Snowed In

by Cassie Miles

  He looked past her and saw the seemingly innocent object. Something that could be purchased in any department store. He knew exactly what it was. The design and color matched the backpack Franks had been carrying—the backpack filled with explosives.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sarah’s mind was working well enough for her to know that they were in mortal danger. The murderer who set the charge in the basement fuse box was up to the same trick with the backpack. Blake was already pulling her toward the staircase and away from the bomb.

  “Stop.” She dug in her heels. “We’ve found it in time. We can get rid of the damn thing before it does any damage.”

  “That’s a risk I’m not willing to take. Having the lights back on might spook the killer. He might be anxious to make his next move.”

  “He or she,” she said absently. Her gaze remained focused on the backpack. “If it explodes up here, it’s going to tear off a chunk of the roof. Do you know how expensive that is to repair?”

  “I’ll pay for it,” he offered. “Sarah, this is one of those times when you need to listen to me. I know about explosives. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “But this is my home. I can’t let it be destroyed.”

  “What’s more important? Your B and B or your life?”

  She shouldn’t have hesitated for a moment, but she did. Bentley’s had been in her family forever, she’d grown up here and she loved the place. The house had been the center of her world for a very long time. “My life, of course.”

  “You’re never going to leave this place, are you?”

  “Why would I?”

  “What if I asked you to move away with me?”

  This wasn’t the time for a discussion about whether he was more important than her home. Time was passing. She needed to take advantage of this chance to save her home.

  She went to one of the dormer windows that poked out from the side of the roof. On the third floor, she hadn’t replaced the old windows with the triple-pane glass she’d used in the rest of the house to keep in the warmth. The dormitory was always warm. In summer, it was hot, and she’d kept the old windows that fastened with a latch in the center and could be easily opened to let the fresh breezes in.

  Turning the center window latch required a bit of strength but she got it open and pulled the windows inside. There was a storm window that fastened on with screws, but she figured she could knock it out with the flat of her hand. She aimed for a screw on the left side and gave a hard smack. The storm window shuddered in its frame but didn’t budge. She hit again and again. Nothing moved. Outside the snow had piled high the window sill.

  Blake stood beside her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “If I get the storm window out of the way, I can throw the backpack out the window.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  As he punched at the side rails of the storm window, she looked down at the backpack. It wasn’t making a ticking noise or showing a digital countdown, but she felt the urgency. Could this decision cost her life? “Hurry, Blake.”

  He grabbed a wooden chair from behind one of the small desks and used the legs to batter the window. The glass shattered. Snow drifted over the sill and onto the floor. The storm burst inside with all its fury.

  She passed him the backpack. Leaning over the sill, he swung the pack by one of the straps and flung it as far as he could away from the house.

  He pulled back inside. With a struggle, he closed the window and fastened the center latch. It wasn’t fastened tightly; she could feel the cold air rushing through, but she’d fix the window later. She went toward him for a hug.

  He held her off. “You can’t always have everything your way, Sarah. There has to be give-and-take.”

  “Why are you angry?”

  “You just risked your life—and mine, as well—because you didn’t want your precious house to be damaged. You won’t compromise.”

  “But everything worked out.”

  “We’re not talking about end results. It’s the process.” There was a deep, resonant, serious tone to his voice. “I don’t have much experience with relationships. My life is changing. I’m thinking about settling down. Everything is different, and it seems like I’m taking all the risks while you sit on your throne and refuse to meet me halfway.”

  “On my throne?” She hated the princess accusation. “You’re not mad at me, Blake. You’re mad at yourself. You say you want to settle down. Is that really what you’re after?”

  “Yes.”

  His blue eyes were hard and unyielding. It occurred to her that she needed to tread lightly. She might lose him. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

  “You could change,” he suggested.

  “What if I don’t want to change?”

  “I’m glad I found out now,” he said. “Without compromise, we haven’t got a chance.”

  She’d heard this song and dance before. It was what men said before they left her. They couldn’t stand being around a strong woman. Or was she just a stubborn woman? There was a possibility that she was using her tough girl facade to protect herself. Vulnerability sucked, but she didn’t want to make a mistake with him. In just a few days, he had become too important to her. She needed to say something, but her mouth was frozen.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said. “I want to get this over with.”

  “Fine with me.”

  When Sarah turned toward the staircase, she saw her way was blocked by Honey Buxom. In her graceful hand, the belly dancer held an automatic handgun. She arched an eyebrow. “Lover’s spat?”

  “Nobody has used the L word,” Sarah said. With her emotions roiling, it took a moment to realize that she should be scared. Honey was the killer.

  “You threw my property out the window,” Honey said, “and that is very inconvenient.”

  “Are there other explosives planted in the house?” Blake asked.

  “No. We’ve reached the endgame more quickly than I expected. Did you find the body?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  “I suspected as much. When the senator joined our little group downstairs, I could tell that something was wrong. He hugged his wife a little too long and gazed at his daughter with too much fondness. When he took this gun out of his belt and set it on the table, I picked it up and slipped away.”

  “You came to the third floor to get the bomb,” Blake said. “What were you going to do with it?”

  “Figure it out. You military men are so clever.” She gestured with the barrel of her gun. “Hold your gun by two fingers and toss it over toward me. Don’t try anything or I will shoot Sarah.”

  Blake did as she asked. “What’s your real name?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “It’s humiliating to be taken down by a stripper named Honey Buxom.”

  “Halia,” she said. “I’m Afghani. Not a soldier or a terrorist, just a citizen.”

  “Hard to believe,” Blake said. “Franks was scared of you.”

  “He’s a rabbit, afraid of his own shadow.” She undulated toward them—dangerous in a beautiful, sensual way. “And Franks had dealings with one of my uncles, a gunrunner. That has nothing to do with me. I’m merely a woman with a broken heart and a broken life.”

  Sarah might have been sympathetic if Halia hadn’t been holding a gun on them and hadn’t stabbed Alvardo in the chest. “I have a question,” she said. “Why?”

  “The wedding, of course.”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m going to need more than that.”

  Halia came toward them, picking up Blake’s handgun on the way and tucking it into the waistband of her jeans. She went to the window they’d broken and looked out. “The storm hasn’t let up. I suppose we have time to talk.”


  She posed before the window as though she was performing a special show just for them. Sarah had known crazy people before but no one compared with this woman. Halia was disconnected from reality, dancing in her own strange world.

  She spoke in a musical voice. “General Hamilton ordered a strike on my village. It was the day my cousin, Salima, was getting married. She and her groom and three others in my family were killed. My mother and father were already gone. I had no one left but distant uncles. I would have died if I had not been blessed with sizable personal wealth.”

  “A princess,” Sarah said. “I should have known.”

  “I swore revenge,” Halia said, “and I was clever. I cultivated many friendships with Americans, including Lieutenant Alvardo. I think, perhaps, that he fell in love with me.”

  And she’d paid him back with a knife in the chest. Sarah swallowed her revulsion. She wanted to keep Halia talking until they found a way to disarm her. “You used him.”

  “In so many ways,” Halia said. “He put me in touch with someone who could arrange for my student visa to attend the University of Denver in International Studies. He thought he would turn me into an American girl, but I never forgot my burning hatred for the general. When I heard about the wedding, my mind was made up. I would destroy his son’s wedding, and leave the general alive to mourn for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “That’s why you wanted to kidnap Emily,” Sarah said. “To hurt General Hamilton.”

  “That would have been simple. I could have used her to lure her foolish fiancé and killed them both. When Franks failed in that attempt, I provided him with the explosive for another attack. Another failure.” Her dark eyes flashed with a light that was both beautiful and dangerous as she stared at Blake. “I was watching you the whole time, keeping my own surveillance away from your cameras.”

  “Did Alvardo know your plan?” Blake asked.

  “Of course not. He knew I was in the area and he called me every morning on his run. When he told me that he’d been put in charge of hiring a stripper for the bachelor party, I saw my way in.”

  Sarah remembered their spa treatments and Halia’s demonstration of belly dancing. “Why did you and Alvardo keep up the ruse?”

  “I convinced him that it would be fun. I would perform and then introduce myself to the general, who was a well-known figure in my country. Alvardo was happy to see me. He said he had a gift for me, and he expected me to display the gracious manners of my people.”

  “But that wasn’t your plan.”

  “I had to cut off communications and destroy the sat phone terminal,” she said. “Alvardo guessed my true intention when I sabotaged the fuses and caused the blackout. He confronted me.”

  “And you killed him,” Blake said.

  She bared her teeth in a cruel smile. “He didn’t understand that revenge requires blood.”

  “Speaking of blood,” Blake said, “how did you keep from getting his blood on your clothes?”

  “I changed and left the bloodstained clothes in my room.” With the gun, she gestured to the overhead lights. “Now that we’re no longer in the dark, you would have found me out quickly. I don’t have much time left.”

  “Surrender your weapon,” Blake said, “and we might be able to work out a deal.”

  “In an American prison?”

  “The explosive is gone, Halia. Your plan failed.”

  “You underestimate me.” She shot a glance toward Sarah. “They never think a woman is capable of taking revenge.”

  “You’ve made your point,” Sarah said. “There’s no reason to continue. You’re going to get hurt.”

  “Nothing could hurt more than losing my family, the people I love.” Her full lips peeled back in a sneer. “Use the walkie-talkie. Tell Jeremy and Emily to come up here. Tell them to come alone.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” Blake said. “Alvardo would have wanted you to know.”

  “What?”

  “This is the gift he brought for you.” Blake reached into his pocket and took out a silver ring. “It’s inscribed to ‘My Beloved Daughter, Salima.’”

  “My cousin!” Halia darted toward him, then stepped back against the window. “You think you’ll trick me to come closer. No, you won’t. Put the ring on the floor.”

  He hunkered down on the floor, set the ring on the hardwood surface and pushed it toward her. When Halia bent down to pick it up, Blake launched himself toward her. His shoulder connected with her upper chest, driving her backward. Together, they crashed against the window with the poorly fastened latch.

  The window flung open. Blake’s forward momentum thrust them both through the opening. Halia went all the way out. Blake hung halfway over the window ledge.

  With a cry, Sarah ran to help. The storm buffeted them. In seconds, they were wet. Halia had twisted around. She clung desperately to Blake’s arm and scrambled to find a foothold on the roof.

  Sarah reached for Halia’s other flailing arm. Bits of broken glass scratched through her clothes.

  When Halia caught her hand, Sarah turned to Blake. “What do we do?”

  “We could let go and wave goodbye as she slides down from the roof,” he said. “Or we could pull her inside and use her scarves as handcuffs. I’m guessing that Alvardo would want us to save her. I’ll bet he had some info on her in those files he was always carrying around.”

  “Pull,” she said.

  Together, they hauled Halia over the sill and into the room. When Blake tied her wrists behind her back, Sarah noticed that she was wearing the silver ring that had belonged to her cousin.

  Blake used the walkie-talkie to call Jeremy and the twins. When they arrived and took over with Halia, he offered a brief explanation and guided her down the staircase to the first floor. She whisked him down the hallway to her bedroom and closed the door.

  “That was close,” she said.

  “Let’s not do it again.”

  This wasn’t the best time to talk about their relationship, but there was something she had to tell him that couldn’t wait. “I can change,” she said. “I might be bullheaded, but I promise that I’m capable of change.”

  “I don’t want to force you.”

  “And I don’t want you to think it’ll be easy. I won’t jump through hoops for you, but I will compromise.”

  He slipped his arm around her. “Prove it.”

  Gazing into his deep blue eyes, she opened herself up. “I love you, Blake.”

  The words hung between them for a long moment before he kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, my princess.”

  * * *

  TWO WEEKS LATER on a white sand beach in Hawaii, Blake performed the ceremony for the delayed wedding of Jeremy Hamilton and Emily Layton. The whole family— including the senator and the general—met as friends.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Blake intoned. “Kiss her.”

  There were cheers all around while Ollie and the Dewdrops played a new original piece about being snowed in with no escape.

  After Jeremy had kissed the bride, Sarah walked along the edge of the waves with Blake. They’d been in Hawaii for three days, which seemed to be long enough for her to stop worrying about the B and B. She’d left it in the capable hands of her friend Carrie and the twins.

  They stood with their toes in the water, watching the rippling reflection of the Pacific sunset. She looked up at him and grinned. “Thanks for making me come here.”

  “Compromise can be fun,” he said.

  “Not too many changes and not too fast.”

  They hadn’t been apart since the day they met, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle his deployment. He was scheduled to leave in two days and would be gone for nearly six months.


  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles before he dropped to one knee. Her eyes misted with tears when he opened the small black velvet box and showed her a big, sparkling blue diamond.

  “Your decision,” he said.

  She loved him, loved that he wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. Taking the ring, she slipped it on her finger. Under her breath, she whispered, “And the princess lived happily ever after...”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE by Cindi Myers.

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  Chapter One

  When the first gunshots sounded, Stacy Giardino ran toward them. Not because she was eager to face gunfire, but because her three-year-old son, Carlo, had been playing in the front of the house, where the shots seemed to be coming from. “Carlo!” she screamed, and tore down the hallway toward the massive great room, where the boy liked to run his toy cars over the hills and valleys of the leather furniture and pretend he was racing in the mountains.

  Men’s voices shouted over one another between bursts of gunfire. One of the family’s bodyguards ran past her, automatic weapon at the ready. Stacy barely registered his presence; she had to reach Carlo.

  The living room of the luxurious Colorado vacation home was a wreck of overturned furniture. Stuffing poured from the cushions of one of the massive leather armchairs and a heavy crystal old-fashioned glass lay on its side in the middle of the rug, ice cubes scattered around it like glittering dice. But whatever had happened here, the combatants had moved on; the room was deserted, and the tattoo of automatic weapons fire sounded from deeper within the interior of the mansion.