Snow (16 page)

The porch outside the cabin creaked and she swung around, tense and fearful. The curtains remained closed so she couldn’t see who was out there, could only listen to the sound of steps and snow crunching, her heart leaping to her throat.

A fist pounded on the door.

She waited, listening.

“It’s me,” O’Hara called.

Liliana scrambled to her feet and padded barefoot to the door. The latch was old and rusted, probably wouldn’t do much good if someone tried to kick the door in, but she’d locked it nonetheless after he’d told her to. Now she lifted it and the door popped open, O’Hara spilling inside with fresh clumps of snow on his shoes.

She stepped back and out of the way, avoiding the puddles of melting snow, and sat back by the fireplace. “Any luck?”

He said nothing, just tossed something at her; she caught the small box and found three granola bars inside. She didn’t even read what flavor, just pulled one out, tore down the wrapper, and took a huge bite.

O’Hara’s silence continued as he kicked his shoes off and set the blanket on the couch. His auburn brows were pulled into a frown, face pale and unhealthy looking. Either he was weakening due to his wounds from the night before, catching hypothermia, or
something
had him bothered.

Of course, she was still mad at him and wasn’t eager to ask, either. Instead she ate her food in silence and waited while he retrieved water from the kitchen counter and came to sit next to her. He stole a granola bar as well and bit into it, chewing angrily.

After downing half his bottle of water, he drew up his knees and propped his elbows on them, back hunched over as he stared absently into the fire. Orange played cross his well-cut features, dyeing his hair a rich red.

“The man who hired me is dead,” he said at last.

Liliana stopped chewing and stared at him.

“This is a giant clusterfuck by this point so there’s no sense not telling you. He was the attorney for the family of a girl who Jimmy Hartley allegedly killed some years ago. Her body was never found and he was never charged with the crime. They thought you were their one chance to see justice done, so they had their lawyer—a friend of mine—hire me and my company to protect you.”

“The Huntsman got to him,” she filled in quietly.

“That’s the theory. His body was found about an hour ago. He was killed sometime yesterday. He was the only one who knew Seven Security was hired to do this, the only one connected with me, although he didn’t know where we were staying or how to get in touch with me after I got you and severed contact. Despite covering our tracks, that connection to me is likely how the Huntsman found us last night.”

Her stomach soured and she couldn’t fathom continuing to eat. She set her partially-eaten food down and hugged her knees. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Actually, I’d say it most definitely is. We took the usual precautions but it wasn’t enough.”

She couldn’t think of what else to say, how else to reassure him. For days she’d been chipping away at his assurances that he could keep her safe, insisting it was useless. Now she had no doubt that he’d done his job, done the best anyone could do, but he couldn’t have foreseen an assassin thrown into the mix—not one who would leave so many bodies in his wake.

Then her mind lagged for a moment on what he’d said. Friend. This man they’d just found dead was a friend of his.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly.

His lips twisted into a bitter, wry smile. “Thank you. And I realize I’ve never said that I’m sorry about yours. The one Jimmy killed.”

Polly. So much had happened, Liliana still had trouble wrapping her head around the girl being dead. She didn’t know her all that well, had just worked with her for the better part of a year. But despite seeing her death, part of Liliana expected everything to blow over and to walk into The Palace for a normal shift and to find everything how it was. Her entire life had changed the past few weeks and even if she lived through this, it would never be the same again.

She cleared her throat and tried not to dwell on things. “New game plan?”

“Still working that out. For now, people are coming to get us as planned. I’d prefer to head down and meet them but the rendezvous point would be too far without outerwear.”

She watched him hunched there, his brows furrowed and indicating he was still thinking, still plotting, despite whatever grief he might feel. Defeat hadn’t claimed him yet. And she longed to reach for him, to reassure him, to whisper that she trusted him, but the words never came.

She’d been sitting in her panties and T-shirt still, the rest of her clothes laid out on the hearth. Liliana inched forward to collect them and slipped on her warm, dry socks at last. It would be a few hours left before someone came for them, but the partial nudity was making her feel more vulnerable. Next she slid on her jeans, the denim a welcome fire against her skin.

Liliana eyed the door. “Can I step outside for some fresh air? Just the porch.”

A green plaid shirt thumped at her feet. She lifted it and looked at him for an explanation.

“Found it in the cabin I checked. Doesn’t smell great but it’s clean and warm. Should fit you.”

She slipped it on over her T-shirt, replacing the bulky quilt. It smelled no more musty than the cabin itself—the scent of dust and stale air was probably infusing her own hair by now too, so she didn’t mind much. Two buttons were missing but she closed the rest, got her shoes on, and started for the door.

“Don’t run, Liliana,” he said softly as her hand poised on the handle. “Please.”

That “please” cut her more than anything else could have. She hadn’t planned to run but even if she did, that was enough to make her reconsider.

She said nothing, just unlatched the door again and stepped out onto the porch.

Liliana stopped short at the sight of the man sitting on the railing, staring at her.

He held a shiny red apple in one hand, partially eaten, his square jaw moving as he chewed languidly. In the other was a pistol, sleek and black, pointed right at her midsection.

She let out a small yelp of surprise and swallowed back a scream, her gaze frozen on his. Dark, bottomless eyes stared back at her from beneath a fringe of black hair.

The bark of the gun never came but she expected it, anticipated it, could all but feel the bullet tearing through her insides.

Why hadn’t he shot her yet?

The floor creaked behind her, O’Hara on his feet before she could warn him. “What’s—”

He must’ve seen what she did; his steps ceased and then wood groaned, O’Hara backing up, likely going for the gun.

“I’d rethink that, Mr. O’Hara,” the Huntsman called.

Mike’s steps paused.

The hitman grinned at Liliana. “Back up, dearie.”

She did, carefully, one step after the other until she was in the cabin again. The porch railing creaked as he hopped off of it, his booted feet punching through the several inches of snow. He took another bite of his apple and followed her into the cabin, leaving the door open behind him.

Liliana hadn’t raised her hands, just clenched them into fists at her sides. Several feet separated her from him, and off to her side was O’Hara. The gun, she suspected, still lay on the nightstand out of reach.

“Well.” The Huntsman leaned against the wall by the door. “This is cozy. A little remote but that’s what I like about it.”

The gun in his hand never wavered. It was quite a contrast, the weapon in one hand and him casually holding an apple in the other. He was younger than she’d expected, perhaps early thirties. Not unattractive either, though rough around the edges with a square jaw and five o’clock shadow. His black hair was damp, likely with melted snow; jacket was in shades of brown and green, made to look like branches and leaves. A hunter’s jacket. He could’ve been sitting in the trees watching them without them knowing.

A backpack was slung over one shoulder and she was quite certain she didn’t want to know what kind of tools he carried.

Why hasn’t he shot me yet
? This was it—he’d found her. She should be dead already.

“O’Hara, how about you sit on the floor by the bed.”

“How about I don’t.”

The Huntsman gave his eyes a dramatic roll. “Here’s the thing: I don’t actually
have to
kill you. If you’re collateral damage, that’s fine. Self-defence, that’s fine. But I am not paid any extra to ensure your death, and as I generally prefer to get paid for murder, I’m not a fan of freebies. The car bomb would’ve taken out both of you but I’m kind of glad it didn’t go that way. You start killing people for free and everyone expects it, and that’s bad business. I’d prefer to let you live. I’m not particularly attached to the idea, however. It’s your choice.”

God, she couldn’t bear to see O’Hara killed on top of everything else. “Please do it,” she whispered.

“See? Listen to the lady. She’s a bright one.” He tipped his head at O’Hara again. “Get going...nuh-uh, not by the nightstand,” he interrupted Mike’s steps, “but by the foot of the bed. There.” His gaze moved to Liliana’s. “I notice some handcuffs on the floor. Why don’t you make yourself useful and cuff your bodyguard’s wrists through the bars there. Nice and tight, dearie.”

She scanned the floor and found them, lying a few feet from the bed. Her gaze flickered to the gun but she’d never reach it in time, and that was even taking into consideration she might not fire it right to begin with. So she did as she was told, picked up the handcuffs and moved toward O’Hara.

He crouched by the foot of the bed, eyes never wavering from the Huntsman, color at last returning to his face but this time in the form of anger. He let her lift his wrist and snap one cuff around it, then the other after she’d fed the chain through the bars. She suspected he could still move the bed easily, as there wasn’t much to it, but he couldn’t slip the cuffs off and there would be no sneaking toward the gun.

For a moment, she let her fingers linger against his, and while he still stared at their assailant, he squeezed her hand back.

Liliana stood, squared her shoulders, and faced the Huntsman and his gun. “Why didn’t you just shoot me when I opened the door?”

“I could have, if I deemed it necessary, but my paycheck has a bonus if I make you suffer.” He’d finished his apple and tossed the core over his shoulder back outside. His hand now free, he pulled back his coat and withdrew a hunting knife. “I am to bring your heart to my employer. Flare for the dramatic, that one.”

Her knees wobbled, sudden fear threatening to drop her on her ass. Her gaze stuck on the blade of the knife, unable to look away, terrified at the thought of it slicing into her. God, it was so much worse than she’d expected, even worse than the thought of Jimmy’s hands on her throat.

“You touch her and I will kill you.” O’Hara’s voice was smooth and even, eyes serious, expression stony. His gaze was focused on the Huntsman.

“I don’t do threats, O’Hara. Sorry.” The Huntsman gestured at Liliana. “Come now, dearie. You don’t want him to have to watch this, do you?”

Cold fear sliced through her and trembling spilled down Liliana’s limbs. She took a step forward, then another. Each one pushed her farther from O’Hara, farther from safety, and as much as she didn’t want that, the Huntsman was right.

She didn’t want Mike to have to watch what was going to happen to her.

“I’ll double whatever the Hartleys paid you,” O’Hara said suddenly.

“You are not the first to offer me that, friend, and you won’t be the last. Unfortunately, it’s bad business as well.”

“I’ll triple it.”

“For me to break a business arrangement, it would
really
have to be worth my while.”

“Quadruple it.”

He snorted. “You can’t afford that.”

“Try me.”

The Huntsman’s eyes narrowed on O’Hara. Considering. Weighing.

Liliana remained motionless to the side, her gaze darting between them.

“Knowing you’re flexible would end up being good for business,” Mike continued. “You can charge higher rates.”

“Thank you so much for the business advice, Mr. O’Hara, but—”

“Five times whatever they’re paying you.”

The Huntsman tilted his head toward Liliana. “It is likely several times what you’re even getting paid for this job. She worth it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. He didn’t even blink. Just:
yes
.

“Interesting. But I still don’t think you can afford it.”

“Wire transfer. Right now. My phone is in my pocket.”

The Huntsman’s dark eyes moved from O’Hara to Liliana, then he nodded. “Retrieve the phone, dearie.”

Her heart beat hard and her hands were trembling with fear, but she managed to do as he asked. Though she looked to O’Hara for direction when she crouched by him, he gave her nothing. Just indicated where to find the cell phone, and sure enough, there it was.

“There are no bars in here—we have to go outside the cabin,” Mike said.

“Give her the account information and we’ll do it.” A little smirk suggested he was calling O’Hara’s attempt to get free, and knew the money was just a bluff.

Instead of taking a different tactic, Mike turned to Liliana and repeated a string of numbers and letters. “Banking app on my phone. That’s the account you want. Repeat it for me.”

She did so, three times, scarcely sure of how she was even retaining the information but the numbers seemed locked in her head. Still she didn’t rise, her gaze moving between his eyes. “He could take me out there, kill me,
and
still keep your money. This is stupid.”

He ignored her concern. “Repeat them one more time.”

She did and O’Hara nodded.

Liliana rose and stepped toward the Huntsman. Between the knife and the gun, she didn’t know where to look, so instead opted for his face.

His lips were quirked into a grin, as if he found it all extremely amusing. “After you.”

She stepped through the chilly open doorway first, the cell phone held out in front of her. NO SIGNAL flashed at the top so she kept going, off the porch and through the snow, shivering despite the addition of the plaid shirt.