Frostfire (Kyndred #3)

Frostfire (Kyndred #3) Page 7

I will snap her neck myself before I see her raped and tortured.

The thought of being forced to kill her in order to spare her suffering sickened him. He had fought in more battles than he could remember; he had made the very world his enemy, but only in this moment did he realize that he had never taken the life of a woman. He had used them occasionally for sex, discarding them as quickly as he had seduced them, but the majority of the time he simply didn’t notice them. Women had never meant anything to him.

Why was this one different? What had she done to make him feel such emotions for her? They had never spoken or seen each other; he would have remembered such delicate white skin and the fiery loveliness of her hair. She was a stranger, trapped by chance in the same ungodly situation as he, and yet somehow he knew her. She had awakened a deep, slumbering part of him that seemed to recognize her, and now all he could think of was seeing the color of her eyes, and hearing her voice, and knowing her name. He wanted to tell her everything, all of it, every last detail of his life: the heartbreak and the betrayals, the endless years of solitude and loneliness, the misery of chasing death only to be cheated of it over and over.

He couldn’t do any of that, of course. To her he was nothing but a stranger. She didn’t know him. She wouldn’t care.

He understood the price. Once they escaped and reached safety, he would have to leave her. He would put her in the custody of the police, or arrange to reunite her with her family. To walk away from her would finish him, he suspected, but to stay would be the greater madness.

Whatever it took, he would protect her, even from himself.

Ethan Jemmet rolled over the sag in the mattress, his hand expecting to land someplace it would want to stay. Instead he caught a tangle of damp sheets over a slighter hollow, and opened his eyes to the empty side of the bed.

He sat up, naked and pissed. The briefcase on the floor, the high-heeled shoes on the nightstand, and the white coat crumpled by the base of the lamp were gone.

So was every other trace of the woman he’d stopped last night on the road.

His father had arranged this trip and then bullied Ethan into making it, just as he did every other time he forced him to leave Frenchman’s Pass.

“I don’t need to go to some cop conference.” Ethan had shoved the online registration paper back across the breakfast table. “I know how to do my job.”

“You haven’t left the pass since January, when that snowplow driver called for help.” Paul Jemmet calmly dissected his pepper-speckled fried egg, neatly excising the yolk without breaking it. “A trip to the city will be good for you.”

It would be torture, and they both knew it. Ethan hated everything about Denver: the traffic, the crowded sidewalks, the packed restaurants. All the weekend skiers and holiday travelers would be flooding into the hotels, so the conference wouldn’t be just law enforcement—it would be a tangle of slope bunnies, board boys, and reuniting families. If there was anything he hated more than the city, it was tourists.

“The weather’s been too unpredictable this year,” Ethan added. “The first big snow is due in any minute.”

Paul dipped a corner of one toast triangle into a tiny puncture he made in the yolk. “The forecast is clear and cold through next week.”

“Dad.”

Paul set down his toast and regarded him steadily. “Ethan, we’ve discussed this. As much as we want to keep the pass to ourselves, some of us have to maintain connections with the outside world. Now more than ever.”

Ethan eyed him. “Someone else decide to move on?”

His father obviously didn’t want to tell him, but after a brief silence he finally said, “The Johnsons left day before yesterday. Ben said they left everything behind, even their personal belongings. He asked Nathan—”

Ethan dropped his fork with a clatter and stood. “I’m sure he’ll find them and talk them into giving life in town another try.” He strode toward the door.

“Son.”

He couldn’t walk out on his father, not when he used that tone. “I don’t want to talk about Nate.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Come back here.” Paul waited for him to return and sit down before he added, “Ethan, as the young people say, it is what it is. There is only so much I can do, and even that is limited. When we lost the Maynards and the Tisdales last winter, our population dropped below two hundred. The town is dwindling away.”

As it had been since Ethan could remember. “I can’t walk around a hotel asking cops if they’d like to relocate their families up to the mountains, Dad. Especially since I know what you want from them.”

“You could leave some property listings with a few Realtors,” Paul said. “I’ve prepared a CD with descriptions and photos of all the unoccupied properties. We’re going to sell them to outsiders.”

This was news to Ethan. “But the town—”

“Has already approved it. Unanimously.” His father offered an encouraging smile. “When you give the listings to the Realtors, you can let them know how great life is here for new residents. How friendly and welcoming our community is, especially toward single people.”

“Friendly. Welcoming.” Ethan folded his arms. “You really want me to say that with a straight face.”

“If the town is going to survive,” Paul warned, “we must bring in new residents.”

Frenchman’s Pass had always tolerated the occasional intrusion of an outsider, but now his father was proposing they actively recruit them. “Have you forgotten that new residents like to do things like hiking and getting in touch with nature and exploring the beauty of the mountains? How do you think they’re going to react when they run into Nate and his crew? Assuming they don’t first fall off a cliff or wander into one of the caves?”

“I will deal with your brother.” Paul went back to eating. “The CDs are on your dresser, along with a list of the Realtors I’ve e-mailed. Be sure to see all of them before you leave the city.”

Now Ethan got up and went to the window of the motel room, looking through the frost whorls at the gold-edged purple sky. The sun would rise above the ranges in half an hour to outshine the stars, polish the ice-coated trees to a glassy gleam, and turn the leftover night drifts into mounds of white diamonds.

To be fair, she’d warned him she would go, just before everything had dissolved into deep, endless kisses and his hands tearing at her buttons and zippers: I can’t stay long. I have to beat the storm.

He’d heard her, and ignored it, and when they’d made it to the bed, he’d stopped thinking altogether. He’d feasted on her, gorging himself for what he knew would be a long, empty winter, reveling in her until the night itself blurred into one long series of tangling limbs, caressing hands, and thrusting hips.

He should have arrested her, Ethan thought, his mood growing sullen as he jerked on his uniform. Her story about forgetting her license and borrowing that car from a friend had been just too damn convenient. But he’d been out of his jurisdiction and out of patience with most of the world, and she’d looked like the girl next door, right down to the fourteen freckles on her nose and the white pearl barrette holding a swatch of dark curls back from her face. Her sweet blue eyes and steady smile had tugged at him, almost pleading for forgiveness.

And he’d fallen for it, escorting her back to her motel and even accepting her offer of a cup of coffee at the next-door diner. It was at the booth in the back they’d shared when things had gone from officer and driver to man and woman.

When things had gotten out of hand entirely.

She must have sensed his interest, but she’d been too smart to try to play him. Instead she’d spoken of ordinary things: her favorite Italian restaurant back home, and the handmade pasta she’d gone there to have every Friday after work. She’d claimed she was simply a corporate secretary, a single working woman going home to spend Christmas with her sister, but Ethan caught a glimmer of something more in her voice. She wasn’t traveling or vacationing; she was running. He’d figured it was from a boyfriend or husband.

He’d figured wrong.

Ethan couldn’t quite recall the moment when the friendly cup of coffee had turned into serious, startling sexual attraction. She’d been listening to his description of the law enforcement conference he’d attended in Denver, and reached for the little pitcher of half-and-half at the same time he did. Their fingers had collided, almost knocking it over. Her innocent eyes had gone dark, and he’d heard her quick breath. His own heart pounded in his head.

Rather than jumping across the table, Ethan had pushed the pitcher aside to take her hand and hold on to the sensation that had clouted him as hard as a heavyweight’s fist.

He felt disgusted now as he recalled how he’d barely been able to speak. “You feel that?”

She didn’t want to; that was plain from the edge of her teeth worrying at her full bottom lip. Instead of telling him to forget it, she said, “I can’t stay long. I have to beat the storm.”

Ethan had been fully prepared to beg, but she was telling him he wouldn’t have to. He turned his head to catch the attention of the waitress behind the counter. “Ma’am, check, please.”

He held on to her hand, coming around the table and leading her up with him to the register. He’d used his free hand to fasten the front of her white winter coat, and pull the hood up over her dark brown curls. Then he’d walked with her to the motel, to the door of the room she had rented, and waited there as she looked up at him, unable to speak, unable to decide.

Ethan knew it couldn’t happen. Not here, not with her. But he wanted it, more than anything in recent memory. Maybe in his life. One night, he kept thinking. Just one night.

“Sheriff.” She sounded a little rattled. “Thank you for the coffee.”

He’d reached into her coat pocket and found the room key. “Tell me good night,” he suggested through his teeth as he shoved it into the lock. “Hurry.”