A Killer Christmas

by Cherry Adair

  "In an hour or less," he promised her, "I’ll have you back in a warm bed. With a very hot me." Joe brushed his mouth over hers. And then because, honest to God, he couldn’t keep his body parts off her body parts, pulled her tightly into his arms and crushed his mouth down on hers.

  The kiss was short but filled with promise. Joe lifted his head, then went back in to rub his nose on hers in an Eskimo kiss. "This’ll be a hell of a story to tell our grandkids over the campfire, won’t it?"

  Her pretty eyes narrowed. "I hate camping."

  "You’re young. Plenty of time to learn to love it. Kids like that sort of thing."

  Someone pounded on the door, making her freeze like a startled deer.

  "Easy, sweetheart," he told her calmly. "The cavalry, remember?" It was just after seven a.m., and still dark outside. "Almost over. Got your gun?"

  When she patted a pocket, he smiled. "I’ll let them in. We’ll have our own personal army to accompany us to the chopper. And when he gets here, the local cops and the Feds will be here to welcome him."

  Kendall wrapped a blue and yellow striped knit scarf around her throat several times. The thing was a mile long. "From your lips to God’s ear." She fished a pair of child-sized blue gloves from a pocket and pushed her hands into them. Strangely they fit.

  The pounding came again, urgent and impatient.

  Joe looked at the display on his watch, slid the screen to get a view from the camera outside the front door. He recognized the three men, bulky in their heavy outerwear.

  “The local cops made it here first," he told her. Joe knew the bundled up, boot-stomping officers. "I know these guys. Go to the kitchen while I let them in."

  She’d dug a blue knit, fur lined hat out of a pocket, and pulled it on over her head with both hands. It covered her ears and forehead.

  She looked adorable. He couldn’t resist and dropped another quick, hard kiss to her mouth. "Scoot." He waited until she was well into the kitchen and out of sight.

  He wouldn’t risk taking a single chance. With the H&K in plain view, he opened the front door.

  Joe let the three guys in, glimpsing the snowplow parked near the steps out front. He raised a brow. "You came on a plow?"

  The door slammed shut with the force of the wind behind the last man. The wind might have died down, but it was far from over. Clearly the men hadn’t been able to drive a regular vehicle through the snow banks. Damn it to hell.

  "It was that or follow the snow plow. We cut out the middleman." Chief of police, red-faced, William ‘Buckeye’ Wilder said as he slapped a beefy hand on his back. "Good to see you, son."

  Joe accepted the hearty slap with a smile. Buckeye’s son had played football with Joe at the U of Montana way back when. Go Grizzlies. "This time last year." They'd all attended Denise and Adam's last annual Christmas extravaganza.

  Todd McKenzie grinned. "You stuck it out for a whole two hours."

  Joe shrugged. "Had to get back to work." Preferred batching it at HQ where it was at least quiet. It was the shits to feel lonely in that big a crowd. "Miss Metcalf's in the kitchen. I'll introduce you, then I want to go out and check on the chopper. You heard Treadwell's in the wind?"

  "Yeah. The local FBI field office let us know. They’re sending a guy.”

  At his all clear, Kendall came out of the kitchen. Joe introduced her to the men.

  "Y’all are gonna fly a copter outta here?" Buckeye asked Joe after touching his Stetson briefly to Kendall. "Wouldn’t suggest it, son," he said grimly. "Know you’ve been flyin’ since you was yae tall, and that wind mighta wound down, but it's still high enough to bring you down before you lift off."

  Joe suspected he was right, but he’d done more than fly over the Montana landscape in the last ten years. He had infinite confidence in his own abilities as a pilot, but until he went out there, and saw for himself exactly how bad it was, he wasn’t going to negate their best, most expedient form of transportation.

  "Could be," was all he said. He glanced from man to man. "Is there any other way? All I saw out there was a snowplow. Not exactly my idea of a speedy getaway."

  "Better to wait four or five hours, and take a couple of the Cameron’s snowmobiles when the wind lets up a bit more." Sonny Goodwin, a younger brother of another of Joe’s college buddies suggested, stomping the snow off his boots onto the hall rug. "Don’t suppose there’s any hot coffee around?" he asked hopefully.

  "I was just about to put a pot on." Kendall looked at Joe with a frown. "What are our options?"

  Not many, Joe thought with frustration. A plodding snowmobile a child on a tricycle could follow, or the chopper currently buried under several feet of snow. But hanging around for another four or five hours didn't feel like an option. No one could get inside.

  "Stay here while I check the chopper. We'll take it from there."

  "I'll come with you."

  He touched her cheek with his fingertips. "No need for both of us to freeze our asses off unless it's necessary. We all need hot coffee. Sonny, go help Miss Kendall. I’ll be back in ASAP."

  If the chopper could be cleared of several feet of snow, he’d start it, lift off, and bring it back to land on the front lawn. If not he'd go to plan B. Whatever the fuck that was. One thing at a time.

  He headed for the door, pulling on his gloves. He turned around with his hand on the door handle.

  "Do not," he said to the men, "I repeat. Do not let her out of your sight for even a second. Treadwell is out there. I can feel the son of a bitch breathing down our necks. Lock the door behind me. I should be back before the Feebs get here."

  With a last glance at Kendall, Joe opened the front door letting in a blast of frigid air.

  "Be careful," she told him.

  Joe nodded, his eyes holding hers. Then he let the door slam shut behind him.

  #

  "Well," Kendall said brightly as the men trooped into the kitchen with her, making some of the lanterns flare. "Coffee it is."

  The men trailed her like ants on their way to a picnic, their movement causing the lanterns to flicker. The baking sheets of cookies and the two red mugs she and Joe had used last night, still sat on the center island. Kendall carried the dirty dishes to the sink.

  She felt like an overwound watch. Kendall didn’t want to be here without Joe. It didn’t matter that she had these three guys in his place. Three average law enforcement officers didn’t equal one Joe Zorn.

  She felt what Joe felt- imminent danger. What if Treadwell was out there waiting, and he hurt Joe-

  What if- What if. Beneath the scarf wound about her throat, the scar seemed to pulse. Oh, God. . .

  "Help yourselves to those cookies. I’ll get the coffee going." She picked up the flashlight on the counter. "Were there any vehicles on the road?"

  "No ma'am. Nobody and nothin’ out there for miles. We know Treadwell's reputation. The whole county has been warned and is on alert. Even if they could get out, no one will until he's been apprehended. They know all about him, don't worry."

  "Nobody who hasn’t felt his knife at their throat really knows about Treadwell," Kendall told them bitterly as she spooned coffee grounds into the basket. "If you guys made it to the ranch, so can he."

  She disappeared into the pantry/safe room wanting to lock the door, and hide in there until Joe got back, but a tall, beanpole of a guy with sandy hair, and sympathetic eyes followed her inside.

  "You know Joe's a counterterrorist operative, right, ma'am?" Sonny blocked the door. "Used to be a Marine. He's the baddest ass – Excuse my French- out there. He and my brother Ryan went to school together, and they both joined T-FLAC right outta college. Ryan doesn’t say much – Them fighting terrorists and all, but he says Zorn's one hardass son of a bitch, and no one messes with him. One bad dude isn't going to get the best of Joe, I promise. You've got nothing to be worried about. And me and the others are here while Joe's out there checking on the helicopter."

  "Thanks, Sonny."

 
; Coats were removed, and guns exposed while Kendall pot the coffee pot on the burner. "Did you all know Joe when he lived here with Denise?" she asked, as she took down mugs.

  "His folks owned the ranch, he got it when they passed. Joe wanted to give Miss Denise whatever she wanted." His smile showed a crooked eye tooth. “She wanted a lot. Joe would’a been happy with the old cabin his dad had right on this here spot. But he built the big house for her. And as it turned out for her and Adam.

  The radio suddenly came on in the other room. I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas belted out.

  "Power’s back on," one of the younger officers said.

  The older man smacked the back of his head. "Does it look like the power’s back on, Morgan?"

  "It’s the emergency radio," Kendall told them absently.

  Music to be scared by. Great. Just what she needed.

  The men polished off most of the cookies as the coffee started to perk, filling the kitchen with the rich fragrance of expensive beans. She was so not in the Christmas spirit. The house smelled of Christmas. It looked like Christmas. But, oh God, it didn’t feel like a joyous time of the year at all. She was scared.

  Scared for herself because she knew her killer was close.

  Scared out of her mind for Joe who was out there alone.

  Was he okay?

  Of course he was.

  He had to be.

  Kendall drank the too strong coffee just to feel the heat of it going down.

  He knew what he was doing. He also knew the area very well. She gulped down half her coffee before she realized she’d added neither creamer nor Sweet ‘n Low.

  The annoying song, Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer blasted from the other room jangling her nerves even more. She set her mug down with a little more force than necessary.

  "Getting on your last nerve, is it, ma’am?" The younger blonde officer asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement, or sympathy, or blast it – probably no feelings one way or the other at all. "Want for me to go turn it off?"

  Kendall gave him a smile. "Just down would help, thanks." She glanced at her watch. Joe had been gone for less than half an hour. It felt like an eternity.

  No it didn’t. She knew what an eternity felt like.

  She’d experienced a time without end in that single-wide trailer in the woods fifteen months ago. That was eternity.

  The officer took a cookie to go and ambled off in the direction of the great room. There was really nothing to say to the men in the kitchen with her and the silence stretched, helped only marginally by a rousing rendition of Jingle Bell Rock.

  She had just refilled her mug when a loud crack sounded from outside. The retort was as loud as a gunshot. With a scream, she jolted, spilling scalding coffee down her front.

  The two younger men drew their guns in the blink of an eye.

  The older man went to the window to peek through the blinds, then turned back to the others. "Stand down. Tree split in half. We're seeing plenty in this weather."

  As the men holstered their weapons Kendall felt lightheaded and sick to her stomach. God, she wanted this to be over.

  "You okay, ma’am?"

  She nodded jerkily. Her midriff stung from contact with the hot coffee which had soaked into her thick sweater. "I’ll just go and rinse this off." She didn't want to go upstairs, instead she grabbed the heavy, optimistic-yellow, down coat slung over a chair back in case she needed to strip off the sweater.

  "I’ll go with you." Sonny offered. He looked spooked, too, which didn’t fill her with confidence.

  She needed just a few minutes to compose herself, give herself a pep talk. Hell. Talk herself off the ceiling. Her heart was still racing.

  "The bathroom door is right there," she pointed down a short hallway to show the door was visible from where they stood. "There’s no window, I’ll be safe in there for a few minutes."

  She took one of the flashlights off the kitchen counter, went into the powder room and shut the door behind her. The room was decadently large. It had looked charming a couple of days ago when she’d placed red votive candles amidst clusters of holly berries and glossy green leaves between the rocks of a small fountain on the counter. Right now it just looked – dark.

  She pulled her sweater over her head. The sting of the faint red mark across her middle was already fading. She let herself look at the scars Treadwell had made on her body. Those too were fading. Much faster than those he’d made to her psyche.

  As the light from the flashlight dimmed, indicating- damn it to hell- that it needed new batteries, she glanced in the mirror over the vanity and gave a choked, semi-hysterical laugh. Even though she'd pinned up her hair, it was already coming loose, drying every which way, making her look like a wild woman. And even in the flickering light, her skin appeared pale. Fear did that to a girl.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. And again.

  Better.

  A loud bambambam on the front door stopped her heart.

  A few seconds later one of the guys shouted, "It's the FBI guy, Miss Kendall!"

  She should feel better with an army here to protect her. But the only one she trusted was still outside. "Give him a cup of coffee, I'll be a few minutes." Because any second now the flashlight was going to plunge her into blackness. At least there were men in the bright kitchen to dispel her irrational fear.

  Treadwell couldn't get inside the house. He couldn't stand outside and huff and puff and blow the house down. If he was here at all. Even the FBI guy had taken longer than the cops, and he'd come from a local field office. Last she'd heard Treadwell was five hours away. And even if he wasn't—

  He. Could. Not. Get. Into. The. House.

  He couldn't get past law enforcement officers trained to shoot to kill.

  He wouldn't get past Joe.

  Kendall let out a shaky breath as she pulled the sweater over her head. Her bra was wet, but she left it on as she rinsed the coffee out of the heavy garment, then blotted it with a towel. Closing the lid on the toilet, she sat down, not ready to face a bunch of strange guys all looking at her trying to imagine what Treadwell had done to her.

  The flashlight dimmed farther. She glanced at her watch. Joe had been gone for twenty-seven minutes. Was the length of time an indication that he was clearing snow off his helicopter in the hope that he could get it to run? God, she hoped so, because the other reason he was taking so long was too hideous to contemplate.

  Time stretched. She got up and pulled on the coat, the lining felt icy against her already chilled skin. Tugging the long zipper up to her throat, she paced. From the toilet to the vanity and back. Eleven steps. And back again. He’d said he’d be back in an hour. She could wait an hour, even if the flashlight died. She didn't have to go out there and ignore their sympathetic looks, and attempts at making conversation.

  Joe please hurry.

  How could she possibly feel this deep connection with a man she didn’t know? She didn’t know the how or the why. She only knew that when this was all over, she wanted to explore what they’d started here.

  Shadows formed on the cream and gold wallpaper as she paced back and forth.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  The bulb gave up the ghost, plunging the bathroom into stygian darkness. "Well, hell!" Kendall stood in the middle of the bathroom for a couple of seconds waiting for her heart to leave her throat and race back into her chest.

  She opened the door. "Hey guys, anyone got a. . ."

  Wearing a dark jacket with FBI printed in bright yellow across his chest, Dwight Treadwell leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom door.

  He smiled. "Hi, honey. I’m home."

  TEN

  It could be any one of the men in the house standing there in the semi-darkness. He was little more than a shadowy figure but recognition was instantaneous. Kendall knew who he was almost before she heard the voice.

  His voice. Oh, God. The FBI guy hadn't been the FB
I guy. He was Treadwell.

  Heart pounding, throat dry, Kendall jumped back and tried to slam the bathroom door closed with both hands. It was snatched out of her grasp.

  OhGodohGodohGod.

  They were close to the same height, in fact now that she saw him again Kendall was stunned at how weedy he looked. In her nightmares he was always huge and brutish. But the reality was Treadwell was medium. Medium height. Medium coloring. Medium features.

  His face was ruddy with the cold and excitement. Snot dripped onto his upper lip, and his almost colorless eyes held a mad and terrifyingly familiar gleam. She'd given him that raised red scar running from under his chin to the corner of his lower lip.

  His strength was almost superhuman as he grabbed her by the front of her thick coat and yanked her out into the hallway. She fought him wildly, kicking and scratching, screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs.

  He backhanded her, a punishing blow that had her sagging, weak and fighting not to pass out. Not from the pain, but from the memory of all that had come after the blows, almost paralyzing her with horror.

  "Tsk. Tsk. Now is that any way to welcome an old friend?"

  Cheek on fire, legs like rubber, she scrambled to get her feet under her. Shooting out his hand, he fisted the front of the extreme weather coat in one gloved hand and with the other jerked her upright, pulling her into the kitchen by her hair.

  The empty kitchen.

  His fine, light brown hair was wet, as were the shoulders of the too large black ski jacket with the yellow lettering. "Know how many shit cars I had to drive to get to you?" he demanded, shoving her in front of him.

  "Know how many dumb fucks contributed to the cause, and gave their lives so I could be here with you? Do you, huh? Do you have any idea how fucking cold it was hiding out in the trees waiting for just the right moment for us to be reacquainted?"

  He shoved her hard and she staggered because he was still holding her hair. Her scalp stung. "Selfish." Shove. "Selfish." Shove. "Bitch."

  "Go to hell where you belong." Kendall stumbled before getting her feet under her. Her face throbbed, her scalp burned. Her heart skittered, missed several beats, then raced making her lightheaded. The pantry/safe room was about fifteen feet behind him. If she could get inside, she'd just have to wait until Joe and the others came back.