Snowfall

by Suzanne Cass

  Wyatt charged, yelling loudly. He had no clear intention of killing the man. All he wanted to do was stop him. He hit the man with the full force of his body, sending him flying backwards, just as the gun went off. The bullet went wide, Wyatt knocking the weapon out of his grip as he landed on top of him.

  The knife was in Wyatt’s hand and he stabbed down with all his force; heard a grunt as the blade bit into flesh. The man was reaching for his ankle, probably had his knife in a holster around his leg. Wyatt had to stop him from getting that knife, or he was a dead man.

  The man was powerful, taller than Wyatt, and wiry like a grayhound. They wrestled. Anton got an arm around Wyatt’s neck and dragged him sideways, using his legs to try to turn them over, so Wyatt was beneath him. He couldn’t let that happen, his knife hand was free and so he stabbed repeatedly at the man’s shoulders, catching him with a glancing blow. But it was enough to make Anton cry out and release him, defending himself from the blows.

  Snow was flying everywhere; there was snow in Wyatt’s mouth and eyes, blinding him. The man was holding a hand to his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood, and he stopped struggling. Was he giving up? Wyatt drew in a huge gulp of air. Was this it? Had he won?

  Sensing Wyatt’s hesitation, the man let out a bloodcurdling yell and shoved Wyatt with all his might, knocking him onto his back in the snow. Wyatt saw him reaching for the knife at his ankle, saw the flash of a blade in the light of the stars, and then Anton was standing over him.

  “You little punk. I might’ve left you alive. But not anymore. I’ll get what I need from your girlfriend, and then I’ll kill her, too.” It was too dark to see the man’s facial features, but his voice was deep and terrifying in the still night air.

  Stella, he had to protect Stella. Rolling sharply to the right, Wyatt used the slope of the hill to get his feet under him and then he was standing, facing Anton. They circled each other like two wary mountain lions, each with a knife in their hand. Wyatt was panting hard, out of breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him twitchy and unstable.

  Wyatt held the lower ground. Not good. Anton was taller than him, and now he had the advantage of being uphill. He waited, his sparring experience in prison standing him in good stead, making sure he didn’t dive in first. Let Anton come to him. He used those few precious seconds to try to get his breath back.

  But it seemed Anton was doing the same thing, because he asked, “Tell me where the diamonds are, and I’ll leave you alone.” Wyatt didn’t believe him for a second. Was the other man just buying time? He couldn’t see how bad the wounds he’d inflicted were in the dark. He’d got Anton at least twice, but without being able to gauge the blood flow, he had no idea if they were merely flesh wounds, or something more serious.

  The man opened his mouth as if to say something further, and Wyatt took the opportunity. He feinted right, then swung the knife across to his left hand and lunged low toward the man’s legs, slicing across his shin bone. The maneuver landed him on his belly on the ground, and he quickly rolled onto his back.

  Anton let out an anguished yell and clutched at his leg, while sweeping his blade down toward Wyatt’s face. It was sheer instinct that saved Wyatt, blocking the blade with his own knife. But he felt the swish of air, as the metal passed so close to his cheek he could have called it a shave. Anton’s enraged thrust put him off balance, and now he teetered on one leg, before crashing down onto the snow-sodden earth beside Wyatt. Without thinking, Wyatt rolled and then levered himself up, jumping onto Anton’s prone body and driving the knife down into the man’s unprotected neck.

  Anton made a strangled gurgle, and both hands flew to his throat. Even in the dim light, Wyatt could see his eyes opened wide in surprise, reflecting the starlight in their depths.

  He kicked out weakly, still grasping at his neck, trying to speak. But only feeble gurgles left his lips.

  Wyatt watched as the light slowly left the other man’s eyes.

  There was a sound, like the sighing of the wind high in the branches. But this sound came from the man lying on the snow beneath him.

  Anton went limp, eyes open and staring at the sky.

  He was dead.

  Anton’s last wild swing at Wyatt’s face had been an amateurish blow, ferocious and unthinking, and it made Wyatt wonder if the man had actually been suffering from blood loss, or pain from his wounds, or both, to become impaired like that. It might explain why he’d been able to beat Anton—who seemed to have been well-trained in the art of fighting. Whatever the reason, Anton was dead. And Wyatt was alive.

  He’d killed a man.

  The words echoed around his brain.

  While he’d been in prison, he’d become good at using his hands to defend himself. He’d beaten other men to a bloody pulp, but never before had he taken a life. Behind those bars, he’d seen other men knifed in the stomach, sliced across the chest, one even had his eye gouged out. He’d seen other inmates using handmade shivs to wound and maim. Wyatt never used one himself, even though he knew how to handle a knife, had become proficient with one living off the land. Killing an animal, slitting its throat, was completely different to killing a man, however. His guts were quivering like a plate of jelly, and his knees could no longer hold his weight as he sank to the ground.

  Was he going back to jail for murder? He couldn’t do that. If he had to go back to prison, it would surely kill him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “STOP RIGHT THERE.” Stella made her voice sound loud and commanding, even though her hands were shaking so much she didn’t think she’d be able to pull the trigger.

  She’d stayed where Wyatt had told her, crouching behind the tree, staring into the dark, willing her eyes to see through the blackness. The sounds of men fighting on the slope above her were intense and horrifying. Stella had no idea what was going on or who was winning. Every now and then she caught the flash of something in the night, part of a dark shape moving between the trees.

  The gun was an alien, cold thing in the palm of her hand. She prayed, and she watched and waited.

  Then the clamor of the fighting stopped as abruptly as it started. Everything went deathly silent. She wanted to call out, to ask if Wyatt was okay, but dared not, in case the other man had won the battle. Was he out there right now, stalking through the underbrush, coming to get her?

  A noise like that of a stealthy footfall alerted her. Was someone moving down the slope? She took a chance and peered around the side of the tree trunk. A dark shape slipped between two fir trees. Was it Wyatt? Or the hitman? She had no way of knowing. Crouching down again, she hunkered against the bark, willing the man to go away. Willing this all to go away. She didn’t know what to do.

  There was another sound, closer now. Whoever it was, they were coming straight toward her. If it was Wyatt, why hadn’t he called out? It must be the other man. The one who’d butchered Tony. She began to tremble. Had he killed Wyatt? He’d left her his gun. She should’ve forced him to take it; to protect himself. And now he was dead because of her.

  But he’d given her his weapon for this exact reason. She looked down and saw the hard metal shape in her hand. Lifting her head, she made a decision. She could do this. Do it for Wyatt. Her palm closed around the pistol, her finger finding the trigger like Wyatt had shown her. Just as the unmistakable sound of a boot crunching through the snow reached her, she got to her feet, holding the gun with both hands like she’d seen people do on the television.

  Sucking in a giant breath, she rounded the edge of the trunk, pointing the gun at the shape emerging out of the dark. “Stop right there,” she commanded.

  “Stella, it’s me.” The sound of Wyatt’s voice was sweet music to her ears.

  “Oh, thank the Lord.” She lowered the pistol and placed it carefully on the ground next to her, wanting to be rid of it. “You scared me. I didn’t know if it was you or…”

  He was there in front of her, solid and sure and alive. His muscular arms embraced
her, pulling her in and holding her tight. She began to shake all over again, this time with relief, as the adrenaline left her body.

  “It’s okay, I’m here now. Everything’s going to be okay,” he soothed, stroking her hair, and murmuring to her like she was a lost child. They stayed like that for many minutes, her clinging to him and him grasping her tight, just breathing.

  At last, she drew back, because she needed the answer. “What happened? Is he…?” She couldn’t say the word.

  “I took care of him. We’re safe. He won’t bother us again,” Wyatt replied, also backing away from her. “I might sit down for a second, if that’s okay.” He sat down heavily, his face as pale as the surrounding snow. She sat next to him, both of them unable to articulate what they were feeling.

  So, the man was dead. Wyatt didn’t need to say it. He’d killed someone. To protect her. And to protect himself. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. At the moment, it was sheer relief they were safe. She didn’t really want to think about the man’s corpse lying up there on the slope. Her mind was numb with fear and shock; she’d have to process it later. One thing she knew, Wyatt’s silence spoke volumes. He was completely shocked by what he’d done.

  He turned to face her. “I’m proud of you. You stood up to me as if I were the stranger, like I told you to.”

  “I’m not sure I could have pulled the trigger,” she admitted.

  “I think maybe you could.”

  She mulled over his comment, unconvinced if he was right.

  He checked his watch. “Dawn is still an hour away.” He hesitated, as if trying to come to a decision. “I’m going to call Levi on the sat phone. I don’t care if he’s asleep. We need help with this.”

  Ten minutes later, they were on the move again. Headed down the mountain toward the ruined house. Wyatt thought she might need to rest longer, but the idea of a dead body lying somewhere nearby, along with the pre-dawn, intense cold, had made up her mind. Wyatt was worried about her physical and mental health. But she discovered she could lock the events of tonight away in a box in her mind, to be analyzed and perhaps freaked out over, later. It was good to have a plan; good to be moving again. It stopped her from thinking too much, kept her body warm and active.

  “What else did Levi say?” she asked as they shouldered their packs. She’d waited impatiently as Wyatt spoke to his brother, but once she’d found out they were going ahead with their meeting, she decided they could walk and talk, Wyatt could fill her in with the rest of it on the way. A tiny part of her hoped that when they reached the old house, she’d be able to go home. This whole thing might’ve blown over by then. Especially with the hitman dead.

  “Levi said he’d been awake for most of the night. He’s worried, and I don’t blame him. Things are getting messy in town. Everyone is on high alert. The townsfolk are on edge, and they’ve called in more cops from Missoula. The place is swarming with them. And most of them are looking for me.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” he sighed. “But there’s been no sign of the people we’re worried about. Dmytro’s thugs seem to have gone to ground.”

  Hope flared in Stella’s chest. “Maybe there was only one man. Maybe Anton was alone on this mission.” Then she remembered there’d been two men showing photos at CJ’s “Or perhaps they’ve left. The cops might’ve scared them away.” She wanted to say maybe they were safe, but that was tempting fate.

  Wyatt shook his head, and the hope died. No, of course they hadn’t left. That’d be too easy. Her shoulders sagged, Tony’s bag suddenly feeling like a lead weight. The idea of being able to return to Stargazer Ranch as if nothing had happened quickly fading.

  “Levi has been keeping a low profile, so far. But now he knows they followed us, and this threat is real, he’s pressing to dig deeper. Put some pressure on his friend at the sheriff’s office for some more information. He’s going to ask Jude to talk to Dmytro.”

  “But he’s in prison, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, up in Missoula. But Levi will tell Jude he thinks there’s a connection between Bryce’s murder and this mob boss. Perhaps, if they can shake him up a bit, he might pull his men out.”

  “Do you think that’ll work?”

  Stella could imagine the lift of Wyatt’s eyebrows as he answered. “No. Dmytro doesn’t scare that easily.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “At the moment, Levi is going to bring us fresh supplies. We need another tent, and some food.”

  Stella tensed her shoulders, but she couldn’t rid herself of her growing irritation. “How long do you think we’re going to need to stay out in this wilderness?” The thought of spending another night out in the freezing cold—even if it was sleeping next to Wyatt—had a knot of despair rising in her stomach. She trusted Wyatt. This crazy situation had shown her how much she could depend on him. He was courageous and faithful. He’d do anything to protect her. And perhaps she might even be falling for him.

  But she couldn’t do this anymore.

  “I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s the only way I can keep us safe.” Wyatt said.

  “What if we try to negotiate?” She’d asked this question before, but perhaps there was a way to persuade this mob boss they were no threat, hand the diamonds back, and be done with it.

  Wyatt lifted his shoulders and kept on walking.

  At the thought of the jewels, she stopped. That was the core of the matter. If they could solve the problem of what to do with them, then they could call this whole thing off.

  She stared at Wyatt’s back for a few seconds, then called out, “So, what are we going to do with the diamonds?”

  He considered her words for a second. “I might have an idea…”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WYATT WAS ON his knees, peering through the cover of a large chokeberry shrub. That was definitely Levi’s truck parked in the driveway. The ranger logo on the side of the mud-splattered door stood out clearly in the midday sun. So why did he feel uneasy? Why was the back of his neck prickling with a thousand needles?

  He scanned the area again. And again, everything looked calm. Nothing moved. Nothing looked out of place.

  “Are Cat and Levi waiting inside?” Stella whispered in his ear.

  “I don’t know, I guess so.” He hadn’t really discussed that part of the plan with Levi. Maybe that’s what was making him uneasy. Perhaps he’d been expecting Levi to be standing at the front door, watching for him. But that’d be ridiculous, like waving a red flag to anybody watching. Much like leaving his highly identifiable truck parked out the front for anyone to see. And suddenly, Wyatt knew what was worrying him. Why had Levi done something so obvious?

  He waited and watched for another five minutes, while Stella became more and more agitated beside him. But nothing moved, and there was no sign of danger. He even tried calling Levi on the sat phone, but there was no answer. Perhaps he’d left it in his truck.

  “Are we going?” Stella finally said. She wasn’t happy with this morning’s turn of events. When he’d said they may have to go back out into the mountains, she’d argued a little at first, but after he’d agreed to hide the diamonds, she seemed to recover most of her good spirits.

  He took a deep breath. They couldn’t wait here forever; the chill was eating into his bones while they sat unmoving. “Stay behind me,” he said. They crossed the bare, snowy ground between their hiding place and the house as quickly and silently as they could. When they reached the back wall, he peered through the broken glass of a window. He well knew the layout of this house, after he’d the nights he’d spent camping here. This back room had probably been a bedroom at one stage. An old dresser, with its drawers hanging open, sat against one wall, and the remains of a metal bed frame crouched in the middle of the room. The roof had caved in and snow and leaves now littered the wooden floorboards. There was no trace of anyone having been in there; no footprints in the snow, nothing had been changed or touch
ed.

  The back entrance gaped open to their right, the door hanging off its hinges, left to swing open. Wyatt poked his head around the edge of the doorframe. It was a small mud room leading into a kitchen. Nothing moved inside. The roof remained intact here, and so it was harder to see if anything had disturbed the dust and the debris. He thought he could see footprints scuffing through the rubbish. Perhaps Levi had come to the back door to peer outside. For no particular reason, Wyatt reached into his pocket and drew out the pistol. He felt a little safer with it in his hand.

  Checking to make sure Stella was close behind, he motioned for her to follow him through the door. They emerged into the kitchen. Everything looked untouched, just the way he’d left it last time he’d been here.

  He was being silly. “Cat. Levi, are you here?” he called softly.

  There was silence for a few seconds, and then a slight scuffling noise. “We’re in here,” his brother called from the living room.

  Wyatt lowered the gun with a sigh of relief and rounded through the door, Stella close on his heels.

  There was Levi, standing in the doorway opposite, with a strange look on his face. Where was Cat? The room was as full of dust and wreckage as the rest of the house. Two sagging wooden chairs sat together in the corner, as if they were having a quiet conversation. An old table rested on three legs, pushed against the far wall. Wyatt took a half-step toward his brother, a smile of greeting forming on his face. But his smile froze when Levi stumbled forward and an unfamiliar man appeared behind him, a gun pointed at Levi’s head.

  Wyatt brought up his own gun, making certain Stella was tucked safely behind him. He knew he wouldn't shoot, as the other guy was using Levi as a shield. He couldn’t take the risk.

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt. They hurt Cat.” The anguish in Levi’s voice tore a hole in Wyatt’s chest.

  “Shut up, fucker,” the man holding Levi snarled.

  There was a sound behind him, and Stella gasped. He swiveled his head just enough to make out another figure stepping through the kitchen door in his peripheral vision.