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by Jordan, Drew

  His name.

  It would take some thought.

  The purpose of our trip now was mostly to exercise the dogs. They needed to be run to get them in shape. But also to see if anyone was in the area at all. Which could pose a problem. We didn’t want the body discovered until spring, if at all. Obviously that was the best case scenario. But even in Alaska the stranger had told me it was possible someone would find the body sooner or later. I hoped it was later.

  Way later.

  After the stranger and I had been living in the cabin together for years, our days a pleasant routine of work, play, sex. By then, it wouldn’t matter.

  I opened my eyes and watched the trees whiz by. Maybe it didn’t matter now. Maybe, for once, I would be the girl who got what she wanted. The thought made my nose twitch a little. History had shown I only got what I wanted when I took it.

  How did I take this?

  Wait and see?

  That didn’t seem like much of a plan. But I should have planned the murder in the first place and I hadn’t, so now I had to smartly deal with the fallout. Take what I want, yes, but not impulsively.

  My backside was sore and I shifted around uneasily on the sled, trying not to wince when we hit some kind of rut in the snow. I liked the reminder of where he had taken me in bed, to that beautifully empty headspace and intensity of the moment. Of how he had brought every inch of me to life and made me bereft of every thought and worry. With him, it was pure pleasure and even the memory sparked desire. Wet inner thighs. Now I shifted for a different reason entirely.

  An hour later, back at the cabin I helped him with the dogs, laughing as they each licked me furiously whenever I bent over to grab a leash. “Hey, buddy,” I murmured to Duke. I was learning their names. “You want some water?” I hooked him back to the stake outside his house. He plopped down on the straw and panted, smiling. I swear he was smiling.

  Unlike his owner, who was frowning. He was quiet today, which wasn’t unusual, but he hadn’t touched me. It bothered me that when he’d come to bed after I had slept, he had untied me, but hadn’t initiated sex. He hadn’t had an orgasm before he’d started spanking me and I envied that discipline at the same time it worried me. It wasn’t that I doubted he wanted me. It was the frustration that I didn’t understand him or his needs and therefore couldn’t be on point.

  The thought made me shake my head at myself. There I was doing it again. Wanting to be what a man wanted. Not what I wanted. I was here to find Laney, the true Laney. To learn to be me, and to learn to be strong. That was what was important and that was what he liked in me. Not the simpering dollbaby girl who pouted for men and blinked vapidly and let them tell her how smart they were. That’s not who the stranger wanted. He wanted the real me, who knew what she was doing, and when she didn’t, figured it out.

  “Do you think we need to do anything else about Michael?” I asked him as we worked side-by-side filling water and food bowls.

  “Tell me how you know Michael,” he said. “I didn’t get the full story, really. Michael told me more than you did.”

  That wasn’t an answer to my question. It was also unusual for him to ask me anything about my past. “We went to grade school together,” I said, uneasy. “After my mom married my stepfather and we moved. I was the new girl and he liked me. But we were just friends. I didn’t really date until college.” You couldn’t call my relationship with my stepfather Dean dating.

  “Why was he so interested in you then? He acted… protective.”

  “That’s because Michael is a fix-it. He thinks I’m crazy. Crazy Laney.” How often had I heard that fucking stupid nickname from stupid little middle school bitches who thought they knew anything about me or my life? A thousand times. “But not sociopath crazy. He thinks I’m a good person, which I am. So he wants to help me, you know, realize my full and true potential.” I accidentally slopped wet slimy dog food stew onto my leg and I cursed. I was swiping at it, the fishy stink rising up and clogging my nostrils when I realized he hadn’t responded. I glanced over to see him staring at me, paused in his task. “What?”

  “You’re using the present tense.”

  “What?” I parroted automatically. But I already knew what he meant, even before my response was fully out of my mouth.

  Michael was dead. I had killed him. I couldn’t speak about him like he still existed, because he didn’t. I wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t a good person at all. “Fuck,” I whispered, my vision suddenly going black, stars in front of my eyes for a second. It hit me hard, the reality of what I had done and I bent over, hands on my knees to brace myself, looking up at him for reassurance.

  “Keep doing that if the police ever come around to talk to you. We don’t know that Michael is dead. We don’t even know that he is missing. Express surprise.” He stared me down as I shook my head.

  Guilt rose, higher than a wave. This was a goddamn tidal wave, crashing over me full force, threatening to knock me down. “I’m a terrible person. Michael only wanted to help me.”

  “Michael wanted to take you back.”

  I paused. He was right, but still. It wasn’t right. My stomach clenched.

  “Tell me what he was taking you back to.” His voice was soothing and he had reached out, his fingers massaging into my shoulders.

  I breathed deeply, in and out, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, locked on him. What did he see when he looked at me? What answer did he want? The answer that was pat, or the truth? My neck was strained by the position, from trying to see his eyes but I didn’t stand up. I liked the burn in my thighs, the almost painful kneading of his fingers into my muscles, the proximity of my face to his legs. “He thinks—

  I stopped, rephrased. “He thought that I should go back to Seattle and back to the hospital. I don’t know who told him about the hospital because I didn’t, but he knew everything.” Or almost everything.

  “What is in the hospital? You don’t look sick to me.”

  “Psych lock down.” Our eyes were locked on each other, both of us still. His hands had stopped rubbing. I waited to see what his response would be.

  “Would that be your choice? Do you want doctors to talk to you and give you medication and make you drift?”

  Drift. There was a good term for it. Wasn’t that what I had been doing? It didn’t suit me. That’s why I had decided to come to Alaska. I had drifted for years. Since Trent.

  “No. That’s not my choice. I want everything to be sharp, in focus.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s what I thought.” He shifted his hands under my armpits and urged me to stand up.

  Blood rushed quickly in my face and I felt lightheaded. “That’s why I wanted to come to Fort Yukon.”

  “So why did he care, do you think? Why would it matter to him one way or the other?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “It’s because people like to tell other people what to do. They like to be right. He thought he knew what was best for you, but he didn’t. You can waste time feeling guilty or you can recognize that the only person who ever has your best interest at heart is you.”

  I eased my arms around his waist, knowing he didn’t like ordinary affection, but not caring. “I do feel guilty. I shouldn’t have answered when Michael contacted me. But…”

  “But what?” He didn’t pull away. His hands were still on my arms and I liked the closeness.

  “I wanted Michael to want me. It felt good. Is that bad?”

  “Doesn’t everyone want to be wanted?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Lie. I want you to want me.”

  A shiver ran through me. He always knew what to say. “Good. But don’t you want to know why I was in the hospital?”

  “Not unless you want to tell me.”

  Part of me wanted him to pry. To pick at the scabs over my wounds until I bled. But that was a dominance that didn’t belong to the stranger. His dominance was to capture and hold.

  I was definitely held to him by my own e
motions. My love.

  I just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” It had been bullshit anyway. My mother’s punishment for Dean the first time, when she had found out. She’d told everyone I’d tried to commit suicide but in reality, she had poisoned me.

  That’s what you get for trying to steal my husband, you ungrateful bitch.

  Vicodin in my apple pie. My favorite treat. She was clever, I’d give her that. For my “own protection” she had checked me in to the hospital and hadn’t checked me out. Getting sprung had required ingenuity on my part, but fortunately, if she was clever, I was clever and cute. The babydoll.

  She always gets what she wants.

  “I love you,” I said, feeling earnest, raising my mouth to his for a kiss. He actually obliged me, his beard scratching me before his cold lips pressed onto mine.

  “I love you, too, Crazy Laney.”

  A flash of anger spiked deep inside me, but I knew he was only teasing. Or testing me. Still, I reached out and slid my hand along the front of his pants, finding his cock, and reaching down beneath it to cup his balls. “I wouldn’t call me that if I were you.”

  He laughed, a low, soft rumble. “And I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you.”

  I laughed too, amused. “Thanks for making me feel better.”

  “That wasn’t my goal.”

  “I know.” Kindness wasn’t his first priority and when he did something thoughtful it meant more. Wasn’t it a greater achievement to wrest love from someone who didn’t want to give it? It was easy to make a man who was eager to fall in love feel emotion for you. To make the man who loved reluctantly say that to you was a huge triumph.

  He could grumble and I didn’t care. I squeezed him, a little tighter, feeling my chest swell with love. That heady giddy swelling sensation that told you that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. “And you can call me whatever you want,” I said.

  The stranger smiled, that wicked slow upturn of his mouth, lips still closed. It was the sinful smile of a man who had as many secrets as me, if not more, but who understood me, and I him. “I know,” he said. “Right now I’d like to call you naked. Go get ready for me, doll, while I finish up with the dogs.”

  A shiver ran through me, anticipation instantly arousing me. I had been hoping he would want to finish what he’d started the night before. But there was never a guarantee with him. He might go days before he would touch me. This was what I wanted-an exciting and intense distraction from my less comfortable thoughts. I didn’t like to feel guilty. I didn’t like to think about Michael’s mom, back in Seattle, eventually realizing that her son was missing. Her worry. I didn’t like to think that Dean would be disappointed in me.

  The stranger would shake and rattle and fuck those thoughts right out of my head.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling daring enough to reach up and sneak a quick kiss on his lips. He didn’t like affection. He wasn’t used to being touched. But I was teaching him, the same way he was teaching me. He didn’t even frown or protest, which was steady, earnest progress.

  As I went towards the cabin, I paused to look around me, at the beauty of the woods, the simple structure of the cabin, the crunch of the snow beneath my boots, and the pristine smell of the air. Clean. We were clean and this was where we were going to build a life together. The stranger had been tethering the last dog back up to his pen when I saw him pause, cock his head, as if he were listening. But then he went back to what he was doing.

  I glanced around, suddenly fearing a bear. I had seen one when I first arrived at the cabin and it had been terrifying. He’d shot the bear around me, and for a second I had thought he was shooting me. But he’d saved my life, and for the first time, it occurred to me that he was a hell of a good shot to pull that off. I had just been grateful but now I was even more appreciative. Not everyone could take that shot without killing the person they were attempting to save.

  Kicking off my boots, I set them over by the fire to melt. Now the cabin had a new meaning to me. Not just a warm salvation from the snow and cold, or a prison without internet connection, but a home. It was our home. The vibe was different for me and I wondered if he felt it too. I peeled off my jacket, hung it on the hooks. I was humming. I realized it a good thirty seconds after I started doing it. I was filling the silence with my own music, a cheerful take on an Adam Levine song. That made me laugh under my breath, a soft chuckle that immediately cut out when I realized something else. The stranger was talking to someone. His voice was clear, strong, and it wasn’t the tone he used with the dogs.

  Frowning, I looked out the window and my head spun a little, my hands reaching out to grip the countertop. Who the fuck was that? Two men, bundled up, rifles on their backs, just somehow there, in the yard. No one ever came to the cabin. I had only seen people once, out on the river, but never here, in our private space. Only Michael had invaded this sanctity. Fear and anger collided and I gripped the counter tighter, watching carefully. The interruption made me furious. No one belonged here with us and now the stranger was going to be on edge. He wouldn’t want to have sex, he wouldn’t smile. Why were they here? Would they stumble across the body in the woods? I felt fear sweat trickle down my armpits. I didn’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life. I wasn’t cut out for prison.

  I wasn’t cut out for a lot of things, the least of which was prison. There were no men in prison and I was only good at manipulating men. Women didn’t like me quite as much.

  The voices were getting louder. There was some gesturing on the part of the larger of the two men, and suddenly he glanced towards the house. We locked eyes. He nodded to me. Then he turned back to the stranger and said something. My lover just shook his head.

  The man started to walk towards the cabin, but the stranger stepped in front of him, blocking him. What the hell? My heart was thumping from fear but I needed to hear what was going on. I pulled my boots back on and opened the cabin door. “Hello,” I called, trying to sound normal and confident. “Is everything okay out here?”

  The stranger didn’t turn around. He just said, “Get back in the house, sweetheart. These men are leaving.”

  But the taller one, with the dark eyes, shifted so he could see me. “Ma’am, are you okay? Are you Laney Turner? Because I saw on the news that a woman who looks just like you was in that plane crash and they never found her body. If that’s you, and you are being held here against your will, you can come with us and we’ll get you to safety. Don’t be afraid.”

  It clicked then. These were the men from the river, when I’d fallen through the ice. They had seen me sprinting towards them, trying to escape the stranger. He had told them I was his wife and at the time, they had believed it. But then they’d seen pictures of me on the news and had thought about it, and here they were…

  They hadn’t called the police, clearly. That was good. They were probably wanting to confirm their suspicions before they said anything and looked stupid. Yet this to me seemed very stupid. Confronting a potential kidnapper? I stood there, sweating, not sure what the right answer was. Did I tell them I was Laney? Did I lie? I couldn’t figure out the ramifications of either one quickly enough.

  So I avoided the question. “What on earth would make you think that?” I said, injecting a healthy dose of astonishment into my voice. “I’m not being held against my will.” If they only knew I had killed to stay, they might not be so eager to assist me. “But thank you for your concern. I’m not afraid at all, I promise.”

  Well, maybe I was a little afraid of the stranger. This was my fault, after all. I had brought these men right to our door by my little bolt across the ice. He couldn’t be too happy with me. In fact, I could see by the set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils he was barely containing his anger.

  “Are you Laney?” The man skirted the stranger and took a step closer to the cabin. He was only ten feet from me.

  I tensed, instinctively.

  The stranger reached out and took his arm, halting h
is progress. “Listen to me,” he said carefully. “If you take another step towards my wife, you will regret it.”

  I shivered, the wind cutting through my sweatshirt.

  “Relax,” the shorter of the two men said. “We’re not looking to start any trouble.”

  “Oh, no? Then why are you on my property after my wife has told you she’s fine?” He didn’t let go of the taller man’s arm. “Do you have wives? Would you let total strangers into the house with her in the middle of fucking nowhere? My job is to protect my wife at all costs, and I think you can appreciate and understand that.”

  With every word he spoke, my excitement grew, my panties turning damp. Wife. What an amazing label, one I wished in earnest were truly mine. I loved that he wanted to protect me, that he was strong enough to stand up to random men who thought they might know anything about me or who I was and what I needed. I knew they meant well and good for them. Gold star for looking out for a woman they had thought needed help. I applauded that, and appreciated it. I didn’t want the stranger to hurt them. But they didn’t know anything about the truth and they really needed to leave. It was far too dangerous for them to be around.

  Dean had protected me from my mother and that’s why I had loved him. The stranger had protected me from death and it was part of why I loved him. But the attraction I felt for him, the primal, guttural, intense lust and desire I had for the stranger was unique, different. The two needs-the physical and the emotional-had never really manifested in one relationship for me before. I had wanted men I hadn’t loved and I loved Dean while not being hugely in lust with him. But this… this was an interweaving of both. Love and lust locked together in an embrace so intimate it felt elevated. Beyond the average. A great love story.

  The greatest love stories begin with blood, after all.