She was about to drop the curtain and warm herself at the fire when movement at the edge of the woods snagged her attention. With the snow and darkness she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she’d seen something move. Had it been a deer moving within the trees? Were the fear and her own nerves playing tricks on her? Or had she seen something that warranted her alerting Mike Madrid?
He’d told her he was equipped with night-vision equipment. Surely he would notice if someone approached the cabin. She was probably jumping at shadows. The result of high stress and an active imagination.
But in the six years Leigh had been on the run, she’d learned to trust her instincts. Right now those instincts were telling her to err on the side of caution and find Mike Madrid.
Setting the tea on the mantel above the hearth, she slipped into her coat. At the foyer she stepped into her boots, then went out the door. The cold was brittle and took her breath. The night was so quiet, she could hear the tinkle of snow striking the ground. Following Mike’s footsteps, she silently made her way to the rear of the cabin. He’d used the picnic table and stone chimney to climb to the roof.
“Mike?”
She waited a full minute, but he didn’t respond. She didn’t want to make any noise, but thought he should know she’d seen something in the woods.
“Mike? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
When he didn’t answer she trudged through snow to the side of the cabin. “Mike?”
Struggling to stay calm, Leigh went back around the rear of the cabin. “Madrid?” she said more loudly.
Growing increasingly uneasy, she started toward the front of the cabin. Since she couldn’t get him to answer, she would call him on his cell. He’d changed it to vibration, so the ringing would not make any noise in case there was someone nearby.
She was midway to the door when she spotted something dark in the snow. At first she thought someone had dumped coffee. Kneeling, she set her hand against the dark stain. Her heart slammed against her ribs when the metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils.
Stumbling to her feet, Leigh hurled herself into a dead run. She tore around the corner of the cabin at a dangerous speed and burst through the front door. Everything appeared as she had left it. Fire crackling in the hearth. Mug of tea on the mantel. Cell phone on the coffee table.
But she realized the pistol she’d left next to the phone was gone. Then suddenly she noticed the melting snow on the floor. Someone was in the cabin. “Mike?” she called out.
Sensing danger, she darted toward the cell phone. She was midway there when she saw two men coming out of the kitchen, one carrying a rifle, the other a pistol.
She spun to run to the door, and found herself face-to-face with Ian Rasmussen. Tall and elegant in a long leather coat, black gloves and a cashmere scarf, he stood just two feet away from her, watching her with cold, dispassionate eyes.
Leigh had always believed she’d faced her worst nightmare six years ago. Only now did she realized she’d been wrong. Facing Ian Rasmussen now, knowing he would show her no mercy when he dealt with her—when he dealt with Jake—was her worst nightmare.
A nightmare that was just beginning.
JAKE HAD TAKEN UP a position on the roof of the cabin. Rick Monteith waited inside. They’d only been at the cabin an hour, but it seemed like forever. He was worried as hell about Leigh. He knew there was no way Rasmussen could find her, but he couldn’t quiet the little voice inside his head telling him she was in danger.
Shifting position in the snow, he put his eye to the scope and adjusted the sight. The scope was perfectly adjusted. The plan was well laid. They were going to get through this, he assured himself. Once Rasmussen was behind bars, Jake was going to spend some time getting reacquainted with Leigh. He wanted to make up for lost time. Earn her trust again. Love her the way she deserved to be loved…
The cell phone clipped to his belt vibrated. He snatched it up, checked the window and was startled to see Mike Madrid’s name. “Why the hell are you calling me?” he snapped.
“Rasmussen…”
Jake knew immediately something was wrong. He barely recognized Mike’s voice, it was that weak. He sat up, gripped the phone tightly. “What happened?”
“Bastard…has Leigh.”
Terror turned Jake’s blood to ice. “Where?”
“Here…cabin…”
“Jesus, Madrid. Are you hit?”
“Went right through…the vest. Hurry…”
But Jake was already scrambling off the roof, taking the stepladder to the rear porch. “I’m on my way,” he said.
But the phone had gone dead.
He burst through the rear door. Rick Monteith raised his rifle in the instant before he saw it was Jake. “For crying out loud, Vanderpol, I just about plugged—”
“Madrid is down. Rasmussen is at the cabin.” He nearly choked on the words as another layer of terror closed around his throat like a fist. “He has Leigh.”
Monteith was already grabbing his outdoor gear, cursing, his face taut. “How bad is Madrid hurt?”
“He sounded bad.” Jake’s phone vibrated. Madrid, he thought, and snatched it up. “Yeah.”