Chill (8 page)

She lifted her head to look at him. There was fear in her eyes. “Does that side rule you, or can you control it? I can’t live with it.”

His fingers dug into her hips. “I am not Marcus,” he snapped. “I would never hurt you, or anyone.”

She stared at him, searching his face for answers. He tensed at her hesitation, and he replayed his response in his mind.

And even when she shrugged and put her head back on his shoulder without answering him, he wasn’t satisfied.

He knew she was right. He had, for a split second, once again become the man Marcus had spent a lifetime trying to turn him into. Cold, ruthless, willing to kill.

A man he had become for one night eight years ago, and the blood was still caked on his hands.

Luke had walked away from that life, from that destiny, from that side of himself eight years ago, when he’d moved to Alaska.

And in one night, Isabella had taken him back to that person, to the edge of that path that led to hell. To
the side of himself that was his truth. A truth he despised. A truth he would not allow.

Even if it meant leaving Isabella to the vultures trying to kill her?

He swore as he looked down at the injured woman clinging to him. After Anna, after his mother, after that night eight years ago, he
had
to protect Isabella.

But as God was his witness, she was
not
going to bring his old life back to him.

It took almost three hours for Luke to circle back through the woods to the airport. Isabella had long since fallen asleep in his arms, her body slumped against his as he worked his way unerringly through the woods. She was trembling from the cold, and he’d long ago ditched his sweater and wrapped it around her. His adrenaline was so high he barely felt the cold wind whipping through the trees.

Like most bush pilots, Luke flew on instinct more than on instruments, a talent that allowed him to cover dense forest on foot without a compass and never make a misstep. He’d decided that heading toward the road with no transportation was asinine, so he’d decided he needed to get back to his plane to get out.

But he had to do it without being seen.

Luke crouched at the edge of the woods, surveying the airfield. He’d crossed the street a couple miles up from the airport, and worked his way back down carefully.

And now, he’d been watching the airfield and his plane for almost twenty minutes, and he’d seen no movement. No action.

The black cars were still in the parking lot at the bar, and he knew those guys wouldn’t let up until their
big boss called it. They’d turn every stone, trying to figure out where the hell their prey had disappeared. He itched to find out who they were, to learn whom they were working for, to take them out one by one, Alaskan style…

But this wasn’t his game anymore.

He would get Isabella to safety, and that was it. Periphery only. He was a ghost.

Isabella shifted against him and let out a low moan. She was shivering violently, and he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He had to move, or she would suffer the price.

Luke eased to his feet and moved out into the open, keeping to the shadows of the other planes.

He was glad Cort’s plane was gone. He hoped his friend had gotten out without any backlash connecting him to Isabella or himself. The first inkling Luke got that Cort or Kaylie had been noticed, and Luke was going to take off for parts unknown. He’d leave a clear trail to get the bastards out of Alaska, then disappear forever.

Just as he’d left behind the identity of Adam Fie, he would do it again with Luke Webber.

But the thought churned through him, and anger rose fast. He didn’t want to lose Luke Webber. He liked his life, and he wanted to keep it.

But not at the risk of people he cared about.

Never again.

He would disappear when it was time, and he’d pray he hadn’t risked it by not leaving immediately, by hoping he could pull it off.

He heard raised voices in the hangar, rough voices with Boston accents.
Shit.

Isabella groaned, and he put his hand over her mouth. “Shh, baby.”

Her eyes flickered open, a weary slit in the heavy eyelids.

He gave her a reassuring smile.

Her eyes closed again, and he pulled her more closely against him as he listened to the conversation.

“The girl had to have come through here,” a man said. “We’ve checked all the roads. I want a list of all flights that have gone out.”

Shit. If they got Cort’s name—

“Nope.” Luke recognized the voice of Les Fitch, who was the main man at this airfield. “We don’t keep track of that info out here. Just make sure no one crashes and that’s it.”

Luke grinned, knowing Les spoke only a half-truth. He didn’t write down the info, because he kept it all in his head. He could still call up details from twenty years ago. The man was a freak of nature, a vintage Alaskan who lived by his instincts and God-given talents instead of technology or anything too shiny and new.

He always kept a loaded shotgun behind his desk, and he enjoyed pulling it out whenever anyone pissed him off.

Les would hold his own with those bastards and give up nothing. And it was clear from the questions that the men hadn’t tagged Luke or Cort, but were merely chasing their tails in the wind.

For now, he and Cort were safe. If he could get Isabella out of Alaska without further contact, he just might pull this shit off. Keep her safe and still be a ghost.

Luke eased past the hangar, resisting the urge to peer inside and get an ID on his pursuers. Distance was the only safe approach, especially with Isabella in his arms.

He moved silently across the tarmac and wrenched open the door to his plane. He climbed into the plane and grimaced at the scent that still lingered from transporting the bodies.

Isabella mumbled something as he set her in the copilot seat.

“Hang on there, Isabella. We’re going for a ride.” He quickly strapped her in and grabbed a blanket from the back to tuck around her. She was still trembling violently, and he had a feeling it was as much from the fever as from the cold.

Luke didn’t dare take time to administer meds to bring down the fever. He brushed his hand over her cheeks. “You’re going to be okay,” he ordered quietly.

She didn’t respond, and something turned over in his gut. The way she lay there, just like Anna. Lifeless, dying, because of him—

“No,” he snarled. Isabella wasn’t dying and no more bullets would rip into that fragile body of hers. He was getting her out of this.

This circle of death that followed him ended now.

It ended with Isabella.

Luke grabbed his harness and jammed the buckles in, his mind already furiously turning over options. Evaluating the risks of each choice. Figuring out his plan, the plan that would end this shit
now.
But as fast as his mind worked, he realized almost instantly that to close the deal, he needed more information from Isabella.

He looked over at the woman who was so pale and still next to him, already sensing it would not be easy to pry information from her. He would have to convince her.

A slow smile spread over his face at the thought of how he could try to persuade her. Not that he’d take advantage, but the bush pilot in him had long ago learned to cross certain ethical lines when lives were at stake. Isabella’s life was at risk, and he’d do what it took to save her.

She seemed so small and vulnerable, huddled in the seat. He was unable to stop himself from resting his palm against her cheek. She mumbled in her sleep and pressed her face into his hand.

Luke froze at the intimate movement, at the gesture of trust, of her seeking comfort from him. God, how long had it been since anyone had reached out for him like that? So gently, such innocence, such need. Slowly he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just closed his eyes and basked in the taste of her skin. A little salty, a sweetness that made him want to drop his head and kiss her for real. To feel her tongue against his. To taste—

He heard a shout, and he instantly pulled back. Jesus. How could he have forgotten where he was?

He started the plane, and the engine roared to life. One of Isabella’s pursuers appeared in the doorway of the hangar and gestured at the plane.

Luke ignored him and began to taxi toward the runway. He called Les to get clearance to take off. As he did it, he squeezed Isabella’s hand. Her skin was on fire, and her hands were sweaty. “It’ll just be a few,” he told her. “I’ve got you. Just sleep. It’s good for you.”

“You’re good,” Les affirmed.

Luke heard shouted questions over the mike, and just before Les signed off, Luke heard him mention dead climbers. Luke realized the out-of-towners were
about to get a gruesome story about life as an Alaskan bush pilot.

Knowing Les, he’d probably warn them that Luke had been tossing back a few at the bar and that they ought to stay out of the way. Drunk bush pilots were not to be trifled with.

Luke almost chuckled as he positioned his plane at the start of the runway. The poor bastards would have their hands full, trying to get Alaskans to help them. He liked that about Alaska, liked that people protected their own.

Yeah, this was his world and these were his people, and he was going to keep them safe.

He jammed the plane into gear and took off down the tarmac.

But just as the wheels left the earth, he looked over at the office again. The three men in black had come outside and were watching him take off.

And he knew the game wasn’t over.

“You bring food?”

Two hours after leaving behind Isabella’s pursuers, Luke shut off his plane’s engine and grinned as a huge lumberjack in filthy jeans, paint-splattered boots and a ten-pound beard scowled at him from the edge of the woods. Eight huskies flanked him, barking furiously at the plane. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, and three small animal carcasses hung from his massive hand. Doc Eddie was Alaskan all the way up his family tree, and he was a part of this territory, more so than anyone Luke had ever met. At seventy-three, Doc Eddie still competed in the Iditarod every winter, a dogsled race that was two weeks of brutality, frigid temperatures and risk.

Doc Eddie distrusted anyone who didn’t have at least four generations of Alaska in them, and he’d hated Luke on sight.

But when Luke had plucked Doc’s entire team from a raging river that had swept them off their feet, he’d become the man’s friend for life. Doc’s first and only Lower 48 comrade, a fact Luke was not supposed to share.

Doc had a reputation to uphold.

“It’s business,” Luke said.

“Business?” Doc Eddie surveyed Luke. “You finally want me to remove that brand on your wrist? It makes you look like a piece of cattle.”

Luke shook his head. He wanted that brand. It kept him focused on moving forward. “I have a girl who needs you. Bullet wound.”

“Hell.” Doc Eddie strode forward, his jovial tone gone. “You shoot her?” There was no mistaking the hopefulness in Doc’s tone. He still thought Luke was a little soft for an Alaskan.

But Doc didn’t know about Luke’s past.

“Nope.” Luke ducked back into the plane and unbuckled Isabella. She was still asleep…at least he hoped it was simply sleep. Not unconsciousness. He’d slipped her some aspirin for the fever and managed to rouse her an hour ago, but nothing since.

He scooped her up in his arms, frowning at how light she was. Asleep, small, injured…she was vulnerable. Protectiveness surged inside him and he swore at the thought.

He had no responsibility to this woman. Whatever fate befell her was her doing, not his. He’d help if he could, but his duty ended there.

But as he climbed out of the plane with her cradled
to his chest, he had a bad, bad feeling he wasn’t going to find it all that easy to walk away from her.

Doc frowned as Luke climbed down. “She’s Lower 48.”

“Looks that way.”

Doc set his hands on his hips, making no move to look at Isabella’s injuries. “I don’t treat outsiders.”

“I know.” Luke shifted her weight, holding her tighter against his chest. She was still shaking, and her skin was on fire. “But she’s being stalked by some Lower 48 bad guys who are using muscle, guns and money to manipulate the locals into betraying her and anyone associated with her.”

Doc’s gaze met Luke’s. “You think if you took her to another doctor, he might ante up for them?”

“I do.”

“Stakes that high?”

“Seem to be.”

“Well, damn.” Doc Eddie rubbed his jaw. “I do like to fuck with outsiders.” He broke into a wide grin. “What the hell. Bring her inside. Let’s see what’s doing.”

Luke grinned as he followed Doc across the clearing toward his hunting cabin. Doc had a house in town, which was where his main practice was located, but he had never hung out a shingle. He took clients on word of mouth only, and he frequently exercised his right to turn down work. He’d gone to medical school to provide care to his peeps, and he’d never wavered from that purpose. He made enough money to run his practice and race his dogs, and he never worked a minute more than he had to…unless one of his mates needed help, and then he was available for as long as it took, no matter the time of day or day of the week.

Twice he’d dropped out of the Iditarod with less
than a day to go because someone from town had been in desperate need of his services. But if an outsider needed help? He’d step over the bleeding body on the way to getting a beer.

Luke had been taking a risk that Doc would help Isabella, but he knew Doc was the only one he could trust to keep Isabella and his connection to her a secret, especially in the face of the leverage he knew Marcus could exert on them.

And he’d apparently made the right call.

Luke vaulted up the steps, careful not to trip on the dogs bounding around him. One of them leapt up to lick his face, and Luke grinned as the pink tongue slathered across his cheek. Reminded him of the puppy he’d had growing up…

Then his smile faded as he recalled the fate of that dog and why he’d never gotten another one.

No animal should be used as leverage to get a seven-year-old boy to cough up where his daddy was on a Sunday morning.

“Put her on my table.”

It took Luke’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light inside the cabin, which was lit only by the sun. Dark wood, unfinished, a one-bedroom cabin. A bed, a kitchenette, an easy chair, a fireplace and a large wooden table that Luke suspected doubled as food prep and stitching up hunting accidents.

Doc tossed a thick black blanket over the table. He whipped it under Isabella a split second before Luke set her down, in a synchronized move Luke was sure had been practiced many times. “Bullet wound in her left shoulder,” Luke said. “I think it’s infected—”

Doc pulled out a knife and began cutting through the sweater. “Have you gotten naked with this girl?”

Luke pulled himself up. Had he been that transparent in his desire of her? “No, I—”

“Then get out. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Doc pointed his knife at door. “Out.”

Luke hesitated, not wanting to leave Isabella unattended. It was a nonsensical instinct, given that they were isolated in the woods, untraceable by the men stalking her, and his trust of Doc was so complete he’d tell the old man about his past if there was ever a reason to.

“Go.”

Isabella looked so fragile, sprawled across the table. She was pale, shivering, and he knew his hesitation could cost her dearly. He brushed his fingertips across her ashen cheek, then turned and forced himself to leave.