by Jule McBride
“I’m going as fast as I can!”
And it was true. Nathan was taking the mountain with a vengeance—winding through trees, racing like lightning on the stretches, mushing the dogs straight uphill. The huskies kept their heads down, their leg muscles pulling hard, as if they knew a baby’s life could be at stake. Fritzi could barely breathe—merely gulp down icy wind—and her lungs burned. Her exposed facial skin was numb.
Ahead, Abby’s house lights winked through trees. “The lights are on!” Somehow, Fritzi had expected darkness. Maybe everything was fine….
She wrenched toward Nathan. His face was gaunt, his hair blowing wildly, and his bloodless lips were pursed in concentration. Snow was gathering in his eyebrows and dampening his cheeks, but he kept mushing—his dark eyes unnaturally stark against his skin, his exposed red knuckles raw from the winds, his gaze fixed on Abby’s lights. Fritzi realized Nathan was well aware of the danger to Malcolm. Maybe even more than she. After all, Nathan had already met Koslowski.
“Mitch and Abby could be anywhere,” he shouted, seemingly reading her mind. “Maybe they didn’t answer the radio call because they’re outside chopping wood.”
But the way Nathan drove the dogs said he feared the worst. As he’d fought to save Stan’s life, Fritzi had found it hard to keep hating him. But how could she love such a dangerous man? A man who’d left her without a backward glance? A man whose profession had brought her and Malcolm this close to a seasoned killer?
The answer was that she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. “What’s he look like?” she shouted.
Nathan leaned closer. “What?”
The wind was too strong, and the huskies barked as Nathan reined them in. Fritzi hadn’t the energy to yell again. Besides, they’d reached Abby’s, and Fritzi was no longer really sure she wanted to put a face to the name Kris Koslowski. Even without a description, she was haunted by the emotionless face she imagined, with its blank, soulless eyes.
“Fritzi?”
She wrenched around again, her throat raw from screaming. “What?”
As Nathan fully halted the huskies, his eyes said he knew sometimes love wasn’t enough. The raging wind caught his shout. “Can’t you forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” Fritzi shouted back.
And then, without another word, she bolted from the sled and ran for Abby’s door, clutching the rifle and feeling Nathan close on her heels. Flinging open the door, she lunged inside.
“Abby!” she shouted, limping through the rooms.
When she reached the dining area, Fritzi’s heart all but stopped. She knew then that no amount of love in the world could make her forgive Nathan.
Because Abby and Mitch were bound to their dining chairs—their wrists and ankles duct-taped to the wood, their mouths stuffed with cloth napkins. The empty high chair was between them. And the baby was gone.
TOSSING BROWNIE’S rifle on the sled, Fritzi fought the slashing winds and jumped onto the back. “Mush!” she shrieked at the huskies. “Mush!”
When the sled jolted forward, she lost her balance and nearly toppled. Somehow, she held on tight, but Brownie’s rifle scuttled across the sled and was lost, buried in the snow. Not that Fritzi cared. One look at Nathan had told her the situation was hopeless—gun or no gun. Nathan’s eyes had been a furious black and his expression grim as he’d swiftly yanked out Abby’s and Mitch’s gags.
“Took the baby,” Abby had croaked hoarsely.
Fritzi heard only that phrase—then she’d fled, hating Nathan with all her heart. Last night her emotions had ranged from the deepest love to the deepest despair; this morning she’d actually softened while Nathan had worked to save Stan’s life. But Nathan’s surgical skills had worked for ill as well as good. Kris Koslowski had Malcolm. And it was all Nathan’s fault.
She felt no hope, but fear and fury drove her on—and the possibility that Nathan might catch up to her on Abby’s or Mitch’s snowmobiles before she could try to make a deal with the killer.
“Mush!” Fritzi shrieked, meaning to get as far away from Nathan as she could. “Mush! Mush!”
Her heart was pounding, her mind racing as fast as the sled. No doubt Koslowski was using Malcolm as bait, to lure Nathan out. Since the phones were down, that meant Koslowski didn’t intend to call. And that meant the killer was probably holding Malcolm at Hannah’s, just waiting for Nathan to show.
Without Nathan by her side, surely Fritzi could make a deal. She’d say Nathan was still at the clinic. That Malcolm wasn’t even really his son. Maybe she’d even promise to lead Koslowski to Nathan. She didn’t know. But she’d think of something. Anything to get her baby back. And when Malcolm was safe, it would be easy enough to forget Nathan.
Up ahead, Hannah’s house loomed, a silhouette on the white blanketed mountain. The upstairs curtains were closed; hazy light peeked through the downstairs blinds.
“The snowmobile,” Fritzi gasped. “Where is it?” She kept squinting her wet, tearing eyes into the driving snow and darkness; she didn’t see it anywhere. What if Koslowski wasn’t here? What if he’d taken her baby, then died of the gunshot wound Nathan had inflicted? Was Malcolm lost somewhere—buried in the snow?
“Oh, no, please no,” she wailed. Other than Hannah’s house, she didn’t even know where to look. “Maybe they went to a trapper’s cabin.”
Or the snowmobile was parked out of sight. Panicked, Fritzi ran the huskies right into Hannah’s yard, hardly aware she might be racing headlong into danger. Barely stopping the sled, she lunged from it.
Give me my baby! Just give me my baby! The words echoed inside Fritzi’s brain. Malcolm was gone and her heart was broken. She’d loved the father of her child. No matter what he called himself, their affair had haunted her, so much that she’d known no peace until she’d found him again.
But that obsession had been her undoing.
It had led them all into this untamed wilderness. Into the heart of darkness—and the embrace of a killer.
Because Koslowski was here. Now she saw Hannah’s snowmobile. It was next to the porch. “Give me my baby!” The cry was torn from her throat now, high-pitched and inhuman. Over the barks of Brownie’s dogs, she sounded crazy, like a madwoman.
So be it.
There was room in Fritzi’s mind for only one thought now—her son. Heedless of danger, she kept running—sliding on a porch step, her ankle twisting as she pushed open the door. She was ready to do absolutely anything, including give her life, to save him.
“Malcolm!” she screeched, rushing through the door, leaving it swinging and banging on its hinges.
Straight ahead were the shadowy stairs. Was Koslowski up there, in the darkness where he belonged? Terror suddenly gripped her, silenced her, stilled her feet. It was the kind of terror felt by children—just nameless, faceless fears swirling around inside her like winds.
But the enemy was here. And he did have a name—Kris Koslowski. He had a face, too—even if it wasn’t the natural one God had given him.
Fritzi’s head swiveled—from the stairs to the dining room to the living room. Just as she gasped, doubling with relief, she heard the far-off whir of a snowmobile. Nathan was following her.
It no longer mattered.
“Oh, thank God,” Fritzi murmured. “Oh, my…Malcolm.”
He was fine. Her baby was absolutely fine.
It was all just a big mistake, she thought illogically. There was a fresh fire crackling cozily in the hearth. And her little son was fast asleep, his head cuddled on Hannah’s shoulder; Hannah was facing the fire, warming and bouncing him. Fritzi staggered forward, suddenly unable to do more than sag against the nearest living room wall. She was breathless, her heart bursting, her vision still blurred by snow and wind. Her mind couldn’t catch up, couldn’t grip what was happening.
But Malcolm was safe. Safe with Hannah.
Had something happened between Hannah and Matt? Why had Hannah even come home? And how had she gotten here in the b
lizzard? Her back was still facing Fritzi—why wasn’t she turning around?—but she was wearing her usual black leggings and one of her oversize sweaters from the upstairs closet. Her long, flowing blond hair cascaded over her shoulders.
“Hannah?” Fritzi gasped breathlessly.
“Hannah?” the woman echoed.
The soft, inviting contralto wasn’t Hannah’s. But when the stranger slowly turned, her beauty alone flooded Fritzi with renewed relief. The woman’s lips were glossed pink, her skin a clear dusky rose, and her translucent gray eyes utterly serene.
“You must be Fritzi,” she murmured with a warm smile, her voice lowered in deference to Malcolm who was sleeping against her chest, with his tiny fingers curling on her sweater. “You’re so lucky. I always wanted a baby.”
Realizing the house was freezing and that Malcolm would catch cold, Fritzi backed a stunned pace and pushed the door shut. She stepped into the room again, gulping down air. “You must be a friend of Hannah’s,” she managed to say between gasps, her eyes searching the woman’s. “Thank heavens you’re here. Was anyone else here.when you came?”
The woman merely smiled again. “I think I’ll make a wonderful mom,” she whispered.
All at once, Fritzi realized that what she’d taken for a peaceful countenance was plain, simple madness. Those gray eyes were watery and vacant. Fritzi’s gaze darted to the slender-fingered, manicured hand that was splayed on her son’s back. “Who are you?” she said.
The woman raised a shapely eyebrow. Then she chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I lost track a long time ago. And names never really matter much.”
Fritzi felt sick—her belly hollowed out and empty. So this was Nathan’s last betrayal. He hadn’t even warned her. The woman was so beautiful. She could have been a movie actress, a politician’s wife.
Never a killer.
And yet she was. No wonder Nathan had repeatedly asked Fritzi if she was sure a man had chased her through the schoolhouse. Kris Koslowski was a woman. Now Fritzi could make out the bulk of a bandage beneath the sleeve of the baggy sweater. A white, blood-stained parka was tossed on the floor.
Fritzi tried to keep her voice level. “You’re Kris Koslowski.”
“Or Jane Fox.” The woman shrugged. “Or whatever.”
Fritzi lunged. She made it a. pace, but the revolver she’d left on the rattan table the previous night suddenly snapped from behind the other woman’s back. She pointed it right at Fritzi’s heart.
“I really am pleased to meet you,” Koslowski said.
The voice was mild, the killer seemingly oblivious to the gun in her own hand, unaware that she was threatening a mother and child. In her free hand, she still held Malcolm, her lovely cream-polished nails resting gently against the baby’s back. And as her eyes drifted over the blood staining Fritzi’s parka, they took on a shining, feral gleam.
Fritzi’s heart was thudding hard. She fought to keep her voice calm. “Please, just give me my son.” As she took a slow step forward, Koslowski cocked the.38.
The husky voice was at complete odds with the words. “Move again and I’ll kill you now.”
It implied Koslowski intended to kill Fritzi later, anyway. The blank gray eyes said she’d enjoy it, too. Fritzi stood still. Outside, the snowmobile was coming closer.
“And don’t warn him when he gets here,” Koslowski added.
Fritzi wasn’t about to—not when Malcolm was in the madwoman’s arms. Determined to get him back, her voice stayed even. “Put down my baby and I won’t warn him. I promise.”
“No deals.” Koslowski smiled, her pink-glossed lips parting, exposing perfect rows of white teeth. “And I know this is hard for you, but this is my baby now.”
At the words, every inch of Fritzi’s body went rigid—except her heart, which swelled with mortal terror. Koslowski was serious. She planned to kill Fritzi and Nathan, then take Malcolm.
Koslowski tilted her head toward the nearing sound of the motor. “I was always so ugly—” She sighed. “Did David—or, uh, Nathan—tell you? Lost half my face in a bombing when I was a kid. We were poor and it was never fixed. I guess I never even dreamed of having a normal life. A family. A baby.”
“And now you’re going to start a family by raising our baby?” Fritzi croaked. How could she stop this lunacy?
Hurry, Nathan. Oh, please hurry, Fritzi thought. Her emotions were seesawing again—and now she wanted nothing more than to see Nathan. She needed him. He knew this insane woman. Knew how to handle her…
Catching Fritzi’s gaze, Koslowski smiled cruelly. And now it was easy to see the killer inside her, masked by all that soft beauty.
“You think you’re so much better, don’t you? You’re so pretty. But I was disfigured. Boys laughed at me. Men made jokes in the streets….”
Fritzi could have felt sorry for her. Would have—if she weren’t a killer. And if she weren’t holding Malcolm. A tear slid down Fritzi’s cheek then, her longing gaze still riveted on Malcolm’s little back. A mere fifteen feet separated them, but it seemed a continent away. Seeing those cream nails curling on Malcolm made Fritzi’s heart squeeze tight.
“If you—” When Fritzi’s voice wavered, she paused and steadied it. “If you harm us, you’ll always be ugly.”
Koslowski rolled her lovely eyes. “So, beauty’s on the inside? Not a commodity—bought and sold by surgeons?” She smiled. “Speaking of surgeons…”
Right outside, the snowmobile’s engine was silenced. Farther away, another could be heard, which meant Mitch or Abby had probably followed Nathan. Footsteps pounded across the porch. Then the door swung open and Nathan raced inside, his eyes locking with Fritzi’s. “Where’s Malcolm?”
Fritzi nodded.
When he saw Koslowski and the baby, Nathan stopped dead in his tracks, eyeing the.38. Fritzi realized he’d been too worried about her and the baby to form any plan. In spite of all his government training, Nathan had simply rushed inside without regard to his safety. He might be an agent, but he was mostly a father. And a man in love.
Maybe Fritzi could admit that now. And that it was her ad—as much as Nathan’s actions-that had brought Koslowski here. Nathan had hurt her, but his every move had been calculated to protect her and Malcolm. He loved their baby. And he loved her—maybe even more than she loved him. She wasn’t sure she could have sacrificed their love…walked away without a backward glance just to protect him.
But now it was too late for them all.
“You two—” Koslowski waved the revolver toward the couch. “Sit down.”
Nathan came into the room—his breathing heavy, his steps hard against the wood flooring. As he moved, his eyes settled on Fritzi’s, communicating a world of love. She could feel the cold radiating from his parka, but nothing had ever felt warmer than the heat in his strong fingers as he clasped them through hers. Together they edged toward the couch.
“I said, sit,” Koslowski said.
Nathan and Fritzi perched on the edge of the couch. Everything suddenly seemed surreal. Their feet were resting on the bearskin rug where they’d made love last night. Kris Koslowski was holding Malcolm, standing right in front of the fire that had cast shadows over their bare skin.
Pure pain welled within Fritzi, making her double, wrenching a cry from her. What had happened? How could their lives have gone so wrong? She’d found Malcolm’s daddy. And he loved both her and Malcolm. But they weren’t going to raise their child together. Because they were about to die.
It couldn’t be happening.
Except that a beautiful killer named Kris Koslowski was really holding Malcolm in one hand and snapping open the revolver’s cylinder with the other, glancing down and checking for bullets with lightning speed.
Koslowski chuckled again as the cylinder snapped back into place. “Nice to know I’m playing with a full deck.”
But she wasn’t—in more ways than one. Koslowski had checked the cylinder too fast. There were only five-bullets. Fritzi had ta
ken the sixth from Nathan when he’d lifted it from the candy dish the other day. And last night, he’d remarked that a bullet was gone.
Nathan’s fingers slid from hers. What was he going to do? Fritzi readied herself, in case she had to move fast—and found herself staring deep into Koslowski’s soulless eyes.
“I’m rich,” the other woman said.
Fritzi’s eyes dropped to Malcolm. She had no idea what to make of the non sequitur. A wave of bloodscent wafted from her parka, suddenly making her want to wretch. “Rich?”
Koslowski nodded. “My work’s taken me all over the world, and I’ve saved a lot of money. John will have everything he needs.”
This is good, Fritzi. Try to keep her talking while Nathan makes his move. “John? Who’s John?”
Koslowski glanced down at Malcolm. “I’ve decided to call him John.”
Fritzi’s blood ran cold. There was no way this monster could get away with this. She fought off her nausea and the panic in her voice. “You’re dead wrong about one thing. Names do matter. And that baby’s name is Malcolm, and he’s mine.”
“And mine,” Nathan said softly.
Salty tears stung Fritzi’s eyes. “And yours,” she whispered.
Outside, the second snowmobile was coming close. No one else seemed to notice. Not that it mattered. Fritzi was sure they were seconds from death. All Kris Koslowski had to do was pull the trigger.
At least Malcolm will live, Fritzi thought, a dry sob racking her shoulders. Even if he’s going to be raised by a monster. Panic welled inside her. Where’s she going to take my baby? Koslowski deftly deposited Malcolm on the rocking chair next to the fireplace. Then she waved the gun between Fritzi and Nathan.
“You’re a professional—” Nathan’s voice was full of disgust. “So why not just get it over with?”
Koslowski shrugged. “I’ve had a year off. And I never realized how much I’d miss it. I thought I was politically motivated, or I did it for the money….”
Nathan’s voice turned steely. “You never guessed you just liked to kill?”
