Snowball's Chance (8 page)

J
oe pushed through the snow following the blood trail deeper across the south paddock.
Kendall-KendallKendall.
An insistent mantra in his brain. Fear was a new experience for him. But it was real and physical. He'd heard her cries on the way back from the disabled chopper. Heard them, and known immediately that Treadwell had her. And if Treadwell had her, the men he'd assigned to protect her were dead. Ah, Jesus.

Every breath was an effort in the icy air. His heart pounded with helpless frustration at his slow progress in the fresh, calf-deep snow.

Uncharacteristically bloodthirsty images kept flipping through his mind as he ran, weapon drawn in his gloveless hand. He'd learned some interesting techniques with a knife himself over the years. So far those lessons had been purely academic. He relished the idea of demonstrating his skill on Treadwell. Let the son of a bitch feel the terror of finding
himself
on the other end of a knife wielded by a madman. A madman who'd been trained in the art of knife fighting and wasn't afraid to use those skills to fight dirty.

The wind whipped Joe's hair about his face and batwinged his coat about his body as he ran. Kendall's cries, echoing in the isolation of the remote area, pierced him to the heart. She was alive. At least he had that to hold on to. He doubled his effort to reach her as fast as humanly possible as powder skipped and danced across the surface of the drifting snow, trying to obliterate Treadwell's footsteps.

He felt the beat of chopper blades overhead before he heard them. Three coming in fast, spotlights strafing the snow-covered landscape. The cavalry after all. Snow whipped up, blinding him. Damn it to hell!—he pointed in the direction of the tree line. Not that they would be able to land here. The terrain was hilly, and there were just too many damn trees. The three beams of light rose; the choppers moved off, taking their lights with them.

Kendall cried out again.

“I'm coming, sweetheart, hold on. I'm coming.” Correcting slightly to the west, he battled across the snow drifts, chest heaving.

He was close. Two hundred yards and closing.

Go. Go.
Go.

They were twined as closely as lovers, two indistinguishable silhouettes against the stark whiteness of the snow.

Faster. Faster.

A gunshot cracked through the predawn quiet. Joe's heart jerked in response.
Kendall …

A hundred and fifty … forty … thirty … twenty … He saw the fiery blaze of her hair, the brilliant yellow of her coat, as she and Treadwell fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and started rolling about. Joe saw the glint of a knife.

Run, faster, damn it,
run.
Ninety feet … eighty … He took aim. Treadwell and Kendall rolled just as he was about to squeeze off the shot. Shit. She was blocking. They rolled again; this time Treadwell was on top. Joe fired. The other man jerked with the impact. He tilted.

Sixty feet … forty …

Kendall took the window of opportunity and shoved and pushed Treadwell off her. God Almighty! Instead of
running
, she surprised the hell out of Joe by jumping on top of Treadwell with a banshee scream of rage. Straddling the man's waist, she started beating the hell out of his head and shoulders with her fists.

Twenty feet … ten …
Kendall—
Joe grabbed her arm, flinging her aside just as Treadwell's knife arced toward her chest. He grabbed the killer's wrist, placed his weight on the knee he applied to the man's chest, then dug the muzzle of the H&K
hard
to the underside of the guy's chin. “Play with
me
, dick,” Joe said, his voice low and feral as he applied pressure to a tendon in Treadwell's knife hand. The grip should have caused the person's fingers to release whatever he was holding. But Treadwell's fingers, slick with blood, remained fisted around the hilt of the cheap ten-inch kitchen knife. Joe dug his knee into the man's chest and exerted more pressure on his wrist.

“Talk to me, Kendall,” he yelled, keeping his eyes fixed on the killer. “Talk to me, sweetheart!”

“I-I'm okay,” she replied, out of his line of sight.

“I won't go back there,” Dwight Treadwell told Joe vehemently, eyes wild. His brown coat was splotched with blood. It sure as hell better not contain one drop belonging to Kendall. “You can't make me.” He attempted to jerk his hand free. Not going to happen. “I won't go back.”

Joe kept up the pressure of his thumb on the man's wrist, but the knife remained firmly in Treadwell's bloody but bloodless hand. In one lithe move Joe surged to his feet, dragging Treadwell up with him. The fingers he had around the knife hand remained there like a vise, his weapon stayed put under the weak jaw.

“Oh, you don't have to go back if you don't want to,” Joe assured him with silky menace. “In fact I insist that you d—”

“Oh, God! Joe, watch out!”

He felt the sharp jab of pain in his side a second before Kendall's warning. Damn it to hell! Treadwell surprised the hell out of him by producing a second knife—smaller and considerably more effective—and stabbing him right through the hide of his coat. Ah, crap. The other man was also left-handed.

Twisting to deflect the depth of the strike, Joe lifted the H&K.
Pop. Pop.

Pop.

Treadwell's eyes widened in surprise as he crumpled to his knees, then slowly toppled to his side. His sightless eyes stared at the dawn-flooded sky as bright arterial blood drenched the snow at Joe's feet a satisfying crimson.

Joe plucked both knives from Treadwell's limp fingers. He'd only fired two shots.

Kneeling, he felt for a pulse beneath the other man's jaw. Dead. Perfect. He turned his head to see Kendall, eyes narrowed, still standing in the classic firing stance.

She looked like an avenging angel with her red hair blowing in the breeze, the golden glow of a new day backlighting her. “Is he dead?”

“As the proverbial doornail.” Joe assured her as he rose. He kept his gaze on her face as he tossed aside both knives and walked toward her.

“I'm not sure exactly what that
is,”
Kendall said with only a small tremor in her voice. “But if it's very dead I'm all for it.”

“Very,” Joe assured her, touching the blood on her face. Her coat was slashed. He wanted to strip her and check every inch of her skin. “Did he cut you?”

“No.”

“Liar. How bad?”

“Bet I won't need one stitch,” she assured him, clutching the front of his coat in both hands as she stood in the circle of his arms. Her casual tone was hard won, the terror was still clear in her expressive eyes.

An unfamiliar aching tenderness gathered inside him. He had to clear the thickness from his throat before he could speak. “You won't mind if I play doctor later, and check that out for myself.”

“No
playing.
If you want to be my doctor you have to take the job seriously.” Kendall's lips curved. “I insist on a complete and thorough physical.”

“I concur. Top to bottom and everything in between. Let's get the hell out of Dodge before then. Come on.” He wrapped his arm around her, and they started walking across the paddock. In the distance he saw the posse arriving. Dozens of local cops, Feebs, and federal marshals racing across the tinged snow toward them. There'd be questions and more questions—

He veered off and headed in the opposite direction. “How do you like the great outdoors so far?” he asked conversationally.

She pulled a comical face. “Not very.”

“Yeah, I can see how the situation would require some rehabilitation.” Joe sighed. “The kids would like it out here, though.”

She shot him an amused glance as they walked. “Whose?”

“Ours.” He rubbed her arm. He was going to have to buy her a new coat. That would take time. “Four, do you think?” he asked.

Her steps, in those sexy blue knee-high boots, faltered, but she laughed. “Don't you think we should go on a couple of dates before we start naming our children?”

They came to the snowmobile Treadwell had left under the trees. “Hop aboard,” Joe said, helping her maneuver onto the machine. “Aren't we a couple of stages beyond dating?” he asked politely, starting the engine. The Christophs had a nice, secluded little summer place just over the ridge—

“No,” Kendall told him, wrapping her arms about his waist and resting her chin on his back. “We are not several stages past dating. I want movies, and dinners, and flowers. You can start by calling me.”

The snowmobile picked up speed. Anticipation made Joe's heart pick up speed, too. Four miles to a bed. “I don't have your phone number,” he shouted as the wind carried them forward.

“I programmed it into your cell phone last night.” Kendall laughed, her breath warm against his cheek.

They burst through the trees. Ahead was a pristine expanse of white, pure and fresh and untouched. It held only a few small shadows and was tinged with the promise of sunshine.

Kendall tightened her arms about his waist as he shut off the engine. He turned to take her in his arms. “This looks good, doesn't it?” she said softly.

“Yeah,” Joe cupped her face between his hands. “This looks incredibly good.”

And it was.

(Includes Spoiler's)

Main Characters:
Joe Zorn and Kendall Metcalf

Setting:
Helena, Montana

Time of Year:
Winter

Serial Killer:
Dwight Gus Treadwell

Age:
Early 30′s

Height:
A good 5 inches taller than Kendall Metcalf

Hair:
Thick, Dark, Silky

Eyes:
Steady, Long dark lashes, Cool blue eyes, Steely dangerous.

Body:
Pale scar beside his lower lip almost buried in the crease of his smile, Potent smile, Sexy mouth, Lean cheeks, Could use a shave , Craggy, unseasonably tanned face, Massive shoulders, Arms like steel bands, Broad tanned chest, Long legs, Well-endowed in the “male” department, Rugged, Impressive physique bands of taut muscles, A bear of a man, Marlboro man type, Good looking, Sexy looking, Woodsy cologne.

Dress:
Thick off-white turtleneck and jeans.

Voice:
Deep, Low, Husky, Soothing

Marital Status:
Divorced from Denise Cameron

Children
: None

Employment:
Bodyguard

Education:
University of Montana

Skills:
Is a pilot, Trained in the art of knife fighting.

Personality & Attitude:
Intimidating, Over achiever, Annoyingly bossy, Sex appeal in spades, Has a nomadic lifestyle, A man of action and few words.

Likes & Dislikes:
Hates to lose at anything, Loves a mellow brandy on a cold winters night.

Weapons:
HK Mark 23 Heckler & Koch double action pistol, Nasty looking black gun he carries in his waistband at the small of his back. Ka-Bar knife.

Background:
Played football at the University of Montana, Had been in the Marines with Adam Cameron years ago , His boss is a woman named Roz, Hadn't had a vacation in 2 years, His cell phone plays/rings an old fashioned sound ring tone, Had a “hurry, the justice of the peace is waiting” wedding to Denise Cameron Marriage to Denise only lasted 5 months, Divorced Denise 10 years ago.

Height:
5′9″

Hair:
Red. Distinctive red/gold. Spills over her shoulders like liquid fire, Deep, rich orange-red of an excellent XO Cognac.

Eyes:
Large. Sparkling. Hazel.

Body:
An Amazon. Attractive. Pale, velvety skin with amber freckles. Nails painted Christmas red. Endearingly too large feet. Luscious. Curvy. Smells of pears. Ugly scar on her throat. Dozens more obscene scars, thin and silvery (defense wounds), all over her.

Dress:
Subtle make up. Red sweater and black leggings.

Voice:
Robust laugh

Marital Status:
Divorced

Children:
None

Employment:
A designer. A party planner. Owns her own very successful business. Her business partner is Rebecca Metzner.

Personality & Attitude:
Smart. Deliberate. Not much of a follower. Likes to think things through. Not that spontaneous of a person. Weighs the pros and cons before making decisions. Funny. Intelligent. Sex appeal off the charts.

Quirks & Habits:
Paces. Usually sleeps naked. Bites her lip as she ponders. Babbles when she is nervous. Makes busy work when scared. Scar on her throat always throbs when she thinks about the night of the attack.

Weapons:
Lady Smith handgun

Background:
Was kidnapped and assaulted 15 months ago by Dwight Treadwell. Tortured for 17 hours by Treadwell. She is his only living victim . Learned that if she kept her body and mind busy enough, she could keep horrific memories at bay. Went to therapy for several months after her attack. Took self-defense classes. Bought a gun and learned to use it. Felt invincible before the Treadwell attack. Had two fairly long term relationships over the last 10 years. Dated Andy for more than 6 months before sleeping with him. Dated Jerry for a year. Cell phone plays/rings Beethoven's Fifth.