by Jule McBride
Now Sam wished he could quit obsessing on the case. But he was a detective—and a good one. Since Stan’s source was a mercenary and mercenaries often sent coded messages through newspapers, Sam figured David Frayne was a gun-for-hire.
But had Frayne definitely killed Katie Darnell, Mo Dorman and Al Woods? And if so, had he been working for someone else? Or himself?
Maybe the undercover surgical unit was used for plastic surgeries, which might explain why the murder victims were using aliases. Maybe David Frayne was a mercenary with a new face. And that sweet-looking young woman, Katie Darnell, had given him a new identity, with help from Mo Dorman and Al Woods.
Sam sighed, wondering if he was right. Had David Frayne killed them all because they knew who he really was?
Chapter Nine
“Even if Joe Tanook thinks I killed a man, he’s still a law officer,” Fritzi said as she took her last bite of chili. “I just can’t imagine him chasing me.”
“Maybe it was someone else.” Shifting Malcolm, who was sprawled on his chest, Nathan stared through the kitchen window. He could have sworn someone was out there. But now he saw nothing. Even the sliver of silver moon had vanished behind heavy, marbled, wind-tossed clouds that shifted shapes, looking like dragons and monsters.
Desperately trying to fight her growing anxiety, Fritzi had turned the kitchen lights up bright, laid the table with a cloth printed with wildflowers, and put golden oldies on the boom box. Now Nathan got up and shut the blinds tight against the frozen landscape.
Fritzi’s head jerked toward him in alarm. “Why are you shutting the blinds?”
Because with them open, we’re sitting ducks. Nathan shrugged. “I’m just sick of looking at all that snow and ice.”
Fritzi’s eyes said she knew better. “You think he came back. You think he’s out there, don’t you?”
“It’s possible.”
Fritzi nodded. Reaching across the table, she turned off the radio. “That way we can hear better,” she said in a near whisper.
Damn, Nathan thought. They really were under siege. The blizzard had returned full force and the phones were still down, so packing up Fritzi and Malcolm and leaving White Wolf Pass wasn’t even an option.
He leaned over, intending to put Malcolm in his high chair, but the fussy baby clung to him. Sighing, Nathan circled behind Fritzi and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Beneath his fingers, the worn denim of her blouse felt as soft as bare skin. He drew in a deep breath of her scent—soap and flowers and fresh spring rain. With it came the faint smell of wood smoke from the fire he’d built in the living room.
Gazing up at him, she looked scared. “I just wish J.J. had had parts for the shortwave radio.”
“Me, too, sweetheart.” When Nathan’s eyes traced over her bruised forehead, murderous anger welled within him. Either at the man who’d attacked her or himself—he wasn’t sure which. All Nathan knew was that he wanted to take back the whole last year of his life—he’d never have engineered his first meeting with Fritzi and never allowed himself to fall in love. If he’d stayed away from her, she’d be safe. Maybe she would have found the sort of husband she believed David Frayne to have been. A sweet, safe man who lived a world away from danger.
“Fritzi,” he said gently. When her eyes lifted to his, he could swear he’d never seen a blue more beautiful or true.
“What?”
“I need the gun.”
She swallowed hard. “I just…”
Don’t feel comfortable giving it to you. Nathan could hear her words as if she’d spoken them aloud. He nodded curtly. He needed to protect her, but he didn’t want to force her. Besides, he was in a kitchen full of knives. And if there was one weapon he’d had real luck with this week, it was a knife. He winced, pushing the scuffle on the No Name Bridge from his mind.
Suddenly, his posture stiffened. Keeping a steady hand on Malcolm’s back, Nathan headed toward the closed blinds.
Fritzi’s voice cracked. “What is it?”
He shook his head and flicked off the light. Lifting the slat of a blind, he waited. After a moment Fritzi came up behind him. Feeling nothing more than her soft body pressing against his back made Nathan’s suppressed fury threaten to surface. He’d love to get his bare hands on the guy who’d attacked her today. He’d rip him to shreds.
“Nathan?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
She edged around him and clutched his sleeve. “Do you see anything?”
He shook his head. “No.” But he had a bad feeling. A gut-level sense of dread that said everything was going to come to a head soon. And not without bloodshed.
“It’s Brownie Mulray.” Now he could hear Brownie shout in the silent night, mushing his huskies. Brownie ran his dogs every evening about this time. Still, Nathan’s gut said someone else was out there. And if there was one thing Nathan trusted, it was his gut.
He dropped the slat of the blind, turned and ruffled his fingers through Fritzi’s silken hair. For a moment, they merely stood there in the dark—with the baby between them, so close they could have kissed. Then she edged away and flicked on the light.
“I want you to stay away from the windows,” Nathan said gently, gathering up their chili bowls and placing them in the sink. When he glanced at Fritzi, he realized she was studying him.
“What?” he said.
Faint color tinged her cheeks. “Are you married?”
The question came out of the blue, and Nathan felt strangely taken aback. Did she fear he’d suddenly leave her unprotected because he had other obligations? “No.”
She seemed to accept that. Her eyes trailed over where his hand was splayed on the baby’s back. “You’re good with the baby,” she said simply. Then she drew in a sharp breath. “When all this is over, do you intend to do me the courtesy of telling me what’s happened?”
He hesitated. What he told her would depend on a lot of things. Maybe she’d simply awaken to find him gone. Maybe it would have to be that way. “Yes.”
Hurt sparked in her eyes. “I’ll bet you’re a real good liar. But you’re not that good.”
“So you’ve got me all figured out?”
“I think somebody sent you to protect me.” She leaned against the table, taking the weight off her injured foot and tracing a thumbnail around a wildflower on the cloth. “I saw part of a police report from Washington and the photos from my town house were in your possession. My parents were murdered—probably by a mercenary working for the group that claimed responsibility for the bomb. At least that’s what I was told. And my husband was a supposed bureaucrat who disappeared under suspicious circumstances…”
Her eyes lifted from the tablecloth to his face. She looked desperate for answers. Somehow, he forced himself not to react.
Her color deepened. “I think you were sent here to protect me, but…”
Her voice trailed off. He knew what she’d started to say, though. That he was sent to protect her, but. had fallen in love with her instead.
“You think I work for the government?”
“You don’t look like the federal type,” she admitted.
“The federal type?”
“You know, the shiny black shoes and thin darktie type.”
“You’re right.” Shifting Malcolm in his arms, he traced a thumb absently over the rough stubble on his jaw. “I don’t own a single starched shirt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with starched shirts. My husband wore them.”
“Sorry,” he murmured.
She blew out a strained sigh. “Look, somehow we’ve got to find out who came into town today.”
She was right about that much. But the mere thought of leaving her alone in the house tonight was more than Nathan could bear. “Nobody’s leaving town in this weather, that’s for sure. Tomorrow I’ll go down to White Wolf Pass and ask around. Right now I think we’re better off staying inside.”
“Better off?”
“Safer,” he conceded.
He shifted Malcolm on his hip again. “Why don’t you go rest by the fire? I’ll take Malcolm up.”
“I’ll go with you.” Fritzi shot him a wan smile. “There’s safety in numbers.”
Not really, Nathan thought. Not with the kind of killer they were up against. As they silently went toward the stairs, he glanced into the living room, where the fire crackled in the fireplace and cozy yellow light shone from the lamp.
“Go on.” He nodded, indicating Fritzi could precede him up the stairs.
She glanced at Malcolm, who was still sleeping in his arms. “No, you two go ahead,” she whispered.
Nathan didn’t argue. As Fritzi followed him up the dark staircase, anxiety flitted around inside him like the shadows dancing on the wall. So did desire. He needed her tonight—silken and warm and twined in his arms.
When she stopped at the bedroom door, he found himself wishing she’d followed him all the way to the bed. Instead, she merely leaned against the jamb. He could feel her eyes on him as he gently laid Malcolm in the cradle.
As the baby left his hands, Nathan felt the strangest sensation. It was as if he, not the baby, were being lowered. As if a trapdoor had opened and he were falling. Maybe it was because he so dreaded failing this defenseless child.
Nathan had already forsaken everything to keep the baby safe. He’d fought—even in his own mind—to treat Fritzi and the baby as strangers, so that he could better protect them.
But now, as he stared into the cradle, into that small, sweet sleeping face, Nathan’s gut suddenly tightened. Because this was no stranger.
It was Malcolm, his son.
FRITZI’S HEART FLUTTERED, and her sharp intake of breath was audible in the silence. It was dark enough that she felt rather than saw Nathan’s eyes. But she knew he was waiting…hoping she’d come inside the bedroom. Barely perceptibly, his head turned toward the bed in unspoken invitation.
Her voice cracked, betraying the dryness of her throat. “Why don’t we go down by the fire?”
Slowly Nathan came toward her—his muscles rolling as if oiled from within, his steps as silent as a predator’s. Before he could reach her, Fritzi all but fled to the steps. She plunged into the stairwell’s shadowy darkness.
Nathan was right behind her, but his voice seemed distant, his words measured. “Well, if the baby cries, we’ll hear him.”
“Malcolm rarely wakes at night.” Nathan was so close she could feel his eyes drift over her hair, her back, her legs. “But then I guess you knew that,” she suddenly added, trying to remind herself that Nathan had broken into this house…into her and the baby’s room.
The ensuing silence was excruciating. She felt breathless; her chest felt tight.
“Malcolm’s a beautiful baby,” Nathan finally said.
“Yes, he is.”
As they reached the downstairs landing, Fritzi wished music was still playing—or that there was some other distraction. Like Malcolm. All evening, the baby had provided a diversion. So had talking about what had happened at the schoolhouse. Fritzi started to seat herself on the sofa, but then realized Nathan would sit beside her and…
She hobbled across the bearskin rug, straight to the fireplace. As she passed the rattan table, her eyes settled on the candy dish that held the bullets. Should she give Nathan the gun? She stared toward the fire, into the leaping flames, knowing she shouldn’t even contemplate making love to a man she didn’t entirely trust. She didn’t know who he was. Or why he was here. And she suspected he would vanish as mysteriously as he’d come.
Besides, she still loved David. Didn’t she? Guilt washed over her—then anger. For a whole year she’d driven herself nearly mad with waiting for him. And now she was in some kind of danger that might be David’s fault.
David. Tears stung Fritzi’s eyes, but she blinked them back. Maybe it was time to let go. If he was dead, waiting for him no longer mattered. And if he was alive, he’d left her without explanation.
David never even deserved me, Fritzi suddenly thought fiercely.
And deciding that, she turned abruptly toward Nathan, who had stopped near the entrance of the room.
“The gun’s taped under there.” Fritzi nodded decisively at the end table. “And the bullets are in that candy dish.”
Nathan didn’t move. His annoyingly perceptive dark eyes drifted over her, as if he were assessing motives even she didn’t dare look at too closely.
“You really trust me now?”
I don’t know, but I want to follow my heart. “I guess I do.”
When Nathan merely nodded, Fritzi reached under the table and tore the gun off. The sound of ripping tape was deafening in the silence. Resting the weapon on her palm, she held it out to him.
Nathan slowly walked toward her, his hand outstretched.
Fritzi’s pulse suddenly jump-started—ticking in her throat, sending heat to her cheeks. God, was she doing the wrong thing? she wondered. She wasn’t sure—only knew it was too late to change her mind.
Nathan’s weather-tanned hand covered hers. At the mere touch of his fingertips against her wrist, a slow shiver worked its way up her spine, broke over her shoulders, then spread across her back in a shower of pinpricks. As he gently took away the revolver, his long fingers trailed over the tender skin of her palm. in the most intentional caress.
Then he stuck an index finger into the candy dish and slowly stirred, coaxing the bullets to the surface. He expertly flipped open the revolver’s chamber, and one by one, he slid in the bullets.
His low voice was mildly curious. “A bullet’s missing.”
Fritzi’s eyes had riveted on the hand holding the gun, and her mouth had gone bone-dry. Nervously, she licked at her lips. When she lifted her gaze, her voice trembled. “It’s in one of the kitchen drawers.”
When Nathan registered her fear, his eyes turned darker. They were tinged with fury now and so penetrating she thought she’d faint. It was crazy, but for the briefest second, she was half-sure he meant to shoot her.
But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he checked the gun’s safety. Then, ever so slowly, he turned the loaded weapon in his palm and offered it to her by the barrel. His eyes captured hers so completely she couldn’t move—not even to look away. “Take it,” he said.
And she did—with fingers that shook like leaves in a storm.
He grunted softly as the.38 left his hand. “And, sweetheart?”
She gulped and raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”
“You’ll find a full box of shells in the Mickey Mouse cookie jar on the kitchen counter.”
The mention of anything pertaining to Walt Disney seemed utterly out of place. And she barely registered Nathan’s seeming assumption that she knew how to shoot. Her throat was so dry it ached. “Oh,” she croaked.
Nathan’s voice turned murderous. “Didn’t I say I could never hurt you?”
“Saying and doing are two different things,” she managed to say.
“Not where I’m concerned. The only reason I wanted that gun was to protect you.”
She swallowed hard—and carefully set the gun down. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Nathan’s hand rise and thought he was going to caress her face.
Instead, he switched off the lamp. Behind her, the fire seemed to give voice to the tension between her and this man. Like the air, it crackled and snapped, charged with static energy. Everything seemed so intense—too intense. Just looking at Nathan made her feel so strangely uncomfortable. Her breath suddenly caught—and she couldn’t help but turn away from him and face the fire. She wanted him to kiss her so badly.
And then she didn’t. Because she knew this time there would be no turning back.
Realizing she was holding her breath, she slowly exhaled, wishing Nathan would make his next move. She was already anticipating the feel of his arms circling her waist from behind. Maybe he’d brush aside her hair and kiss her neck. If he did, she’d have no choice but to melt in his arms.
Instead, he simpl
y whispered, “Look at me.”
Vaguely, Fritzi wondered how a mere whisper could be so commanding. And she realized she wanted it the other way. She wanted Nathan to crush her hard against his chest—kissing her and draining her willpower until she had no choice but to submit. That way, if she was wrong about his character, what happened next wouldn’t be all her fault. She could blame it on his overpowering sensuality.
And yet, all he’d said was, Look at me.
The man wasn’t even going to say it twice.
Not that it mattered. The decision to be with him might be entirely hers, but his silken murmur was still every bit as cunning as his kiss would have been. Fritzi turned around, lifting her downcast eyes.
Tongues of ochre flame were reflected in the glow of his skin and sleek raven hair. For long, indecisive moments, she watched those golden red shadows leaping and arcing on the planes and hollows of his face. They seemed to dance, the way he made desire dance inside her. Somehow, it seemed absolutely right that they make love in this shadowy firelight. Because theirs was a relationship of shadows—forged from veiled half truths and illusions, maybe even from outright lies.
And yet with him in front of her and the fire behind her, Fritzi felt enveloped by pure, radiant warmth. Nathan was watching her carefully—his head tilted slightly, wisps of hair kissing his shoulders. Was it her imagination or was he committing her face to memory—as if he’d never see her again?
Her voice was husky. “I almost wish whatever danger I’m in won’t pass. That way, you won’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave until I know you’re safe,” he said gently.
Oh, please, don’t leave me, she wanted to say. His kisses alone told her they had a chance together. Only one other man—David—had felt so right. And he was gone. When she spoke, Fritzi’s faint protest was barely audible. “But there are so many things I don’t know about you.”
“Maybe,” Nathan returned huskily, “but you know enough.”
All Fritzi knew for certain was that Nathan Lafarge was the one man to whom she should most definitely say no, but for whom she could muster only one word—yes. He wasn’t the many things he’d said he was—not a carpenter or a cannery worker. Certainly not her husband. But looking into his eyes, she knew him. His identity was a secret, but she was sure she knew his soul.
