Chill Page 6

  But Luke was the one he believed nowadays, not some violent, narcissistic, paranoid automaton of Marcus Fie. But he still had to get on his plane and put some space between himself and Isabella, before she changed her mind, or before he did.

  He reached the road and paused to let an oncoming car pass. He shifted his weight impatiently, antsy to get across the street and onto his plane.

  Shit. He couldn’t stop thinking about how scared she’d looked. The desperation he’d sensed in her. Her shoulder injury. “Someone is trying to kill me,” she’d said.

  And she’d believed he could help her. Why no one else? Because it had something to do with Marcus Fie. That was the only possibility. Which meant if she thought her life was in danger, she was right.

  People died around Marcus Fie.

  Luke ground his jaw, rocking restlessly on the balls of his feet while he waited for the car to pass so he could cross the street. This wasn’t his battle anymore, not his world. That life had killed two people he’d loved dearly. It had been his fault, as much as if he’d been holding the weapon that had snuffed the life from their bodies. He wasn’t going there again.

  Couldn’t go there again.

  He’d made his break, and Isabella, by showing up here, could have easily just ripped apart his fragile peace by alerting his dad’s enemies as to where he was.

  Jesus, he needed to get away from this. Needed to get to work figuring out what was going on. Figure out his safety zone. Whether his sanctuary had indeed been violated and what mistake he’d made.

  Luke scowled at the approaching car, which had suddenly slowed significantly. What the hell was it doing? He wanted it to pass and get the hell out of his way so he could take off.

  Screw that. The car was crawling now, and he wasn’t waiting for it to go by.

  Luke sprinted across the street, making it easily ahead of the car. The headlights were bright, and he shielded his eyes to inspect the vehicle as he reached the other side and began to jog toward his plane.

  From this angle, he could see there were three cars in a row, not the one he’d initially seen. The other two were tucked up behind the first one, as if they were drafting off of it.

  He slowed down, frowning. That formation was unusual, and looked as if they were trying to protect the occupant of the middle car…

  He stopped dead at the thought. It was extremely unusual for there to be three cars in a row on this road at night, let alone humped up as if they were about to get it on.

  His eyes narrowed as his mind clicked in and he began to sift through the details. Driving so slowly…as if they were searching for something.

  Or someone.

  Adam?

  But the moment he had that thought, he recalled that Isabella had said no one else knew about him. Only she did.

  Which meant they were after her.

  Luke swore under his breath and eased into the shadows of a pickup truck so he could watch what was going on. He kept his attention riveted on the oncoming cars, viscerally aware of Isabella inside that bar. Alone. Her white rental car was parked at the end of the lot near Luke, glaringly obvious in its nature.

  The oncoming cars slowed, and the first car turned into the lot, followed closely by the other two. Shit. The cars were all black, all expensive. The kind of cars people like Marcus Fie drove.

  Luke shifted restlessly. He couldn’t afford to be seen. One look at him and they’d know who he was, no matter how many times he changed his name or buried the paper trails linking them.

  And once he was exposed, Cort would be in danger. As would his pregnant wife, Kaylie.

  He couldn’t do that to them. Not again. No one else was going to die because of his heritage. No one he cared about.

  He owed it to Cort and Kaylie to slide back into the darkness and disappear forever.

  One car headed around behind the building to cruise the back lot. One pulled into a parking space and its headlights turned off. The third began to drive very slowly along the cars toward the rental car.

  Checking license plates.

  Shit. He couldn’t leave Isabella in there. He took a step toward the bar, then thought of Cort and his pregnant wife. They hadn’t asked to be put at risk. Isabella had. She’d chosen that life, and the payback was a bitch.

  Cort and Kaylie and their baby were the innocents. Not Isabella.

  “Don’t risk them,” Luke muttered to himself. He couldn’t afford to get involved—no matter how great she smelled, no matter how much he wanted to protect her. Too much at risk. Despite his best efforts to stay unconnected while in Alaska, he realized he’d failed on some levels. His choices were no longer just about him.

  The third car paused behind Isabella’s, and then Luke checked out the car that had parked next to the front door of the bar. The doors opened and men got out from each side. They were dressed in black, nearly blending into the night. They began to head up the steps into the bar.

  Luke whipped out his phone and punched in Cort’s number. His friend answered on the first ring. “You gone for the night?” Cort asked.

  “Guys in black coming in. Spread the word that they’re bad news and make sure no one gives them anything. Get a warning to the girl, but don’t make contact yourself. Then get the hell out of there before anyone approaches you. You don’t know me. No one does. I’m a ghost.”

  “On it.” Cort disconnected without a question.

  Luke knew the questions from his partner would come later, but for now those men would get nothing but cold, silent stares when they went inside. One thing Alaskans were great at was loyalty to their own and distrust of outsiders.

  Luke could vanish, and there would be no record of him inside that bar.

  As for Isabella…he swore and forced himself to turn and walk toward his plane.

  Helping her would trade her life for Cort and Kaylie’s.

  A trade-off he couldn’t stomach.

  Isabella Kopas was on her own.

  Isabella propped her elbows on the bar and dropped her forehead to her palms. “Okay, Isabella, think.”

  She’d totally screwed up with Luke. What had happened to her grand plan not to tell him about his dad until he was on the plane with her back to Boston? She’d been so rattled by his appearance and by her reaction when he’d touched her. And then, when he’d rejected her so quickly, she’d been desperate to hang on to him and she’d blurted out the truth.

  The intensity of his reaction to his father had stunned her. Yes, she’d been expecting resistance, but the pain in his eyes…after seeing that, she’d had to let him go. She understood that kind of anguish. Those kinds of secrets. But she hadn’t wanted to walk away, and not just because she wanted his help. He was so compelling she’d wanted to stay, to talk to him, to have him hold on to her again.

  She rubbed her hand over the wrist he’d been gripping so tightly. When he’d grabbed her…her first instinct had been to pull back, but after he’d released her, she’d wanted to beg him to hold on again, like he was an anchor.

  The bartender slapped his palm on the bar. “Your friends are coming in the front door.”

  “My friends?” Isabella whirled around and met the steely gaze of a man she’d never seen before. He was wearing a dark suit, and he was flanked by two others just like him.

  He smiled.

  Isabella was too stunned to move for a split second. How could they possibly have tracked her here this fast? What kind of network was involved?

  “Back door is behind the bar,” the bartender said, as he wiped a cloth casually over the counter near her.

  She shot a frantic look at the red exit sign and knew she’d never make it. God, why hadn’t she anticipated this? Shit, shit, shit!

  The man took a step toward her, and she bolted for the rear exit.

  “Hey!” the man shouted, and she heard him pounding across the floor. A hand grabbed the back of her sweater, and then suddenly he pitched forward into her. She stumbled and went down as he crashed he
avily beside her.

  She scrambled to her feet as the other two went flying into a nearby table. She shot a frantic glance at two weathered Alaskans sitting casually at a table beside the bar. They both had their feet stretched out in front of them, in the aisle.

  One of them tipped his red-and-black checked hat at her.

  “Thanks!” She spun around and ran for the door as the men started to climb to their feet.

  She heard a gruff voice behind her snarl something about not allowing women to be threatened in their bar, and then she slammed her palms into the exit door and sprinted outside.

  The frigid air sucked the breath from her chest, and she coughed as she ran past a Dumpster toward the side of the building. If she could just get to her car, she had a chance. She was almost to the corner of the bar and—

  A man stepped in front of her, his face obscured by shadows. He had broad shoulders and an arrogant swagger to his stance. “Isabella.”

  Isabella skidded to a stop at the deep male voice, her heart leaping with joy. “Luke? You came back?”

  Then he took a step out of the shadows, and she realized it wasn’t Luke at all.

  It was the man who’d shot Roseann.

  Nate raised his gun and pointed it at her. Isabella froze, unable to think of anything but Roseann’s body splayed on the floor, and his utter lack of hesitation to shoot her friend. And the gun he had aimed right at her heart. “Nate—”

  He suddenly raised his hands and dropped the gun. “Fuck.”

  Luke’s grim face appeared over Nate’s shoulder. He moved slightly, revealing a shotgun he had lodged in the back of Nate’s neck.

  Isabella’s heart leapt. “Lu—”

  He shook his head once and sliced a hand through the air in front of his face to tell her to be silent.

  Isabella clamped her lips shut.

  Silently, Luke grasped Nate’s shoulder and used the gun and his hand to turn the man into the wall, so his face was buried against the side of the building. In that position, Nate couldn’t see either of them.

  Luke jerked his head toward something behind Isabella.

  She turned and saw acres and acres of dark, endless woods. The forest was pitch black, miles and miles of untamed wilderness, in a night that was dipping quickly to well below freezing. Was he kidding? “But—”

  He shook his head once and held up three fingers, then dropped one.

  The countdown.

  Three seconds to run for her life.

  She turned and ran.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Luke waited until he could no longer hear her crashing through the brush. Until Isabella Kopas had been utterly and completely swallowed up in the Alaskan outback.

  A black car circled behind the bar, and its headlights flashed near Luke.

  He pressed the gun harder into the back of his captive’s neck, certain the Dumpster would keep them shielded from view. But he could feel the tension building in Nate’s body, and Luke knew his prisoner would not stay submissive for long. And if Nate had known who was holding him pinned…he wouldn’t have played possum for even a second.

  Jesus. Nate holding a gun on a woman. What had he become? The man had once been Luke’s best friend. Before all hell had broken loose.

  No time for regrets. Luke had to vacate. Nate would recognize him if he so much as coughed, let alone showed his face.

  Luke swore under his breath, quickly scanning his surroundings for an option. He had to get out without being seen. Without crossing the line that separated him from his birthright.

  The easiest choice was to knock Nate out.

  His muscles flexed, itching to do it. He was still enraged by the look of stark terror and utter capitulation on Isabella’s face when Nate had stepped out of the darkness.

  Luke’s blood might have run black, and there might have been bloodstains on his hands, but there would never be any new ones. And he knew all too well that he couldn’t afford to cross the line into violence, not even slightly.

  Because he was, in the worst way possible, his father’s son all the way to his core, as evidenced by the pulsing desire within him to make the man before him pay.

  Luke suddenly realized his finger was closing down on the trigger of the shotgun, and he instantly released it. Shit.

  The black car disappeared back around to the front, and he knew he was out of time. The guys inside would get free, the car would come back, his prisoner would snap at any second.

  With a muttered curse, Luke looked around again and figured out his best option. He pulled Nate off the wall and shoved him toward the Dumpster. The stench was rotting and putrid, and Nate balked.

  Luke pressed the gun toward Nate’s neck. A door slammed and Luke jerked his head around as he heard voices on the back porch.

  Time was up.

  Luke grabbed Nate by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the Dumpster. He slammed the lid shut and slid the lock.

  Nate started yelling instantly, and Luke slipped out of sight as Nate’s comrades came running.

  Luke glanced at the woods, but he couldn’t risk drawing their attention to where Isabel had gone.

  So he went the other way.

  A branch snapped back and slashed across Isabella’s cheek. She gasped at the pain and pressed her palm to her burning skin.

  Her shoulder was aching, and her legs were shaking.

  She was so cold.

  But she was also sweating. She had a bad feeling her shoulder had gotten infected and she was running a fever from it. But she couldn’t stop running. Not yet. She had to keep going. If she stopped, she was so afraid she would never start again.

  How long had she been out there?

  She stumbled over a rock and fell, her hands barely catching her. She dropped her head, succumbing to exhaustion for just a minute. Just to rest for a second. She was just so tired.

  Wearily, she sat down and leaned back against a tree trunk. The ground was frigid, sucking the heat of her body through her jeans. The bark was rough, and her sweater snagged on it. She shivered and hugged herself, trying to hold in her body heat. Her stomach was trembling now, and there was a layer of perspiration on her forehead.

  She was definitely getting an infection. She needed to get out of the woods. Find a doctor. Get help.

  But which way was out?

  She let her head sag back against the trunk and closed her eyes to listen. No sounds of cars whizzing by, to indicate she was near a road. But also, no footsteps of an approaching enemy.

  Just the wind grazing gently through the treetops. The creaks of branches. The scuttle of little feet on the ground. Nature. Alaska. She could smell wet dirt, and dampness in the air, as if a storm were coming, or had just swept through the area. Or both. She’d never smelled nature like this before. Never smelled anything so fresh and clean. She could almost feel all the grime slipping off her soul…

  Something tickled her cheeks, and she slapped at her face.

  Wearily, she opened her eyes.

  A thick black sludge of night. No lights. No people. No homes.

  Just utter isolation.

  Solitude. Fear. Exposure.

  Exactly like the first night she’d gone back to the apartment she’d shared with her mother after her mother had died. She’d huddled in the corner of the floor in the darkness, so terrified, so alone—

  Panic threatened to overwhelm her, and Isabella shuddered and hugged her knees to her chest. No. I will not think about that again. “On the plus side,” she said aloud, her voice startling in the silence. “I’m probably pretty safe out here from the bad guys. So, that’s a bonus. And it’s always good to break in new clothes.” She forced herself to smile. “Adventure is always a good thing.”

  How many times had she gone through this exercise in her life? Silly little things to take the edge off enough that she could function. “And Nate didn’t shoot me right away, so there’s something else that’s going well.”

  His hesitation had told he
r he wouldn’t shoot her until he had the necklace and everything she knew about it. She had it hidden in her pants, but how long would that work? She should stash it for later retrieval. She sighed and leaned her head back against the towering pines. What if she concealed it up there? Marked the tree somehow? If she could make it up there—

  Isabella stood and slung her bag across her shoulders.

  She grabbed the bottom branch, then gasped when pain shot through her injured shoulder. Her head spun, and she let go of the branch, staggering under the agony. She knelt in the damp pine needles, clutching her arm while she fought to stay conscious under the onslaught of pain.

  Her head spun and she let herself collapse to the ground. She would give the pain a moment to subside.

  Then she would get up and soldier onward. It was pretty obvious she couldn’t afford to stop again.

  But as she let the cold forest floor seep into her body, she had a bad feeling she wouldn’t be able to start again. That she’d reached her limit.

  “No!” She braced herself on the ground and shoved herself to her knees. “You will not give up.”

  She grabbed a branch and pulled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the agony.

  And then she began to walk again.

  She didn’t even know what direction she was going.

  She just went.

  Luke moved silently through the forest, staying just out of sight and sound of Isabella as he followed her progress.

  He’d slipped past her stalkers and headed into the woods after her. Not to make contact. Just to make sure she was all right.

  He’d picked up her trail easily enough, and he’d caught up after about thirty minutes. He was keeping vigil to see if the others were following her, but as far as he could tell, they hadn’t ventured into the woods.

  Isabella had evaded them, and he’d been surprised by how far she’d made it by the time he caught up.

  He was equally surprised by how long she’d continued to press on, even when she began stumbling from exhaustion.

  She was a survivor.

  A woman who wouldn’t sit down and let the bad guys take her, unlike—

  No.