Wed To A Stranger?

by Jule McBride

  She realized her own hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the knuckles were white. Had she gone mad? Had she lived a whole life that she’d forgotten about? A life with Nathan Lafarge?

  Frank Laramy stood in front of her. “The documents he’s offered prove he is your husband. And he says he’s been hanging around your place, trying to patch things up. My guess is you’re just too angry about his desertion to admit it….”

  Nathan shifted in his chair. “We really were together the night of the murder.”

  The sheriff stared at Nathan a long time. “Given how badly she needs an alibi, I expect she would have mentioned that by now.”

  Nathan sighed. “She’s so mad, she’d rather be in jail than with me.” He turned to her. “C’mon, honey, tell everybody the truth.”

  His voice was as soft as silk—and probably just as slippery. Fritzi stared at him hard, thinking he looked like a man with secrets, but not like a murderer. As much as she wanted to deny he’d been in her house, the documents he’d stolen proved he had been. And yet he’d brought no real harm to her or Malcolm.

  His eyes were locked into hers now. They said she’d be a fool not to say they’d been together. Outside, the blizzard had become a near whiteout. And just looking through the window, into the desolate darkness, Fritzi realized she’d rather do anything than be separated from her baby for another night. All she had to do was lie and say this stranger was her husband—and then Malcolm would be in her arms and she’d be headed back to Hannah’s.

  She could start trying to find out why David’s ID was on that dead man’s body, and how her father’s hunting knife came to be used as a murder weapon. Maybe she could find David, too. Every last person on the face of the earth might think she was lying, but Fritzi would never stop believing in David or his love. She still felt her husband here, closer than ever in the Alaskan wilds.

  “Fritzi—” Frank’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The sheriff’s just agreed to drop the charge against you if you’ll just corroborate your husband’s story.”

  Go along with it, she thought. Just so you can get out of here. As soon as she made it outside, she’d bolt. Fritzi stared right at the sheriff. “My—” She swallowed hard. “My husband, Nathan, is telling the truth.”

  Joe Tanook didn’t look convinced. “You were with him all night?”

  She nodded. “All night.”

  The sheriff glanced at Frank. “I still have a murder weapon that belongs to her.”

  Frank nodded. “I know, but I’m sure there’s an explanation. You definitely don’t have enough to win a court case. I think we’d better suspend her from teaching and release her into her husband’s care.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nathan said helpfully.

  Frank nodded. “Good. And we can definitely reach you at Hannah’s now if we need you, is that right?”

  “Right.”

  Like hell they could, Fritzi thought in shock as people began to rise and fold their chairs. This stranger wasn’t coming anywhere near her—or Hannah’s. “This man can’t possibly stay with me,” she said.

  But only Nathan Lafarge heard. And he leaned close, his breath against her ear making her shiver as he whispered, “You wanna bet, sweetheart?”

  Chapter Four

  Dangling the key, Nathan nodded toward Hannah’s truck. “Get in.”

  When Fritzi didn’t move, he leaned against the driver’s door with feigned casualness. Already, he’d informed her that he wasn’t going to answer any questions. Now she was toeing the curb—blinking her panic-stricken eyes against the blinding snow, gripping the folded stroller with one hand and clutching the bundled baby to her chest with the other. Turning, she glanced wildly behind her, toward the crowd leaving the detention center. Did she really think some kind townspeople would come to her aid? Fat chance, Nathan thought. Nobody’s going to rescue you.

  Fritzi’s voice shook. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before my son and I go anywhere with you.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Well, it is cold.”

  If it’s still day. It was hard to tell. It was dark, snowy and frigid—below zero with biting, blustering winds. Everything in Fritzi’s eyes said she knew she couldn’t stay out in this weather very long, not with an infant. Alaskan cold was the kind of cold people died in.

  Nathan’s dark, dispassionate gaze flicked over her. Already her teeth were chattering, and, by turns, her exposed facial skin was bright red or translucent white. She could have used a snowsuit, not the slacks Abby had brought her. She wore no hat.

  “Get in.”

  “No way.” Her hard blue eyes glittered, and her shallow breaths fogged the air. “Where did you get the keys to Hannah’s truck?”

  “Where do you think?”

  Her eyes got as round as saucers—a shocked blue in her china-white skin. He knew she was imagining him in the house, going through all her belongings, looking for the keys. He considered telling her he’d slept rather comfortably last night in that big old brass bed—her bed. Hell, she’d been in jail, so why waste a good, firm mattress?

  She abruptly broke their gaze, wind whipping her dark red hair against her face as she turned sharply away from him. Caught in the glare of passing headlights, her eyes seemed to mutely beg that last passing car to stop and help her. But it continued on down Main Street. Then all the lights inside the detention center suddenly snapped out.

  Because Nathan was trying to keep the edge from his voice, it came out bored, laconic. “I sure don’t see many cabs out here. If you try to walk anywhere, you’ll freeze and die. So will your kid.”

  With that, he wrenched the folded stroller from her grasp. Swinging open the truck door, he climbed into the driver’s seat, then slammed the door and cranked down the window. Freezing air gusted through the interior, swirling wet snow. “Now, get in,” he growled. “I won’t say it again.”

  Nor would he give into what she did to him. Staring down at her from the truck cab, he remembered the smell of her sheets last night—like grass in a spring rain. He remembered other things, too. How vulnerable she looked when she slept. The tremors of her velvet lips that night he’d kissed her in her bedroom.

  Now she was clutching the baby, jerking her head up and down the nearly deserted street. Damn. Nathan suddenly realized the last person he wanted to see was approaching—the sheriff. Just as Nathan turned the key in the ignition and snapped on the headlights, the sheriff stopped at the curb.

  “Is there some trouble here?” he asked.

  Nathan shook his head. “No.”

  In the headlights, Sheriff Tanook’s elongated shadow seemed to stretch endlessly over the darkened snow. He glanced at Fritzi, who held the baby as if she were a wild animal protecting a cub. “Sure there’s no trouble?”

  Nathan shook his head again. “I said no.”

  “Just for the record—” The sheriff shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his red parka. “I think you two know more than you’re telling about that dead man in my river. Right now, Frank Laramy says I don’t have a case, but I won’t stop investigating until I do.”

  Fritzi’s voice turned hard. “You’ve been a real help to me since yesterday, sheriff. And just for the record, I don’t think you could solve a crime if you committed it yourself.”

  The sheriff ignored the remark. He stepped forward and, with black eyes that looked razor sharp in his leathery face, he glanced suspiciously over the truck’s interior. Then he stepped back again. “I’m watching you,” he warned, his breath fogging the air. “Both of you.”

  Pivoting, he strode into the darkness. In spite of the exchange, Fritzi stared after him as if her last friend was abandoning her. Nathan guessed she’d like nothing more than to take back that lie about him being her husband. But then, of course, she’d lose her alibi for murder.

  Wordlessly she circled the truck. The dome light snapped on as she got in, then she slammed the door, thrusting them back into darkness. Without looking at Nathan
, she strapped the baby into his car seat.

  Good. Nathan guessed she was getting the picture now. She was stuck with him. Everyone in White Wolf Pass thought he was her husband. Of course, Joe Tanook was a better lawman than Fritzi assumed. He knew something was amiss—and that was too bad. Because not a damn thing about Nathan Lafarge would hold up to scrutiny.

  Training his gaze through the windshield, Nathan flicked on the wipers and pulled out. The roads were barely passable, even with the four-wheel drive, so he tried to concentrate on the road, not the silent mother and child next to him. Still, the truck felt suddenly cramped, way too small for the three of them.

  When the heat kicked in, steamy fog coated the windshield, making the truck feel more enclosed. It was so claustrophobic that Nathan could barely breathe. Reaching into his parka pocket for his one black glove—he’d lost the other somewhere—he rubbed a small circular patch in the fog so he could see. Then he flicked on the defroster.

  Just do what you have to do here and get out, he thought. Just ignore her and the baby.

  He had to.

  Anything else would be dangerous.

  Too bad he’d already failed—held her trembling body in the dark and reveled in her heat. Now he could feel those damnable blue eyes dropping over him. Without even looking, he knew that white snow still glistened like diamonds in her russet hair.

  They were halfway up Hannah’s mountain before she snarled, “You killed that man.”

  “What man?” Nathan returned instinctively.

  Her voice stretched between them like a taut steel wire. “That man in the river.”

  Nathan said nothing.

  “Answer me.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to answer any questions.”

  “I said, answer me.”

  This time, he didn’t bother. Instead, he kept staring at the dangerously curving mountain road, into snow that fell in sheets like a heavy rain. In spite of the near whiteout, he could see the No Name River on his left in the bleak darkness—the large ice floes and the churning blue ice farther downstream, the gray steel of the bridge, the crane that had lifted up the dead man….

  Abruptly, Nathan looked away.

  “You killed him!” Fritzi accused.

  She sounded terrified. Nathan just hoped she didn’t begin to suspect that he could answer her questions about David Frayne. Not that he would. She could beg him forever with those baby blue eyes, but he wouldn’t tell her a blessed thing.

  “Look,” he ground out roughly, “I’m not gonna hurt you or…your son.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

  Her acid tone made him want to pull over and make her hurt the way he did. Unbidden, he imagined taking her in the storm as he had in her bedroom, crushing his mouth against hers until her lips were bruised and swollen. He’d been watching her for days, and now she was so close. Shifting uncomfortably on the seat, he suddenly wished he was miles away—or that she was.

  When she spoke again, her tone was fierce. “You were in my house.”

  It was a statement, not a question. And the very least of his transgressions, he decided. He started to say he’d been in her house many times—in her drawers, her cabinets. And of course, her bed. Instead, his grip tightened on the wheel and he stared at the dark sky and icy road, ignoring her beautiful face and those imploring eyes. One wrong move or word or breath and he’d be sorely tempted to give her an earful about David Frayne. She was that beautiful. One look, and he wanted to deny her nothing—not even the deadly truth. Just ignore her. There’s no real need to talk.

  “Why have you been breaking into my house?” she wailed.

  Nathan couldn’t help but shoot her a withering glance. “You didn’t seem to mind at least one of my visits all that much.”

  “So, it was you!” She sounded ill. “I thought you were my husband!”

  That was rich. “You had no reason to believe I was anyone you knew.”

  “I did!”

  His humorless chuckle was a warning. Just remembering how she’d clung to him without even seeing his face made him feel murderous. “So I guess you were none too faithful to old David,” he said. “If there ever was a David. In fact, you opened yourself up quite nicely to an intruder in your home.”

  That silenced her. One of her trembling hands closed over Malcolm’s forearm, the other curled into a fist that she pressed against her lips.

  There was a long silence.

  When she spoke again, her voice quivered like a reed in the wind. “You came into my home…assaulted me…”

  A cynical smile twisted his lips. “Assaulted?”

  “You could be arrested.”

  He fixed her with his most potent stare. For a fleeting instant he could swear something raw and elemental passed from her to him. Then it vanished. But the traces remained. It was all there—in his dry mouth and clenched belly. In a heartbeat the air inside the truck became so thick and charged that a man could suffocate. He could suffocate. The strange circumstances of this ride no longer mattered, nor did right and wrong.

  All that mattered was that he was a man and she was a woman. He was sure she was as acutely, painfully aware of the dangerously explosive attraction as he. There was nowhere for her to run—or hide.

  “Assault,” he finally said softly, “implies you put up a fight.”

  Her fearful eyes darted to the windshield. Nathan suddenly realized her right hand was resting on the door handle, as if she was seriously considering jumping from the moving truck. He didn’t blame her. She couldn’t be more trapped if he were actually kidnapping her. The pulse was ticking visibly in her throat.

  “What do you want from me?” she said.

  To kiss you, to hold you, to watch you sleep forever. He didn’t answer. In the long silence, the quiet air filled with sounds—thumping wipers, tires inching on the icy pavement, the heater’s hum. Staring into the shadows, Nathan thought about bedding down with her tonight in the house—isolated and snowedin. He thought of the bearskin rug by the downstairs fireplace. His eyes slid toward hers. She was simply staring at him—her face ghostly in the dark. He could almost smell her fear.

  Her voice was thin now, strained. “Where did you get those pictures that were on my dresser top in Washington, D.C.?”

  Turning from the windshield, he stared at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. He could tell the gaze unsettled her. She doubted her own memory for a second. That’s how on-edge she is, he thought. It was a useful thing to know. “The pictures of us?”

  A shiver shook her shoulders. “They were of me and my husband.”

  He shrugged.

  She drew in a sharp, audible breath. Then a quick pant. She was more than afraid, she was getting hysterical. “Up ahead,” she said, “you’ll see a white frame house on the left. Drop me there.”

  “No. We’re going to Hannah’s.”

  “What do you know about Hannah?” Fritzi whirled in the seat, staring at him over the top of the baby’s head. “Hannah’s my friend. You can’t just appear out of nowhere, take her truck and move into her house.”

  “Funny, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  Her voice was strained to breaking. “I have to stop at Abby’s.”

  “What for?” Nathan asked as the house came into view.

  “When I went to the morgue, Malcolm stayed with Abby. His things are still there.”

  Nathan squinted through the windshield, considering. He couldn’t see ten feet in front of the truck, and in the sub-zero night, the snow was blowing into heavy drifts. No doubt, Fritzi wanted to bolt, but she wasn’t going anywhere in a blizzard. There was no escape. “Fine, I’ll stop.”

  He pulled in front of Abby’s, keeping the motor running for the heat. “Leave the baby in the truck,” he said as Fritzi swiftly unbuckled the safety seat.

  She didn’t even look at him. “You must be out of your mind.”

  His gaze flickered over her. He’d love to be ins
ide that pretty head of hers, to know what she was thinking. “You really believe I could hurt a baby?”

  Fritzi lifted Malcolm. “I have no idea who you are—or what you’re capable of.”

  “I said, leave the baby.” As Fritzi opened her door, the interior light snapped on and a gust of wind swept inside, blowing the hood of Nathan’s parka against his face. He watched Fritzi hop nervously out of the truck with Malcolm.

  “Leave my baby?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Not on your life.”

  “Speaking of lives,” Nathan couldn’t help but return, “I guess you owe me yours.”

  Looking relieved to be outside, Fritzi stared at him from the crack in the door. “Excuse me?”

  “Sweetheart, I gave you an alibi for murder.”

  She shot him a cold, assessing gaze. “Or did I give you one?” she said right before she slammed the door.

  “Touché,” Nathan whispered softly.

  As he watched her trudge through the snowdrifts, his gaze lingered on curves that even her bulky blue parka couldn’t hide. When she reached Abby’s porch, she turned and stared at the truck—and his breath caught.

  There it was again—that sudden, unexpected connection he felt with her, that unbreakable contact, that invisible current that ran between her body and soul and his. It was enough to melt every inch of snow between them. At least that’s what he thought. Did she feel it, too?

  A second later she vanished inside Abby’s. And for a very long time Nathan stared at the spot where she’d been—thinking about her and her palpable fear. And about the murders of Katie Darnell and Mo Dorman and Al Woods last year in Washington…

  Suddenly, something alerted Nathan’s senses and he glanced up—only to see a dark-clad figure in the distance, stark against the snow, skiing fast across the mountain.

  Damn. It was Fritzi. She’d left the baby with Abby and had borrowed a snowsuit and skis. She’d gone in the front door, then, right out the back. He hadn’t even thought of that.

  Not that Nathan blamed her for fleeing. After all, the night before last, when he’d left her house, he’d had a nasty encounter on the No Name Bridge.