by Lori Foster
One of them carried a tire iron.
Stasia put the Jeep in gear. If she had to, she’d run over someone to help Harley. She’d—
Everything seemed to happen at once, so fast and smooth that she barely comprehended what her eyes saw.
The unarmed man swung a fist at Harley, and got kicked in the face for the trouble. Obviously the cold hadn’t stiffened Harley’s muscles. He was fluid and loose and remarkably fast.
The attacker’s head snapped back. As if in slow motion, his limbs went limp and blood splattered out, staining the white snow and ice. The man hit the frozen ground hard, lay still for a moment, then curled to his side in evident pain.
He didn’t get up.
Roaring, the other man rushed forward, every awkward footstep kicking up clumps of snow and ice. He wielded the tire iron like a bat, drawing it beyond his shoulder and then swinging hard.
Unmoving, Harley waited for him; at the last second he ducked. Momentum would have carried the bully face-first into the snow except that Harley came up with a beefy punch against his chin, then another to his gut, and another to his crotch.
Stasia winced.
Each punch drove the man back another step. The rod fell from his loose fingers and sank into the snow, disappearing.
Harley landed another bomb to his face, and the man flailed backward. With one last punch to the temple, the man toppled backward, arms and legs out like a beached starfish, unmoving.
Slack-jawed, Stasia couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. Harley had walked right through two assailants as if they were nothing.
She’d seen Harley fight in the SBC, but those bouts were more methodical. They lasted longer, too. Of course, these men weren’t other trained fighters. But they were obviously thugs, practiced in attacking innocents, and Harley had made it look so easy to fend them off.
Fascinating.
While she sat there in amazement, Harley half-lifted one man and went through his pockets. Stasia didn’t know what he was hunting for, but he must have found it, because he straightened and turned to look at her.
Even from that distance, she saw the electric blue of his eyes reflected in the glaring headlights. Anger vibrated off him. He remained coiled, ready.
And in her peripheral vision, she saw the other man coming toward Harley.
The man held a compact black item, barely visible in the night—until he stepped into the light.
A gun.
Screaming would do her no good, not that she could get a sound past the constriction in her throat anyway.
Without any plan or much forethought, Stasia barreled toward the gunman. The Jeep bounded over snow piles and icy patches at Mach speed. Leaping out of her path, the man half-climbed atop his truck and clung to the side door. She narrowly missed hitting him.
Foot on the brake, Stasia jammed the Jeep into reverse and looked over her shoulder.
Harley gaped at her.
Both men scrambled to get in their truck, hopefully to leave. But Stasia remembered the gun, which meant the men were willing to shoot.
Where better to do that than within the safety of their vehicle, while Harley stood out in the open?
She wouldn’t take any chances.
Again, she put the pedal to the floor. The Jeep’s wheels spun on the ice, making her fishtail before the deeply treaded tires gained traction.
She aimed for the truck.
If they collided, it’d surely rattle both attackers, giving Harley time to disarm them.
Disappointment smothered her as the truck throttled out of her path. The back end skated sideways before gaining purchase on the road and racing away at breakneck speed.
Frantic with nerves, Stasia watched the taillights grow dim before remembering to hit her brakes. The Jeep freewheeled for a heart-stopping moment, then slid in sideways, and came to a neck-wrenching halt only a foot from Harley.
He hadn’t moved.
Stasia threw her door open and explained in a one-word shout: “Gun.”
Calm personified, Harley put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes. He appeared to be silently counting.
When he opened his eyes and spoke, his voice was low and even. “You want to tell me what the hell you were doing?”
Stasia stared at him in confusion. Adrenaline had her teeth chattering. Anxiety left her breathless. She gulped down a breath and tried again. “He had a gun.”
Harley just waited.
She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his flannel. “I didn’t want him to shoot you!”
Head dropping forward, Harley inhaled deeply. Then again. His breath left a foggy plume between them. “I wish you hadn’t interfered, babe.”
“What?” Stasia considered smacking him. “I saved you.” She gestured at the truck. “They’re leaving.”
“Are they? Or are they just retreating so they can return, better prepared?” He lifted a black-and-silver gun to show her. “I appreciate your concern and your effort. But I’d already disarmed one guy, and the other dropped his weapon when you almost ran him over.”
“He did?” How had Harley noticed that?
Harley nodded. “With them both being unarmed, I had a good chance to find out who they are and what they want.”
Dismay prickled inside her. She had goofed in a big way. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I suppose you planned to beat it out of them?”
“If necessary. At the very least, I would have restrained them so we could get them back to town, and to the authorities—whatever authority there might be in this county.”
“I see.” Damn, she felt like a dolt.
Harley touched her hair. “There was really no need for you to drive my Jeep off the road.”
Uh-oh. Dread burned her throat like acid. “Off the road?”
Releasing her to lean on the roof, Harley said, “The Jeep does great in nasty conditions”—he nodded at the back tires—“but I don’t think we’ll be driving anywhere tonight.”
Stasia stuck her head out the door and looked.
Oh hell. The rear tire had dropped over a sharp ledge in the frozen ground at the side of the road. They were good and stuck.
Numb, she whispered, “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll think of something. Sit tight.” With that statement, Harley strode away from her.
Like she had any choice?
Stasia watched him plod through the snow to the middle of the road. He searched around for a bit, kicked aside the disturbed snowdrifts, then bent and came up with another gun.
He lifted it to show to her.
They now had both guns, which she supposed was good in case the truck came back. Did their attackers know they were stuck? Would they see them as sitting ducks? Would they gather more weapons and return?
Sick at heart, choking on anxiety, she waited for Harley’s return.
With the fighting over, she noticed him starting to shiver. Fluffy snowflakes covered his blond hair and his shoulders. His face was ruddy with the cold. Snow clung to his jeans all the way up to his knees.
And she’d stranded them.
Damn it, she didn’t want to cry in front of him, but her day kept going from bad to worse.
“Scoot over,” he told her when he got back to the Jeep.
She climbed over the center console. “Harley, I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He was so cavalier, but how could she not worry? Removing a glove, she brushed at the snow clinging to him, put a hand to his jaw. He had beard shadow coming in, and his skin was cold. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Distracted, he brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it, then released her as if the intimate touch hadn’t happened at all.
Stasia sat in stupefied silence while he checked both guns, set them in the cup holders, and reached past her to the glove department. “I need you to carry a few things. Can you do that?”
Before she could reply, he dropped a slim flashlight, a vehicle r
egistration, and a proof of insurance card into her lap.
“Okay, sure.” She tried to be as calm as him. “Why do you need your proof of insurance card?”
“I don’t want to leave any ID behind in case the Jeep gets ransacked.”
That made sense. Good thing one of them was still able to think straight. “Where do you want me to carry this stuff?”
“We’re not close enough to your cabin to make it there, and I don’t trust those guys not to return. If they want to find you, the first place they’ll look is where you live.”
She agreed. “So where do we go? We can’t walk all the way back to town.” Then she held up a hand. “Or I should say, I can’t. You seem impervious to the weather, so I have no idea what you can do.”
Ignoring most of what she said, Harley moved and spoke quickly, turning off the Jeep and stowing the guns in his waistband beneath his shirts. “We passed that station a little ways back. It’s dark there, so they might not have noticed it. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t pointed it out as Ned’s.” He pocketed the keys and opened his door. “Stow that stuff in your pockets and get ready to roll.”
“You don’t have a coat.”
“I know.”
When Harley got out of the Jeep, Stasia pulled her glove back on and followed. The Jeep had a generous cargo area. It was packed with luggage and various pieces of athletic equipment. He dug out two hooded sweatshirts, pulled one over his head and handed the other to her. “Hang on to that. You might want it later.”
After retrieving one small satchel, he moved the rest of the luggage aside and pulled a storage crate forward.
It amazed her to see him retrieve duct tape, a first-aid kit, flares, a multiheaded screwdriver, and a space blanket out of the crate.
“You travel prepared.”
“Always.” Loaded down, he locked the Jeep and then hauled her close to his side. He draped the blanket around them both. “We’ll share body heat. Try to move quickly. I want to be inside the station before the goons get brave and make another pass at us.”
“Ned keeps it locked up.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not a problem.”
Of course not. Nothing was a problem for Harley Handleman, hero at large. While she was badly shaken, he took it all in stride. With her pockets filled and the sweatshirt hugged against her chest, she trudged along with him.
She didn’t ask him how he expected to get inside; she simply trusted that he would.
WHEN the shadowy exterior of the garage came into view, Harley hugged Anastasia a little closer. “Almost there.”
She didn’t reply. He knew the cold had taken its toll on her, but he didn’t know what to do about it. The wind cut like a knife and if he didn’t get them indoors soon, she might get too depleted to make it on her own.
For one brief moment, he considered carrying her, but one look at her staunch, determined expression, and he knew Anastasia wouldn’t allow it. She doggedly put one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with him even though her legs were much shorter, and not nearly as thick with muscle.
He admired her, damn it.
Remembering how she’d gone on automatic pilot, reacting despite her fear to come to his rescue against a loaded gun, would have made Harley smile if his lips didn’t feel stiff from the freezing temps. It didn’t matter that her help was unnecessary, or that she’d botched the attempt by running the Jeep off the road.
She’d cared enough to try.
After they crossed the lot, Anastasia tried to make a beeline for the front door. “No.” Harley led her toward a small copse of trees that helped block the wind. He tucked the blanket around her. “Wait right here while I check it out.”
She groaned.
“I know, I’m sorry. But I want to make sure no one beat us here.”
“I should go with you. Just in case.”
“Just in case what? Trust me, I’ll be more able to handle an ambush without worrying about you.” He withdrew one of the guns and pressed it into her gloved hand. “Know how to use this?”
She shook her head.
“Release the safety.” He showed her how. “Then just aim and shoot. Usually that’s enough whether you hit anyone or not. Just make sure it’s not me before you pull the trigger, okay?”
She groaned again and dropped her head against his chest. “I’m miserable, Harley.”
“I know. Me, too. It won’t be much longer now, I promise.” He tipped up her face. “I know you’re tired, honey, but stay alert for me, okay?”
When she nodded agreement, Harley kissed her forehead…then the bridge of her nose…and because he couldn’t stop himself, her mouth.
The touch was brief, and given the numbness from the cold, almost imperceptible. But her eyes opened a little wider, reassuring him.
He forced himself to walk away.
He couldn’t remember ever being so cold, but for now he couldn’t let it matter.
Maneuvering through the dark, he went around to the back of the building. He couldn’t see any footprints, but with very little light and the constantly falling snow, that wasn’t surprising.
The door felt secure, as did two high windows and a lift garage door. Harley put his ear to a window and listened, but heard nothing. The windows were frosted over, so he couldn’t see inside.
He went back around front and checked those doors, too. Far as he could tell, everything remained secure. Using the screwdriver he’d brought with him, he jimmied the lock and got the door open. The narrow beam of his flashlight bounced off a cracked vinyl seating area, a desk, two ancient vending machines, an interior door, and another lift garage door.
He held the gun in his hand and as quickly as possible did a quick surveillance inside.
Clear.
The furnace had died with the electricity, but the station would shelter them from the howling wind.
CIRCLING around to the side, Harley found Anastasia hunkered down on her haunches, her knees up to her chin, her arms around her legs. She stared straight ahead and she had the gun at the ready.
Softly, so he wouldn’t startle her, he said, “Anastasia?”
She jumped to her feet—thank God she didn’t shoot him. In fact, she handed the gun back to him with alacrity. “We can go in now?”
Poor thing. He pulled her close. “Yeah, we can go in.”
She moved ahead of him, rushing into the garage. Harley followed. He was tired and cold, and the thought of removing frozen layers tempted him. But first things first. He closed the door and as a precaution stacked some heavy tires against it.
Close behind him, Stasia asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m blocking the entrances so if anyone tries to get in, we’ll be forewarned.”
“How can I help?”
Surprised, Harley glanced at her. Her voice shivered as badly as her body; she’d been through too much. But she looked determined to lend a hand.
His admiration grew. Damn it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d admired a woman for her courage.
“The garage doors are bolted from the inside, so they’re secure. You could put something—a can or anything that’ll clatter—up by the windows and the door around back.”
“Okay.”
“Here.” He handed her the flashlight. “Take this with you. I’ll check the front desk for another one.”
The beam of light hit him in the face, making him wince before she lowered it. “How can you see to search the desk if I have the flashlight?”
“My eyes will adjust. I have good night vision.”
Her long sigh echoed in the quiet garage. “I’m convinced you have good everything. It’s almost disgusting, how good you are at everything.” With that remark, she turned to do as he asked, and Harley tracked her progress by the movement of the light.
It didn’t take him long to locate a heavy-duty security light on a shelf behind the desk. He also found matches, but no candles.
Because he preferred to be pre
pared rather than taken off guard, he went on the assumption that the men would be back, and if they returned, he needed a plan.
He didn’t want to alarm Stasia, so while she was off barring the entrances, he searched out a good place for them to rest, away from the windows and anyone who might peek in.
Ned had a small employee break room with a coffeepot set up on a rectangular table, and another round table with four plastic chairs around it. Against one wall was an aged leather recliner. It was a little on the grimy side, but it’d hold them both.
That is, if Anastasia could be convinced to bed down with him.
The room offered the convenience of a john and no windows for prying eyes.
It’d be safe enough.
On the round table, Harley set out the supplies he’d brought along and all the change he had. In his tote, he had the basic necessities: toothbrush, razor, soap, clean socks and boxers. The vending machines would supply snack-type food.
Peeling off his hooded sweatshirt, he laid it over a plastic chair to dry. He stowed the toiletries in the bathroom, readjusted both guns in his waistband, and went to check on Stasia. He found her still bundled head to toes in her outerwear, stacking empty oil cans on the windowsills. The flashlight that she held in her teeth trembled.
“Good job.”
She glanced at him, then took the flashlight out of her mouth. “Thanks. I put a chair against the door, but also sat some cans there.”
Physically, she looked on the ragged edge. Other than a bright red nose and cheeks, her skin was pale, her lips chapped. Exhaustion darkened the skin beneath her usually bright eyes.
But emotionally, she had the same strength he’d noted in her before.
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
Using the flashlight, she checked her security measures one last time, then joined him. “It’s warmer in here, but I’m not ready to lose your coat. Sorry.”
He didn’t yet tell her that more than the coat was going to have to come off before she’d get warm. Wet layers wouldn’t warm her; shared body heat would.
“I found a place for us to settle in for the night. There’s a coffee machine, so if the electricity comes back on, we’ll be in business.”
“It won’t.” Because he held a flashlight, she turned hers off and dropped it in the pocket of his coat. “It’s usually out for a day or longer.”
