“Yeah. Anyway, I should probably get going.” I motion toward the front of the store, needing to get out of here before the weight on my chest gets any heavier. “I’ve still got twenty miles to go, and that’s going to take an hour with the roads like this.”
“Where’re you headed?” Dot asks. “Up to your granddaddy’s old place? I thought Marian sold that a long time ago.”
“No, I’m going to check out the building site for the new hotel.” I start toward the checkout counter, pulling my wallet from my coat pocket.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that, baby! Not in this weather. You’ll get stuck, either on the way up or the way down. Mark my words, those roads get bad when it storms like this. And I heard they had security up there, with electrified fences and cameras and everything.”
I smile as I lay a five on the counter. “That’s all right. I’m just going to take a look through the gate, not try to get onto the property.”
Lies. Of course I’m going to try to get onto the property, but I know better than to share my criminal intentions with anyone who enjoys gossip as much as Dottie.
“And I’ve got new snow tires,” I add before she can fuss at me anymore. “I’ll be fine and back in town before dark. I’m staying at the new bed and breakfast in the old bank building. It looked really cute on the website.”
“Oh dear Lord, it’s just darling,” Dottie says with a theatrical gasp and a hand pressed to her heart. “Just too adorable for words. You’re going to love it, girl. The rooms are so cozy, and their biscuits and gravy are to die for.”
“Awesome. I can’t wait. Thanks for the coffee, Dot.”
“You’re welcome, hon, but you come back here and take this money.” She holds up the five, wagging it at me as I start toward the door. “Your money is no good here! Not on your first day back in town anyway. At least get your change.”
“Keep it. I insist. In exchange for all that free candy growing up.” I reach for the door handle, momentarily caught in a web of déjà vu.
How many times did I back through this door with a peppermint clutched in my hand as a kid? Or as a teenager nursing a fifty-cent coffee for the walk to school? Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. And almost every time, at least for that moment, I was happy, grateful to have something sweet or caffeinated in my hand and Dottie waving from behind the counter.
It wasn’t all bad. But fuck if that doesn’t make me feel even worse.
“It’s good to have you back for a visit, hon,” Dot adds softly. “And I hope you’ll think about something more long term. We need more of the good ones to stick around, and now there’s something worth sticking for.”
Her smile is so sincere, so hopeful, that I don’t have the heart to tell her there’s no way in hell I’m moving back to Harry, that I’ll be gone as soon as I can get my story and run far, far away from this place that turns me inside out.
So instead, I blow her a kiss and back into the snow, where the ghosts are waiting in my car, buckled in for the ride down memory lane.
Chapter Two
Garrett
“Do you have a death wish you haven’t told me about?” Tennyson, my investment partner and oldest friend, has never been the kind to pull punches. But tonight, he’s in rare form.
“Nothing close to a death wish.” I trap my cell between my ear and shoulder as I hand-wash the dishes I dirtied with my dinner. The hotel kitchen has an industrial dishwasher, but it would take a month of solo meals to fill it up. “You know I like to spend time in the properties before they open, get a feel for the guest experience.”
“No guest is ever going to be stranded out there by themselves in a blizzard, Garrett. You’re living a horror movie plot. Eccentric New York billionaire alone in an abandoned hotel in the middle of Outer Bumfuck, where no one will hear him scream.”
“It’s not abandoned; it’s never been occupied,” I correct. “There’s a difference. And why am I going to be screaming? If the power goes out, I have a generator to keep my suite heated, and enough food, water, and reading material to last for weeks, let alone a long weekend.”
“You’ll be screaming because you will have lost your mind out there in the wilderness,” Ten says with the utter seriousness of a man who, aside for business trips to other major metropolitan areas, hasn’t been out of the city in years. “Haven’t you seen The Shining?”
I smile, drying my hands on the towel beside the sink. “I’ve seen it. But I think I’m safe. So far, Hawk Mountain doesn’t seem to be haunted.”
“It hasn’t had you trapped and at its mercy before, either.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re serious.” I toss the towel onto the counter and wander toward the windows on the other side of the kitchen, gazing out at the snow-covered mountains and the dark gray clouds looming in the west. The Appalachia Range isn’t as dramatic as the Rockies, but they possess a softer, more ancient beauty, which the Hawk Mountain Resort and Spa architects framed perfectly. Every window in the hotel was carefully plotted to show off the surrounding scenery to its best advantage.
Even this window, a view only the kitchen staff and servers will see most of the time, was intended to inspire.
“Of course I’m not serious,” Ten says, before adding in a more somber tone, “But I am concerned. Are you sure everything’s okay out there?”
“Everything is perfect. Construction was completed on schedule, and the design team will be back to work after the holiday, finishing up the theater and other communal spaces. The landscapers obviously can’t do much until spring, but the pools have already been poured and—”
“I don’t mean with the hotel, Garrett,” Ten interrupts gently. “I mean with you. I know you enjoy your alone time, but it’s Christmas Eve.”
“I realize that.” A flash of color and movement, barely visible through the trees, makes me squint down the mountain to where the resort drive winds through the forest to the pinnacle.
“And that’s usually something people enjoy with friends and family,” Ten says, “not holed up in a huge, empty hotel all alone.”
“I might not be alone for long,” I murmur, pulse spiking as a light-blue sedan rolls onto the stretch of road visible from my vantage point. “Someone is on their way to the gate.”
“Probably one of the locals coming to case the joint, see what they can steal while the build site is abandoned for the holidays.”
“I don’t think so.” I pace along the marble tile, watching the car crawl slowly around a sharp curve and back under the cover of the snow-laden trees. “The locals know we’ve got security. A few of them learned about the electric fence the hard way.”
Tennyson grunts. “Well, maybe they’ve decided to give it another go. Drug addicts are unpredictable that way.”
“Not everyone in the town is an addict,” I say, making my way out of the kitchen and down the spiral staircase at the western edge of the fourth floor.
“Enough of them are. I appreciate your noble intentions, Garrett, but did it ever occur to you that good will might not be enough in this case? The people in that town might be too far gone for philanthropy to make a damn bit of difference.”
“No one’s ever too far gone,” I say, hoping I’m right. I don’t want to believe in lost causes, especially when human lives are involved. And especially not now, when I’m six months and millions of dollars into trying to right my greatest wrong and most sincere regret.
Dakota…
Her name drifts through my head, making it feel like someone opened a door in my chest, letting the winter air gust in.
Even though I know—I know—I’m not crazy, no matter what Tennyson thinks, I have a feeling I can’t shake. I know the odds are slim this person pulling up to my gate on Christmas Eve is the woman I haven’t been able to get out of my heart for four long years. But I also know that I’m going to check the security feed.
Just in case.
I push through the door into the shadowed control roo
m, lit only by the glow of the security camera monitors, and cross to the panel on the far side of the room.
“All right,” Ten says in a resigned voice, making it clear he knows a thing or two about lost causes. “After all these years, I should know better than to expect you to be reasonable.”
“You really should.” I tap the keys to bring the front gate up on the center screen. I only have to wait a few moments before the light blue car—an old Honda Civic—pulls to a stop in front of the sign warning that this is private property.
My visitor is here, and suddenly my nerves are every bit as electrified as the fence surrounding the hotel.
Okay, maybe I am a little crazy. Because right now I swear I can feel Dakota close, sense her like treasure hidden beneath the waves, making my metal detector crackle and hum.
“I have to go, Tennyson,” I murmur, eyes glued to the screen. “Have a Merry Christmas.”
“You, too. And let me know if you change your mind about coming back to the city. I’ll buy you a drink and we can talk about how much fun it is to be single during the holidays.”
My lips part, but before I can respond, the driver steps out of the sedan, revealing thick brown curls tumbling over narrow shoulders and setting my humming nerves to buzzing with a full-blown emergency alert. Even before she turns to squint up at the top of the gate where another sign warns that the fence is electrified and trespassers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, I know it’s her.
It’s her. Dakota. She’s here.
“Good-bye, Ten,” I say, ending the call with a tap of my thumb.
A moment later, I’m jogging down the stairs, snatching my coat from the back of the sofa in the empty, echoing lobby, and running out the door at a full sprint.
Chapter Three
Dakota
For someone so smart, you sure are dumb…
It was one of my mother’s favorite sayings, always on the tip of her tongue when I brought home straight A’s but didn’t have the sense to cough more while we were at the doctor’s office so he would prescribe the “good” cough medicine. The kind she confiscated for her own recreational use, leaving me to get by with warm showers and tea with honey to combat my winter colds.
From the distance of adulthood, I realize that I was never dumb. I simply lacked the street smarts my mother seemed to have been born with.
Over the years I’ve gotten savvier, crafty enough to bend the rules to my advantage on my way to becoming an award-winning undercover reporter. But I still do my best to stay within the broad strokes of the law. Only rarely have I poked around on private property, and not at all since I was nearly arrested while working on a toxic waste disposal exposé at a prison in Mississippi.
That time, a call to my editor, who excels at yelling at people, got my ass out of a sling before I was strip-searched by small-town cops, all of whom looked way too excited by the thought of discovering what I might have hidden in my orifices. The fact that the prison hadn’t posted private property notices along the far boundaries of its land also helped.
But this time, the “No Trespassing” signs are clearly, obnoxiously in view and, local girl or not, I’m sure the state troopers would only be too happy to arrest me for trespassing. Fucking with the people who are dumping money into this resource-and-opportunity-starved area won’t be taken lightly. And that’s assuming I get past the gate without electrocuting myself.
“Not smart,” I mutter as I wade through the knee-deep snow drifted against the wrought-iron portion of the fence, around to where the chain link starts about a hundred yards into the trees.
I look up, eyes narrowing as I study the coils at the top of the barrier through the flakes that have once again begun to fall. Even if I make it past the gate, the hotel is probably locked up for the holidays, and my lock-popping skills aren’t as finely tuned as they used to be, back when breaking into abandoned buildings was routine. And surely I’ll encounter an alarm system.
I’m more criminally prepared than the average twenty-seven-year-old, but I have no idea how to disable an alarm system. I’ve also brought nothing to conceal my identity from the cameras that have no doubt been recording my every move from the moment I stepped out of my car.
If I’m smart, I’ll head back to town before the snow gets deeper or the roads get slicker, check into the bed and breakfast, and wait until Monday, when hopefully there will be someone up here for me to pester with my questions.
Instead, I crouch down by the chain link fence and begin scooping the snow away from the base with my mittened hands. There’s no way I’ll be able to get over the top, where those electric coils hum dangerously in the otherwise snow-muted forest, but if the ground hasn’t frozen, I might be able to dig my way under.
And once I’m on the grounds, who knows what I’ll find?
I’m hoping there will be Lawler Industries trucks parked in that big lot behind the hotel, where satellite photos revealed grainy images of a fleet of construction vehicles. Or maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find the foreman’s office, a place with work orders, invoices—some sort of paper trail connecting Garrett to this project and, by extension, to the philanthropy in town.
I dig the heel of my boot into the dark earth I’ve exposed, nose wrinkling as a sharp jolt ricochets up my leg on contact. The ground is colder than I would like, but it’s not frozen yet, which means it’s worth looking around for something to dig with.
I turn, scanning the forest nearby, spotting a limb as big around as my wrist sticking out of a drift near where the mountain slopes down into the clearing below. I inch forward, testing the ground before I put weight on my boot, knowing better than to trust the snow to tell the truth about what’s happening beneath it. Thankfully, I reach the limb without incident, but when I try to pull it free, it refuses to budge.
I wrap both hands around the wood and pull harder, but still nothing. Cursing under my breath, I stomp a boot into the drift, making contact with the much bigger log the limb is attached to. Bracing my foot against the bark, I’m about to take another shot at tearing my tool free, when a mournful howl keens through the evening air.
I freeze, my eyes going wide, then wider as a second and a third cry echo the first. I grew up running wild in these woods, and I’ve heard my share of howling, but never this close. It sounds like the wolves are right on top of me, so near every hair on my body stands on end.
The last howl ends in several sharp yips, and I glance down, spotting a lupine shadow as it glides into the clearing below. The wolf sees me, too. Its sharp chin lifts, and its amber eyes fix on mine, sending a chill through my blood that has nothing to do with the sub-freezing temperature.
I take one slow step back and then another, keeping my eyes fixed on the first wolf as more lope into sight, some of them with fur so dark they’re barely visible in the fading light.
At least, barely visible to me. I’m sure that I—the tasty, defenseless prey cornered against the fence—am plenty visible.
“Wolves don’t usually attack people,” I mutter as I inch back along the way I came, intent on keeping the pack in sight until I’m closer to my car. But when the lead wolf—the amber-eyed devil who’s had me fixed in his sights since he appeared on the scene—starts up the incline, any comfort from my own reassurance evaporates in a rush of terror.
My careful steps become an awkward, backward jog, as the lead wolf picks up his speed, quickly closing the distance between us. Behind him, the rest of the pack flows through the forest, leaping over fallen trees and gliding through snowdrifts with an ease that makes my pulse race.
I’m a second from turning to run—figuring the extra speed I’ll gain is worth the risk that I’ll be pounced from behind—when a deep voice breaks the silence like a gunshot.
Chapter Four
Dakota
“Get out!” The angry shout is so close it vibrates through my ribs as I fall to the ground, my arms flying to cover my head as the man bellows again, “Get out o
f here! Out! Now! Go on!”
Throat tight and blood pumping faster, I slowly part my arms, peering up at the man standing a few feet away. But, of course, I already know who he is.
His isn’t a voice I could ever forget, no matter how much I might want to.
Once upon a time, that voice was the soundtrack that played during my hottest erotic adventures. It made me feel safe and sexy, adored and desired, loved for who I was and who I could be when I was brave enough to put myself in his keeping.
Stupid enough, I correct, curling my hands into fists.
I’m not here to repeat past mistakes. I’m here to get my story and clear my path into the future, which means showing no weakness and no love lost for this man who kicked me to the curb and never looked back. It’s time to woman up and head into battle with something far worse than the wolves yipping plaintively as they scatter into the woods behind me.
I move to stand—knowing I’ll feel better once I’m not looking up at Garrett from my knees—but when I shift my leg, the ground shifts, too, giving way with stomach-flipping swiftness. My lips part, but before I can scream, Garrett’s big hand is locked around my arm, hauling me up and away.
We stumble into the fence as more snow abandons the cliff side, sliding down into the clearing below with a muffled whomp that sends the last of the wolves scurrying into the darkness beneath the trees.
“Thanks,” I say, breath rushing out as I roll my shoulder in an attempt to shake off the touch searing my skin through my thick coat and sweater, making my racing heart hammer faster.
But Garrett only tightens his grip. “The path is only a few feet wide along the fence. Everything else is unstable.”
“All right,” I say, forcing the words out through a clenched jaw. “Then I’ll follow you back to my car.”
A Down and Dirty Christmas: Spend Christmas on the Naughty List Page 3
