Exposed - My Mountain Man Protector

by Alexa Ross

  I took my phone out, turned it on, and then set it back to airplane mode. After I turned it off, I stared at myself in the black screen for a minute. My reflection was frightened, and for good reason.

  Something told me this mistake was going to cost me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The rest of the way back wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t all that hard either. Walking downhill proved to be much easier, and when I got too tired, Blake gave me a piggyback ride. Soon the trees grew sparser and the air heavier, and it wasn’t too long before we saw the distinctive red stone of downtown Aspen.

  “Okay, so you said you parked your car at a plaza?” Blake said.

  I nodded. “My passport photo printout should be in the glove compartment, inside my sunglasses case. We just have to grab that and meet your friend, wherever he is.”

  “His name is Paul, and I don’t know his phone number. I haven’t had a phone in years now. I know where he works though, so once we’ve got your passport photo we can head on over.”

  I nodded again and tried to smile, but I couldn’t absorb the calm surety in Blake’s voice. I knew Angelo. He was determined and he was relentless. He would find me if he hadn’t already.

  Seeing my worried face, Blake took me in his arms. “Hey, Claire, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to protect you.”

  I closed my eyes, inhaled his musky pine scent, and tried to calm my pounding heart. But I couldn’t quite calm myself down. Blake might protect me, but who was going to protect him?

  Walking through downtown was surreal. It seemed a century since I’d been in civilization, seen people other than Blake. Everyone looked overly uptight and upset, either lost in their own sad world or glaring out of the corner of their eyes at everyone else.

  I felt like an alien, and people shot me and Blake looks like we were ones. I glanced down. Our clothes were admittedly pretty lived-in looking. Still, I thought it was more than that. It was something that was felt rather than seen. Our hands clasped, a skip in our step, Blake and I were happy, truly, genuinely happy. I guessed that in itself was something pretty remarkable.

  Passing by the Grateful Deli produced another uncanny sense of déjà vu. There was a lady there who almost looked like me, her brown hair in the same low, lazy ponytail I liked, her face as drawn on as mine probably had been when I’d sat there.

  I almost wanted to tell her, “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  Because it was. I was walking here beside this good man who would protect me, and even if he weren’t here, it would still be fine. I would be fine, because I was different. I knew what I wanted now, and I knew what I had to do.

  When we finally got to the plaza, I was surprised to see the car still there. I figured it would have been towed by now, but I hadn’t wanted to mention it to Blake until I saw for certain. But, at the edge of the lot, still parked sloppily in the uppermost part of the parking spot, there she was, my red Jag.

  There weren’t many people around now; the only one was a bum by the bus stop who was ogling us queerly.

  Something didn’t feel right about this, but I didn’t really have any choice but to go to my car. I needed that passport printout.

  “There it is,” I told Blake.

  He nodded, his face tense, probably from that same uneasy feeling I had.

  “Be careful,” he said, although he walked beside me as I advanced to the car.

  I stopped at the driver’s side, put my key in, and unlocked the door.

  Blake didn’t say anything. He had his head cocked toward the car, like he was trying to figure out something. I pulled the door open and then put the key in the ignition.

  “I should probably move it out of here to somewhere less out in the open,” I said, turning the key.

  The next second, Blake was yelling my name and yanking me out of the car as it exploded in front of me. As Blake dragged me away farther away, flames devoured my car.

  When we finally collapsed to the pavement, panting with shock and horror, I saw him. Angelo.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He was striding toward us, his gun drawn. His smile was clown-like, his eyes glittering.

  My husband.

  “Blake,” I hissed, but he was already drawing his gun.

  “Don’t come any farther,” he told Angelo.

  Angelo stopped, his jeering gaze sliding to me.

  “Claire, Claire, Claire, when will you learn? It’s not a good idea to turn on your phone when you’re on the run from your mafia husband, honey.”

  I said nothing. I still couldn’t believe it was him. Angelo. The man with a gun pointed at me. My husband.

  His laugh was a chilling, high sound.

  “Knew you wouldn’t be able to stay off your beloved smartphone for long,” he said with a cocky shake of his curly-haired head. “I tracked it easy. Haven’t you heard of geo-tracking? Following you this whole time has been child’s play, and now I’m going to end it like an adult.”

  He took another step forward. “Tell your boyfriend to lower the gun, or I’ll blow his head off.”

  I glared at him and asked, “If you’re going to kill us either way, then what’s the point?”

  Angelo shrugged. Clearly he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  I glanced from Blake to him. Neither looked ready to lower their gun.

  My whole body was shaking. It couldn’t end like this, a showdown between the man who had saved me and the one who was trying to kill me, a fight to the death where I could lose everything.

  I advanced toward Angelo, my arms raised. “Don’t hurt him, Angelo. It’s me you want.”

  “Claire, what are you doing?” Blake demanded, fear in his voice.

  I turned to him and mouthed “trust me” with a wink.

  “Get beside me,” Angelo growled, and I did. I stopped beside his wifebeater- and tight-jean-clad form.

  My husband’s black, hateful gaze was still on Blake.

  “Not surprised Claire tried to replace me as soon as she could either,” he sneered. “Though I have to ask, man, what’s it like to sleep with another guy’s wife?”

  Blake cocked his gun. “Shut your mouth. You’re not even worthy of talking about Claire.”

  More ugly laughter slithered out of Angelo’s lips.

  “Cute, really.” He turned to me. “You got yourself a little guard dog. One who doesn’t really know you at all, but that’s probably half the point, right?”

  “Shut up, Angelo,” I growled, and he pointed the gun at me.

  “Baby, baby. You should just be careful is all. I mean, soon you’ll be dead, so it doesn’t really matter, but this guy doesn’t even know you.”

  “I probably know her better than you do,” Blake fired back.

  “Oh?” Angelo said innocently, pointing his gun back at Blake. “So she probably told you about how she maxed out our credit card? How she spent whole days in front of the TV with every season of The Bachelor on repeat? How she had a nervous breakdown just a few months ago?”

  Blake said nothing. I hung my head in shame.

  “But you probably knew all that already. Who am I kidding?” Angelo said with a chuckle. “You could probably already tell by how down-to-earth Claire is.”

  Neither of us said anything. I didn’t dare look at Blake, too afraid of what I’d see.

  “But enough chitchat,” Angelo said, his voice going hard. “Lower your gun.”

  Blake didn’t move.

  “Lower your gun,” Angelo snarled. “I won’t ask again.”

  His knuckles on the gun were white, his eyes narrowed in hate. All his concentration was on Blake, which was good for what I was about to do.

  Angelo cocked the gun, and I ripped the pepper spray out of my pocket and sprayed him in the eyes. Shrieking, Angelo fired his gun off. Blake ducked, and I rushed back to him.

  “Wait here,” he said as he rushed by, diving at Angelo.

  The two men struggled in a ball of fists, grunts, and Angelo’s cu
rses until, on top of Angelo, Blake slugged him in the face. Angelo’s head flopped back and then up again, and he furiously spat blood. Even as more of Blake’s blows descend upon him, still Angelo wouldn’t give up, his head jolting back every time like a jack-in-the-box. He laughed, letting out a horrible gargling sound.

  “You’re lucky I trained her good for you,” he spat, and Blake punched him once more.

  “You don’t deserve to even talk about her,” Blake growled. “Now do I have to punch you some more, or are you going to cooperate?”

  Angelo responded by spitting in Blake’s face.

  Blake punched him in the chest again, got up, and then kicked him in the same place, his boot connecting with cotton shirt once and then over and over again, sending Angelo’s body sprawling one way and then the next. With each blow, Blake’s face only grew more livid. He didn’t stop kicking until Angelo’s sputtering, trembling form had finally fallen still.

  I gaped at Blake, still shocked, frozen in disbelief.

  “Is he…?” I asked.

  Blake shook his head.

  “He’s unconscious, not dead.” He kicked the still form once more. “Though he deserves to be.”

  I looked away from the oozing monstrosity that was now Angelo’s face.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Call the police. This will be enough evidence now. He tried to attack both of us, not to mention he actually blew up your car. But while we’re waiting we should tie him up or restrain him somehow. We don’t have any rope, do we?”

  I shook my head. “No. Sorry.”

  Blake nodded.

  I scanned the plaza storefronts, my gaze stopping on Clark’s Pharmacy & Market.

  “Let me check in Clark’s,” I said.

  Then, with a glance at Angelo, I asked, “You don’t mind guarding him until I’m back?”

  “Sure,” Blake said.

  He sat down on the ground before Angelo’s still form, waving to a petrified old lady who was pushing her grocery cart by.

  I paused, suddenly noticing just how much of a scene we were making. We were in a parking lot—albeit at the edge—in the middle of the day with a burned-out car in front of us and a bloodied, unconscious man behind us.

  “Though I think you should give me your phone so I can call the police,” Blake said. “Otherwise, someone may just go ahead and call them on us.”

  Glancing at the old lady who had now stopped at her car to stare at us, I nodded and handed my phone over.

  “There’s no password.”

  Blake nodded, his gaze already on the little screen.

  “Good luck.”

  With one last worried look back, I hurried to Clark’s. Inside, I rushed past shoppers angling carts every which way and employees who fled as they sensed my approach, not stopping until I got to the housewares section. There, at the end of the aisle, tucked in the corner as the long shot it was, was the rope.

  As soon as I was halfway to the cash registers, holding the thick scratchy thing, I realized we had no way to cut it and then raced back to housewares and grabbed the first pair of scissors I saw.

  Then it was back to the line for the cash registers, which seemed to take forever. Every other customer had an item that wouldn’t scan, while the cashier herself was moving so slowly that I would have sworn the purple-haired girl had been hired by Angelo himself.

  My hands were still shaking and my breath was coming out in harried gasps.

  If this took too long, Angelo could come to, and if Blake was distracted, then…I had to get out there.

  Finally, it was my turn. Miraculously, my items scanned without any issues and the cashier shoved them into a bag only moderately slowly. So, after a quick tap of my card and grab of my plastic bag, I was out.

  In the parking lot, Blake was in the same position, sitting cross-legged, placidly watching the rise and fall of Angelo’s chest. When I walked up to him, he handed me the phone.

  “Called the police,” he said.

  Then, gesturing to Angelo’s unconscious form, he added, “Angelo hasn’t stirred.”

  He stuck a leg out and kicked Angelo in the side again to be sure. Angelo still didn’t move.

  I sat down beside Blake, putting the rope and scissors between us, and we got to work tying Angelo up. Blake wound and knotted the rope around Angelo’s arms, tying them together, while I tackled Angelo’s legs. As we worked, a gang of preteens approached, their ball-capped heads all tilted.

  “So, uh, what happened?” the tallest one ventured.

  Blake glanced at him and then got back to tying, saying, “He tried blowing up my friend’s car and then shooting us, so we took him out.”

  There was a shocked silence, and then the same boy burst out, “For real, man?”

  Blake gestured to my wrecked car. “Does it look like I’m kidding?”

  The boys lingered for another minute and then wandered over to my car before finally sauntering off to the convenience store.

  “Kids these days,” Blake said with a good-humored smile.

  I smiled back, looking from my destroyed car to Angelo’s unconscious, still-snarling face. God, had Blake and I been lucky. I sat back and thought about it. I’d been running off such adrenaline from one crisis to the next that it was just now really sinking in. Blake and I had escaped getting blown up with my car with seconds to spare. Same went for getting shot by Angelo. Same went for this whole week in fact: escaping Angelo, getting away from the bear, meeting Blake at all. I’d been really, really lucky.

  “Hey, smiley,” Blake said, patting my head. “You finished with your tying there?”

  I glanced down to see one section of rope drooping around Angelo’s ankles. I stuck my tongue out at Blake and then got to work. Really, I hadn’t even gotten started.

  First, I knotted the rope into several sections around his feet. Then it was on to tying up his ankles, and then his legs. But no matter how many sections and knots I made, it didn’t seem to be enough. It was only until I tied a final section around Angelo’s upper legs and sat back, exhausted, that Blake burst out laughing.

  I glared at him. “How long have you been watching?”

  “Must be four minutes now,” Blake said with a grin. “Didn’t want to disturb you when you were so deep into your work.”

  I eyed my creation with a proud smile. Angelo’s legs now resembled a loosely disassembled mummy, with rope extending up and down almost every inch of his legs. Okay, so I might’ve done a slightly too-good job.

  Clasping my hand, Blake said, “Just in time too; look who’s here.”

  I looked up to see a police cruiser, lights and siren blaring, barreling down the street toward us. The car shot into the parking lot and skidded to a stop a few spots away. A thin, angular man stepped out of the driver’s side of the car, and a broad, pyramid-shaped man stepped out of the other side.

  “I’m Officer Sherpe, and that’s Officer Broag,” the thin man said.

  After we shook their hands, they turned their attention to Angelo’s splayed form, and Officer Sherpe said, “This the guy? Angelo Monti?”

  Blake nodded.

  “He just tried shooting both of us. He’s been trying to hurt Claire here. He set a bomb in her car.”

  Their heads nodded, then, simultaneously, swiveled in the direction of my burned-out wreck of a car, and froze.

  “Christ almighty,” Officer Sherpe said softly.

  After another minute of staring, his head swiveled back to face me. “We’ll get a fire crew on that. Are y’all okay for transportation in the meantime?”

  Before I could answer, Blake said, “Yeah. We’re just going to be heading back to my cabin up the hill. That is, unless you want us for questioning today and as long as that’s what Claire wants.”

  “Questioning y’all today shouldn’t be necessary,” Officer Sherpe said, nudging Angelo’s body with his foot. “Have to get this guy in for processing and all.”

  He got out handcuffs an
d paused, the metal things hanging over Angelo’s prone form. He and the pyramid exchanged a glance and then broke out laughing.

  “Y’all did this—this tie-up business?”

  Blake held back his own smile. “I can’t take credit for all…this. The legs are Claire’s doing.”

  Officer Broag lifted one side of Angelo, while Officer Sherpe helped with the legs and grinned at me.