“She can’t be working here. No way.” Colton Freeze leaned forward in his chair and slid his nearly empty beer on the battered wooden table. A jukebox belted out Garth Brooks, peanut shells lined the floor, and longnecks took residence on almost every table in the bar. Unfortunately, the sense of home failed to relax him.
“I’m only telling you what Mrs. Nelson said at the bank.” His friend, Hawk, turned toward the long, oak bar. “If she is working here, I wish she’d show up so I can go home to bed.”
“Soon.” Colton shook his head. “There is no way Melanie works at the coffee place in the morning, her ranch all day, and Adam’s bar at night.” And she hadn’t bothered to tell him. He’d been out of town finishing his master’s degree and then securities degree, and nobody had thought to tell him his best friend was working herself to death? A fear he hadn’t experienced in over ten years slammed him between the eyes, nearly bringing on a migraine. He shoved the sensation away.
“I didn’t know, or I would’ve called.” Hawk gazed thoughtfully across the smoky room, his odd green eyes narrowed.
“You’ve only been home a day.” Colt frowned. He cocked his head as the bartender called out with a friendly, “Hi, Mel.”
Damn it. She was working in the bar. Colton steeled his shoulders and schooled his face into a pleasant expression. If he yelled at her right off the bat, she wouldn’t talk to him.
He needed to speak with her. While they’d grown a part a little bit during their teenage years, when they’d moved on into the world, they’d kept in touch as he attended school. After her grandfather had died two years ago, they’d reconnected, and Colton had made sure to call, text, and email while he studied.
After a short time, he couldn’t sleep without talking to her and sharing his day. Maybe he should’ve been home instead of pursuing knowledge.
As his best friend, she was needed. He’d almost lost her once, and he’d never allow himself to feel such fear again. Plus his gut churned that she hadn’t shared her problems with him. “Where in the world is she?” he muttered.
She stepped out from behind the bar, and he straightened in his chair. “What the hell?”
Hawk emitted a slow whistle. “Wow.”
Yeah, wow. Melanie’s customary outfit of faded jeans, scuffed boots, and a working T-shirt was absent for the night. “Adam must have made her wear the outfit.” Son of a bitch. He’d kill the bar owner.
Hawk leaned forward, elbows on the table. “She looks good.”
She looked better than good, and shock sprang Colt’s cock into action. A tight tank top showed off perfect breasts, while a skirt curved along her butt to stop a couple of inches away. Long, lean legs led down to high-heeled boots. She was a wet dream come true.
Melanie wobbled a full tray of drinks to deliver to a table of rowdy farmers.
“Maybe the medical bills from her grandpop’s fight with cancer added up, and she needed the extra money?” Hawk rolled his shoulder and finished his beer.
Colton exhaled but couldn’t look away from the sexy brunette. Sexy? Jesus. It was just the shock of the new look. She was still Mel, still his best friend. “So now I need to worry about both of you. What the hell?”
Hawk sighed. “Tell me you didn’t ask me out for a beer my first night home to lecture me.”
Colton turned toward his oldest friend. Lines of exhaustion fanned out from Hawk’s eyes, and a dark purple bruise mottled his left cheekbone. He was usually battered when he returned home from active duty, but this time a hardness had entered Hawk’s eyes. Now wasn’t the moment to bug him, however. Colton shrugged. “Nope. Just wanted to catch up. I’ll push you tomorrow on leaving the SEALs.”
“Fair enough.” Hawk took a deep swallow of his beer as his gaze remained on Melanie. “I’m glad you called. It appears as if things might get interesting tonight.”
Doubtful. Colton turned his attention back to the woman who hadn’t trusted him enough to let him know she was in trouble. Something in his chest ached, and he shoved the irritant aside with anger. While he was known for a slow-to-burn temper, especially in comparison with his two older brothers, when he exploded, it was legendary.
But there’d be no temper tonight. First, he had to figure out what the hell was going on, and then he had to solve the issue. Logically and with a good plan. So when Mel glanced his way, he lifted his empty glass.
She nodded and hitched around full tables to reach him. “Why did you cut your hair?” Her face was pale as she tried to tug her skirt down.
He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable half nude in public. “When the hell did you start waitressing in a fucking bar?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“Smooth,” Hawk muttered into his beer.
Melanie arched a delicate eyebrow and released the bottom of the skirt. “Last I checked, my grandfather was dead and you weren’t my keeper. Do you want another beer or not?” The tray hitched against her hip—a hip that wasn’t nearly as curvy as it had been the previous year. She’d lost weight.
Even so, he wanted to grab that hip and… “What time do you get off?” he asked.
A dimple twinkled in her cheek. “It depends who I take home with me.”
He couldn’t help but grin back. “You are such a big talker.”
“I know.” She shoved curly brown hair away from her face. Hair wild and free. “Why are you asking? Think you’ll need a ride home?”
“I’m taking you home, and we’re talking about your three jobs.” He tried to smooth his voice into charming mode, but the order emerged with bite.
“The last time you tried to boss me around, I hit you in the face and you cried for an hour.” She nodded at a guy waving for a drink from a table on the other side of the dance floor.
Colton threw the guy a glare. “I did not cry.”
“Did too,” Hawk whispered.
Colton shot a look at his buddy before focusing back on Mel. He’d been seven years old, and she’d almost broken his nose. “My eyes watered from the punch. That wasn’t crying.” They’d been having the argument for nearly two decades, and the woman never let up. “You’ve cried on my shoulder many a time.”
She reached for his glass. “That’s because men are assholes, and you have great shoulders.”
Every boy or man who’d ever hurt her had ended up bashed and bloody afterward because either he or Hawk had made sure of it. “You’re right on both counts. Which begs the question, if you’re in trouble, why aren’t you crying on my shoulder now?”
Sadness filtered through her deep eyes. “You’re my friend, not my knight. It’s time I stood on my own two feet.”

*   *   *

Colton forced his hands to unclench and his voice to remain calm. “Are you all right, Mel?”
She nodded, her eyes too wide in her too pale face. “Yes.”
Frustration swept through him, and he fought to keep calm. The sight of Mel’s frightened face would keep him up for nights. She shouldn’t be managing a ranch all by herself—accidents always happened.
He strode through the storm, grasped her arm, and began leading her back to the house. “Are you all right?” he asked, once he stepped onto the covered front porch.
“Me?” she laughed, the sound slightly off-kilter. “You’re bleeding.”
He wiped blood off his forehead. “Just a scratch.” Clearing his throat, he tried to stomp mud off his boots while tugging a clean bandana from his inside coat pocket to wipe his hands clean. “I, ah, need a shower.”
She stepped toward him, and he lifted an eyebrow. After what seemed like a small mental debate, she grabbed his destroyed shirt and tugged. Stretching up on her toes, her mouth slid against his.
Fire lashed through him so quickly he swayed. A million thoughts exploded at once, and he shut them down. Completely.
Groaning, he hauled her close and took over. The fear, the storm, the fury all comingled into raw need inside him. There were no more thoughts, no more uncertainties.
There was only this woman and this moment.
So he took both as deep as he could. He angled his mouth, and she drew a sharp breath, holding it.
Her lips softened beneath his as he explored her, learning her taste. Wild huckleberries and brandy? The most delicious combination in existence. She moaned deep in her throat, the sound sparking down his torso to his balls.
Her grip on him was strong and sure. He bent her, his hands full of woman. Brushing a hand across her firm ass, he shuddered. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Punctuating his words, he cupped a handful. Firm and tight, her flesh was better than he’d dreamed.
He shouldn’t have said that. But the connection between his mouth and brain had disappeared.
She sighed against him, pressing closer. “Hurry.”
“Hell, no.” He reached behind them to shove open the door, backing her inside. Heat blasted them. His hold tightened, and he lifted her to sit on the rugged entryway table, legs spread, shirt now muddy and wet.
The storm raged outside, rain clashing down past the covered porch. He kicked shut the door. Even so, the wildness inside him overtook any sense of caution. Of reality.
Letting go of any doubts, he fisted her hair and twisted, putting her right where he wanted her. She returned his kiss, gyrating against him, the calm Melanie turning into a wildcat.
Her nails bit into his coat. She unclenched her hold and released him in a primitive display of trust.
He wouldn’t let her fall. God, this was Melanie. He gentled his touch, leaning back. Slowly, he ran his knuckles across her smooth cheekbone. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. The woman mattered, and he’d take care of her..

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Hawk Rain sat back in the chair at the round table, his gaze on the frothy mug of Wallace Pale Ale in front of him. As usual for a Saturday night, Adam’s bar in downtown Mineral Lake was hopping with ranchers kicking back with microbrews, peanuts, and loud laughs. The place smelled like pine, beer, and home, but the cozy atmosphere failed to calm him. Apparently the bar had purchased new glasses. The thought irritated him, and he couldn’t figure out why.
“What are you moping about?” The question came from Colton Freeze, his best friend, and held no judgment. Just thoughtful contemplation.
“Nothin’.” Hawk took another drink, eyeing Colt, who sprawled in his chair after a long day of punching cows.
The guy’s hair almost reached his shoulders in a myriad of cool colors—black, reddish blond and brown—from his Native American and Irish ancestry that somehow blended together. His blue eyes were dark and serious, his jawline scruffed, and his shoulders stiff. “Huh. Nothin’. Are you all right?” Colt asked.
If one more damn person in town asked Hawk how he was doing or if he was okay, he was going to pummel them. “Adam bought new mugs.”
Colton shoved a cowboy hat back on his head. “So?”
So? Hawk had been gone too long, taking care of business, and things had changed. So had he, but nobody could see the damage that had been done. “I liked the old mugs.” He lifted his, which was heavier than the former ones, damn it.
Colton’s chair scraped on the scarred wooden floor as he pushed back from the table, his lip twisting. “We’re talking about mugs instead of anything serious now?”
“Yes.” If Hawk’s buddy wanted to get deep and talk about feelings, he could go chat with his very knocked-up wife.
“Fine. Are you home for good this time?”
Hawk sighed. “No.”
“Well, that displeases me, because I figured you were in Mineral Lake for good last time, then I got married, and then you disappeared,” Colt murmured.
“I had something to take care of—and I can’t talk about it.” Hawk had signed on for a civilian mission, and he didn’t regret one second. Especially since he’d actually lived through it and made it home. “The job isn’t finished, not really, and I’m just here to rest up.” The idea that he’d be able to finish the job, to completely destroy Meyer’s organization, was too much to hope for.
“I’m tired of the secrecy, and I’m ready to help.” Colton tapped his fingers on the table. “I know you’re still working for Reese.”
“Yep.” Hawk took another drink. Reese was a former DEA agent turned private security guru, who had hired Hawk right out of the military for one big job. One that wasn’t over yet. “Reese is a good guy.”
“I know.” Colton turned as a light swept across the stage at the far end of the room, and a cheer went through the boisterous crowd. His mouth tightened. “She is not wearing enough clothes.”
Hawk’s entire body went on full alert as he took in the lead singer—his friend’s little sister. Holy fucking shit. Dawn Freeze sidled up to the mic dressed in a tiny skirt that barely covered her ass and revealed long and lean legs encased in cowboy boots. Red and black cowboy boots.
His balls pulled tight and bellowed a hello.
The stunning minx wore one of those fancy bustiers that pushed up what had to be perfect breasts. A saucy black cowboy hat perched on her head, and even across the room, Hawk could see the amused sparkle in her dangerous eyes.
Blue didn’t come close to describing those eyes, and he’d go to the grave before admitting it, but they were the last image that had flashed through his brain before he’d nearly died the year before.
He may have even whispered her name before falling unconscious.

*   *   *

Dawn finished glazing the chicken breast in her cheery kitchen, muttering to herself the entire time. A fire crackled in the big stone fireplace, and snow piled against the windowsill. Hawk hadn’t called. After what had been the most amazing night of her life, the bastard hadn’t called in two days.
So he had meant it that they needed to keep their distance.
What an idiot.
She’d even had trouble sleeping without him.
An entire day at the office crunching numbers hadn’t helped any. Colton had been absent all day, so she’d spent some time talking to Anne and just working.
Now she ate alone. Again.
A rap on the door caught her up short. She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to open it.
Hawk stood on the porch, a bottle of Shiraz in his hand. “Hi.”
She stepped back. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head, she wore no makeup, and her yoga pants had a rip across one knee. Crap. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted a shoulder and stepped closer. “I thought we should talk.” A dark bruise marred the left side of his chiseled jaw.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, her heart sinking.
“Let me in,” he said.
She paused. In faded jeans and a black jacket, with his dark hair pulled back and his even darker green eyes glimmering with a light she couldn’t quite identify, Hawk was every possible definition of a smart girl’s oh hell no. She stood aside. “Come on in.”
He brushed by her, surrounding her with the scent of snow and male.
She closed the door. “I’m making chicken.” If any of her friends just showed up, she’d feed them, so why not Hawk?
“Sounds good. Mel made steak last night.” He shrugged out of his jacket to hang it on a hook by the door. “I’d forgotten how good home-cooked food tasted.”
The edge she’d always sensed in Hawk had sharpened, focused with a palpable tension since the phone call. For the first time in her life, she could actually see the deadly soldier he’d become. How surprising he’d been able to hide that side of himself so well through the years.
Apparently he was done hiding. They’d seen each other naked, it had been fantastic, and now she didn’t know what to say. She casually smoothed back her hair and headed toward the kitchen. “Open the wine and have a seat.” Keeping her back to him, she tossed another couple of chicken breasts into the pan and smothered them with more of Mrs. Hudson’s chicken glaze. Dawn had stocked up during the Fourth of July Fair.
Hawk worked smoothly beside her, uncorking the wine and pouring two glasses. “Come sit down.” He handed her a glass and trucked the few steps to the living room.
Dawn swirled the wine and frowned. “When did you get so bossy?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
The guy didn’t sound sorry. She cleared her throat, her hand trembling around the glass. “This is weird.” Without meeting his eyes, she crossed into the room and sat on the sofa. He sat next to her, and her breath quickened. Her nipples hardened, just from his heat, and damn it, she wished she’d worn a bra.
“I told your brothers about us sleeping together.” Hawk placed his glass on the coffee table.
Fury rippled through her head. “You what?” she yelled.
He calmly recaptured her wineglass, put it safely on the table, and turned to face her—serious eyes, bruised face, indomitable body. “I told them the truth.”
“You moron,” she said slowly..

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*   *   *

“Besides,” Quinn reached the bottom of the ladder and held up a hand, “aren’t you tired of dancing around this? For the last few months, we’ve danced around this.”
“That’s what responsible adults do.” Juliet automatically took his hand to descend. Electricity danced up her arm from his warm palm.
“Bullshit.” He helped her to the hard-tiled floor.
“You feel it, too.”
Yes, she did, and the crass language actually turned her on. But he didn’t know her, and he wouldn’t like her if he did. “I’ve chosen not to act on any temporary attraction.” As a tall woman, it truly unnerved her when she needed to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “How tall are you, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Six four, last time I checked. How about you?”
“Five ten.”
He nodded. “Petite. Very petite.”
The man was crazy. She tugged her hand free. “I’m not dating you.”
“I know. We’re pretending.” He glanced around at the many paintings on the wall. “Are these from Sophie’s new collection?”
“Yes.” The damn man already knew his sister-in-law’s paintings adorned the walls.
“Didn’t you promise her an amazing showing for the opening of your gallery?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, then. This is the only place to have an amazing showing, right?”
Wasn’t that just like a man to go right for the kill? Sophie was Juliet’s friend, one of her only friends, and the showing meant a lot to her. “You’re not being fair.”
He reached out and ran a finger down Juliet’s cheek, his gaze following the motion.
Heat flared from his touch, through her breasts, right down between her legs. “Stop.”
His hand dropped. “I need a pretend girlfriend. You need to keep the gallery open. This is a perfect agreement.”
Darn it. Temptation had her glancing around the spectacular space. Three rooms, all containing different types of Western art, made up the gallery. The main room already held most of the paintings created by Sophie Lodge. Rich, oil-based paintings showing life in Maverick, life on the reservation, and the wickedness of Montana weather. The showing would put both Sophie’s art and Juliet’s gallery on the Western-gallery map.
She wanted on that map. Perhaps badly enough to make a deal with the sheriff. Plus, she was tired of dancing around her attraction to Quinn. Would that attraction explode or fizzle if they spent time together? Frankly, it didn’t matter. She had to leave town soon. Why not appease her curiosity? “Okay, but keep your hands to yourself.”
“But—”
“No.” She pressed her hands on her hips. The man was too dangerous, too tempting. A woman had to keep some control, or Quinn would run wild. No question. “You’re creative, and this is your idea. If we pretend to date, you keep your hands off me.”
His eyes dropped to an amused, challenging expression. He held out both hands, palms up. “Tell you what, darlin’. These hands won’t touch you until you ask nicely. Very nicely.”
“That will never happen,” she snapped.
His left eyebrow rose. “I wondered if that red hair came with a temper.” Interest darkened his eyes to midnight. “So much passion locked up in such a classy package. I thought so.” He leaned into her space. “Be careful, or I’ll make you beg.”.

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The silence bordered on bizarre.
Shouldn’t there be crickets chirping? Birds squawking? Even the howl of a hungry wolf in the muted forest? Of course, such sounds would send a city girl like Sophie Smith barreling back through the trees to her rented Jeep Cherokee. The quiet peace had relaxed her into wandering far into the forested depths, but now the trees huddled closer together, looming in warning.
A breeze chilled her hair. Enough of this crap. Sophie’s heartbeat picked up a rapid staccato rhythm. Silence beat against her, and with her instincts on full alert, she whirled around on the rough dirt trail. Time to head back to the car.
Her only warning was the crack of a stick under a powerful hoof, a thumping, and a shouted, “Look out!” A broad arm lifted her through the air. The arm banded solidly around her waist, and her rear slammed onto the back of a rushing horse. She yelped, straddling the animal and digging her hands into its mane. The image of the man attached to the arm flashed through her brain, while his rock-hard body warmed her from behind.
A cowboy.
Not a wannabe cowboy from a bar in the city. A real cowboy.
The image of thick black hair, hard-cut jaw, and Stetson hat burst through her shocked mind as muscled thighs gripped both the back of a massive stallion and her tingling hips. The beast ran full bore over rough ground.
Only the sinewed forearm around her waist kept her from flying through the air.
This wasn’t happening. Sophie shut her mouth on a scream as the powerful animal gracefully leaped over a fallen log and her captor pulled her easily into his solid body. He moved as one with the animal. Her thighs clenched the horse’s bunching muscles with a strength that would have made her personal trainer proud. She slammed her eyes shut against the rushing wind. Her hands fisted the silky mane like it was a lifeline to reality.
Maybe it was.
Horse hooves beat the ground. The sun nearly blinded her as they sprinted into a meadow with wheat stocks waving in the breeze. Reality pinpointed with sudden clarity, the world focused, and fear pummeled her into fight-or-flight mode. She threw back an elbow and twisted to the side.
“Stop.” A deep voice issued the command as warm breath brushed her cheekbone.
His voice was cowboy sure. Well, at least what she thought a cowboy would sound like. His strong body held her securely in place, and she stilled, more than a bit startled as warmth pooled low in her stomach. Her face flushed. Her breasts tingled.
Was she going crazy? Some crazy cowboy was kidnapping her, and she found his voice sexy? Man, she was going nuts—or into shock.
Darkness reigned again as they plunged back into the cool forest. With a mere tightening of his thighs on the great animal, they skidded to a stop. The arm trapping her shifted so she slid easily to the ground and stayed around her waist until she regained her footing. With a sound that was more growl than gasp, she backed away from man and mount until she collapsed against the bark of a towering tree. The horse tossed his head and snorted at her retreat, his sweaty flanks heaving in the sudden quiet.
Sunlight filtered through the branches and fully illuminated the male before her. He sat straight and tall on the animal. Dark and curious eyes considered her.
At least, she hoped that was curiosity.

*   *   *

“Oh man, did I miss Buttercup?” Tom glanced toward the far field.
Sophie shook off old memories and laughed. “Yeah, a few minutes ago.”
“Darn it. Who won the bet?”
“What bet?”
“On how long it took Jake to take him down.”
“I don’t know.”
Tom shrugged. “I would’ve heard if I won. So how was your date with my son?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Sophie protested as Colton wrestled with the newest steer while Jake remained ready on the sidelines.
“Pity,” Tom murmured. “It’s about time that boy had some fun.”
“He’s having fun now.” Sophie nodded toward a grinning Jake. White teeth were illuminated against trails of dirt and sweat.
“He sure is,” Tom agreed. “But I meant the other kind. I thought he might finally be moving on.”
“Moving on?” It wasn’t any of her business, but…
“After Emily died, well, we wondered if he’d ever smile again. But he had Leila to worry about.”
“He mentioned his wife died young.”
“Too young. Way too young to learn what matters in this life.” Soberness mellowed Tom’s words as Colton jumped back from a newly released steer.
“Which is?”
“Hawk, to your left,” Tom called out, tensing until the young man shifted away from kicking hoofs. He returned to their conversation. “You know, learned what’s important. People. Memories. Family.” Tom focused over the fence and acknowledged Jake’s nod with a nod of his own. He turned toward Sophie and extended an arm. “That was the high sign from Jake. Why don’t I escort you over to the picnic tables? He’ll be along shortly.” All around them people stepped back from the fence, though most kept their attention on the pen.
“High sign?” She took his proffered arm and jumped from her perch.
“The next three steers are known kickers. Tulip always goes for the crowd.”
“Tulip?” Sophie chuckled.
“Yep. Tulip, Snuggles, and Lola. The boys have a sense of humor.”
Sophie shook her head as she allowed Tom to lead her across the road to the picnic tables. The walk took some time, since they stopped to chat with people along the way; most had heard of her, some asked about her date, and all seemed to like Tom.
Bright red-, yellow-, and blue-checked cloths covered massive tables where people dug in to delicious-smelling chicken, steak, and sweet fruit salad. Children ran around gleefully while elderly women patted babies and people chatted. Several were obviously of native descent, but just as many people were blond with blue eyes. The whole county must have been in attendance.
“Here we are,” Tom said as they arrived at a table where a petite Native American woman uncovered plastic containers. “This is my wife, Loni.” Pride filled his words.
“Hi.” Sophie released Tom’s arm to extend a hand to the pretty woman. Jake’s eyes gleamed from a tanned oval face with delicate features and a genuine smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie.” Loni smiled and shook her hand. “Please sit. The boys should be along shortly.”
Sophie sat and studied Jake’s mother. Intelligence that matched Jake’s glimmered in her eyes. Sophie took a sip of the sweet, tart lemonade she offered. “Thank you.”
“Sure. So what did you think of the branding? Did you see Buttercup?”
“Yes. Very impressive.”
“I heard Quinn won the bet,” Loni informed her husband.
“Again?” Tom rubbed his chin. “Man, that boy has a second sense about that stuff. Unless…”
Loni shook her head. “He and Jake are not in cahoots, Tom. Give it up.”

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You Can Kill 

by

Rebecca Zanetti

Chapter 1

Icicles hung like sharpened spikes along the eaves of  the hospital as FBI special agent in charge Laurel Snow  ducked her head against the biting wind and strode  across the crunchy snow to enter the building. The door  shut behind her with a grinding screech. She shivered  and brushed snow off her shoulders. Winter had extended her reign into the beginning of April, which  wasn’t unusual for the sleepy town of Genesis Valley,  and yet the chill factor seemed to be worsening.   

Her footsteps echoed hollowly through the vacant  waiting area, and she hastened at the sight of the unmanned reception area. The nurse was known to be a  barracuda who liked to block people, so Laurel skirted  the desk and hustled down the northern hallway.   

Her phone buzzed and she paused, lifting it to her ear.  “Agent Snow.”   

“Hey, Laurel,” Walter said. “I just got your message.  Do you need me at the hospital?”  “No. You keep packing. I’m fully equipped to handle  this.”  Walter cleared his throat. As her second-in-command, he’d been injured several times in the last few months,  and she was pleased he and his girlfriend had won a  vacation to a sunny and relaxing locale.  

 “I don’t like that Jason Abbott wants to see you in the  hospital. Do you have backup?” Walter asked.   

Laurel’s service weapon felt snug at the back of her  waist. She looked down the empty hallway, noting one  of the fluorescent lights buzzing in the far distance. “The  Genesis Valley Police are guarding Jason Abbott,” she  said. “I have plenty of backup. Please continue your  preparations for your time off.”   

Walter exhaled heavily through the phone. “I can’t believe he tried to kill himself again.”   

Abbott’s actions didn’t fit with his pathology, but  perhaps the lack of hope was enough to make the serial  killer want to avoid trial. Laurel had gathered enough  evidence against him that he would certainly be convicted of brutally murdering successful women, cutting  off their hands, and leaving them frozen in icy graves.  This was the second time he’d attempted suicide while  awaiting trial.  

 “What did he say when he called?” Walter asked.   

The buzzing from the far light increased by several  decibels.   

Laurel swallowed. “He called our office and said that  he wanted to talk about additional victims.” Apparently  the hospital had let him use a phone, which was something she would address after she spoke with him. “He  waived his right to an attorney as well.”   

Walter crunched on something, probably ice. “Isn’t  that surprising? He has a good lawyer.”  

“He’s an angry narcissist who believes he’s more intelligent than everybody else.”   

Walter snorted. “Even you?”   

She leaned against the wall, trying to keep herself  out of sight of the nurses. The place seemed deserted.   

“Especially me. I’ll report back what I discover. You  continue packing.”   

Walter chuckled. “All right, boss. Give me a call after  you meet with the lunatic.”   

She clicked off and slid the phone into her pocket before looking in both directions and hurrying toward the end of the hall. Evading that nurse had become imperative. Laurel turned the corner in time to see a uniformed police officer step into room 113. Irritation clocked through her. As a dullard, the local sheriff might not be teaching his officers proper procedure. Unbuttoning her coat just in case she needed to reach for her weapon, she strode toward the doorway and walked inside.  

 “Officer, return to your post,” she said to his broad back.   

He stood looking down at the figure in the bed, his shoulders wide and his fists clenched at his sides. She could comprehend his anger. Jason Abbott was a brutal killer, and many people wanted him dead.   

“Officer,” she said.   

He pivoted suddenly.   

She recognized him, but it was too late.   

He slammed her against the wall and shut the door, one hand clutching her throat, the other covering her mouth.   

Jason Abbott.  

She gulped several times, her hands loose at her sides, and then looked beyond him to the figure in the bed.  

 “The officer,” he affirmed.   

“Is he deceased?” she said against the palm over her mouth. He had her backed up to the wall, close enough that she couldn’t quickly reach for her gun. The heavy metal bit into her back, just waiting for her to move into action.   

He shook his head. “Not yet, but he’s full of sedatives.”   

Jason stood at least a foot taller than she, and his dark blue eyes sparked with anger. Even furious, he was a handsome man, with his closely cut beard and his broad shoulders. Solid, with a high percentage of muscle mass compared to fat, he’d obviously been working out these months in prison.   

She swallowed, refusing to show fear. He needed the fear and wanted it desperately. So she rolled her eyes.   

He blinked and then slowly removed his hand.   

Her throat ached but she kept calm, glancing at the bandages covering his wrists. “You didn’t cut very deeply.”   

“I didn’t really want to die.” He smiled. “However, you are going to meet your maker.”   

She considered viable plans of action and pivoted her hips twenty degrees, driving her knee up to his groin, impacting soft tissue. He instinctively bent over and emitted a low groan. She struck toward his eyes, trying to blind him. He dodged to the side, and she hit his mouth, his teeth scraping her knuckles with a painful slice.   

Taking advantage of his movements, she retrieved her gun from the back of her waist.  

 He punched her wrist and her hand smashed against the wall, pain careening up her entire arm. She dropped the gun.   

Grunting, she rotated and punched him in the eye,  and he fell back. Then she kicked him in the groin again.  She started to yell, but he smashed her in the cheek. She flew toward the bed, impacted the side, and crashed down, screaming for help. Then he kicked her under the jaw. Her head snapped back against the bed again, and darkness fell across her vision.   

“What is going on here?” a female voice yelled.  

 A body landed next to Laurel. She couldn’t see. Her vision blurred.  

 “We aren’t done.” Jason Abbott’s voice came from very far away.  

 A high shriek next to her made Laurel jump, and she blindly scrambled for her gun. Jason kicked her shoulder and she careened across the room, slamming into the wall head first.   

Then darkness fell.   

“I’m relatively unharmed,” Laurel protested again, sitting on the hospital bed as Fish and Wildlife captain Huck Rivers ducked to look into her eyes.   

The doctor tapped notes on a tablet while leaning against the wall. “You’re going to be a little sore.” He looked up, his blue eyes bloodshot and his grizzly gray eyebrows bushy. “You took a good hit to the cheek and the jaw, and your shoulder and forehead are bruised, but from the look of your knuckles, you inflicted damage as well.”  

 She had kicked more than she’d punched, so her foot should hurt more than it did. She made a mental note to buy more of these types of boots. “How is the nurse?”  Thank goodness the woman had arrived and screamed so loudly for help.   

The doctor’s lips tightened. “She has a broken jaw, unfortunately. Nurse Wallentrout isn’t going to like that.”   

Huck winced. “No, she isn’t.”   

“I owe her gratitude for her intervention.” Laurel stared down at her phone, fighting panic. “We have a felony arrest warrant out for Jason Abbott and all agencies are on the lookout for him.”   

Huck stood tall in front of her, his expression calm, but his eyes a glittering brown. Heightened color showed along his cheekbones, and his shoulders appeared an inch higher than usual, showing extreme tension. “Do you think he’ll leave the state?”   

Laurel rolled her neck from side to side in an attempt to ease the residual pain. “I’d like to think so, but he’s angry. He’s been locked up for months and he wants revenge.”   

“On you?” Huck asked shortly.   

She nodded. “On me, and most certainly on Abigail.”  On any professional woman who’d crossed him, which included Abigail, Laurel’s half-sister, who had experimented on Jason Abbott and probably pushed him into killing sooner than he would have otherwise.  

 “Do we have to warn her?” Huck asked wryly.   

An unwilling smile tickled Laurel’s lip. “I’ve already notified FBI Special Agent in Charge Norrs from the Seattle office.”   

Huck’s dark eyebrows rose. “Are they still dating?”  

“According to him, yes, they are. He unfortunately believes they are becoming serious and once again requested a dinner date with us.”   

Huck shoved his hands into his Fish and Wildlife jacket, his rugged face set in harsh lines. Tall and powerful, he looked ready to take on all attackers. “Not in a million fucking years.”   

She could not agree more but focused on the doctor.  “I’m ten to eleven weeks pregnant, but I wasn’t hit in the abdomen or lower extremities tonight. I feel well, except for an ache in my face. We have an appointment with an OB-GYN in two weeks to hear the heartbeat.”   

The doctor made another notation. “We can schedule you for an ultrasound tomorrow if you like, but if you’re not spotting or feeling any ill effects, it probably isn’t warranted. But peace of mind does matter.”   

She had a serial killer to catch. “Thank you, doctor, but we’ll wait for the regular appointment.” She felt fine, and at this early stage, if something went wrong, there wasn’t much that could be done about it.   

“Are you sure you’re, okay?” Huck placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, swiping his thumb along her jawline and the slight ache there. As the father of the child, it was natural he’d be concerned.   

“I am, and we need to find Jason now.”   

Huck looked over at the doctor. “How’s the officer Abbott put into the hospital bed?”  

 The doctor shook his head. “Still out. The prisoner punched him several times and then somehow acquired a vial of sedative. We’ve performed blood tests, but I don’t know which sedative was used yet. The officer’s breathing is strong, so he’s not in any danger, but it may take him awhile to wake up.”   

Laurel nodded. “We’ll need to secure the CCTV from the hospital.”   

“Nester’s already on it,” Huck said. “I called him while you were being examined.”   

Nester served as the computer guru for Laurel’s team, the Pacific Northwest Violent Crimes Unit. “Good.”   

Huck ran a hand through his hair. “You really think Abbott’s going to stay in the area, don’t you?”   

“I do,” she said softly. “He’s been cooped up for too long. He’ll want to kill again soon.” Plus, he’d be very angry that he’d had to run when the nurse screamed and hadn’t gotten to take his revenge on Laurel. So he’d be both furious and desperate to show how much more brilliant he was than all of the women he hated.   

She stepped down and reached for her coat. “We have work to accomplish.”   

“I’m driving,” Huck said.   

“You always drive,” she murmured, walking down the hallway and outside into a blistering wind.  

 “That I do,” Huck said, opening his truck’s passenger side door for her.  

Laurel climbed up into his truck and clipped her seatbelt in place, her mind calculating details she’d memorized about Jason Abbott. Where would he stay?  Where would he go? She had investigated him fully, and he didn’t own real property. He’d be hiding out somewhere he felt safe.   

“I’ll need to interview Abigail. I’m certain he confided in her more than she admitted,” she said.   

Huck grunted in response.  

 Dr. Abigail Caine had experimented on Jason Abbott,  encouraging him to engage in violent fantasies that ultimately led to his kills.   

Laurel glanced back to see the dog crate that usually  held Aeneas, Huck’s Karelian Bear Dog. “Where’s the  dog?”   

“I left him at home,” Huck said. “He seemed content snoozing by the fire.”   

They made the remaining drive in silence, and Laurel sighed, her eyes heavy. The doctor didn’t think she had a concussion, so she allowed herself to drop into a dreamless sleep. Jolting awake when Huck stopped the truck, she fumbled for her door to step out onto the crunchy ground and plod into his cabin.   

“Are you hungry?” Huck asked, shutting the cottage door behind her.  

 “Not even remotely.” She headed into the bedroom, ditching her clothes and crawling into bed.   

His chuckle followed her. “I’ll be with you in a little while.”   

Later, she instinctively felt the heat when he slipped into the bed, and she rolled over to let herself be warmed.  Just before midnight, his phone trilled, and his office called him out to investigate a poaching case.   

She snuggled deeper into the warm bed, letting her body heal. He returned sometime later, pulling her close, reporting that he hadn’t found the poacher. Her dreams flashed a kaleidoscope of fist fights, chilly nights, dead women, and blistering storms. They both groaned when his phone alerted him again, and his office called him out to find a missing person. As a F&W captain, Huck normally took point on any search and rescue or poaching operation. He also served as the department’s diving expert.   

He kissed her cheek. “Go back to sleep.”   

Two calls in one night? She blinked. “Maybe you should come work with the FBI. We get more sleep.”   

His chuckle as he exited the room lightened her spirits, and she smiled, almost immediately dropping back into her dreams.   

The buzzing of her phone jerked her awake early in the morning, and she lifted it to her ear, noting that Huck hadn’t returned yet. Then she took a quick moment to hope that Jason Abbott had been found.  

 “Agent Snow,” she whispered sleepily.   

“Hey, boss,” Walter said, his voice somber. “We have a body.”  

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One Cursed Rose

by

Rebecca Zanetti

Chapter 1

Dark eyes gleam from the darkness below the brick building  across the street, and I shiver. Just eyes. Bodies, space, and  pouring rain separate us, and all I can see are eyes and perhaps  the shape of a man. A large one.   

But that gaze.   

His stare thrusts into my body with a sense of warning more  foreboding than the thunder bellowing in the distance. Lightning flashes, too close, and I jump.   

“I’m glad you enjoyed your evening,” Rosalie purrs, carefully keeping her new phone out of the rain. “Is there anything  else you would like to say to your friends?”   

I turn, angling my face so the neon lights emphasize my  good side. One of my cheekbones is two millimeters higher  than the other. It’s sad that I know that. Worse yet that I’ll exploit it. “Oh yes. Please remember to either attend or pledge to  support the runners in tomorrow’s Dash for the Doggies.” The  stupid name rolls nicely off the tongue, but unfortunately this tidbit won’t lead to half the clicks my insult to the Tremaine  sisters will. “Those little puppies at the pound need our help.” I  smile and lower my chin for my flirty look.  

Rosalie giggles appropriately. “Will you be running, Miss Beau-  mont?”  

 I allow my cheeks to pinken. “In these shoes? Never.” I lift a  bare and now freezing shoulder in my best “aw, shucks” move.  “I have to attend an Aquarius Social board meeting tomorrow,  but I’ve pledged to support several of our joggers. I hope all my  friends out there will do the same. Also, I’d so appreciate it if  you’d explode-star and share this little emote-video of mine.” I  wink, giving our signal, perfectly masking my unease at having  to attend a board meeting after all this time.  

 She ends the video. “Should we get a drink?”  

“No.” A hard body emerges from the crowd, flanking me as  a near duplicate mashes to my other side. “Miss Beaumont is  leaving now.” They usher me through the bodies to a running  Mercedes, assist me inside, and shut the door. Nameless bodyguards that I barely look at tonight.   

My father rotates all security personnel after an unfortunate  crush I developed on a bodyguard at the age of fifteen. The man  was at least twenty-five, starkly handsome with blond hair and  mellow blue eyes, and knew how to whistle war ballads. It was  the whistle that intrigued me. He gave me my first kiss in the  front seat of a Mercedes, and that moment was amazing.  

 It also sealed his death. A lesson I will never forget.   

Tonight’s driver maneuvers the vehicle through the crowd  and I turn, seeking those eyes by the building but only find  shadows now. Shivering, I lean forward and turn up the seat  warmers as well as the heat. The driver is quiet, his broad hands  appearing loose on the steering wheel as he expertly maneuvers  out of the commercial area to the residential, ultimately pulling  to a stop in front of my unimposing building, where two bellmen hurry out into the rain to escort me inside.  

God forbid I turn an ankle.  

 Of course, they’re both packing, so I suppose I won’t take a  bullet, either.  

 I look up at the charming four-story brick-and-mortar build-  ing that my father hates. He likes chrome and glass, and while I  enjoy items that sparkle, love them really, I wanted something  homey when I moved out of the mansion after college. Since I  was merely the spare and not an heir, and since I have a uterus  and not balls, my father grudgingly gave in. 

 Things have changed.  

 I shiver and duck my head against the rain, my face cooling  from the harsh drops. One of the guard dogs holds an umbrella  over my head as he swivels around, scoping the trees and  bushes as if waiting for the hydrangea to shoot poisonous darts.  Unfortunately, the wind isn’t cooperating and slashes the rain  sideways and under the umbrella. The harsh wetness stings my  face.   

Relief fills me as I enter the comfortable entryway and clipclop on the impossibly high heels to the elevator, not showing  my discomfort. A blister burns on my left heel, and I bite my  lip to keep from stepping out of the shoe.  

 Instead, I rise to the top floor, regretting the need, or rather  demand, for me to live at the top.   

A basement apartment would suit me just fine. Of course,  it’s easy to say that since I was raised in mansions or high-end  hotels my entire life. I can be self-aware when necessary.   

I enter my apartment, ditch the sparkling dress and offensive  heels for torn yoga pants and a faded pink shirt older than I am  before raiding the fridge for leftover Chinese. I use a fork. Nobody is here to see, so why dig for chopsticks?   

My place is comfortable with cream-colored furniture, aquamarine accents, and hints of rose quartz. I finally relax.  

 After eating too many calories, I wash my face, brush out my  impossibly wild hair, and lie in the bed until exactly three a.m. My bed is soft and the pillows plush. Here I have more of the  rose quartz decorating my lamps, sparkling in picture frames  surrounding family and friends, and woven throughout a thick  rug that covers my hardwood floors.  

 However, there is no sleeping tonight for me. My childhood  nightmare, the one I thought I’d banished, is back after my  brother’s recent car accident and death. Finally, it’s time to  move. I can’t hear the click of the security cameras being  tricked onto a loop, if there is a click. Instead, the moment the  clock ticks three in the morning, I stand, grab a flashlight, and  silently make my way through the four-bedroom apartment to  the landing outside. Then it’s a simple matter of walking down  the five flights of stairs in my socks to the basement.  

 I can probably use the flashlight, but just in case, I leave it  off. It’s for emergencies only.  

 Winding through the basement, I come to a heavy cement  wall and click in a code on the barely there keypad. A hidden  door opens.  

 Sprawling on a threadbare sofa, Rosalie looks up from a gallon of Chunky Monkey. She’s changed from her overcoat to  sweats and a shirt even more faded than my own, although her  protective angelite pendant still hangs between her breasts.  “You sounded properly ditzy tonight. You sure you aren’t an  asshole in disguise?”   

I toss the flashlight onto the sofa, just missing her knee.  “We’re both assholes.” I angle my head to see that she’s eaten  the entire carton. Definitely an asshole. “Why in the world did  you ask me for a drink? We both need sleep.” Does she know  I’m having nightmares again? I try to retain some distance from  my friends, hoping to keep them safe, but they know me too  well.  

 “Please. The dark circles under your eyes beg for a triple  vodka before bed.”   

The door at the far end opens and Ella peeks out from our main computer hub, her citrine-encrusted glasses partly down  her nose. She shoves them back up with her index finger. “Did  either of you bring me anything to eat?”  

 I wince. “Rosalie ate all the ice cream.” And I the entire carton of orange chicken.   

“You’re such buttheads,” Ella says without much heat. Her  blond hair is up in a ponytail, and her blue eyes are wide behind  the thick glasses.  

 “We just decided that as well.” Rosalie shoves to her feet.   

“Where are we on the projects?”   

A man clears his throat. Loudly. “Some of us are in here  working, while others are stuffing their faces with enough dairy  to cause flatulence for a year,” Merlin snaps from the other  room.  

 I snort. “Merlin is in a mood.”  

 Rosalie coughs, her eyes red. Has she been crying again?   

“I’m sorry Charlie dumped you, but he truly was a moron,  and you’re better off.” I keep my tone gentle, but the truth is  that Charlie ghosted Rosalie, which means he isn’t worth the  crap in the bottom of an old drain. My tough friend is a true romantic with terrible taste in men.  

 She stands and holds her stomach. Yeah. That much ice  cream can’t be good.   

“Come on.” I sling my arm through hers and drag her  around the sofa to the main computer hub. Well, our only  computer hub. Ella is already back in her corner with her three  monitors, while Merlin sits in his corner opposite. “We should  have brought you two dinner, and we’re very sorry,” I say,  meaning it.   

The three of them use a hidden entrance to the building from  the back alley, and Ella makes sure to note the timing of the patrols my father has in place. So far, we’ve been both good and  lucky in avoiding detection.   

Merlin turns and lifts one bushy gray eyebrow. He is around sixty with thick gray hair a few shades darker than his eyebrows, and he rents a room in the Victorian home Rosalie inherited from a distant aunt. As usual, he wears a suit with a bow  tie; today it is a burgundy color. When I purse my lips, he looks  down at the tie, apparently preparing to continue our usual argument. “You’re wrong. Burgundy and maroon are colors.”  

“Are not,” I return per the rules of our long-running game,  pulling out a chair to sit at the dented wooden table in the center of the room. “Those are ‘not colors.’” While the table is old,  the chairs are new and plush, and the computer banks top of  the line. Most of them are not available for consumers yet.   

We’re not consumers.  

 He sadly shakes his head and waves a hand in the air to dismiss the topic. “Do we know why you’ve been called before  the Aquarius board tomorrow?”   

Claws slash inside my abdomen. “No. I’m sure it’s a routine  type of thing, the annual meeting.” My voice emerges way too  shaky.   

Rosalie pales. “Do you think they want you to take Gast’s  place?”   

At the mention of my dead brother, my only sibling, my  heart aches. We weren’t close, but I have good memories from  childhood when he used to play with me at the beach. And I  don’t blame him for becoming harder as he grew up. Our father  and our lives did not give Gast a choice. “I doubt it.” My father  has never seen beneath my surface, probably because I look just  like my mother, who died young. From what I can tell from her  diary, she was more concerned with the newest handbag or lipstick than real life.   

Of course, most people say that about me these days.  

 Merlin straightens his already perfect posture. “That’s a concern for another day, and we have work to do. It looks like the  fun run for the animal shelters is on lots of donors’ radar after  your video tonight.”   

“Last night,” Ella corrects, typing rapidly. “In addition, our Backpack program has sent additional funds to the New York,  Minneapolis, and Boise areas.”  

 I love that program. Kids without enough to eat can take a  backpack full of food home from school every Friday and return it Monday. We’re in all fifty states now, and I’d like to be  in every high and junior high school by the end of the year.  “Good. Do we require more funding?” I need to arrange my  next several videos carefully. It’s time to hide more of my  spending habits from my father. I take funds from my various  trusts to supposedly party and buy high-end goods, but actually funnel the money into various charities. 

“Yes,” Ella said. “I’m tapped for the month, and so is Rosalie. You could probably buy a boat or something—or at least  look like you’re doing so. Your father hasn’t checked your actual accounts in months.”  

 That’s because he doesn’t care, which is a hurt for another day.   

“I’ll make it happen.” Being involved in good deeds can only  help my social media profile, but I have to be careful about how  many charities I appear to support. More importantly, I can  never reveal what I truly love. Revealing my soft underbelly, so  my brother had once told me, will always be a mistake with our  father. “Where are we with the women’s shelters in Southern  California?”   

“Building three more safe houses within the next two months,”  Rosalie said, reaching for a binder and flipping over a page. “I  know we want to operate on a large scale, but it was a win helping the California state senator’s wife after she left the hospital.”  

 “She’s in a safe house in San Diego for now,” Merlin adds.  Good. The sight of those bruises will haunt me forever. I am  just fine helping one person at a time. “What about the senator?” I hold my breath.   

Rosalie looks at Merlin. “We could take him out, but it’d  make the news.”   

Merlin’s head draws back, briefly giving him a double chin. “We can’t afford the scrutiny, and it isn’t like we can go to your  father for the name of a hitman.”  

 I hate that he’s right. “I could do it?”  

 Merlin’s eyes widen, Ella stiffens, and Rosalie laughs outright. “I love you, Alana. I’m sure you have a gun, and I have  no doubt you could go to his house. But you won’t pull the  trigger.” Her voice softens, as do her blue eyes. “You’re not a  killer, and that’s a good thing.”   

Right. Women like me have other people do the killing for  them. I flash back to the funeral of the driver who kissed me,  when his mother shrieked and threw herself on the coffin. My  brother and I stood far away, watching.   

“I did this?” I whispered, bile rising in in my throat at the horror in my fifteen-year-old heart.  

 Gast shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. He might’ve been killed  even if he’d just looked at you. But I want you to see what happens when you step out of line. Don’t go kissing any more employees. Next time, it will be your fault, Alana.”  

 It is a lesson reinforced daily. I disappointed my father one  other time, and my beloved collie disappeared. When I asked  about Macbeth, nobody had an answer. It is still possible the  dog just ran away, but there is no way to know.  

Ella clicks her keyboard and flings a picture of two little girls  up on the far screen. “Speaking of personalized rescue: Ana and  Abbi Klostcky. Their mother and stepfather were just investigated for child abuse in Chicago, competing experts in the  courtroom battled it out, and they have been returned to the  pervert.” The girls are about five and six years old with wiry  black curls, tawny brown eyes, and pinched faces.   

I can feel the pain in them. “Were they evaluated?” My  breath stalls.  

 “Yes,” Ella says. “The caseworker, doctor, and shrink all  found abuse. The stepfather is a distant cousin to the judge,  though that was not disclosed. I barely found it.”  

 I swallow. “Try bribing the parents first.” It still shocks me  how often people give up loved ones for money.  

 “If that doesn’t work?” Merlin asks.   

“Take them,” I say simply. We have a series of safe houses  especially geared toward abused children. “I’ll get the money.”   

Merlin swivels his chair, facing me and tugging on his bow  tie. “Are we sure your funds will continue?”  

 I gulp. The subject is one we’ve avoided for months. While I  do have trust funds left to me by my mother and other various  relatives who have passed on, my father is the Trustee and most  likely has the ability to slow the trickle of money to me should  he choose.  

 Ella follows Merlin’s move, turning to face me. “The new industry report came out earlier today. Aquarius Social is in last  position of the four social media giants, which is not good. The  further you fall, the lower your… power and reach.”   

Her concern is for us both. “I know.”   

Rosalie chews on her full bottom lip. “Maybe that’s why  you’ve been summoned to the board meeting. There might be a  marketing plan in place.”   

“I can only hope,” I whisper, feeling deep in my gut that it  will not be that easy. For now, I have more people to save  “Where are we on the affordable housing initiatives in Georgia?” I’ll worry about my future, if I have one, when I step into  the board meeting.   

For now, I still have freedom, and I’m going to use it.  

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