interference.”

  They would assume control of the case from here. And take credit for it all.

  Didn’t matter. Jason had gotten to Amelie before Patron could harm her. He
wished he could have found her sooner, so he could have protected Leslie. This case had gotten him scrambling, and all had ended well.

  With the suspect in hand.

  “You saved me,” she said from across the room. “I knew you would.”

  Jason caught her smile. It made the stormy day feel like springtime.

  Epilogue

  Days later...

  Jason and Amelie stood beside the hospital bed where Leslie Cassel lay, recovering from the gunshot wounds. The damage had landed within centimeters of her artery, but fortune had not wanted her to die. She was eager to return to France and her job as soon as she could.

  “I apologize for jumping the gun,” she said to Amelie.

  “I don’t understand.” Amelie moved closer while Jason clasped her hand. He’d taken to holding her hand lately. A lot. And she loved every single clasp.

  “I won’t apologize for kidnapping you. That was part of the job.” Leslie smirked. “You know how we need to be covert for the integrity of an operation. But I should have waited. Lund was in jail...” She gave Jason a sharp glance.

  Jason put up his hands. “I had no idea the guy was Interpol until a few hours before you took off with Yvette. Amelie.” He gave her a wink. “I suspected he was another inept hit man. And really, for a trained agent, he should have known how to handle a snowmobile much better. I saved him from a plunge over a frozen falls.”

  “He told me that.” Leslie smiled. Rutger Lund had been released immediately after Interpol had verified their agents had been sent to Frost Falls to extract the information from Amelie so they could make the case on Patron. He’d stopped in to visit Leslie before flying out of the country. “But I panicked. It was supposed to be a two-man operation. Pick up Amelie Desauliniers. Extract the information from her head. Send her to a safe house. We couldn’t let you know we were from Interpol, Amelie, because we weren’t sure if you were colluding with Patron.”

  “How did you finally decide I was not?”

  “I didn’t know for sure until the moment he faced you down in the repair shop.”

  “Nothing like coming down to the wire,” Jason said. “Patron has been arrested.”

  “Yes, that’s good,” Leslie said. “But we never did get the information. And I’m sorry, Amelie, that things could have gone so wrong in that garage when Patron showed up. I thought I could handle it myself, but I needed backup.”

  “Apology accepted,” Amelie said. “I know what it’s like in the field and second-guessing your own judgment.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a piece of notebook paper to hand to Leslie. “Here’s the list you wanted. But don’t worry. I’ve already sent copies to the director at Interpol. Enough damning evidence to prove Jacques Patron was taking bribes from a gunrunner connected to the Minnesota mafia. And we’ve recovered the links from the original email, which lead to CCTV videos showing the handoffs in various major European cities.”

  Leslie folded the paper and closed her eyes. Pale winter sunlight beamed across her face. “Thank you. Are you going to be all right?”

  Amelie nodded noncommittally. “I’ve already spoken to the director about the incident and have been debriefed. It’s been suggested I remain in data tech, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Don’t let this scare you away,” Leslie said. “You joined this organization for a purpose, yes?”

  “I did. But that purpose may have been misdirected. It might have been more of a fearful reaction to a past event that made me follow in my father’s footsteps. I’m going to give returning to Interpol some thought.” Amelie looked to Jason, who squeezed her hand.

  And Leslie also looked to Jason before smiling at Amelie. “I get it. This weather sucks. But the scenery...” She shook her head appreciatively. “I hear there’s a calendar a girl should look at?”

  “I think I know where to find you a copy,” Amelie said. “We’ll leave you to rest.”

  The twosome left as health services wheeled in a savory-smelling lunch. As they entered the chill outside air and walked toward Jason’s truck, Amelie felt that what she’d told Leslie was the truth. She did need time to think about the job she’d always thought was the right fit for her. But it wasn’t anymore. She had a misbalanced pros and cons list to prove that.

  She’d been granted another week’s leave before she was expected to report for duty. And she’d take it.

  Jason opened the passenger door for her and helped her up inside his truck. Once seated, she reached for the door, but instead, Jason stepped up onto the side runner and leaned inside the cab to kiss her.

  Even with the wind brisking her cheeks and bare hands with an icy chill, the heat they generated when their lips touched warmed her whole body. Amelie pulled him closer, and he leaned inside, reaching to embrace her about the waist as he deepened the kiss.

  Leaving this man would be a challenge. But who said it had to happen right away? Or even... Dare she consider it?

  When he broke the kiss, Jason bowed his forehead to hers, and for a while they simply shared the intense silence. Finally, he said, “Amelie. I love that name. I’ll never forget that name.”

  Her heart did a flip-flop.

  “I know you don’t belong here,” he said. “But maybe you could stay awhile longer?”

  He wanted her to stay? Yes! “I do have a week leave. What if I extended my vacation here?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I’ve been changed by my service with Interpol, Jason. I need to think of what it is I really want. Am I doing it because my parents were in it? Was it a fearful reaction to watching my mother get killed?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Questions that only you can answer.”

  “What about you? Is the station still closing?”

  “Probably. The CIA tossed me a freebie, though, and didn’t step in on the case as I suspected they would. I got the credit for this one. And the sheriff’s department called me this morning to offer me a position in Ely. I’m considering it.”

  “Is Ely another small town like this one?”

  “A bit bigger.” Seeing her frown, he added encouragingly, “They’ve got tourist attractions. And the wolf center.”

  “Wow. Exciting times abound here. But still cold, right?”

  “Still cold.” He leaned in, nuzzling a kiss at the base of her ear, then whispered, “If you stay awhile longer, I’ll keep you warm.”

  “That’s an offer I won’t refuse.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Hidden Identity by Alice Sharpe.

  Hidden Identity

  by Alice Sharpe

  Chapter One

  It squatted on the tarmac like a bloated dragonfly, a little bigger and a lot older than she’d expected. Painted a drab green with half a dozen random splashes of other colors, it had obviously been in service for decades.

  Chelsea had never flown in a helicopter before. She would have thought the stress of the past few weeks might have left her too worn-out for nerves, but nope, turned out that wasn’t the case. She held the bouquet of roses closer to her body and approached a man she took to be the pilot, who, wrench in hand, was peering into the open engine compartment. Was that a bad omen?

  He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and broke into a welcoming grin. “You must be Ms. Pierce,” he said as he closed the cover and secured it.

  “Chelsea, please. And you’re Mr. Black?”

  “Heck, call me Bobby. Everyone does except my ex-wife and you don’t want to know the words she uses.” He tucked the wrench into his pocket, stuck out his hand, apparently noticed all the grease smudges and plucked a rag from his belt instead. Tall and rangy with a touch of gray in his hair, it was impossible not to hear the lingering drawl of Texas in his voice. Chelsea opened her purse and withdrew the requested money order, made out for the amount he�
�d specified. It was a lot of money for her, and now, as she peered over his shoulder at the aging chopper, she second-guessed her decision to hire him.

  Really, would that thing fly? Was it safe?

  He apparently sensed her hesitation. “Don’t underestimate old Gertie,” he said, patting the drab metal. “She’s been around, sure—heck, so have I—but we’re both fit as a fiddle. I have our route mapped out. I’ll get close enough to drop those roses.” His gaze darted from the flowers to the money order.

  For a second, she contemplated walking away but her peace of mind was at stake and that was no small matter.

  Chelsea had found this guy on the internet—he was the only one she could afford—and had spoken to him on the phone. She’d outlined her plan and been assured it was a piece of easy-peasy pie. Then she’d asked her sister, Lindy, to run the food truck for a few days and driven from San Francisco toward Nevada, spent the night in a motel where the cockroaches were bigger than her shoes, counted out fifty dollars for flowers and allowed her heart to embrace the possibility of closure.

  And now she was going to give up because the helicopter looked a little...tired?

  Steven’s face floated through her mind. Gray eyes that ranged in shade from hazy morning dawn to early evening twilight, lips that caused her heart to flutter, a killer body topped off by a soul as deep as the sea. With him, she’d embraced the concept of forever. And now he was gone.

  How did a relationship that lasted only a few weeks produce such profound fallout including so many unanswered questions? Police found evidence of a struggle and gunshots in his empty house but no victims. She’d been frantic at first, then informed by various “officials” that Steven had driven to a small out-of-town airport, retrieved his plane and flown away.

  Flown away? He had a plane? Where did he go? And why didn’t he take her with him?

  One of the officials, a fifty-year-old guy named Ballard, managed to insinuate Steven was not who he said he was and she was better off without him. She’d already guessed the first part, and she adamantly denied the latter, then told him to get out and not come back.