Snow (15 page)

Next up were the upper cupboards. She rose onto her tiptoes and wiggled her nose, tried to avoid sneezing even as dust tickled her. Little waited up there but for some sponges in plastic packages, an empty bottle of pine-smelling floor cleaner, and a barbeque lighter.

The bathroom door opened behind her.

Her shoulders stiffened. She took a deep breath and turned.

O’Hara stepped out, avoiding her eyes, dressed in just his boxers. His skin glistened with water, his auburn hair damp and standing up in all directions.

“There’s water but no heat,” he said without looking at her. “I wouldn’t advise drinking it.”

“I found bottles for that.” She indicated the one she’d left for him on the counter. “Nothing else, though. No food.”

He nodded but said nothing. Instead he paused by the clothes she’d laid out and went through his still-drying pants until he found his phone. When he stood and turned, she got a look at his arm in the bright light of day. A pair of jagged red gashes, one about two inches and the other almost five, plus a handful of smaller ones and large bruises. The old blood was washed away and the skin around the wounds was pink, the rest of him pale white.

O’Hara stepped into his shoes, which had to still be damp but he didn’t say a word, and then shrugged on his still-bloody, but dry, shirt. “I’m going to see what reception I have and make a call to my people.”

Liliana looked from him to the door, shifting from foot to foot, feeling terribly vulnerable in just her panties and T-shirt. “Do you need me to do something around here? To help?”

He shook his head, avoided her eyes, and went for the door. “Just stay put.”

O’Hara stepped outside, leaving her alone.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, pacing across the room. The hardwood creaked under her, breaking the silence. Curtains were drawn so she couldn’t see where he was out there, how far he had to go.

What if he couldn’t get a signal? His phone hadn’t rung all night. Wouldn’t his team have called? Or would they wait to hear from him?

She thrust the thoughts from her mind. No sense worrying without all the facts, it would drive her insane.

What if something happens to him out there? What if it’s just you now?

God, she couldn’t even bear
that
thought.

She went to the bed instead and gathered the bits of stuff from the bathroom back in the box. Snatched the hair elastic, because at least that she could use—she tied her long black curls back in a knot so they were out of the way. The blanket laid rumpled on the bed after having kept them warm all night; she drew it to her, breathed in, and smelled him there.

Goddamn it.

Why couldn’t she have been someone else? Some girl who wasn’t just a waitress who lived in a shitty little apartment, whose life was like a cyclone messing up everything she came in contact with? Of course, if she’d been a different girl, she wouldn’t have needed him. She wouldn’t have ever dated a guy like Jimmy or worked in a place like The Palace or witnessed her ex kill a girl. O’Hara didn’t get hired to protect people who didn’t get themselves in trouble, right?

I don’t fuck women I don’t care about. An old fashioned position, maybe, but it’s the truth.

Well, there was the problem. He fucked someone he didn’t care about. Now his panties were all in a twist.

While she waited for him, she headed to the bathroom to make use of the facilities. As he warned, the water was like ice, and she washed her hands and face as swiftly as she could. There was an old partial bar of soap by the faucet, at least, so she could ensure she was clean. Bruises ran up and down her legs from where she’d stumbled and fell. A few were on her arms, too, and she lifted her T-shirt to find a few more. Some tender spots but nothing too bad.

After she left the bathroom, she busied herself turning their clothes over by the fireplace to better dry them out, then gathered the blanket and wrapped herself in it. The growling in her stomach fell to a minimum, just exhaustion replacing it as the minutes ticked on.

The door opened again. O’Hara stepped in, stomping snow off his shoes and shivering, cell phone still clutched in his hand.

Liliana stood immediately, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Any luck?”

He nodded and kicked off his shoes. “It’s going to take some time but someone’s on his way. He’ll bring clothes and food, and take you to where he’ll have a car waiting.”

She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

O’Hara didn’t meet her eyes, just stepped past her to crouch by the fire. He set down the cell phone and reached his hands toward the flames, the orange highlighting near-blue skin—he must’ve been freezing out there. “We were tracked to the motel. He’s definitely seen my face. This poses problems for hiding you.”

She glared down at him, anger trembling through her skin. “So you’re just passing me off to someone else.”

“I’m doing what I have to in order to keep you safe.” His tone was even and emotionless. Even more robotic than usual.

Asshole
. She jerked the blanket off her shoulders and threw it at him—he needed it more than her for the moment, and she was pretty sure the rage heating her blood was enough to keep her warm.

Liliana paced back and forth across the room. “How long?”

“Six or seven hours.”

Six or seven hours. And that was it. Would she even see O’Hara again? “And then what happens to you?”

“I’ll still be overseeing your case, just from a distance.”

Her “case”. That’s right, she was just a job. A mission. And he was merely one of many tools for that mission. A tool that could be removed and replaced as needed.

She stalked for the closet, opened it again, and took stock of what remained. Another couple of sealed bags with blankets. And old screen for a window. Nothing really to throw at him, unfortunately.

“You know, you’re a fucking idiot,” she said as she pulled out one of the blanket bags, which she tore open and pulled a quilt out.

“Excuse me?”

“Did it not occur to you that
I am still here
? That I haven’t tried to run? Haven’t argued? I’m doing what you’re telling me to do, being cooperative, and now you’re passing me off to someone else.”

“Because somehow
I
have been compromised here,” he snapped. “I was followed to the motel, I was tracked down. The safest place for you is with someone else.”

“I haven’t run because I
trust you
, O’Hara! You! Not your team. Not whoever else you’re ‘assigning’ to me. You. Just you. I am freaked the hell out by all this and now you’re abandoning me. You fuck me, then abandon me.
Nice
.”

He said nothing.

She stared at him, hurt welling in her, tears she didn’t want to shed filling her eyes. She hated being this emotional but she was exhausted, in both mind and body, and anger was twisting through her on top of everything else. Liliana didn’t trust people easily, as O’Hara had clearly figured out. And despite all his assurances that they were in this together, he was already planning his exit.

Normally, Liliana was one to argue. To scream and shout and lay it all on the table. But O’Hara had already proven he didn’t do that. He was calm. Careful. Didn’t want to lose his temper. So she’d end up stomping around like a child and it would get her nowhere. Like it or not, he’d made his choice, and she was being passed along to a stranger at the first opportunity.

O’Hara remained huddled at the fire and she was loath to be anywhere near him in that moment. She’d take the bed and at least pretend to nap.

Stretched out on her side, staring at the opposite wall of the cabin, she had no idea how much time had passed but at least she was warm under the blanket and somewhat comfortable on the bed. The silence between them just depressed her further.

O’Hara at last was moving around by the fire and she rolled over to watch him zipping up his jeans and slipping on his socks.

“There are a couple of other cabins nearby,” he said without looking at her. “I’m going to hike to them and look for extra supplies.”

She sat up on the bed, the quilt tight around her shoulders, and furrowed her brow at him. “Should I come too?”

But he shook his head. “Stay here and lock the door behind me.”

“And if a crazed hitman breaks down the door?”

O’Hara lifted the gun from where she’d left it on the floor last night and set it on the nightstand near her. His thumb flicked off the safety. “Point and shoot. Hold it in your right hand, steady it with your left. Aim for the torso. Make sure it’s not mine.”

****

He probably shouldn’t have left her, but Mike thought the cabin was honestly the safest place for her. It wasn’t just the previous threat on her life but exposure he worried about.

He waited until he heard the lock snap closed behind him before he headed off the porch. The blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders and torso, a poor substitute for a jacket but better than just his torn shirt. His own footprints tracked through a few feet from the cabin—he hadn’t gone far earlier, just a few feet before a bar popped up on his cell phone—and he followed those now then past them, his steps punching through the thick snow. In summer, trails wound down from the cabins and converged onto a wider path; in winter, he had no idea where any trails were, the blanket of white over everything hiding most landmarks.

What he did have was a map saved on his phone from when he’d found a signal earlier before calling Kristof and Benji. The cabins were fairly isolated from one another—it was one of the selling points of this particular vacation spot in the summer—but one was about a five minute walk from where he and Liliana had been staying, just through the dense trees to the west.

Well, five minutes in summer. More like ten with the thick, uneven drifts. And it was slow going considering he couldn’t see what lay beneath the snow, could only step down and hope he didn’t hit ice or a dip in the ground.

He saw no sign of anyone else in the area but kept an eye out as he walked. The only tracks were those of small animals and the odd deer. Since the sky was clear and snow had ceased falling, at least he’d see clearly if someone had found the cabin. Of course there was the possibility of the Huntsman waiting with a rifle in the trees, but Mike would have a bullet in his head if that was the case.

He glanced over his shoulder, a breath of air clouding his vision for a moment, and watched the cabin shrinking in the distance as he walked. She’d be fine there, he knew. Safe for the few minutes he was gone. But she was alone, and she was angry, and he hated himself for it.

Getting someone else to take over was the most logical decision. The smartest one. He trusted every one of his co-workers implicitly, knew they’d take care of her as he did. And perhaps if he was overseeing the job instead of in the thick of it, he’d notice something they’d missed—bring another perspective to it.

Or maybe he was just looking for more distance from her before his emotions were even more entangled, and he’d do anything to justify it.

The second cabin eventually appeared, this one larger than the one they’d stayed in. Its door was unlatched as well and the interior was just as musty and unused. Its bedroom was in a separate room past the kitchen, with a slightly larger area around the fireplace including an additional sofa. The bathroom held a proper first aid kit rather than the handful of extra supplies they’d found the night before in their own cabin, and he pocketed the pack of acetaminophen. The kitchen brought an open box of granola bars, which he grabbed, and some tins of vegetables, which he left as they had no way to prepare them. Kristof would be bringing food with him so they could carb-load before the trek to the car, but that was several hours away. Mike was hungry and he figured Liliana was as well.

The closet produced vacuum-sealed bags of bedding and towels. Still not much use to them. A plaid shirt hung in the back from a dusty hanger, no holes in it that he could see. It smelled like any fabric would after being tucked away for six months in an empty closet, but it was something; he grabbed that too and left the cabin.

A wind cut through the trees, stirring the snow as he retraced his steps. A second and third cabin waited a little farther out but the cold was getting to him, despite the blanket tucked around him, and he didn’t want to leave Liliana alone much longer. He began the slow trek back, following his own deep footprints in the snow.

His cell phone rang in his pocket. No one was supposed to be calling him unless there was trouble. Mike frowned, wedged the shirt and box of food under one arm, and retrieved the phone to answer it.

Benji’s number flashed over the screen. “What?”

“Accident on the highway. Traffic’s being redirected, tacking an extra half hour onto our estimate.”

Fuck
. It wasn’t bad but the delay had him even more irritable. He wanted to be out of the damn cabin, with Liliana safely in Kristof’s care, and done with the whole thing.

“Belladona caught a call coming to Elise Hartley from a burner phone. No idea who it was from but she traced it to just outside Midsummer.”

Either the Huntsman was checking in or, more likely, Jimmy was, because Mike doubted the hitman was dealing with the Hartleys directly. There would be a middleman.

“I still don’t understand how they found us,” Mike said as he started walking again. “She hasn’t slipped and contacted anyone, and she’s stayed out of sight. They must’ve been tracking
me
, but I don’t—”

“I think I can help there.” Benji hesitated, the silence on the other line telling Mike he didn’t want to know what his friend had to say.

Mike’s gut went cold. “What?”

“Jann Pedersen is dead.”

Chapter Twelve

Liliana sat by the fire, huddled under her quilt still, enjoying the heat but hating the silence. She’d cracked open another bottle of water after finishing the last one, wishing it was enough to quell the hunger twisting her stomach though it wasn’t.

Her gaze traveled to the gun waiting on the nightstand. She’d used a BB gun of her stepbrother’s when she was nine and that was it for experience with firearms. After O’Hara left, she’d lifted the weapon to test the weight of it and decided not to touch it again unless she had to.