Colder Than Ice

by Maggie Shayne

  She thinned her lips. “Nothing you’re going to like.”

  “What?” He blinked, searching her face.

  She shook her head. “Have you heard from Bryan?”

  “Yes, and stop changing the subject.”

  “It’s none of your business, Josh. I’m not telling you until it’s too late for you to do anything to stop it.”

  “Stop what? Jesus, Beth, what the hell are you talking about?”

  She shook her head. “Ask me again, about six-thirty, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Beth—”

  “I’m tired, Josh. Can we skip this for now? God, we’ve got so much to do. The place is in no shape for Maude’s memorial service.”

  Josh could only frown at her as she headed up the stairs. He followed her, but she walked into one of the unused bedrooms instead of her own. It wasn’t one of the usable ones; it was stacked full of boxes and smelled slightly musty. She was peeling off her sweater on the way. Then she pulled on an oversize T-shirt she’d left hanging from the vacant room’s doorknob at some point.

  “Beth, what on earth are you doing?”

  “Cleaning the place,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I spoke to Will Ahearn. He’s not amenable to returning my deposit—I signed a binding contract and that down payment is nonrefundable. He says it covers his coming out here, inspecting the place, generating an estimate and so on.”

  “He did all that before it was yours.”

  “Technically, he didn’t. It was already mine on paper. Remember what the lawyer said?”

  “Still—”

  “I told him to start today. And since he and his crew are taking care of the outside, I’m suddenly in the mood to take care of the inside. So I’m cleaning. You care to join me?”

  Sighing, Josh walked into the room, picked up a box and carried it out. She’d made it clear he wasn’t going to get another thing out of her until she was damn good and ready.

  The Blackberry Gazette was delivered at the usual time. 6:00 p.m. Beth had thrown herself into her work on the old house all day, and the time had flown past. It was good, working this hard. Kept her mind off her impending and inevitable confrontation with Mordecai, and her growing feelings for a man she knew was lying to her. But she was finished with lies.

  As the afternoon wore on, the two bedrooms Maude had used for storage were cleaned out, things sorted, stored in the attic or basement or the garden shed beside the house, or stacked on the porch to be given away. Beth polished hardwood floors and washed woodwork, dusted corners and buffed light fixtures. She took her time, partly in order to do an extra good job—but mostly to avoid having to have a real conversation with Josh before the newspaper arrived.

  As she worked, Josh brought down furniture from where it was stored in the attic: beds, dressers, trunks. It was like a treasure hunt up there, and they scrubbed and polished and set things up. A few new mattresses, a little paint here and there, and the two rooms would be as ready to use as the rest.

  As much as Beth had told herself not to, she was starting to get excited about the idea of reopening the Blackberry Inn.

  She was wiping the streaks from a bedroom window when she saw the newspaper boy whiz past on his bicycle at top speed, canvas sack over his shoulder. He reached back, tugged out a rolled-up newspaper, whipped it toward the porch and never even missed a beat.

  She drew a breath, set down her paper towel and wiped her hands. “Ready for a break?”

  Josh had removed a couple of doors from their hinges, put them on sawhorses, and was sanding them down, getting rid of old paint. “Just about.”

  She saw that he was nearly finished with the second one. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready. I’m gonna make fresh coffee.”

  “Okay.”

  She went past him, out of the room and down the stairs, and felt his eyes on her as he finally got the message that something was up. He was washed up and in the kitchen before she finished measuring ground roast into the basket.

  She looked up at him, at the question in his eyes, gave him a single nod and said, “Would you go grab the evening paper off the front porch for me?”

  “Sure.”

  He left. She ran water, poured it and braced herself, knowing he wasn’t going to be happy. When he came back with the newspaper in his hand, she could see that was an understatement. He blinked down at the front page, then looked slowly up at her, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Jesus, Beth. What the hell did you do?”

  She sighed. “What I had to do.”

  “This is insane. My God, the government has bent over backward to keep your whereabouts and identity secret.”

  “From Mordecai,” she said. “But he’s already found me. There’s nothing to gain by keeping my past a secret any longer. Besides, this will flush him out. Even though the tourists are starting to go home, the town is too crowded for us to find him otherwise. The place is still full of strangers.”

  Josh lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, it’ll flush him out. Him and every reporter in the freaking country.”

  “It’s a small-town newspaper.”

  “It’s a huge story.” He shook his head and set the paper on the table.

  She sat down, pulling it closer to her and reading the headline. “‘Sole Survivor of Long Ago Raid Alive and Well in Blackberry.’”

  “It’s going to be a circus here by this time tomorrow, Beth.”

  She hadn’t thought that far ahead. The article told the story of her time at the Young Believers’ Compound, her injury in the raid, the long, slow recovery that followed, and the fact that fugitive cult leader Mordecai Young’s obsession with her had been renewed a year ago, when she “single-handedly rescued one of her students from the madman, risking her own life in the process.”

  “It makes me sound like some kind of hero.”

  “You are, Beth. You went after a man you should have been avoiding at all costs.”

  “But not for just any student. For my daughter.”

  He shrugged. “I take it you didn’t tell the reporter that part.”

  “Of course not. That’s no one’s business.” She gave the paper a shake. “He makes me sound like some kind of superhero teacher, rushing after kidnappers in defense of her students.”

  He smiled just a little. “I’m not so sure he was all that inaccurate.”

  “Please.”

  Josh shrugged and went to read over her shoulder as Beth bent over the paper again. The story went on to describe how the government had given her the new name Beth Slocum and relocated her in Blackberry, Vermont. It talked about how, though voted outstanding teacher of the year in her former district, she’d never sought employment in the local school system of her new town, knowing the still-at-large murderer would be more likely to look for her at schools, and that if he found her, her presence would put the student body at risk.

  “Looks like Eric Lewiston did a little research on his own today. Phoned my old district. I never told him any of this, and a lot of it’s pure speculation.” She read aloud. “‘Her past, and the threat that this woman has lived with every day, ought to raise some serious questions in the minds of all of us—especially given the recent explosion of her home, allegedly due to a gas leak. Elizabeth Marcum claims she has reason to believe her nemesis has tracked her down and may be in our area even now, using an alias, likely disguised, just biding his time. While Marcum would neither confirm nor deny it, I believe she plans to relocate as soon as arrangements can be made, rather than giving the madman reason to linger in our town. In the meantime, residents should be vigilant and watchful. Granted, we’ve grown used to the presence of strangers. And I’m not advocating panic or mistrust of the tourists that are this town’s lifeblood. Just vigilance. Watch out for each other. That’s what we do in Blackberry.’”

  She set the paper down, sighing.

  “You’re planning to leave after all?” Josh
asked, leaning closer and searching her eyes.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “According to him, you didn’t deny it, either.” He narrowed his eyes. “What is this, Beth?”

  She drew a breath, pushed her chair away from the table and paced to the sink to stare out the window into the backyard. “I might have hinted that I was going to leave town.”

  “Why?”

  Straightening her spine, she turned, hands braced on the sink counter. “Because Mordecai won’t wait if he thinks I’m about to run again. It’s taken him a year to find me. He won’t risk me slipping away, going into hiding again.”

  “You’re forcing his hand.”

  She nodded.

  Josh got up and strode across the room to where she stood. He put his hands firmly on her shoulders. “You’ve ensured he’ll come after you as soon as he can.”

  “Maybe even as soon as he reads this,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  “God, Beth.”

  “I know you’re angry. But I’m tired, Josh. I need this to be over with. I’m either going to get my life back or lose it for good. Either way, it’s long overdue.”

  He closed his eyes, sighed and slid his arms around her. God, it felt good, his solid form pressing against her, supporting her.

  “I’m not angry. I’m…I don’t know what the hell I am.” He sighed. It was a deep sigh that seemed to come from his core. And then he squeezed her and stood back to look into her eyes. “It’s done. We’ll deal with it. And no matter how fast the bastard moves, he’s not going to lay so much as a finger on you, Beth. I promise.”

  She smiled through her fear. “Now who’s the hero?”

  His expression changed then. Something clouded his eyes. Something she couldn’t name. “I’m no hero.”

  “No? You mean you didn’t come charging into Blackberry with everything but the white steed for the sole purpose of keeping one lonely woman alive?”

  He lowered his head. “Beth, there are things…you still don’t know about me.”

  “I know there are.”

  His eyes snapped back to hers.

  “You don’t think a woman who’s been through what I have is easily fooled, do you, Josh? I know there are things you’ve been keeping from me. I’ve known it all along. But I also know that you mean it when you say you want to protect me. That you’re on my side in this. I believe that. And I…I think I’m starting to believe that you aren’t lying about…about having feelings for me.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She nodded. “So what else is there?”

  He licked his lips. “We’ve hit a crisis point here, Beth. Let’s get through this, and then…then we’ll deal with the rest.”

  She stared at him, searching his eyes, wondering what he was still keeping from her and aching inside because she was so afraid it would change everything between them. God, she was more afraid of his secret than she was of Mordecai. Her priorities were skewed to hell and gone.

  “Do you trust me enough to do that, Beth? To wait a little bit longer for the answers to your questions?”

  She sighed. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

  His lips thinned. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  She sighed, slipping free of his embrace to walk to the table, where she picked up her now cold coffee, took a sip and grimaced. “It’s a major thing, Josh. As badly as I’ve been burned by men who keep secrets—this is a lot you’re asking of me.”

  “I know that.” He walked up behind her, slid his hands along her outer arms. “Believe me, I know.”

  She lowered her head, his touch warming her, coaxing her. The telephone rang, and she let out a sigh and moved away from him to pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Beth, it’s Chief Frankie. Why the hell didn’t you two tell me any of this?”

  She licked her lips, lowered her head, taken off guard by the lack of preamble or small talk. “I don’t imagine you’re too happy with me right now, are you, Chief?”

  Her eyes met Josh’s. He nodded, as if he’d expected Frankie to be calling.

  “Not thrilled, no,” Frankie said. “Don’t you think this is something you might have considered telling me? By God, woman, Josh told me he was here to protect you, but not the rest. Don’t you think the fact that one of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted felons is in my little town is something I ought to know?”

  Beth lowered her head. “There were reasons.”

  “I’ve got no doubt about that. As far as your protection—”

  “It’s covered, Frankie.”

  “It’s my job, Beth. Or should I call you Elizabeth now?”

  She closed her eyes, not answering.

  “Did Maude know about this, child?”

  “No,” Beth said softly. “She didn’t know any more than what Josh told you.”

  Frankie sighed. “We don’t have the resources to deal with this sort of thing on our own. I have a call in to the state police requesting help, though I have no doubt there are federal agencies we should be working with on this, too. I thought you might have a name for me. Tell me who’s in charge. The same fellow whose number Joshua already gave me?”

  She wasn’t too overwhelmed to be surprised by Frankie’s brisk efficiency—or to be disappointed in herself for that surprise. Had she just blithely assumed Frankie was incompetent because she was female and over fifty? Shame on her.

  “You probably ought to talk to Joshua,” she said. “I’m putting him on now.” Beth handed Joshua the telephone, sighing and walking away, leaving him to handle things, even though she hated how dependent she had become on him in such a short time.

  “Hold on, Chief.” Josh put his hand over the phone. “Where are you going?” he asked Beth.

  “Upstairs,” she said. “I have to get ready. I don’t imagine it will be long now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Josh confirmed for Frankie that Arthur Stanton was indeed the man in charge of Beth’s case and informed her that he was on his way to town as they spoke. Then he called Arthur and filled him in on the latest developments. He put the phone down and glanced toward the staircase.

  Beth was starting to believe his feelings were genuine.

  And she wasn’t the only one.

  Josh sighed as his stomach knotted up and his throat went dry. He could barely tell what was true and what was a lie anymore. What did he really feel, and what was he pretending to feel, and what was leftover guilt from what he had done to her in the past? He didn’t think this was any time to be trying to work all that out, anyway, not when her life was hanging in the balance.

  He drew a breath and headed up the stairs. Her bedroom door was open, and beyond it, she sat on the edge of her bed, with her pathetically tiny derringer in her hands. She held the nickel-plated barrel of her little gun as she ran a tiny wire brush through it. Then she set the brush aside and held the barrel up, peering into it.

  He stepped inside, and she looked up at him. “Thought I’d better get this in shape. Hasn’t had a thorough cleaning in a while.”

  He nodded at the cleaning kit, open on the bed beside her. “You went shopping, huh?”

  “Picked it up while I was in town this morning. The old one got blown away.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her, replaced the wire brush in its slotted spot in the case, took out a yellow felt square and a bottle of gun oil, and handed them to her. “I have a kit in my room.”

  “I didn’t think of that before I left or I’d have asked.”

  “Never hurts to have a spare.”

  She nodded. He watched her drip oil onto the gun barrel and then buff it with the felt. She knew what she was doing. She used another tool, sliding the felt through a slot on the end, to oil the inside of the barrel. The familiar, powerful scent of gun oil would cling to her hands for hours, he thought. Finally she snapped the barrel back onto the rest of the weapon, which had clearly already been cleaned.

  “You need a bigger weapon,” he sa
id.

  “Had one. Lost it.”

  “Did you have a holster for it?”

  She shook her head. “Never got around to buying one. Guess I didn’t want to think about the time when I’d need to have it with me 24/7.”

  “I don’t blame you. But that time is here. I want you to carry one of mine. And I don’t want it farther than arm’s length from you from here on. Okay?” She nodded, repacking items into the gun cleaning kit, wiping her hands on a rag.

  “Okay.” She slipped the two tiny bullets into the derringer, then held it up and sighted down the barrel at a spot on the wall. “You ought to be wearing your own from here on, too, Josh.” He glanced at her. She didn’t lower her weapon. Her finger caressed the trigger, and she closed one eye. If Mordecai Young were on the other end of the room, Josh had no doubt he would be hurting. The tiny gun wouldn’t stop him, but it would sure slow him down.

  “Headshots only,” she told him, still sighting.

  “Headshots?”

  She nodded. “Smaller target, but the only sure thing. Last time I killed him he was wearing a vest. If I’d put one between his eyes then, he wouldn’t be a threat now.”

  No, he wouldn’t be, Josh thought. Even the derringer might do the trick if she hit him there. But if she had killed him, other things wouldn’t be happening now, either. He would never have found out that the woman he thought he had killed was alive after all. He would never have found her again. He would never have kissed her, touched her, made love with her.

  “I’ll get that gun and extra holster for you,” he said, and it came out gruff and hoarse. He got his own guns, both of them, and his holsters, and a heavy knit sweater, then headed back to Beth’s bedroom. He handed her his 9 mm. “How about you carry this one for a while?”

  She took it with a frown, hefted it in her hands. “I had one something like it. Mine was a .45. Never carried it around with me. Too bulky, too heavy, too slow.” She met his eyes as she handed it back, then nodded at the gun in his other hand. “What’s that one?”

  He tossed the sweater and holsters onto the bed and handed her the gun. “A .38. It’s a revolver, though. Only holds six shots.”