WILD MEN OF ALASKA

chapter SEVENTEEN

Kate stood perfectly still, the barrel of Perry’s Sig pointed at her forehead.

Perry was alive.

He stood before her, a cocky sneer on his modestly attractive face. She used to see that look as confidence, wishing she could be more like him. Average height, and average build, hid his muscled-physique and wrestler-prowess well, making him a formidable weapon. Part of her wanted to hug him. The other wanted to run a knife through him. Before she could decide anything, she had to know what the hell was going on, and why everyone seemed to know everything but her.

“You’re dead,” she said to Perry. “I indentified your body.”

A sick smile played over Perry’s mouth. How had she not noticed its cruel bent before?

“The morgue didn’t have the best lighting,” Perry said. “I did enjoy your tears, my dear. Heart wrenching really, but I was a tad disappointed you didn’t stay around long enough to feel for a pulse.”

She’d been so overcome with grief and guilt, she’d lit out of that two-bit hospital like the shameful, sullied woman she’d been.

“You knew he was alive?” she demanded of both Sergei and Ivan. Why had she been left in the dark? Manipulated.

“I’d begun to suspect,” Sergei said.

“I wasn’t sure until these brutes jumped me in Homer outside the Salty Dawg,” Ivan said, stretching his neck. “I’ve been their ‘guest’ until your call this afternoon.”

Kate looked closer and could see bruises darkening Ivan’s skin around his jaw. Her hands itched to slice.

“Drop the knife, Kate,” Perry ordered. “Knives,” he added after summing her up. She tossed the knives at his feet, coming close to stabbing his booted-foot. “Still as brazen as ever. I always did like that about you.” Still holding the gun on her, Perry reached around to her back, seizing the Glock where she’d stashed it in the waistband of her pants, and stuffed it into the pocket of his Columbia jacket. “I’ll put a bullet through her head. Toss over your weapon.” He waited for Sergei to lay down the Remington. “Kick it over here.”

Sergei’s sharpened stare centered on Perry as he did as instructed. “There are three of us. Do you really think this is ending vell for you?”

“I’m not alone,” Perry scoffed. Two big thugs stepped into the room from behind Perry. “I think I’ve more than leveled the playing field,” he added, smug as hell. He looked at Kate. “Besides, one of you is a woman.”

“You should know better than to underestimate me, you son of a bitch,” Kate said.

“You’ve always been so droll, Kate. Content to be told what to do. A government lackey.”

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that, Katja?” Sergei asked, his tone dry as dust.

“Katja? Oh, isn’t that sweet,” Perry sneered. “Twenty-four hours and you’re back to being his whore.”

“Don’t call her names just because you couldn’t satisfy her,” Sergei said.

“Shut up.” Perry aimed his weapon at Sergei.

Kate used it as her opening to kick the gun free of Perry’s hand. Much like a flare going off at the races, they charged. Thug One and Thug Two went for Sergei and Ivan leaving her to face off with Perry.

Gladly.

Perry made a tsk-tsk sound as he advanced. “You really shouldn’t have been so straight-laced, sweetheart. You and I could’ve had something promising together.”

She’d thought they had. The feeling must have been conveyed in her expression, for Perry laughed. “You were such a delight at first. Willing to learn, to please.”

She lashed out at him, and he deflected. Each kick, fist, series of volleys, he easily dodged. He’d been her teacher and therefore knew all her moves. They’d worked together, covered each other’s backs for six years. She’d thought the world of him. How could he have done this to her? He’d set her up. Played her. And she’d let it happen, never suspecting Perry of being a traitor. He’d been her mentor, and she’d followed everything he’d told her like some devoted dog. No longer. This ended.

Tonight would be his last Christmas Eve.

Letting him get in a few good swings, she lured him back toward the fireplace. One blow had stars blinking in her vision and slammed her into the hearth, the force of the punch knocking her into the beautifully glazed pottery vase. It tumbled to the floor, breaking, and she followed after it.

Sergei roared her name as she went down. She struggled to her feet, slicing upward, the Ulu she’d stashed inside the vase gripped in her hand.

Perry’s look of shock was comical as the wound registered. She’d cut close to his balls, slicing through his femoral artery.

The Remington recoiled, and glass shattered, deafening as it echoed in the tall ceiling. The Arctic wind raged in, and the room froze.

Perry hit his knees.

Sergei cocked the shotgun and aimed at Thug One. “Move,” he dared. “Give me reason.”

Not strong in the brains department, Thug One charged, and Sergei pulled the trigger.

Ivan broke Thug Two’s neck, and he crumpled to the floor.

“You bitch,” Perry hissed, blood soaked through his pants, bubbling through his fingers as he tried to stanch the wound. The man was dead, and he knew it. Kate had a hard time feeling bad about it. She’d already grieved for him once.

“I’ve got to know,” Perry gasped, color draining out of his face. “Where’s the money?” He pitched forward.