Snowball's Chance (6 page)

“Okay?” he asked, voice rough against her ear.

She smiled against his throat. “Better than.”

“Wrap your legs around me.”

“I was getting there,” she groused, her voice thick as he pushed himself impossibly deeper. She walked her heels up his back, feeling gloriously invaded, and kissed his jaw as he started to move.

Pinned down by his not inconsiderable weight, her legs tightened as he moved his big, powerful body inside hers. She felt alive, supernaturally so as she ached and burned and shuddered in his arms.

Their lovemaking transcended anything Kendall could ever have imagined even in her wildest dreams. Their bodies were perfectly matched. Yin and yang. The waves of pleasure crashed and churned until she went blind and deaf, her entire being focused on where they were joined. She was being helplessly urged higher and higher, impossibly higher, on a tidal wave of sensation.

The wave broke, huge and powerful, flinging her into sweet oblivion.

J
oe rose and pulled on his jeans. He didn't have to explain why, and even though she was disappointed, Kendall didn't have to ask. He handed her his sweater. “As much as I'd rather have you warm and naked, put this on. Hang on a sec—” He leaned over to brush a kiss to each breast before she covered them. It was sweet and silly and her heart swelled with emotion as she finished pulling his sweater down over her warm body.

She closed her eyes briefly. The soft merino wool smelled of him. Joe sat beside her on the bed, using both hands to slowly draw her damp hair out from under the neckline.

“Can you come back to bed?” Kendall asked hopefully. He was playing with her hair, lifting and dropping the long strands as if fascinated by the color and texture. Apparently there was a direct route from the hair follicles on her scalp to all her girl parts. She wanted him again with a need that surprised her.

His hesitation was almost negligible before he stretched out beside her on top of the covers, tucking her against his side. Kendall rested her head on his chest and draped her arm over his waist. She snuggled her cheek against the crisp hair underlain by his hot skin. He smelled so incredibly good she wanted to bottle him.

“Will you sleep?” she asked, letting her fingers explore the deep grove of his spine and the bands of taut muscles and satin-smooth skin of his back. Touching him was sheer pleasure.

“Tomorrow. But you go ahead. You said you needed at least five hours to fire on all cylinders. You have time. Get some rest.” He reached over and repositioned his gun on the bedside table beside him, then pulled the covers up, tucking them around her back.

Kendall found the perfect spot to rest her cheek in the curve of his shoulder. Joe glided his hand under the sweater to rub her back in slow, lazy circles and her muscles relaxed as she hovered close to sleep.

It seemed as though she'd just closed her eyes, but she woke with a scream and bolted upright in bed. Disorientated and shaking, she looked around the dimly lit bedroom as if she'd never seen it before.

Beside her Joe said softly, “Bad dream?”

Eyes dark and haunted, she nodded, making her hair slide over her shoulders. “He's out there.”

“No, he's not,” he said with conviction. “Come here, sweetheart.” He pulled her back down into his arms. “Roz called to give us an update not an hour ago, remember? He was last seen in Nimrod. That means he's at least five hours away, on a good day. And that's only if he manages to commandeer another vehicle. If the storm lets up. If he isn't stopped by one of the roadblocks between here and there. Everyone is looking for the son of a bitch, honey. He won't get anywhere near you. I promise.”

“He doesn't have to be anywhere near me to scare me spitless,” Kendall said tightly. She was shivering hard now. Joe tightened his arms around her and rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes. He wished like hell he were touching her bare skin, but this had to be enough. For now.

“How did you get away that night?” he asked, tightening his arms around her. He knew, of course. It had been in the transcripts. But he wanted her to remember taking action. To remember that she hadn't been helpless.

“I'd lost track of time. There was tinfoil over the windows, and I had no idea if it was day or night. Or how long he'd h-had me. He kept me chained to the handle of the oven. There was—b-blood all over me—”

Shit. Bad idea. “But you managed to outsmart the sick fu—bastard and get away, didn't you?” His own stomach lurched at the thought of the cuts on her body and how terrified she must've been.

“He said, ‘I've enjoyed our time together, Kendall,' and took a key out of his pocket. I thought—Oh, God. I thought—He's going to kill me with a key. I was so freaked, I believed he could've done it, too.” She was breathing fast, and Joe rocked her against his chest, listening to her erratic breathing. Fury blazed in his belly as she talked.

“But he opened the padlock on the chain. He showed me the special knife in one hand and hoisted me up off the floor. He needed me standing. He wanted to add my blood to his wall of s-splatter.”

Christ.

“He considered himself an artist,” she said bitterly. “I was his medium. He told me … told me that I had to be positioned just right so that when he sliced my artery, the spray of blood would add to the mural he'd been creating on the—the wall of the trailer.”

The mural that had the blood of more than a dozen other women dried on it. A challenge for the forensic teams to unravel the DNA. “Jesus, sweetheart. I'm sorry. So sorry. But you beat him at his own game. You got away.”

Bleeding from dozens of cuts, she'd still had the fortitude to pick up the open padlock from the floor where Treadwell had dropped it. While Treadwell angled her for best effect, then started to cut her throat, Kendall, despite considerable blood loss, had managed to smash him in the face with it. Then she'd run.

When a passing motorist had almost driven over her, he'd called 911 about the dead body sprawled in the middle of the road. The Good Samaritan had, thank God, made the call, but Kendall had almost bled out because the man had stayed in his vehicle until the cops arrived.

“Yes.” She burrowed tightly against Joe, shaking hard enough to shatter. “I got away.”

At what cost? Joe thought, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tightly. Damn. He hated that he was in a hurry-up-and-wait position. He didn't like not having options. He had a fantasy of getting Kendall to safety, then returning to the house to wait for Treadwell himself. One on one.

Before the cops arrived and made a nice, polite arrest, Joe wanted just half an hour with the son of a bitch. Just long enough to give Dwight Gus Treadwell the punishment he so richly deserved.

He listened to the storm die down beyond the sealed windows and checked the safety on the H&K.

He could tell she was too agitated to remain in bed. She was antsy. Hungry. No, thirsty. They went down to the kitchen, Joe wearing only jeans, Kendall wearing nothing but his white sweater. Her long, pale legs and unfettered breasts did amazing things for his favorite sweater. He found everything about Kendall Metcalf sexy. From her incredible red hair all the way to her slender feet and bright red toenails. And pretty much everything in between.

Carrying the extra oil lamp, they took the radio downstairs with them so they could keep apprised of the weather situation. Dim nightlights, powered by the generator, glowed throughout the house.

They stood at the center island in the semi-darkness eating cookies washed down with eggnog. Then Kendall decided she needed protein, and ripped off chunks of turkey breast, feeding them to Joe as he leaned a hip against the counter, supporting her body against him.

“Hear that?” She lifted her head. “The wind's dying down. Let's go now.”

He felt the same urgency. But going out in that would be suicide. He shook his head, looping a long strand of fiery hair behind her ear. “But it's still blowing hard enough to knock us off our feet if we ventured outside. Sorry, honey. We have a few more hours to wait.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Let's get you back in bed. You're shivering.”

She gave him a flirty look under her lashes. “You could warm me.”

Where the hell had this woman been all his life? “I could, yes.” Joe slid his hands to her hips and started bunching up the sweater. It skimmed up her bare body like some kind of fantasy, making him hard and hot.

With a laugh, she spun out of his hands and dashed across the kitchen. “I don't want to make love on this cold tile floor.” She hesitated in the doorway, a silhouette in the darkness. “Race you upstairs.”

Joe bit back a smile. “I'll give you a seven-minute head start.”

“Show-off.” Her voice faded, and he heard the soft thuds of her running footsteps as she sprinted across the great room.

She was easy to catch. She wasn't running very fast.

He caught her by the waist when she was on the fifth step. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck as he took her down. He fought to drag his sweater over her head, while she wrestled him for his jeans. Her long hair clung to the white wool as he tossed the sweater aside, leaving her bare and beautiful.

Her mouth curved, and her pretty eyes glittered up at him as she lay naked on the stairs. She started to laugh. “You know this is physically impossible, don't you?”

His mouth silenced her. Nothing was impossible.

He braced his hands on the riser on either side of her head as her knees came up to hug his hips. Her hips lifted to greet his first thrust.

It was over in minutes, leaving them with ragged breath and sweat-dampened skin.

He sucked in deep, gulping breaths, somehow managing to position himself so that while he was still inside her, he wasn't squishing her against the hard wood of the steps.

“Okay?” he asked, opening his eyes a crack.

Pushing hair off his forehead, she grinned. “Better than. But I think I have bruises on my butt—” She screamed playfully as he turned her over to lavish kisses on her delectable ass.

His jeans rang. He fumbled to reach them, then flipped them to reach his back pocket and the chiming cell, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

Cradling her cheek on her folded hands Kendall let herself drift. She was limp as a noodle with a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion. While he talked, she stared through the open risers beneath her at the unfinished Christmas tree below in the great room. Not that it mattered at this point, but still—

And while she was lying here—not that she'd noticed while they were in the throes—but now that she wasn't otherwise occupied, she felt each individual plank of wood across her upper chest, midriff, hips, thighs, and shinbones, just as she'd felt them all the way down her back earlier.

She found just enough energy to turn over, then to clamber over his long, rangy body. Let him take the brunt of the hardwood for a while. He shifted beneath her, getting comfortable, as he talked to Roz. Kendall whiled away the time by kissing his throat, his jaw, his mouth, and wherever else she could reach without expending any more energy than necessary. He moved the open cell phone accordingly. “Yeah. 'Preciate it, thanks, Roz.”

He snapped his cell phone closed. “They've managed to clear part of the road up here. The local cops are on their way.” Before she could move, Joe scooped her up and carried her upstairs.

“Very manly,” she murmured admiringly, looping her arms about his neck and laying her head on his chest. Fortunately, all of
her
clothes were upstairs.

T
hey dressed and, taking the radio with them to listen to the weather, went downstairs to wait for the police to arrive. The house was icy, and Joe considered lighting the fire in the great room. But they wouldn't be there long enough to get the benefit.

Kendall had left a pair of bright blue, fur-lined, knee-high boots in the hall closet, and she plopped herself down on the area rug to pull them on.

Joe held out his hand to pull her up when she was done. “Man. I'd give a year's pay to see you in those—and nothing else.”

“Yeah?” Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she came up beside him in a smooth move he had to admire. “That can be arranged.”

“I'll consider that a promise and take a rain check. Here.” He took her coat from her. “Let me help you with that.” The yellow down coat made her look like a fluffy chick. He took the opportunity to gather her luxurious hair in one hand as she shrugged the garment over her shoulders.

He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. He knew she was scared, and he wasn't going to diminish that emotion by pretending he wasn't aware of her feelings. As much as he sympathized, her fear would keep her on her toes. He should be feeling a mild form of relief at this point. The storm had relented enough for them to leave. He had ample backup and the means to leave quickly, and there had been no reported sightings of Treadwell for almost five hours.

Instead Joe felt a tightening at the back of his neck. There was the sense—the anticipation—of impending danger. Something was off.

Treadwell was close.

Following her into the kitchen, Joe tugged on his own heavy coat, then picked up his hat and gloves from where he'd left them the day before. Hell. Was it only yesterday?

“Want one of these oh-so-stale cookies? Neither do I.” She tossed the one she held back onto the animal plate as she passed. She opened the refrigerator. “No coffee,” she told him brightly. “But for that all-important caffeine jolt, how about a warm Coke instead?”

She was babbling
and
pacing. “Pass,” he told her, buttoning his coat. “The cavalry should be here soon.”

He snagged her arm as she passed, drawing her against him to cup her cheek. Her skin was cold, despite the thick coat she wore. “In an hour or less,” he promised her, “I'll have you back in a warm bed. With a very hot me.” He brushed his mouth over hers. And then because, honest to God, he couldn't keep his body parts off her body parts, he 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?”

She narrowed her pretty eyes. “I hate camping.”

“You're young. Plenty of time to learn to love it. Kids like that sort of thing.”

The doorbell rang.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he told her calmly as she jumped at the sound of the chimes echoing through the house. “The cavalry, remember?” It was just after seven, 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 can grab 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 doorbell rang again, urgently. Impatiently.

“Step back into the kitchen while I let them in,” Joe told her briskly. She'd dug a blue hat out of a pocket and was pulling 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 knew several of the officers. He kept the six men on the icy doorstep as he checked the others' IDs. Treadwell was no lightweight; he was doing this by the book. Now, when he got his hands on Treadwell—the book was out the fucking window.

Satisfied, Joe let the guys in, glimpsing the snowplow parked near the steps out front. The door slammed shut with the force of the wind behind the last man. The storm might have died down, but it was far from over. While it wasn't impossible to fly the chopper out, the high winds were going to make it dangerous as hell. And clearly the men hadn't been able to drive a regular vehicle through the snow banks. Damn it to hell.

They spent a few minutes brushing snow off their shoulders. Joe was grateful that he knew some of the officers and also grateful to have them at his back protecting Kendall.

At his all-clear, she came out of the kitchen and introduced herself, glancing around curiously. It was obvious she realized he knew the men, but she didn't ask any questions.

“Your boss lady says y'all are gonna fly a copter outta here?” the chief of police, beefy, red-faced William “Buckeye” Wilder, said to Joe after touching his Stetson briefly to Kendall. Buckeye's son had played football with Joe at the U of Montana way back when. Go, Grizzlies.

“Wouldn't suggest it, son,” he said grimly. “Know you've been flyin' since you was yay-tall, but that wind out there'll 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 Camerons' snowmobiles when the wind lets up.” 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.

“Sorry, no.” Kendall looked at Joe with a frown. “I don't want to wait. But I also don't want to do something stupid and dangerous. What are our options?”

Not many, Joe thought with frustration. A plodding snowmobile a child on a tricycle could follow, or the chopper. Hanging around for another four or five hours wasn't an option. “Stay here. I'll go out, see just how strong the wind is, and come back for you.”

She didn't want him to go without her, Joe could tell by the set of her jaw. He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “You're safer here,” he answered her unspoken plea. “Light the fire in the great room. Make coffee on the camp stove. It's on the top shelf of the pantry. I'll be back in less than an hour.” If the chopper could be flown he'd bring it back and land it on the front lawn.

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 six 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.”

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. “Coffee and a fire it is. Would one of you go in there and light the fire, please? Everything's ready. The matches are—the matches are on the mantel.” She felt like a watch that had been wound too tightly. She didn't want to be here without Joe. It didn't matter that she had six men in his place. Six average law enforcement officers didn't equal one Joe Zorn.

Kendall pulled off her hat, then tugged off the gloves, shoving both deep into a pocket. Even with the down coat on she was freezing. She wondered if she'd ever feel warm again. 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 …

While one of the guys went into the other room to tackle the fire, the rest of them trailed her like ants on their way to a picnic into the dimly lit kitchen. The baking sheets of cookies and the two red mugs she and Joe had used yesterday still sat on the center island, along with the glasses they'd used earlier. Kendall carried the dirty dishes to the sink.

“Help yourselves to those cookies. I'll look for that camp stove.” She picked up the oil lamp they'd brought down with them.

She paused going into the pantry. “Did you check on the two couples in the cottages?” She hoped that someone had eventually managed to contact them.

“No, ma'am. We came here straightaway.”

Heart pounding with dread, Kendall came back into the kitchen on leaden feet, horrified that they hadn't checked that the others were all right. “We have to make
sure
they're okay. My God. He could look for me there first! You have to go and warn them. Please.”

The men looked from one to the other. “Joe told us to stick to you like glue, ma'am,” the beefy older guy stated firmly. “Those folks won't do nothin' foolish. Not in this weather. 'Sides, Adam Cameron will keep tryin' to contact them, don't you worry.”

“Nobody who hasn't felt his knife at their throat really knows about Dwight Gus Treadwell,” Kendall told them bitterly. “My God, if you guys made it to the ranch, so can he!”

“I guess a couple of us could go take a look-see….”

They decided which of them should go, and two of the men left—reluctantly, Kendall could tell. It was cold and dark out there, and they didn't think Treadwell was anywhere around yet. But they went, and for that she was grateful.

Coats were removed and guns exposed while Kendall fixed a pot of coffee on the camp stove. “How did Joe know where this was?” she asked out loud as she took down mugs. In fact, now that she came to think about it, Joe had appeared to be quite familiar with the house. He'd known which rooms were where. He'd been familiar with the door and window locks. He also appeared to know these men.

“Oh, this here was Joe and Miss Denise's house before they went and got that divorce.”

A mug slipped out of her hand and crashed noisily onto the tiled floor as Kendall spun around.
“What?”

The man flushed uncomfortably. “You didn't know Joe was married to Denise before she married Adam Cameron?” He glanced nervously to the other two men. “Oh, shit. Was it a secret?”

Kendall bent to pick up the shards scattered around her feet. “I'm sure it wasn't a secret.” She tossed the broken crockery into the trash can under the sink. “It's not as though we know each other. He's not obligated to tell me about his past.” Especially not when he didn't expect to ever see her again, she thought. There was realistic and there was realistic. Her chest felt as though she'd just taken a body blow. That was pretty frigging realistic.

The radio came on in the other room. “I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas” belted out, filling the quiet, dimly lit kitchen.

“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, McKenna?”

“It's the emergency radio,” Kendall told them absently. Music. Great. Just what she needed, she thought, pouring coffee into four bright red mugs and leaving the fifth empty until the other cop came back from his fire-lighting expedition.

The men had already polished off most of the stale cookies. 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 year at all. She was
scared.

Scared for herself because she knew a killer was close.

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

Scared for the four innocent people whose only thoughts had been to attend a fun, pre-Christmas weekend house party. Was Joe okay? Of course he was, Kendall told herself firmly, drinking the too-strong coffee just to feel the heat of it going down. He knew what he was doing. Apparently he also knew the area very well. Another point he might've brought up at some time in the past twenty-four hours. 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, blond 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 tell Sonny to 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 seven minutes. It felt like an eternity. No, it didn't. She knew what an eternity felt like.

She'd experienced an eternity 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 two 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 sound reverberated through the house. The retort was as loud as a gunshot. With a scream, she jumped, spilling scalding coffee down her front.