Cold Pursuit (28 page)

He kissed her hair. “Maybe it’s a son or daughter of the one we heard fifteen years ago.”

“Or a grandchild,” she said, and was quiet for a while before turning to him and touching his right thigh where he’d been shot. “Your father feared for your life, and maybe he had a premonition of the danger you were in. But that’s not why he died.”

“Jo…”

“If he built his own cabin on that old cellar hole, he had shelter. Good shelter. Better than trash bags. He could have survived the storm.” She eased her fingertips gently along Elijah’s scars, as if trying to imagine the pain, the blood, how close he’d come to death. “He didn’t go up the mountain with a storm on the way to die. He knew what he was doing.”

Elijah didn’t speak.

“Someone killed him, Elijah.”

He slid his arms around her and drew her to him. “I know.”

Melanie felt exhilarated and nervous at the same time, relished the tension between the two emotions as she pulled the shades in Kyle’s bedroom in the Whittakers’ guesthouse. She was tingly with wanting him. She’d told Thomas she needed air after their flight and the long drive from the airport. He’d worried about the dark, but she’d assured him there was plenty of light from the house—and there was.

But Kyle wasn’t in a good mood.

“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?” She sat on the edge of his bed. “Although I’m not sure I’d want a second home in Vermont. It’s too cold here most of the time. Thomas loves it, though.”

“The way things are going, you’ll be lucky your new home’s not a prison cell.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.” She chided him with a smile—no point in annoying him—but he always saw the downside to the situation, and she always saw the upside.

“The police are looking for the messenger you were worried about,” he said.

“You’re the one who said not to worry.”

“Who do you think called in the tip?”

Her stomach twisted.
Thomas.
“I have no idea, and I don’t care.”

“The people we work for don’t like screwups. I dealt with one before you came on board. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We’re not screwups.”

“
I’m
not.”

But he was her partner. He’d recruited her. If their employers were unhappy with her because of Nora Asher and her snooping into Melanie’s background, Kyle would be held responsible, too. He looked concerned, which wasn’t like him, but he got nervous when he had to think on his feet. He wasn’t good at it. She was, and when she wanted something, she put her mind to it and got it.

More than once on her trip up from Washington she’d realized she might end up having to kill him. Let him take the fall for Nora, both with the police and with their employers. Melanie wanted Kyle’s plan to work and Nora to die up on the mountain because of the cold, Devin Shay’s obsession with her, her own out-of-control emotions. Drew Cameron’s death seven months ago would actually work to their advantage and provide more substance, even poignancy, to the deaths of the two teenagers.

It was a good plan, but Melanie was prepared to take matters into her own hands. Blaming Kyle. Painting herself as one of his victims—vulnerable, innocent.

Thomas was up at the Whittaker farmhouse in front of a roaring fire in their living room. Melanie liked Lowell and Vivian. Thomas was handling himself with such grace under pressure. Melanie looked forward to tapping into his network of friends once they were married. A shame Alex Bruni wasn’t in the picture anymore, given his prestige as an ambassador, but that hadn’t been Melanie’s call to make. She’d driven the car—but she wasn’t the one who’d decided to kill him.

When she and Thomas had arrived at the Whittakers’ farmhouse from Jo Harper’s wreck of a cabin, Kyle had reported on his actions on Nora’s behalf. Mostly lies, of course, but Thomas was obviously impressed and relieved to have Kyle involved. Melanie had felt good for arranging for Thomas to hire him.

She’d thought about what it would be like to sneak down to the guesthouse in the middle of the night and have Kyle make love to her, with Thomas and the Whittakers none the wiser. But Kyle had barely acknowledged her existence. He was obviously in no mood for her risk taking. He could be like that.

Kyle had recommended that Thomas inform local and state authorities of his concerns, especially with bad weather coming in—and the talk he’d heard about Devin. The Whittakers had heard the talk, too, which helped. But that was all Kyle’s doing. He’d been setting up Devin even before Alex Bruni’s death.

The planner.

But then he’d given Melanie a nod that told her he wanted to speak with her in private.

Kyle unbuckled his belt and ripped it off his pants. “Jo Harper and Elijah Cameron are a problem.”

“Then deal with them,” Melanie said.

He dropped the belt onto a chair. “Did Nora or Devin ever see us together?”

“No. Impossible.” She shook her head, as much to reassure herself. “We’re safe.”

“What about your would-be client who came to a bad end?”

“We’ve been through that, Kyle. There’s no way to connect him to me. You’d never have taken me on as a partner if there had been. Nora and Devin don’t know anything. They’re just looking for something to break Thomas and me apart.”

“You should never have invited Nora’s scrutiny by getting involved with her father.”

“Spilled milk, Kyle.”

She felt a sudden chill. She’d never liked the cold—she certainly hadn’t wanted to hike up that stupid mountain in April. Kyle had insisted. They’d been instructed to make Drew’s death look like an accident, an old man who’d miscalculated the elements and went to sleep in the snow.

Kyle unbuttoned his pants. She didn’t know, really, if he wanted a quick round of sex or just wanted to go to bed. “Why did we kill Drew Cameron?” she asked in a low voice.

“You’re asking for trouble with that kind of question. We do a job. We don’t get to know who wanted it done or why.” He stepped out of his pants and folded them onto the chair. “You’re caught up in a fantasy. You think you’re two different people, but you’re not. Your life this past year was for real. You can’t erase it. You did what you did.”

“I’m not in denial. I’m moving on.”

“I never should have let you get involved in my business. It was a mistake.”

“You needed a partner. Even with what I got paid, you earned far more these past eight months than you would have on your own. Don’t you have hopes and dreams, Kyle?”

“Yeah. Living through this mess we’re in up here.”

But Melanie could see he had a level of calm that indicated he believed he had a solid plan. “You’ll miss me when we’ve gotten through this mess.”

“No, I won’t, Melanie.”

He continued to stare at her. She shivered, not with the cold—with fear, with excitement. “What?”

“We have to get this right or we’ll be on the list for one of our colleagues. We’ll be a liability.”

“Drew and Bruni got too close to our people, didn’t they?”

“I know as much as you do. You have to stop, Melanie. Just stop.”

He pulled off his shirt and laid it neatly on top of his pants, then took off his socks. There was nothing erotic about his movements.

“If you got an assignment to kill me,” Melanie said, “you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes were slits on her. “Would you tell me?”

“I just want to be Mrs. Thomas Asher.”

He stood in front of her and took her hand, pressed it against his crotch. “Do you?”

“Yes.” But she cupped him, stroked him. “I do.”

“Then help me make sure his daughter doesn’t get off that mountain. We have to deal with Elijah Cameron and Jo Harper. You’re a rookie compared to them. You have no idea.” Kyle shook his head, even as he thrust himself against her hand. “You’ve never gone up against real professionals.”

“They just want to find two kids in over their heads and get them safely down off the mountain.”

“I searched Harper’s cabins last night. If the feds are onto us and sent her up here undercover, she’s doing a good job hiding it.”

“If she’d caught you—”

“She didn’t.” He lowered his boxers and threaded his fingers into her hair. “I couldn’t get into Elijah Cameron’s place. No time. But he suspects his father had help dying up on that mountain.”

“He can suspect all he wants. It won’t do him any good.” She raised her eyes to him. “We just have to deal with Nora and Devin.”

“I could go up there in the dark and look for them, but I need rest. I need to give the snow a chance to develop.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He cupped the back of her head with his hands and produced a nasty smile. “You know what to do.”

“I mean tomorrow. More deaths on Cameron Mountain will be hard to explain.”

“That’s where planning comes in.”

It was a dig at her, but she shrugged it off and moved her mouth closer to his erection. “Was this planned?”

Her sarcasm was ill timed. He’d retaliate for her snottiness, and she’d have no satisfaction tonight. She’d service Kyle and be sent on her way, back out into the cold night. Thomas awaited her, but it wasn’t the same.

“I feel like the wicked stepmother in a fairy tale,” she said when he didn’t answer.

“It’s not a fairy tale. You’re the real deal.”

“There’ll be a happy ending for me.”

“You’re something else, Melanie. I wish I’d never met you.”

She raised her eyes to him. “If you’re getting squeamish, walk away. I’ll take care of everything.”

“There’s no walking away.” Kyle’s grip on her head eased. “You need to forget Thomas. Once we’re finished here, you Dear John him. Say you didn’t bargain for all this tragedy.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Kyle.”

He gave her a supercilious smirk. “Sure.”

But even as she opened her mouth and did his bidding, she knew the power she had over him. She and Thomas were getting married. She was walking away from her life with Kyle stronger, better. He would remain a work-for-hire killer.

Of course, he had power over her, too. He could ruin her.

Or kill her. She didn’t want to end up on his list of targets.

He moaned, threading his thick fingers into her hair, and she smiled to herself. She could kill him, but Kyle could never hurt her.

All would be well.

When she arrived back at the farmhouse, Melanie decided she’d absolutely have to talk Thomas out of a Vermont wedding. It would be frigid on New Year’s Eve. It was cold
now.

She sat next to him on the couch in front of the fire, welcoming the warmth, the elegance of the beautifully decorated room. As wealthy and well-connected as Vivian and Lowell Whittaker were, Melanie wasn’t sure if she and Thomas would want to maintain a friendship with them after Nora and Devin were dead. It would be just too awkward.

No one seemed the least bit curious about how long she’d been gone. She’d been right, Kyle had refused to satisfy her. She was still all tingly with wanting him. But he’d been adamant—cruel, even. He’d taken her out to his car and given her a gun, a 9-millimeter Browning that she rather liked.

“Be prepared to cut your losses,” he’d told her.

She’d tucked the Browning into her handbag. Thomas was too much of a gentleman ever to paw through any of her things without her permission. She would do what she had to do to protect herself.

But so would Kyle. How much hadn’t he told her? She couldn’t count on his loyalty. If he had a client who’d pay him to do it, Kyle would kill his own mother. An apt cliché in his case.

Melanie trusted her own instincts. She had succeeded in her violent work this past year not just because she enjoyed it and understood her strengths and weaknesses, but also because she didn’t defer to Kyle or anyone else. She had her own mind. Her own plans.

Melanie snuggled closer to Thomas in front of the fire. She sensed his worry and grief—and guilt—and held his hand. Lowell Whittaker offered her a brandy, but she didn’t dare accept. Alcohol in her hyperalert state would be dangerous.

Lowell and Vivian told a funny story about Alex almost falling into the duck pond on a visit to Vermont, and Thomas managed a smile. Melanie nudged him. “Tell us what he was like in law school,” she said. “I can just imagine what you two were like then.”

It took a bit more prodding, but Thomas finally reminisced about his and his dead friend’s days together at Yale. Melanie mumbled a few appropriate comments, but mostly listened sympathetically. He was still in shock, the poor thing. She hated to think what he’d be like after his daughter was dead, too, but nothing to be done about that now. They might have to postpone their wedding. Never mind the cold, New Year’s Eve might be too soon.

Melanie felt her heartbeat quicken with irritation at the position Nora had put her in. She deserved to die—and to suffer before she gave up her last breath. Kyle never concerned himself with making a target suffer. Get in, get out. Do the job. That was his philosophy. Melanie wasn’t that noble.

Maybe a Valentine’s Day wedding would work. It could be fun. More fun, even, than New Year’s Eve.

She smiled inwardly, already visualizing venues and decorations.

Elijah was loading his backpack on the kitchen counter when Jo got up and eased onto a stool at the breakfast bar. It wasn’t quite light out, and it was cold. He wasn’t much on keeping the thermostat up and hadn’t yet lit a fire in his efficient little woodstove.

He had the look of a man with a mission.

She’d slipped his nightshirt back on but was barefoot, her toes already cold. “You could hand me over a pair of your wool socks,” she said.

“Top drawer of my dresser. All the socks you need.”

He hadn’t even looked up from his array of supplies. He was fully dressed—wool pants, fleece pullover atop an army-green undergarment of some kind. Not cotton, Jo thought. Cotton was a poor insulator when wet, dried slowly, and therefore tended to promote hypothermia.

He’d made coffee. She’d smelled it while she lay snug under his soft wool blanket and down comforter, warm and loose from their night of lovemaking. She’d heard him get up, run the shower, dress and head to the kitchen, and she’d debated whether it would be better to get up herself and go find out what he was up to, or if it was better that she didn’t.