Authors: Lynn Viehl
Frostfire (18 page)
Ethan trotted out to meet him, inspecting him for wounds but seeing none. What he noticed was the man’s shaved head, the grim set of his jaw, the flat black of his eyes. “You folks all right?”
The man looked down at the unconscious female. “I can’t wake her.”
“She’s probably hypothermic. We need to get her inside and warmed up. We’ve got a doctor in town.” He reached out to take the woman, stopping only when he saw the glitter in the other man’s eyes. “My truck’s right over here.”
The man slogged out of the drift and followed him to the Escalade. Ethan opened the door to the backseat, and reached in to shove over the go-bag he stowed there. He expected the man to lay the woman inside on the seat, but instead he climbed in and held her on his lap. Ethan peeled off his parka and handed it in.
“Put it over her legs,” he told him. After he got in and started the truck, he glanced at the rearview mirror. “What’s your name?”
The man returned his stare. “Walker Kimball.”
Ethan noted the slight hesitation, but the man looked like he’d been battered nine ways to Sunday; he was entitled to be suspicious. “Is that lady Mrs. Kimball?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Just curious.” The man was suspicious and territorial as all hell. “You want to tell me what you two are doing out in the middle of a blizzard?”
“Our car broke down. We needed help.”
Ethan could read people like open books, and knew all the small tells that indicated when someone was lying. Walker Kimball wasn’t being dishonest, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Were you traveling with anyone else besides your lady there?” Ethan asked.
“We were,” Kimball said, “but they left us behind.”
Another partial truth. “Anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Kimball?”
“She’s very cold,” he said, his voice tight. “Please drive faster.”
Ethan nodded and stepped on the gas.
Once he pulled up to the curb outside his office, Ethan saw through the window that his father and his deputy were standing inside. “You want me to carry her in?” Before he finished the question, Kimball had already opened the door and climbed out. “I guess not.”
Elroy had opened the door a gap when Kimball reached it and shouldered his way through. He inspected Ethan’s office with a glance before turning to Paul Jemmet. “You are a doctor?”
“Yes.” Ethan’s father lifted the shirt away from the woman’s face and touched her throat, frowning at the bruises under her jaw. “She’s still alive, but we have to get her out of these wet clothes and warm her. Elroy, run over to Annie’s and borrow some space heaters. Ethan, we’ll need towels, blankets, and hot tea.”
Kimball followed Paul into the back room while Elroy trotted for the door.
Ethan caught his deputy before he went out. “Ask Annie to send for Nathan. I’ll be over to talk to him once we’ve got the woman stable.”
Elroy frowned, but nodded and darted out. Ethan filled the electric kettle before he took some clean towels and a pair of chenille blankets from the storage closet.
When he joined his father and Kimball in the back, they had already stripped the woman down to her skin. Kimball took the towels from him and began gently chafing her damp limbs as Paul shifted the pad of his stethoscope over her left breast.
“How long were you out in this weather?” his father asked Kimball.
“I don’t know. Half an hour, perhaps.” He draped one towel over her hips and touched her side before straightening and reaching for the blankets.
“Wait on those.” To Ethan, Paul said, “Go check the kettle, son.”
He didn’t appreciate his father sending him from the room like a misbehaving child. “Kimball, come with me. You and I need to talk.”
The big man didn’t even look at him. “I can’t leave her.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes—”
Kimball took the woman’s hand in his, revealing a pair of handcuffs hanging from his wrist. From the red, raw marks on the woman’s arm, it was obvious that she had been cuffed to him.
Ethan folded his arms. “You mind explaining to me why you and your lady are in handcuffs?”
“We were kidnapped.”
He stepped closer. “Sure you were. And I’m . . . the . . . ” He halted, his tongue growing thick and useless as he looked down at the woman’s face.
He heard his father saying his name, but his voice sounded miles away. All he could see was the white glistening skin, the soft ripe mouth, and the molten glory of her hair. Knowing he would be burned but not caring, Ethan lifted his hand, stretching out so that he might touch all that lovely fire.
A large, brutal hand clamped around his wrist, forcing him to look into savage black eyes. “No.”
Rage shattered his wonder. “What?”
“Ethan.”
His father stood, stepping between and separating them. He grabbed his shoulder, turning him away from the cot to face the door. “The kettle. Call me when it’s ready.” He gave him a push.
His father stood, stepping between and separating them. He grabbed his shoulder, turning him away from the cot to face the door. “The kettle. Call me when it’s ready.” He gave him a push.
Once he was outside the room, Ethan’s head cleared and he spun around, only to find the door closing in his face.
“Shit.” He wanted to kick the door in, but backed away, dragging a shaking hand through his hair. Whatever had taken hold of him in that room was gone, and he was in no hurry to feel it again. He retreated to the front office, where he stood over the kettle and listened to the water coming to a boil. From the moment he’d seen Walker Kimball plowing his way through the snow, he’d assumed what problems Shem had foreseen during his spell would be caused by the big man. The handcuffs and his bullshit about being kidnapped were plenty of justification. But he was wrong.
The real trouble that had come to town was Kimball’s helpless, unconscious, beautiful woman.
Someone had wrapped Lilah in violets, so warm and deep and soft that they turned darkness into a bower of midnight silk. Her toes curled with pleasure as the petals crept into her sodden hair and curled around her stiff fingers, spreading warmth wherever they caressed. After the terror of waking in the truck and trying to fight through the snowstorm, she would happily stay curled up in this gentle cocoon of blooms forever. No one in that other place would miss her, no one had ever wanted or needed her, except . . .
Walker.
The violets began to melt, becoming wet beads on her skin, sliding down her cheeks and seeping between her lips, salted with sadness. Then she tasted something else, something fragrant and tart and golden-sweet, that filled her nose and trickled into her mouth, and when she swallowed, she tasted honey and lemon.
“Drink.”
Walker, his hand at the back of her head, holding it up. Lilah felt the edge of a cup at her lips, and tasted the sweet warmth of the tea, and swallowed again, although some of it spilled down her chin.
“She’s coming around.” A strange male voice sounded pleased. “Stay with her. I’m going to have a word with my son. I’ll get a cutter for those cuffs, too.”
Lilah waited until the other man had left before she opened her eyes. Walker knelt beside the cot she occupied, and when he saw her eyes, he set aside the cup he was holding to her lips.
“What happened?” She tried to sit up, but he put an arm across her. “Where are we?”
“You fell unconscious from the cold. We’re in the local sheriff’s office. He found us before I could reach the town.” Walker glanced over his shoulder before adding in a murmur, “Whatever they ask, let me answer their questions.”
“We can’t tell them,” she said quickly. “They’ll run our names and try to confirm our story, and then GenHance will know where we are.”
“I already told him my name was Walker Kimball,” he said.
“Then you’ll have to be who you are: a marine who just got back to the States,” Lilah said. “I’m your girlfriend. We were driving to see your folks, and stopped to help a couple of guys who were pretending that their truck had broken down. They robbed us, handcuffed us, and threw us in the back before they took off. They were going to kill us and dump our bodies in a ravine.” She thought for a moment, mentally running through all the aliases she had used. “Tell them my name is Marianne Gordon. You call me Mari. Can you remember all of that?”
“Yes.” He gave her a measuring look. “You never told me your surname.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, as soon as we get out of here,” she promised, glancing over his shoulder as the door swung open. Quickly she closed her eyes and went limp.
“I’m sorry that took so long. My son can be argumentative at times,” Lilah heard the smooth voice of the man she assumed was the doctor. “How is she?”
“I think she’s starting to wake.” Walker bent close. “Mari. Can you open your eyes?”
Lilah did her best imitation of a woman regaining consciousness, and feigned confusion as she looked up at the silver-haired man standing over them. He had a kind face, but his eyes seemed guarded. “What happened? Where are we?”
“We got away from them, my heart,” Walker told her. He kissed her brow before he added, “We’re safe now.”
The doctor produced a heavy-duty tool that pried apart the cuff on Walker’s wrist, releasing him.
“I know you’ve both been through a terrible ordeal,” the doctor said, “but my son has some questions, and I need to examine this young lady more thoroughly.”
“I will go and speak to him.” Walker looked down at her. “I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded, and watched him leave before she looked at the doctor. “Hello.” She produced a tired smile without much effort; she felt horribly weak and exhausted. “I’m Marianne Gordon.”
“Dr. Paul Jemmet. I’m the local GP.” He pulled up a folding chair and sat down beside the cot. “My son found you and your boyfriend out in the storm. Exposure to the cold caused you to become hypothermic and lose consciousness. I’m going to check you for frostbite, and while I’m doing that, I’m also going to ask you some annoying questions. Is that all right?” When she nodded, he smiled and picked up her hand and gently flexed her thumb. “Do you know who is now president of the United States?”
“Barack Obama.”
He continued testing each of her fingers. “What month is it, Marianne?”
“December.”
“And the year?” he asked as he switched hands.
“Two thousand nine.”
“Why were you handcuffed to your boyfriend?”
“To keep me from getting away,” she said without thinking, and hastily amended, “The men who took us knocked out Walker. They knew he was too heavy for me to lift.”
Dr. Jemmet gave her a shrewd look. “Not many thieves think to pack handcuffs for a hijacking.”
“I think they were involved in more than just stealing trucks and our wallets.” She lifted her chin as he felt her ears. She didn’t have to fake the tremble in her voice now. “They were going to kill us, Dr. Jemmet. If Walker hadn’t woken up, and jumped out of the truck with me . . . ”
“He’s a brave man. Most soldiers are.” His smile seemed more genuine this time as he shifted around to look at her feet. “Are his parents expecting you to arrive home today?”
“No, we didn’t tell them Walker was back. It was supposed to be a big surprise.”
“That’s good.” He chuckled. “What I mean is, it’s good that they won’t be worried. I’m afraid with this storm you two are stranded here until the snowplows can clear the main road.”
“How long will that take?”
“Once the storm passes, a few days, maybe a week.” He lifted the blanket, sliding it up to expose her legs. “I’m not seeing any sign of frostbite, which is good.” He lowered the blanket back in place, and in the same gentle voice asked, “Marianne, did these men hurt you?”
“No, sir.” She didn’t understand, and then suddenly realized he must have already seen the marks and bruises left on her body from being pinned under Walker. “One of them grabbed me around the neck, but that was all.”
His eyes softened. “It’s not your fault if they did anything more, my dear.”
Lilah couldn’t let him think she was raped, but how else would she explain the other bruises? Thanks to her ability to heal quickly, by now they would be turning yellow-brown, and by tomorrow they would begin to fade. He probably thought she got them days ago.... That was it.
“Walker was overseas for a long time,” she said, trying to look embarrassed. “While he was there, he was faithful to me. When he got home, well, he was . . . And I was . . . ” She stopped and ducked her head shyly. “I do bruise easily, Dr. Jemmet, and we were really happy to see each other again.”
Stuttering through the lie made her sound convincing even to her own ears, and no doubt the country doctor interpreted her anxious flush as a sign of her embarrassment. But Lilah had to be sure he was buying her story, and as he pressed two fingers to her wrist and glanced at his watch, she reached out with her mind to see if she could pick up any trace of emotion from his.
Poor young thing. That boy is too big and rough for her, but I can hear the love in her voice. I guess I’ve mortified her enough for one night.
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