Snowball's Chance Page 4

A phone rang. An old-fashioned sound. Ring, ring, ring. Her cell phone played Beethoven’s Fifth. She came up out of the kiss like a sleepwalker rudely awakened and blinked back to awareness.

  Joe pulled his phone from a back pocket. “What do we have, Roz?” He curled his arm around Kendall’s shoulder, pulling her tightly against him as he listened. Including her in the conversation even though she only heard his half.

  “Damn, I wish to hell I could get you out of here now,” he told Kendall as she accompanied him from room to room as he checked the locks on all the windows and doors upstairs. He’d filled her in on most of what Roz had told him, but there were details, like several more killings, that were—hell, were overkill. She was scared enough knowing Treadwell was on his way. She didn’t need the added burden of knowing the man was killing anyone in his path to get to her.

  He considered the fact that he’d made it here with time to spare. Had Treadwell? He didn’t feel anyone out there. Not yet. Considering the ferocity of the storm, coupled with numerous roadblocks, it was too soon. But Joe could easily imagine the sleaze hiding out in the dark, biding his time, waiting for just the right moment. This place was a security nightmare. But he didn’t intend on hanging around long enough for that to matter. They’d listened to the weather forecast on the emergency radio, confirming what Roz had told him. This part of the state had come to a complete standstill for the duration.

  When Roz’s call had come earlier that day, he’d closed his suitcase, thrown his coat back on, and hauled ass to the airfield, where he’d rented a chopper. An hour’s vacation every two years was apparently sufficient for both of them.

  He’d known about the incoming storm and flown in anyway, just making it in the zero visibility. The massive snowstorm swept in quicker than predicted. The full fury of the storm hit about fifteen minutes into his flight, and from the sound of it, was still getting worse.

  “I’m willing to take the risk of leaving now,” Kendall told him, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. The house was a comfortable seventy degrees. “Of course I wouldn’t want you to do anything dangerous—”

  Joe smiled, touching a finger to her pale cheek. “Sweetheart, I live for danger. If I thought we had a snowball’s chance in hell of making it out of here, we’d be long gone. But it would be suicide trying to fly in this; the snow’s too heavy, the wind too high.”

  He’d been damn fortunate he’d been able to land in the high winds and blinding snow swirls earlier. The storm was considerably worse now. He’d known before he arrived that there would be no way to get her out until the storm let up some. Known it, but sure as hell hadn’t liked it.

  “There’s a snowmobile in the garage.”

  “If I thought we had a shot, believe me, I’d take it.” They weren’t going anywhere tonight, but somehow, he’d get her out before tomorrow morning. And before Treadwell found his way to the Camerons’ ranch.

  “As long as we’re gone before he shows up,” Kendall muttered, reading his mind. Again. “If we can’t leave, he can’t get here. Right?”

  “One would hope.” He twisted both locks on an upstairs bathroom window. The room was small, especially with both of them in it. He was becoming addicted to the fresh, crisp fragrance of pears. The kiss downstairs seemed to have happened years ago instead of less than half an hour. He wanted more than to taste her mouth.

  Joe wanted to feel her bare skin against his. He wanted to taste her all over. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts and taste her nipples against his tongue.

  It was good to want things, he thought wryly.

  “At least your Roz was able to reach Denise and Adam and warn them not to come home even if—when—the storm clears.”

  Kendall straightened up a basket of luxurious toiletries on the counter as she spoke. “I just wish somebody could get ahold of the guests in the cottages.” She refolded two perfectly folded towels, smoothed them flat, then hung them back over the rod.

  “Roz and Denise will both keep trying.” She was so filled with nervous energy he wondered if he should suggest they go down to the gym in the basement. She could run a few hundred miles on the treadmill. That might tire her out—although Joe had some better ideas on how he could channel some of that frenetic energy.

  Biting back a smile as she folded a point in the edge of the toilet paper, he motioned her out of the bathroom. She scanned the small room before exiting, turning left down the wide hallway. A single strand of her long hair clung to his sweater as she passed, and stuck there, tying them together, as he followed her down the hallway.

  “Realistically,” she said, making Joe speed up to keep pace with her long legs, “how long do you estimate it’ll take him to get here?”

  Family pictures filled the walls on either side of them. Next to the blissfully happy photograph of Denise and Adam’s no-expense-spared wedding was one of himself and Denise at their hurry-the-justice-of-the-peace-is-waiting wedding. The fact that they were all good friends hadn’t changed with either marriage. For a moment Joe had the foolish urge to share that information with Kendall. Then he remembered that she was an assignment. Strange that she felt like—more.

  “We started with nine hundred and three miles between him and us,” he told her. “Bellingham to Bozeman. In good weather, thirteen, thirteen and a half hours,” he told her, stepping into an unoccupied bedroom. The king-sized bed, draped in red velvet and accented with Christmas-themed pillows, looked decadently inviting.

  “He escaped at five this morning.” He crossed to the bank of windows on the far wall. Really. He shouldn’t be anywhere near a bed with this woman around. Bed? Hell. Who needed a bed? Any fairly flat surface would work.

  She glanced at her watch. “Twelve hours.”

  Joe locked first one window, then the other. “He’s encountering the same storm we are. So he won’t be moving fast. Plus he has to find transportation.” He decided not to tell Kendall that Treadwell had slashed the throats of two prison guards, killing both, before he’d carjacked a guy on his way to work. Took his clothes as well. That guy too was dead.

  Three people dead before Treadwell crossed into Mullan, Idaho, at nine this morning. Another when he’d switched vehicles in Foracre, Montana, at noon. All with Treadwell’s signature. They’d been brutalized, played with. Sliced and diced, before he’d cut their throats.

  At Roz’s last update, the authorities knew Treadwell was on Route 90 and headed this way.

  The snow must be putting a serious crimp in his travel plans, but Treadwell was determined enough, crazy enough, to persevere.

  The son of a bitch was like a heat-seeking missile.

  Joe had given serious consideration to taking one of the snowmobiles. Denise and Adam had half a dozen guest cabins on their property. Too close to the house, he’d already decided. But he knew of several holiday cabins on neighboring ranches fairly nearby. Of course fairly in these parts was twenty-plus frigging miles. And while no one would find her there, traveling those distances in this weather would be asking for trouble.

  He might be able to stand the elements, although honestly Joe knew even he wouldn’t make it far or fast. One thing was for sure. Kendall would never make it down the freaking driveway in this weather. It was brutal out there. Even experienced ranchers and locals didn’t brave the outdoors when it was this bad.

  But the second the snow let up enough to take off, they’d be gone. If he could get the chopper up, he’d take her to the Andersons’ place thirty miles south of here. If the winds were still too high, he’d risk one of the snowmobiles. But get her away he would.

  Treadwell knew to come here, but he’d never find Kendall once Joe whisked her away from the Camerons’ ranch. Damn it, he wished to hell they could leave now.

  “I’m willing to risk it, if you are,” Kendall offered as if she were reading his mind. It was a disconcerting habit she had.

  “Too dangerous.” Joe brushed aside a strand of hair caught in her
lashes, then let his fingers linger on the warmth of her cheek for just a second.

  It was a mistake. Because he didn’t want to lightly touch this woman with victory scars on her body and fear in her eyes. He wanted to take her to bed and love her all night long. He wanted to wake up beside her in the morning and see her with sunlight on her face.

  To paraphrase old Will Shakespeare, Joe thought facetiously, he was melting in his own fire. Too bad. He’d have to burn alone. Because the last thing this woman needed right now was his horny self. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Cold.

  4

  Joe told her to pick a room, any room. Kendall chose the last bedroom at the end of the hall. It was beautifully decorated in cream and terra-cotta, and even had its own fragrant Christmas tree in the corner near the fireplace. Not that she cared about the decor at this point. The room was big and had a luxurious en suite bathroom. It also had an interleading door into an adjoining room.

  Three exits should they need one. Forget they. She needed multiple ways out. The ordeal with Treadwell had taught her that—just as he’d taught her the true meaning of terror.

  Joe locked the bedroom door, then went around checking windows. “All secure. Stay here while I shower. I won’t be long.”

  Kendall was tempted—more than a little—to ask if she could shower with him or just sit on the floor so she wouldn’t be alone. But that would be turning her power over to Treadwell on a silver platter and she refused to do that. She’d worked too hard, come too far to do that again. Instead she asked, “Would you mind if I used your phone?”

  He handed it to her, warning her that the charge was getting low and not to talk too long, then went into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  She gave a bemused shake of her head as the shower turned on. She imagined him dragging that thick cream-colored sweater over his head, she imagined him dropping his jeans. God help her, she imagined Joe Zorn buck-naked under the spray. All of which gave her a hot flash.

  Her emotions were all over the place. She needed to focus and get her brain in gear. She quickly dialed Becky’s home number.

  “Call him your early Christmas present,” Becky told her as soon as Kendall let her know Joe was with her. His cell phone was crackly, and Becky’s voice faded in and out every time Kendall moved her head. “I’ve been … ing to call you since … cops called this … rning at the crack of,” Becky continued. “I even booked a flight out there to come and … ind you myself. Damn it. You scared the crap out of me w … dn’t reach … ou.”

  Kendall wasn’t feeling too sanguine herself. Both her body and brain were on sensory overload. She walked over to the window to see if the reception was any better. Worse. She crossed the room to sit on the slipper chair at the dressing table.

  “Detect … Abrahams r … mended the Agency wh … lled … ell Tre … escaped,” Rebecca told her. The cell phone was trying to die. Kendall turned her head slightly for better reception. “The manhunt—” Becky’s voice was clearer. “—Roadblocks yadda, yadda, yadda are all over the news here. Despite the weather up your way, he’s getting past all these damn people hunting for him.

  “Every time that monster ditches a car and highjacks another one, he kills someone. The press has been Johnny-on-the-spot with the lurid details. I hate to scare you even more, sweetie, but you do know at last count he’s killed seven people today?”

  Kendall let out a little murmur of panic. She hadn’t known. But she’d bet Joe had. She swallowed down the lump of terror in her throat. Sound calm. Be calm. “The house is locked up like Fort Knox, and Joe has the biggest gun I’ve ever seen.” She suspected there were a lot of other very big things about Joe Zorn, and smiled. Really. Fantasizing about him beat to hell being scared out of her mind.

  “Don’t let him out of your sight,” Beck warned unnecessarily. “On the plus side, if the local cops can’t get to you, neither can Sick Bastard. But be careful until they have him in custody.”

  Kendall had no trouble getting Becky to agree to cancel her plane reservation. With the danger of Treadwell looming, and the weather, there obviously wasn’t going to be any party tomorrow night.

  “I don’t give a damn about the commission,” her friend said fiercely. “I just want you safe. I’m glad the Agency guy’s there with you so you aren’t alone. But do not,” she warned, “do any of that stupid dumb girlie crap you see in movies, like wandering around outside in the dark by yourself. Let this Joe guy stick to you like glue until Treadwell is back in chains. Is back in a cage. Is somewhere far, far away from you. Promise me.”

  “Believe me,” Kendall said dryly, “that’s an easy promise to make.” Joe had proved just how easily someone could take her gun away from her. So much for her false sense of confidence in her ability to protect herself.

  She kept an eye on the slightly ajar bathroom door. He was gloriously naked in there. Was he tanned all over? Good God. Stop that, she admonished herself. But why? her devil side demanded. It wasn’t as though the man was a mind reader for heaven’s sake. It was much easier to fixate on Joe’s body than it was knowing a killer was rapidly approaching. Both thoughts made her blood pressure throb behind her eyeballs. “I’m not saying I’m not terrified at the prospect of Treadwell showing up, but having Joe here does wonders for my … comfort level.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line as her voice trailed off. “And? But? If? And then?” Becky tried to finish the thought. “If you don’t trust him to keep your ass safe, tell me. I’ll call Roz and have her—do something.”

  “He’ll keep me safe from Treadwell,” Kendall assured her friend. “But who’s going to keep me safe from Joe Zorn?”

  While Kendall went in to take a shower, Joe turned off the emergency radio they’d brought upstairs with them. He’d had enough freaking Christmas carols to last a while. He crouched and lit kindling in the fireplace. Probably not such a swift idea. Coupled with the muted glow of the oil lamp, the ambiance was a little too romantic and seductive for his peace of mind. Especially now that he’d kissed her.

  If Roz hadn’t called when she had, Joe wasn’t certain he wouldn’t have taken Kendall right there on the floor of the mudroom. He raked a hand through his wet hair.

  There was no getting away from the fact that he was attracted to her. God only knew, what man wouldn’t be? She was gorgeous, smart, funny, and sexy as hell.

  He’d felt this tug of attraction before. Several times, he thought ruefully, as he turned up the wick in the lantern as far as it would go. The room became marginally brighter, and he crossed to sit in one of the extra-wide easy chairs flanking the fireplace.

  He liked women. He particularly enjoyed attractive, intelligent women. Which Kendall Metcalf was. In spades. So his heightened physical attraction to her didn’t come as a surprise. The woman’s sex appeal was off the charts.

  Stretching out his long legs toward the fire, Joe absently rested his Heckler & Koch double-action pistol on the chair arm beside him, keeping his hand on the custom tooled grip as he contemplated the flames dancing in the old-fashioned stone fireplace.

  He wasn’t a guy who spent a hell of a lot of time contemplating his own navel, but his visceral reaction to Kendall Metcalf was as intriguing as it was puzzling. He tried to pinpoint exactly what he felt when he was with her. The high lust factor was a given. But it was the strange, unfamiliar feeling in his chest that had him mystified.

  A … flutter? An extra heartbeat? Something that was wholly alien. He hadn’t felt this way about Denise. Which was probably why, five months after saying their vows, their marriage had ended with a fizzle in divorce. That had been almost ten years ago. Clearly Denise felt that alien something for Adam Cameron.

  They had three kids, another on the way, and appeared to be as in love now as they had been when Adam had rushed the ex-Mrs. Zorn to the altar three months after her divorce was final.

  Joe was happy for them.
He really was. He liked them both. He hadn’t even been heartbroken at the end of his marriage. He thought he should have been, but he wasn’t. Every now and then he wondered, on a purely academic level, exactly what that elusive something factor was that the couple had and he’d never found. Denise called it spark, magic, and lots of other girl words that until a few hours ago, he’d pretty much dismissed as the rantings of a romantic.

  Spark was a pretty damned good description for the sensations currently annoying him. Why Kendall Metcalf? Why now? When his total focus should be on protecting her from Treadwell. He should be thinking about guns, ammo, close combat, points of entry, etc. Instead his mind conjured all sorts of enticing images of his protectee.

  Sparks, he decided, were distracting as hell.

  Without making a conscious decision, Joe had created this nomadic lifestyle. Well, not created it so much as fallen into it without much objection.

  Every now and then he thought about assessing his choices but then backed off immediately. In his experience, nothing good ever came of that. He shook his head at musings brought on by flickering firelight and thoughts of a wet, naked Kendall in the other room. “Get a grip,” he told himself firmly.

  From his vantage point he could keep an eye on all the doors in the room. He didn’t like sitting here waiting like this. He was a man of action. But Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating. If he had backup he’d go outside and check the perimeter. But he wouldn’t take Kendall out there, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her in the house alone.

  It would suit him perfectly if that son of a bitch Dwight Treadwell did one right thing in his miserable sick life: walk in right now.

  One shot between the bastard’s eyes and it would be over.

  Roz had faxed Joe the court transcripts while he’d been waiting for the ground crew to ready the chopper. He’d scanned them while standing in the small airport terminal. And he’d been sickened by what Kendall had endured at the hands of that psychopath. He’d also felt the ticking of the time bomb, knowing that while he was en route to her, Treadwell was, too.