Protecting His Brother's Bride

by Jan Schliesman

  Nothing.

  “Kira, where are you?”

  The brisk wind shook the branches over his head and released chunks of snow. She emerged from behind a tree trunk about a dozen feet away, clutching a large stick in her hands.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” she said, dropping the makeshift weapon and rushing to his side. Kira had Dalton’s stocking cap pulled low over her ears, while his oversize gloves engulfed her hands. She’d also latched on to his coat, he noted distractedly as he searched her for any sign of injury.

  “Are you hurt?” they asked each other simultaneously. He shifted the rifle to his side, using his free arm to pull her against his chest. Only a second or two to confirm she was okay and then reality interceded.

  “We’ve got to move.” He paused to reload the rifle before handing it to Kira. “The safety is right here.” He indicated the switch.

  She stared at his hands. “Is that blood?”

  “Yes, but not mine,” he answered. It sounded heartless to speak so callously of taking another’s life. The intruder’s blood or Kira’s blood, which would you rather have on your hands? The thought iced Dalton’s veins. He needed confirmation that she was living and breathing, and his mouth sought out hers. When her chilled lips parted beneath his, he allowed himself a brief taste before pulling away and then ushering her deeper into the forest.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Those snowmobiles we heard can’t be too far away.”

  Kira stumbled through a drift of deep snow and he stretched out an arm to catch her. Doubt flooded his mind. Maybe he should be in front and leading the way instead of bringing up the rear. Another look over his shoulder didn’t reveal anyone behind them. Would the other intruder immediately know Dalton had swiped the keys from the dead man’s pocket? If they managed to locate the snowmobiles, would he be waiting to finish them?

  “What happened to those security guys Tate was sending?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “So nobody is coming to help us?”

  How could Dalton tell her Tate wouldn’t reach them in time to make a difference?

  “Have I ever let you down?” When Kira didn’t respond, Dalton tugged on her arm and turned her to face him. “Look at me.”

  “This isn’t right. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice anything for me.”

  “Tell me what I should do. You’ve made it impossible for me to walk away.” The words sounded completely wrong to his ears, and judging by Kira’s shocked expression, hers, as well. It was also the moment his brain caught up with his heart. He loved her, but it wasn’t the hearts-and-flowers kind of love he’d shared with Lauren. No, this woman dared him not to love her. She claimed she didn’t deserve it.

  He’d insisted he wanted her to be happy when this ordeal ended. But he’d never painted himself into the picture. Suddenly, his mind was working to ensure she remained in his life, not because it was the right thing to do, but because he loved her.

  “Then by all means, let me do the honors.” She made an about-face and started running at an angle away from him.

  “Kira! Don’t be a fool. He’s coming this way.” Dalton knew he could handle sassy Kira, the woman who refused to back down, but he hadn’t expected her to choose this moment to stake her independence.

  He heard the crack of the rifle a second before a bullet whizzed past his ear. A few more peppered the snow at his feet, sending him diving for cover.

  “Dalton!” Kira screamed his name.

  He rolled to his stomach and shifted the assault weapon into place, but didn’t have time to fire before his opponent released a torrent of bullets into the trees above his head and then the ground surrounding him.

  Dalton’s ears ached from the noise while adrenaline pumped through his body. When the gunfire stopped, he had to be ready to move. Clumps of snow fell on his head while a cloud of white blocked any vision more than two feet away.

  Kira was screaming, but now her words were directed at the man who’d grabbed her.

  “Let me go!” She was making as much noise as possible, reminding him of their cemetery scuffle. As she had that night, she released a bloodcurdling scream, but was quickly silenced.

  Dalton’s racing heart seemed to collide with a wall. She couldn’t be dead. He had to get to her, help her. The weapon shook in his hands and his fingers refused to follow his commands. What was wrong with him?

  He shifted his elbows, trying to lever himself higher. Sweat dripped down his face and burned his left eye. He swiped his cheek against his shoulder, hoping to clear his vision, but to no avail. The gun fell from his hands and he stared down at the red snow. It looked like a snow cone from a summer carnival. But instead of annoying carnival music, all he heard was Lauren’s voice, humming to him.

  The tune wasn’t familiar, wasn’t soothing. Dalton fought to remain conscious. Kira’s voice echoed in his brain, a scream, and then silence.

  * * *

  Griffin glanced over his shoulder to the path he’d made in the snow, wishing there was a way to cover his trail.

  On the other hand, there were so many tracks leading around the house and through the tree-covered areas to the east and west, it would take several hours for someone to sort out who’d gone where. Canceling the response to the burglar alarm meant it could be days before Rico’s body was found. And even longer for anyone to retrieve Dalton’s body from the woods.

  Who was he kidding? The frequent snowstorms in Colorado would bury anybody until a late-spring thaw. Change of plans. There was no need for him to fumble with the woman and a snowmobile when there were several other modes of transportation at his fingertips. He circled the house, keeping the woman balanced on his shoulder. He kicked the front door open with his booted foot and made his way to the kitchen.

  The garage was packed with all sorts of toys. He adjusted the load on his shoulder, strode confidently to the key rack on the kitchen wall and, after a brief hesitation, chose the keys to the remaining four-wheel-drive vehicle.

  On second thought, he swiped all the keys and shoved them into his pocket. No sense in making it easy for anyone to follow them. He smirked at Rico’s body on the floor, the rivers of blood intersecting on the tile.

  He shouldered his way into the garage and strode to the SUV. Dropping the woman onto the passenger seat, he clicked the seat belt across her chest to hold her in place.

  He paused long enough to locate a spool of twine hanging over the workbench. After securing her hands in front of her, he quickly tossed the rest of the twine at her feet and placed his weapon on the rear floorboard, covering it with a travel-sized blanket.

  He raised the garage door and opened the rear hatch of the SUV. A storage compartment held a bag of ice salt, a shovel, road flares, matches and a combination radio-flashlight. He shut the back and went around to climb into the driver’s seat. Yanking the ski mask from his face, he tossed it onto the console between the seats and shoved the key in the ignition.

  One more trip for old time’s sake. He glanced to his right and studied the woman beside him, who’d made the game interesting for so long. It might have been easier to kill her and dump the body, but he needed to savor his superiority one more time.

  Then he’d truly be free.

  * * *

  Tate Wilson knew he was the person to blame if either Dalton or Kira were harmed.

  The only way anyone knows where we are is if you told them. Dalton’s words echoed in Tate’s head. He flipped on the headset and questioned the pilot, Grayson. “How much longer?”

  “Twenty minutes, sir.”

  It couldn’t happen like this. Tate dropped his head into his hands and started to pray. Please, God, do not make them suffer for my infidelities. I swear I will change. Let Dalton and Kira be okay. They have to be okay.

  And
what were the implications of not finding them alive? Tate called the security company and learned the intruder alarm had gone off ninety minutes ago, but someone phoned in with the correct code and canceled the alarm.

  Dalton wouldn’t have done so, which meant someone else knew the code. Who was he and how had he gotten it? When the security guys arrived at the snowmobile rental place, they’d found it closed for the day. There must be a link between the two.

  Patience was not Tate’s strong suit and he was about to don a parachute if it meant getting to Dalton and Kira faster. He’d said a lot of things he couldn’t take back. He’d thrown a lot of guilt on Dalton’s shoulders when he knew there was no one to blame for his sister’s suicide.

  No one except Lauren. And if he was being completely honest, Josh. Tate should have told Dalton. He’d found Lauren’s laptop months ago and many of his visits to her grave site had started as a trip to tell Dalton the truth. His sister had been unfaithful.

  Who’d have guessed Tate would be the one groveling for a second chance to prove his worth? If he could have bartered away his fortune for the sight of Dalton’s ugly mug giving him grief, he’d have done it in a heartbeat.

  “Stay in the chopper until I give you the all clear,” A. J. Atkins ordered from the seat beside him.

  Tate could have decked him. “You had your chance,” he yelled in reply. If A.J. had gotten his ass in gear, then maybe he would have been the first one to the snowmobile rental store.

  “I wasn’t busy getting laid when my best friend needed me, was I?”

  Tate got in one good punch before A.J. knocked him to the floor and shoved the rifle barrel against his ribs. “Next time, I’ll shoot first.”

  Tate knew A.J. wasn’t bluffing. They’d spent weeks together in the jungles of Central America, tracking drug runners and rebel armies with no respect for life. A.J. expected the worst from everyone and never tolerated the minutest threat.

  The copter circled the house and Grayson located a place to land. He and A.J. were out the door and scaling snowdrifts before Tate could adjust to finally being on the ground. It seemed as if two lifetimes passed before A.J. whistled and gestured him out of the chopper. Tate’s footsteps faltered in the uneven snow, but he trudged forward while chanting the Hail Mary prayer in his head. He stopped a few feet from A.J.

  “Male DOA in the kitchen.”

  Tate swallowed the bile in his throat. Dalton was dead because of him. This could not be happening. Not now and definitely not here, where one tragedy had already occurred.

  He cleared his throat. “Is it Dalton?”

  A.J. jerked the sunglasses from his eyes. “You think I’d be standing here waiting for instructions if it was?”

  It took Tate several seconds to process the remark. “Any ID?”

  “Negative.” A.J. replaced the glasses. “No one else in the house.”

  Tate swallowed, shaded his eyes against the setting sun as it reflected off the newly fallen snow. Where are they? He snapped his fingers. “Dalton said he saw Kira outside. Search the perimeter. Maybe they found a place to hide.”

  A.J. nodded to his buddy and they both disappeared around the side of the house. Tate headed for the entry, feeling the need to piece together what had happened after he’d spoken with Dalton.

  The front door was riddled with bullet holes. Gun drawn, Tate stepped inside, weaving his way to the kitchen. The dead man was facedown. He was unarmed, which gave Tate a reason to hope that maybe Dalton had disarmed him and both he and Kira had made it out alive.

  It was the only acceptable outcome.

  Tate checked his watch before stomping to the back door and throwing it open. Numerous boot prints followed a path directly to the tree line. Two sets of prints or three? He hated not knowing, not being in control.

  Whether it was divine intervention or not, three men emerged from the woods a few minutes later. Two men walking and one being carried.

  “He’s alive,” A.J. announced.

  Tate sprinted across the clearing and offered his assistance getting Dalton to the house. His face was ashen and his jacket was saturated with blood.

  “No sign of Kira?” Tate asked, taking over for A.J., who carried an extra assault weapon and a rifle.

  “Signs of a struggle, but we couldn’t find a body.”

  “We found another set of tracks sweeping across to the east,” the pilot said.

  “It must mean something if they took her, right?” Tate needed to believe there was a chance they’d get to Kira in time.

  “We’ll continue the search after we get Dalton inside.”

  A.J. shifted sideways, easing Dalton through the door and into the kitchen. Tate followed.

  “Put him up on the counter,” Tate instructed.

  It took all three men to complete the task. “Hey, Junior,” Tate said and gestured to the second man. “Run to the chopper and get my medical bag.”

  The pilot nodded and headed to the front door.

  “His name is Grayson,” A.J. said.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Tate didn’t have time for niceties. He searched through drawers for scissors to cut through Dalton’s shirt.

  “Check the hall closet for a first aid kit,” he barked, ripping open the insulated flannel and tearing through the T-shirt underneath. Tate used a kitchen towel to wipe away the melted snow and blood before inspecting Dalton’s chest and left arm. A bullet appeared to have ricocheted off a rib and lodged in his biceps. “I need your Maglite over here.”

  A.J. propped his AK-47 against the counter and retrieved the light from one of his vest pockets, holding it over Dalton’s head. “I’d say he dodged a bullet, wouldn’t you?”

  “He may have dodged a dozen, but he’ll have one for a souvenir.” Tate handed A.J. another towel. “Apply pressure to his chest.”

  “I know the drill.” He was silent for a few seconds before jumping back into the conversation. “Have you been using any of your superskills here in the States?” A.J. asked.

  Tate ignored the question and focused on examining Dalton for other injuries. A.J. never tiptoed around a topic. He’d ask a question about the weather in the same tone he’d use to deliver a death notification.

  “Haven’t you heard I’m a globe-trotting playboy now?”

  “Keep telling yourself that, because you’re the only one who believes it.” A.J. snorted.

  Tate hummed, keeping the mood light for another moment or two. He needed his mind to drift to the place where everything came naturally, and if he thought too much about who he was treating, his emotions would take over.

  This was Dalton. His best friend since childhood and the one person he should have been able to forgive after Lauren’s death. Why had he carried that anger for so long? Why hold the grudge until he felt hollow inside? So hollow and empty he’d dropped any pretense of caring.

  For himself, for his family, for anyone. Another night, another party, another faceless woman to use and then forget.

  Grayson returned with the bag of medical supplies and plopped it on the counter near Dalton’s head. Tate dug to the bottom, removed his stethoscope and checked Dalton’s breathing. Shallow.

  “Find some blankets,” he barked. Grayson hustled from the room.

  A.J. shone his flashlight on Tate’s face. “Lay off the kid or we’re gonna have a problem.”

  “You mean another problem, right?” Tate countered with considerably less venom.

  A.J. moved the light to Dalton’s wounds. “This is a cakewalk compared to Costa Rica. No bombs or gunfire, and a semisterile environment. You should be able to sew him up with your eyes shut.”

  Tate swallowed his retort and cleared his throat. A.J. was trying to keep him focused on the procedure instead of the patient. After retrieving a package containing sterilized instruments
, Tate used the tweezers to pull the bullet from Dalton’s arm.

  By this time, Grayson had located a blanket that looked more like a bedspread. He covered the lower half of Dalton’s body before following A.J. from the room.

  Tate listened intently to the telltale footsteps overhead as the two men cleared the second floor. He expected to hear at any moment that another body had been located. His mind filled with images of Lauren’s motionless form at the morgue. Medical school and his stint in the Coast Guard had familiarized him with both peaceful and violent death. At the funeral home, Lauren had looked like herself. As if she was at a photo shoot and had to hold perfectly still.

  He’d denied her death until her coffin was lowered into the ground.

  Then it was over.

  Staring down at Dalton, he got the same feeling. This was unreal and unacceptable. Someone would pay for the harm done to Dalton and Kira. Tate’s finger itched to pull the trigger of his weapon and fire at the dead man on the floor, which signaled he needed to get his emotions under control. There was nothing to be gained by that behavior.

  His gaze swept the kitchen once more, taking in the blood splattered on the opposite wall. This house was death personified. How many times had he visited, both invited and as a drop-in guest? How many meals had he shared around the dining room table, times filled with laughter, love and a good dose of sibling rivalry?

  Dalton shifted slightly on the countertop, drawing Tate’s attention. He slipped the safety on the weapon and rested his other hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Take it easy, bro.”

  Dalton’s eyelids opened and immediately closed again. His body shuddered beneath Tate’s fingers.

  “I know you’re cold.” Tate reached for the bedspread and yanked it up to Dalton’s chin. “But be a good patient and keep quiet for another couple minutes. Finding Kira depends on your cooperation. Understand?”

  Chapter 17

  “Bossy bastard,” Dalton grumbled.