SEALs of Winter: A military romance superbundle

by Seton, Cora

  The clerk handed her a large bag stuffed with tissue paper, and the light weight indicated it also contained the small box with the ring inside.

  Mitchell hooked it over her arm, thanked the clerk, and headed for the door.

  “What did you find that you couldn’t live without?”

  She almost answered You. Instead, she bit down on her tongue in time, phrasing her response in such a way she wasn’t fibbing. “Not tellin’. But, I did find something I couldn’t live without.”

  “Really? And you’re not going to share it with me?”

  “Nope. Not yet.” Butterflies fluttered in her belly at the thought of giving Remy the ring. Would he think she was asking him to marry her? Her knees shook at the thought, and those butterflies turned into condors, flapping their wings against the inside lining of her gut. Holy hell. Mitchell almost spun on her heels and returned the ring.

  Yes, she wanted to be with him forever, but Remy was just as much a free spirit as she was, and might not want to be tied down. No, this was wrong. She turned to go back into the store, her feet cold from years of experience.

  The clerk clicked the lock and flipped the open sign to Closed. Wiggling her fingers at Mitchell, she smiled, spun, and walked to the rear of the building, turning out the lights as she went.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “My mind,” Mitchell muttered, then straightened her shoulders and faced the man she couldn’t imagine life without. “Let’s go to the hotel.”

  “Did you find a new pair of gloves?”

  “No. I decided I could live with neon green. If I drop one in the snow, I’ll always be able to find it.”

  “True.” Remy scratched his chin. “Hmm. What item could you purchase that you couldn’t live without?”

  Mitchell smiled, but didn’t offer an answer. Let him guess.

  A crowd of young people pushed past them on the sidewalk. One of them wore a dark jacket with a hood.

  When she realized he would run right into her, Mitchell stepped back.

  Remy pulled her into the protective circle of his arms and blocked her body with his.

  The hooded man slammed into Remy, knocking both of them back against the building.

  “Hey!” Remy shouted and shoved away the man.

  The crowd of young people moved on. The man in the hooded jacket split off from them and ducked down an alley.

  “Are you all right?” Remy steadied Mitchell and frowned. “Those kids need to be more careful.”

  “No kidding. Look what they did to your jacket.” Mitchell pulled on the sleeve.

  Remy glanced down at his arm. The feathers in his goose down jacket were flying all over the place from a nine-inch rip in his sleeve. His gut clenched. “What the hell?”

  Mitchell studied the tear closer. “Looks like someone ripped your jacket on purpose. With a knife.”

  Remy spun, looking for the guy in the hooded jacket. He was nowhere to be seen. He’d been aiming for Mitchell when Remy cut in front of him. If he’d gotten to her, he might have succeeded in tearing more than her jacket. Anger and fear burst through him. Anger that anyone would make a stab at Mitchell. Fear that he’d almost reached her. “Come on.” Gripping her arm, he guided her along the sidewalk. Anytime someone got close, he angled his way in front of Mitchell, using his big body to shield hers.

  “Remy, stop.” Mitchell ground her feet into the sidewalk and pulled him to a halt.

  He tried to drag her along, but she refused to cooperate. “We need to get back to the hotel.”

  “That knife was meant for me, wasn’t it?” she demanded.

  Remy thought about lying to keep from worrying her, but knew she’d see right through him. “Probably.”

  “If he’d really wanted to kill me, do you think he would have been so clumsy?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t want you hurt.”

  Mitchell raised a finger. “On the trip here, I felt like someone was watching me at the airport in Virginia, on the planes, and in Atlanta. Call it paranoia, call it intuition. I don’t care.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t see anyone who looked suspicious. Why worry you?”

  “Because I’m there for you.” He tightened his grip. “Damn it, Mitchell. You can trust me.”

  “I know. This vacation means a lot to you, and I didn’t want to mess it up if my funny feeling was unfounded.” When he started to say something, she held up her hand. “Then when we got to Vail, the cabin we were supposed to stay in was burned to the ground.” Her brows rose. “I know it wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Then the call, and now the attempted stabbing.”

  “Whoever is doing this is playing with me.”

  Remy’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Rocco wants you scared.”

  “Yeah, but when does he go from scare tactics to kill tactics?”

  “Never, if I can help it.”

  “Did you happen to see the guy’s face? The one who stabbed your jacket?”

  Remy shook his head. “No. The hooded jacket shadowed his face just enough to keep me from identifying him.”

  “Okay, something’s definitely going on, but we don’t know what the game is, and who Rocco has put behind it.”

  “Should we head back to Virginia?” Remy would leave immediately if Mitchell wanted him to.

  Mitchell shook her head. “What good would that do but put us closer to more of Rocco’s people? At least here, there shouldn’t be that many of them. We could draw them out.”

  Remy blinked, his belly clenching. “You mean lure them…as in baiting a trap.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Yes.”

  “No.” He didn’t like where the conversation was heading. “I can’t believe you think you’ll be the bait.”

  Mitchell raised her hands, palms up. “They are trying to get to me. Let’s give them what they want.”

  Before she finished her sentence, Remy shook his head, dread weighing him down. “No. That’s insane.”

  “Let’s go back to our room and discuss this. We need to come up with a plan.”

  “We’ll go back, but we’re not planning anything that sets you up as bait. Think about what happened last time you let yourself be kidnapped. You were nearly sold into the human sex trade.”

  Mitchell planted her hands on her hips, her chin rising. “And I’m still here to talk about it. Everything turned out okay in the end.” Her arms dropped to her sides. “Except that Rocco got away and is now out to kill me. But I can—”

  “I know. You can take care of yourself.” He hooked her arm and dragged her along with him. “Come on, Ms. Independent, let’s go back to the hotel.”

  “Right, let’s head back to the hotel so that we can come up with a plan to reveal our attackers.”

  Remy chuckled. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  “Not when it’s important.” She leaned into his side. “This vacation is as important to me as it is to you. I’m tired of letting someone else run the show. Let’s turn the tables on them.”

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  Mitchell sat beside Remy the next day on the Born Free Ski Lift, headed for the top of the mountain, her thoughts on the knifing of the night before and what might occur on the slopes that day. Why couldn’t they have a normal vacation?

  When they’d returned to their hotel room the night before, she’d been surprised by a bouquet of roses in every imaginable color. The arrangement had been lovely and filled the room with its heavenly scent. Remy admitted he’d ordered them for the cabin, and had the florist deliver them to their room instead.

  He’d been a gentle and attentive lover, taking his time to bring her to an orgasm before perfecting the night with one of his own. Afterward, they lay for a long time, basking in the afterglow of incredibly hot sex, talking about the future and the possibility of one day living in Colorado, preferably in the mountains.

  For some coup
les, the more time they spent together, the more faults they found in the other. Not with Mitchell and Remy. At least on Mitchell’s part. Every day she spent with Remy only made her want to spend another together. He was perfect. She couldn’t find one thing wrong with him.

  She sighed as she faced the challenges ahead and the mountain slope in front of her, her legs dangling from the chair of the ski lift. This plan had to work, or their vacation was doomed.

  “I’m still not happy about this idea,” Remy repeated for the fifth time. “Your boss said that if you needed help, you should call him or the regional NCIS office. I’d say this is a good time to call for backup. We should make contact with Agent Thurmon.”

  “We don’t know how many people we’re dealing with. If it’s just the one guy from last night, we can take care of him ourselves.”

  “If it’s an entire platoon of Rocco’s men?”

  She smiled. “Then we’re screwed, and you can tell me I told you so.”

  “I’d rather be wrong in this case,” he grumbled, shifting his ski poles so that he could pat his ski jacket.

  Mitchell patted her pocket, searching for the hard outline of her handgun. “Look, if it gets sticky, we’ll call in for more backup.”

  That they were both armed did a little toward reassuring Mitchell. At least, they could defend themselves, if they had to. With her Glock inside her jacket pocket, she wouldn’t be a complete sitting duck. The ski slopes were her idea. If Rocco’s man was that determined to follow her, he might come out to the slopes to knock her off. What better place to ditch a body?

  And having them out on the slopes gave her and Remy a better chance of spotting them first, than running into them on a dark street or in a stairwell. Not to mention, fewer people would be hurt if bullets started flying. “We don’t even know if Rocco’s men can ski. This could turn out to be a perfect vacation day of well-maintained ski runs and sunshine.” She patted his leg. “Stop worrying.”

  “Then stick with me. Promise me you won’t go hot-dogging down the slopes. I’m not even sure I remember how to ski.”

  Yeah, right. “Like I’ve had much more practice than you? You got the intensive cold-weather training. Not me. My skiing consisted of several winter and spring break visits to the slopes in New Hampshire, not the Rockies. There are real mountains here with steep slopes.”

  “Guess we’re about to find out how good we are.” He lifted the bar over their laps, and they both scooted to the edge of the seat, preparing to dismount the lift.

  “The first time off the lift is the hardest. I’m always afraid I’ll disgrace myself and crash and burn.”

  “Focus, Sanders. You’ve got this.” The lift chair slowed at the drop-off point. Remy leaned forward and slid down the icy ramp onto hard-packed snow.

  Mitchell wobbled, then found her ski legs and glided toward Remy, turning her skis in a sharp sideways motion to stop, kicking up the snow in front of her. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” Remy grinned and pulled down his goggles over his eyes.

  Settling her goggles over her eyes and wrapping the pole straps around her wrists, Mitchell gripped the handles and dug them into the snow. “Green, blue, or black?”

  “Let’s start with green and move up to blue on the next run.”

  “Good.” Mitchell brushed her neon green glove over her forehead. “I was afraid you’d start with something with more of a challenge, and I’d fall so hard, I’d have a yard sale first day, first run.”

  Remy’s eyes narrowed. “Yard sale?”

  Mitchell laughed. “When you hit so hard that everything you’re wearing is scattered across the snow like a yard sale.”

  “No yard sales today. Come on. Let’s get our legs under us, and watch out for anyone on our tails. And since you’re the one they’re targeting, you get to go first so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Bossy, are we?” She dug her ski poles into the crusty snow and slid toward the signs indicating which slopes were green, blue, and black. Choosing a long, easy green, she started down the wide open slope, practicing her turns until her hips and knees felt natural. Several times, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Remy kept pace, his movements smooth and effortless, his feet tight together, both skis moving as one, forming tight S’s in the groomed snow.

  They enjoyed the day skiing, despite having to keep vigilant about the other people on the slopes. Lunch was at a restaurant at the top of the mountain, where they sat outside in the sunshine, eating a hearty vegetable soup in a bread bowl. When they finished, they lingered a little longer before getting back out on the slopes.

  After lunch, they graduated to the intermediate blue slopes and made several passes along the more challenging runs. They’d agreed not to try the black slopes. If Rocco’s men followed them up the mountain, they’d want to be on a course that didn’t require complete concentration like the ultra-steep grades and moguls of the black diamonds.

  Mitchell hadn’t skied enough black runs to consider herself an expert skier. Blue was enough to satisfy her desire for a challenge, and Remy easily kept pace.

  On their last run of the day, the sky clouded and snow began to fall. By the time they got off the lift at the top of the mountain, the wind had picked up, blowing a gritty snow sideways, making it feel as though they were being sandblasted.

  “Last run?” Remy asked.

  Mitchell nodded. “I’m ready for the hot tub.”

  “Let’s do it.” He nodded for her to lead off.

  As she skied the hill, she glanced back on occasion. The snowfall was thickening, getting close to blizzard force. At one turn, she looked back.

  A snowboarder was flying down the hill, jumping the slight bumps in the trail and barreling down the slope like a bulldozer. He turned to catch another hump in the snow close to where Remy was.

  Mitchell yelled a warning, but the wind whipped away the sound.

  The snowboarder flew over the top, landed hard and skidded sideways, plowing into Remy, knocking him over.

  Already committed to the turn she was in, Mitchell couldn’t slow fast enough to keep in sight of Remy and to see if he was okay. When she could stop safely, she walked sideways up the hill on her skis, one painful step at a time, backtracking to the bend in the trail so that she could check on Remy.

  The roar of a snowmobile engine made her think of the mountain rescue team. Had Remy been hurt so badly someone had sent for them? How could they have been notified so soon, unless someone with a radio had happened upon him? Her heart hammering against her chest, Mitchell tried to go faster in her effort to sidestep up the hill. Just when she’d reached maximum frustration level and had stopped, preparing to kick off her skis to walk the rest of the way, a snowmobile roared around the bend and raced toward her.

  Mitchell raised her hands and waved at them, hoping they’d slow and let her know whether or not the basket on the back contained the man she couldn’t imagine living without.

  The driver pulled up beside her.

  “Did you just pick up a man who was knocked down by that snowboarder?” she asked, having to shout over the wail of the wind now blowing so hard, she could barely see twenty feet.

  The driver didn’t answer, but revved the engine. The passenger straddling the seat behind him jumped off the vehicle and ran toward her.

  At that moment the fact registered they weren’t wearing the red and black jackets of the ski patrol, and that there wasn’t a big white cross on the back.

  Instinct kicked in. Mountain rescuers would have responded to her question and wouldn’t be running straight at her. Too late to unzip her pocket and reach for her gun, Mitchell dug the tips of her poles into the snow and pushed off.

  The man hurtling toward her threw his body at her, only capturing one of her ski poles.

  Because the strap was wrapped around her wrist, he swung her around before she could shake him loose. Regaining her balance, she pushed her poles into the snow and shoved o
ff, taking the steepest slope to gain speed as quickly as she could. The snowmobile would easily catch up to her.

  Her best bet was to duck into the trees, but that was almost as dangerous as trying to outrun the men on the snowmobile. Her skills skiing weren’t that good. Sticking to the open slope as long as possible, she skied as fast as she could, the wind blowing against her, impeding her progress.

  The roar of the snowmobile engine echoed off the trees, getting louder the closer the vehicle came. Mitchell aimed for a gap in the trees, praying she could get there before the snowmobile reached her.

  As she shot toward the relative safety of the tree line, she caught her ski on a crusty lump of snow and she flipped over, tumbling down the hill. Her boots broke loose from the ski bindings, her head hit the packed snow so hard, her helmet could only do so much.

  A gray fog moved in on her peripheral vision, dimming the white snow blasting sideways.

  No. She couldn’t pass out. Mitchell tried to fight back the encroaching darkness only to lose out to the inevitable, consumed by oblivion.

  Remy lay on his back, fighting to catch his breath. The snowboarder had hit him so hard, he’d been knocked flat on his back, the air forced from his lungs with a whoosh. As he lay still, struggling to breathe, a snowmobile roared past him, a basket on the back draped with a bright red waterproof tarp. When he tried to sit up, he was knocked down again, this time on purpose. What the hell?

  The snowboarder grabbed one of Remy’s ski poles from where it had fallen and hit him in the chest.

  Before he could roll over, he was crushed by the other man who landed on top of him and smashed the pole against his throat. His breath cut off, Remy thrashed in the deep snow, grasping the pole in an effort to ease it off his throat. Once he had enough air in his lungs, he bucked and rolled to the side, throwing off his attacker.

  The heavy ski boots weighing him down, Remy lunged toward the man who’d knocked him off his skis, realizing it had all been planned. If they out took Remy, they could get to Mitchell. The longer he fought the snowboarder, the more time they had to find and capture, or kill, her.