Wed To A Stranger?

by Jule McBride

  Koslowski stared at him. “Not until I sent someone to kill you—and then wished I’d come myself. Seems I’ve even developed a taste for toying with my victims.”

  With that, Koslowski aimed the gun above their heads—and fired. The first bullet hit a wall, the second shattered a back window. By the third and fourth, Fritzi was hunkered over in terror.

  Malcolm wailed.

  Only Nathan remained calm. The snowmobile outside came even closer.

  “Exactly two bullets left—” Koslowski didn’t even seem to notice Malcolm, who had begun to scream. She leveled the gun at Fritzi. “Can’t say I don’t like to live dangerously,” Koslowski continued, “though I admit I’m an expert marksman.”

  “Then kill me.”

  Nathan’s words took Fritzi by surprise. Her lips parted in unstated protest as he raised his arms and slowly rose to his feet. There was one bullet, not two, left in the gun. And everything in Nathan’s eyes said he meant to make sure it was he—not Fritzi—who took it.

  “I thought it was ladies first,” Koslowski said. “But have it your way.”

  As the woman fired, Nathan dove—but not before the bullet found its mark. He fell, blood splattering onto the bearskin rug. Groaning, he grabbed his shirtsleeve and rolled. His upper arm was hit.

  Koslowski swiftly aimed at Fritzi and fired.

  The gun clicked.

  She fired again and it clicked.

  And clicked.

  And clicked.

  Koslowski angrily threw aside the weapon and pivoted toward the baby. Just as Nathan grabbed the back of Koslowski’s sweater, Fritzi lunged toward Malcolm.

  After that, everything happened so quickly that Fritzi barely processed it. Koslowski bolted toward the door with Nathan giving chase. Fritzi scooped up Malcolm, her hands roving over every inch of him as she ran after Nathan. Malcolm was fine, not even crying anymore. And Mitch was now at the door.

  “Her—” Fritzi thrust Malcolm into Mitch’s arms.

  “Watch him.”

  There was no way she could let Nathan go after Koslowski alone—not with a bullet in his arm. She raced through the snow, leaping onto the sled just as Nathan’s shout sounded and the dogs sprang into action. Mitch’s snowmobile would have been faster, but Nathan couldn’t take the time to get the key. Fritzi wrenched around, her hair whipping across her face in the wind, but she couldn’t see how badly Nathan was hurt. “How bad is it?”

  “What?”

  “Your arm?”

  Nathan merely shook his head, making his hair fly wildly, as if to say his arm was the last thing on his mind. Then he stared straight ahead, mushing the dogs hard, staying hot on Koslowski’s trail. Her heart pounding, Fritzi turned around again. The snowmobile was far down the mountain. Just as Fritzi sighted it, it vanished, swallowed up by darkness.

  “She can’t get away!” Fritzi shrieked

  If she did, Nathan and Fritzi and Malcolm would be hunted forever. Chased by a madwoman. Always on the run, always hiding. Nathan urged the dogs on—faster down the icy mountain, while Fritzi scanned the snow for signs of Koslowski.

  From a ridge above the No Name River, Fritzi caught sight of her again. “There! Near the riverbank!”

  As Nathan drove the huskies off the hill, onto the snow-covered road, Koslowski dovetailed over the steep riverbank. Moments later she reappeared, riding the snowmobile right onto the river’s frozen surface.

  “She’s crossing the ice!” Nathan shouted, reining in the dogs. “Get off the sled!”

  Nathan was going to cross that dangerous ice, Fritzi realized—and catch Koslowski just to keep her and Malcolm safe. Even without their combined weight, Fritzi knew, there was a good chance the ice would crack. There was no time to reach the bridge, either; Koslowski would be long gone. Fritzi watched the woman—a forlorn figure, hunkered over a snowmobile, sliding across that frozen white expanse.

  Then Fritzi whirled on Nathan, her eyes begging him. “No. I won’t get off. Nathan, let her go. Please, Nathan. We’ll run away. We’ll take Malcolm and hide.”

  Nathan’s expression softened. “You do love me, don’t you?”

  Tears welled in Fritzi’s eyes. “With all my being.”

  “Then let me catch this killer.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Something dark flashed in Nathan’s eyes. Then his injured arm swiftly circled her back, so forcibly it stole her breath, and he lifted her right off the sled. “Mush!” he shouted. And as the huskies lunged forward again, Nathan simply left her standing in the snow.

  Staggering a pace, Fritzi watched Nathan’s sled dip over the riverbank. Then her feet took flight and she ran after him. But he was gone. And over the bank, the snowdrifts were so deep she sank to her thighs.

  Her eyes scanned the terrain—until they landed on a dog-ear of cardboard peeking from the snow. Making her way to it, Fritzi tugged, pulling a frozen cardboard box to the surface. Flattening it on the snow, she laid on top and pushed off, using it for a sled.

  Below Fritzi, the huskies had already pulled Nathan onto the ice—and the shadowy figure of Koslowski was a quarter of the way across the river. The killer kept looking over her shoulder, gauging the distance as Nathan and the huskies bore down on her.

  Just as Fritzi’s makeshift sled picked up speed and plunged downhill in earnest, Koslowski lost control of her snowmobile. She wrenched left, then overcorrected until she was leaning like a cyclist, the snowmobile almost on its side. Then the vehicle hit something hard—driftwood frozen in the ice, maybe—and went airborne, sliding from beneath Koslowski and arching off the ice.

  A second later the snowmobile cracked down, smacking hard. At the same time, massive chunks of grating floes downstream shifted. Sensing danger, the huskies halted of their own accord. And as Koslowski scrambled to her feet, a loud crack sounded and the ice right in front of her opened. Like a yawning mouth, it soundlessly swallowed up her snowmobile.

  All the while, Fritzi had been holding on tight, her cardboard sled gliding from the steep, snowy riverbank onto the frozen river. Now she found her footing and rushed across the ice—slipping and sliding toward Nathan, trying to get traction.

  Koslowski had whirled around, stuck between Nathan and the widening icy chasm. Reaching down, she pulled something from her ankle. Fritzi squinted as she approached and saw the glint of a knife.

  Nathan’s voice echoed in the riverbed as he got off the sled and moved toward her. “You can still turn yourself in.”

  But Koslowski wasn’t about to.

  Fritzi watched in horror as the woman rushed Nathan. The next thing Fritzi knew, the two were circling each other—round and round, their arms raised at their sides. Koslowski might be a woman, but she held a knife. And she was edging ever closer, closing the circle like a hungry predator. The hole in the ice was mere feet away, the icy, inky waters swirling with slush.

  Fritzi stopped. She was far enough away she wouldn’t hinder Nathan, close enough to help if needed.

  Suddenly the killer swiped at Nathan’s face, her slashing, arcing blade glinting. Nathan caught her wrist. As the knife wrenched from her hand, it spun handle over blade in the air, then hit the ice and skittered toward the black waters. With a mighty swing that would rival any man’s, Koslowski lashed out, punching Nathan full in the face. He reeled back—but not before he’d grabbed a fistful of Koslowski’s hair.

  “Nathan!” Fritzi screamed in warning.

  But it was too late.

  Both Nathan and Koslowski were sliding backward, moving on thin ice toward the wide open chasm.

  “Dear God, Nathan, let go of her!”

  But he wasn’t going to. Koslowski was going down—even if he had to go with her. The killer clawed frantically at the air—violently yanking away her head, trying to disengage her hair from Nathan’s grasp. But he held fast.

  Suddenly he gained traction and spun around. Still holding the killer by her hair, he swung her in a full circle, then let go. One l
ong, loud scream echoed in the silent, snowy mountains—then Kris Koslowski plunged into the water.

  There was a splash. Then silence. Nothing more. And as Fritzi raced forward, she knew the woman was dead. Because no one—not even the coldest woman on earth—could survive those frigid waters.

  Not even a hero like Nathan.

  He hadn’t stopped sliding! He’d dropped to his side, trying to halt his progress toward the icy, open chasm. His hands were madly flying over the ice, seeking purchase.

  “Fritzi!” he shouted.

  Without thinking, she dove onto the ice. Sliding toward him on her belly, she was unsure of how she’d help him. Or if she was only going to die with him. She was mere inches away when Nathan slid over the icy lip of the chasm into the water.

  Just before the sickening splash, their eyes locked—in a look meant to last for the rest of all eternity.

  It was Koslowski’s knife that saved him.

  Fritzi grabbed it. Driving it hard into the ice like a pick, she held fast while her free hand plunged beneath the water, her fingers closing tight around Nathan’s wrist. With superhuman strength, Fritzi pulled. And Nathan resurfaced, rolling back onto the ice.

  He’d only been in the water a few seconds. He’d live. And in spite of his frozen skin, his eyes were already warming. They said he’d lived many lives and had many names—but that he could only belong to her.

  “We’re free,” Fritzi whispered as she inched away from the chasm with him. “And I love you.”

  Nathan caught her hand, pulling her to her feet and against his chest, his voice catching. “I love you and Malcolm, too.”

  “C’mon,” Fritzi whispered. “We’ve got to get you out of the cold. You must be freezing.”

  Nathan merely smiled. Then his lips captured hers in a kiss that said all he’d ever wanted for warmth was this fiery spark, this living heat that they alone could share. And the dark, snowy, windswept world around them suddenly seemed ablaze with all the brilliant light of their rekindled love.

  Epilogue

  Washington, D.C.

  The Following Spring…

  The word on the street was that Stan Steinbrenner was going to win the Pulitzer. Detective Sam Giles leaned back in his office chair and propped his feet next to the new decoy duck on his desk. As far as Sam was concerned, Steinbrenner deserved the success. After all, he’d written another incisive, dynamite investigative piece. Sam glanced at his hands, wishing the newsprint wasn’t dusting his fingertips, then he kept reading the Post.

  “But it was statements from the woman called Kris Koslowski that allowed U.S. officials to crack down on the remaining terrorist groups, both here and abroad. Before murdering the agents known as Mo Dorman, Al Woods and Katie Darnell, Koslowski offered a total of fortyseven hours of testimony, both written and taped. Known as the Koslowski Papers, the statements would subsequently lead authorities to countless terrorists, most of whom have been taken into custody during the largest coordinated global sting operation in history. The operation took a full year to plan and drew in countless law enforcement officials throughout the world. Many people who previously entered witness protection and similar programs may now be returning to ordinary lives….”

  Sam glanced up from the Post and sighed. Just moments ago he’d officially closed the cases on the murders of the government agents known as Mo Dorman, Al Woods and Katie Darnell. If nothing else, Sam now knew they would rest in peace.

  So would Sheriff Joe Tanook. After Stan nearly lost his life in.White Wolf Pass, Joe had become determined to track down the real identity of the hit man known as John Oldman. Sam had helped the local sheriff use FBI computers to do so. The sheriff had also found shell casings on the No Name Bridge that completely cleared Nathan Lafarge—the exgovernment agent who had killed Oldman in selfdefense and helped to save Stan Steinbrenner’s life. So, just today, Sheriff Tanook had sent Sam the beautiful, hand-carved decoy duck that was now on the desk.

  Sam’s eyes drifted around the room, until they lighted on a photo of his wife and kids. He smiled. Then he stood, lifted his sport coat from the back of the chair, tossed the newspaper to his desk and headed for the door.

  It was a lovely spring Saturday—and far too long since Sam had played hooky with his family. Just before his office door closed, he glanced through his window. Far off, past the Capitol dome, in a chapel garden, he could see a profusion of brightly colored flowers. It looked as if a wedding was in progress.

  “Yeah,” the detective whispered, as the door shut on his office of murder and mystery and mayhem, “life goes on.”

  And Sam Giles was sure glad he was headed home.

  FRITZI GLANCED AROUND the chapel garden at all the guests and the well-appointed tables of goodies and punch. Then her eyes landed on her new husband. He was devastating in a tux. She chuckled, pinching Nathan’s side. “But why were you so insistent?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I—”

  “If I’d let you come tell me something before we were married,” Fritzi interrupted, “you would have seen my dress. And frankly, we’ve had enough bad luck, don’t you think?”

  Nathan grinned. “What bad luck?” He shifted the baby on his hip. “Having a kid like Malcolm?”

  Fritzi nodded. “That and your appointment as director of surgery at the hospital.”

  Nathan chuckled. “Yeah, that was real bad luck.”

  “And don’t forget me being pregnant again.”

  Nathan gasped.

  Fritzi giggled. “Fooled you. But tonight we’ll start working on that one.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Now, that sounds really horrible.”

  “I promise to make it as painless as possible.”

  Nathan laughed. “Go ahead and hurt me.”

  Fritzi’s eyes caught Hannah’s. Her girlfriend had returned from her honeymoon pregnant, and now she was being led through the wedding reception on Matt’s arm. Hannah raised a hand and waved. Fritzi waved back. Then she looked at Nathan again.

  “See,” Fritzi teased. “We have all that bad luck. And then you want to see me in my wedding dress and make it even worse.”

  Nathan’s voice turned husky. “You do look beautiful.”

  Fritzi glanced down. She hoped she did. The long white strapless dress was simple, with straight, clean lines and a beaded bodice. Opera-length gloves covered her arms and a wreath of wildflowers adorned her hair. “Really?” she couldn’t help but say.

  “Really.”

  Everything in Nathan’s eyes said she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he’d never stop loving her. Fritzi’s heart squeezed tight. Suddenly it all seemed too much—the musicians playing under an arbor, the milling guests, the love she felt for this man and for their child.

  “I just wish my parents had seen it,” Fritzi whispered.

  “They did,” Nathan whispered back.

  Before she knew what was happening, he’d wrapped an arm tightly around her. Her gaze shot to his—only to find that his deep, dark eyes were as urgent as his voice had been before the wedding, when she’d refused to let him see her.

  Why did he just say her parents were here? “I believe they watch over me somehow,” she admitted, her voice catching with emotion. “I believe they’re out there somewhere, Nathan.” She reached up and rubbed Malcolm’s back.

  “No, Fritzi, they’re here.”

  Her eyes widened. For a brief instant she wondered if Nathan was being cruel. And yet she knew he could never hurt her. He slowly turned her shoulders, making her face the crowd.

  Then she saw them. Across the cozy garden. Her mother and father were merely standing there, staring at her as if they’d been there for a very long time. Lord, was she seeing ghosts? Nathan caught her as she sagged against him.

  And then he started talking in a rush. “It’s the only other secret I’ve kept from you. I wanted to prepare you. Wanted you to know they were watching us take our vows. Koslowski’s statements led officials to the group
that was targeting your father, Fritzi. All the members were arrested this morning. Last night your parents flew in from L.A. because the people who’d been threatening them were all rounded up.

  “God forgive me, but I couldn’t tell you. I had moral and legal obligations to protect them. I’ve always known their new names and address. I put them on the plane to L.A. Your father asked me to look out for you, and so I followed you—”

  She stared at him. “We didn’t meet by accident?”

  He shook his head. “I was just going to watch over you a little. But following you around Georgetown, I fell in love with you.”

  Staring at her parents again, as if at apparitions, she remembered those days. She’d wandered aimlessly, hoping to find, in the face of some stranger, a glimmer from above—some special sign—that her parents had gone on to a better place.

  Nathan—or David—had become that stranger. Sweeping into her life, comforting her during her nightmares and falling hopelessly in love with her.

  It was all too much to take in.

  Fritzi staggered a pace away from Nathan and Malcolm. And then suddenly, her feet simply took flight—heedless of flowers, barely touching the freshcut grass, her healed ankle as supple as the day she was born.

  “Daddy!” she shouted. “Mom!”

  And the next thing Fritzi knew, she was in their arms—hugging and kissing and crying. Hearing rambling explanations—how much they’d missed her, how they simply couldn’t wrench her from her own life, how they loved their son-in-law and wanted to meet their grandchild.

  Fritzi ran her fingers over her mother’s face, breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume, and let her father hold her so tight that he crushed the breath out of her. It was a long time before she realized her husband was beside her. Nathan handed Malcolm to her parents as she turned to him.

  Fear was in his eyes.

  Tears were in hers.

  He watched her warily. “I wanted you to know before the wedding.”

  A faint smile lifted her lips. “Did you think I’d be angry?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the only secret I’ve kept.”