Chapter 14
Trevor put on the snowshoes, grabbed a shovel he’d found in the garage, and took off down the driveway.
It was snowing as if it would never stop, and he pulled his hood over his head as he limped through the snow.
He took his time, babying his knee, testing to see which positions could hold weight as his mind replayed his kiss with Olivia in one continuous, torturous loop.
The walk was punishing, and he was a man who needed punishment. He had no right to take the kisses she offered, not when he was keeping the most basic information about her life a secret. Worse yet, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to deny himself if and when she offered him more.
You’re a fucking bastard.
With every step, his thoughts of Olivia grew more inappropriate. Fantasy stepped in where reality left off, the race of his imagination a welcome distraction from his physical discomfort.
When he rounded the corner onto the main road, the mailbox was nowhere in sight.
It had been completely covered in snow. He looked around him at the woods, noting two distinctive trees to mark the turn, and headed for the accident scene, the downward slope of the road causing his knee to catch and grind.
A noise echoed in the distance and he froze, his eyes narrowing.
It sounded mechanical, possibly an engine of some sort.
He stood still, his ears carefully listening for several minutes.
Could it be a snowplow, come to free them from their isolation?
Or a helicopter in the sky, searching for the missing Olivia?
Surely her fiancé was aware of her location and that she didn’t get wherever she’d been heading, which could pose one hell of a problem for Trevor if that fiancé of hers came looking for her here.
Hawk couldn’t afford to be seen on Warsaw Mountain.
Olivia already knows you’re here.
He cursed out loud.
Steele’s death was bound to make headlines. How would he keep Olivia from turning him in? He shook his head. He’d deal with that when he had to.
He stopped walking and listened hard for the sound for several seconds. It seemed to have stopped.
Rounding the wide corner before the accident scene, it felt as if he was going further back in time than twenty-four hours, as if the accident had been days or weeks earlier, as if he’d known Olivia longer and been sidetracked from his mission far longer than he really had.
Several small drifts of snow remained close to the crash site, and Trevor began digging with the shovel. Drift after drift proved to be exactly that—a formation of snow caused by the wind.
He was just about to give up when his shovel caught on something solid. He dug out a suitcase, one side of it charred and dented from the blast. Beneath it was a long, white plastic garment bag emblazoned with Beverly Hills Bridal in silver letters.
He hadn’t found his coat, but he’d managed to find Olivia’s wedding dress.
Great.
He had to take the dress and the suitcase with him.
He owed her that much, but given that he hadn’t told her she was engaged, the dress was bound to be an awkward discovery.
Draping the garment bag over his arm and picking up the case, he was nearly back to the cabin when the same mechanical sound caught his attention once more.
This time, he was sure it was a snowmobile, the rise and fall of the engine’s purr now easily familiar. There was someone else on this mountain. Someone with transportation and gasoline. Hopefully it was a kindly neighbor, but he couldn’t discount the possibility it was one of Steele’s men.
He began to move more quickly, tuning out the sensations from his knee. He had to find the snowmobile’s tracks, had to trace them back to their source so he could find gasoline to get to Steele.
Hawk was nearly back to the cabin’s drive when he found the tracks, two parallel lines in the snow that meant he would be able to kill Steele after all.
“Booyah!” he exclaimed. He’d wanted this for years, hundreds of days spent planning to get the man responsible for Ralph’s death, and with a snowmobile he knew he could do it.
The snowmobile’s tracks suddenly reversed direction. Trevor furrowed his brow as he followed them up the hill with his eyes. The rider had changed direction and turned back to follow Trevor’s tracks.
The snowmobile was heading toward the cabin.
Adrenaline shot through Hawk’s system. His mind began to race. He’d left Olivia alone. Alone and vulnerable, even though he knew they were close to Steele’s compound.
It could be a neighbor who saw the smoke from our fire and wants to make sure we’re okay.
But as a Navy SEAL, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were screaming that she was not safe.
His breath came in heavy pants. He followed the tracks within sight of the cabin and as they veered in a wide arc around the tree line.
Whoever was driving that snowmobile was scouting, just as he himself would have done, then the tracks disappeared into the woods.
Was the rider staring back at him from the trees, hidden from view, or was he truly gone?
He had to see if Olivia was okay before investigating further. He ran inside, throwing the garment bag and suitcase into the garage. “Olivia?” he called. “Olivia!”
“Here, I’m down here,” came the answer, and he bolted down the hall toward her. Just as he entered the room and caught a glimpse of her dusting, the sound of a snowmobile’s engine roared to life right outside the cabin walls, making them jump.
“Get down!” he yelled, tackling her. “Stay away from the windows!”
She did as she was told, cowering on the floor.
He had to get a weapon. He stayed low, quickly getting to the kitchen and yanking open a kitchen drawer.
He selected a seven-inch knife, its blade gleaming, and his mind flashed back to Ralph on the floor of Steele’s warehouse, gagging on his own blood as he begged Steele for his life.
Steele would not have another chance to hurt someone else Trevor cared about. He took another knife out and slammed the drawer shut. His heart was hammering in his chest now, a steady rhythm beating like a warrior’s drum.
He walked back to the bedroom and began rifling through the closet. The snowshoes had been awkward. He needed something faster and had spotted just the thing when he inventoried the cabin.
She asked from the floor, “What’s going on, Trevor? Who was that outside?”
Her plaintive voice pawed at him as he flipped through heavy coats and brightly colored parkas. One had ski goggles attached to the hanger.
She pulled at his arm. “Talk to me, damn it! Who was that out there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
He stopped and met her glassy eyes. “I’m telling the truth.” Trevor turned back to the closet. “There’s nothing to be scared about.” He caught sight of something shiny in the back of the closet and forced the hanging clothes apart.
There, on the back wall, were the several sets of cross-country skis he’d been looking for. He pulled them out, along with poles and boots. “I’m just going to catch up to that person and see if I can get some gasoline.”
“But you told me to get down,” she said. “To get away from the windows, like someone was shooting at us.”
He forced his foot into a too-tight snow boot and looked at her like she was hallucinating. “No one was shooting at us.”
“Trevor! Stop bullshitting me!”
He turned back to the closet, searching for gloves and deciding what to say.
“I don’t know who was on that snowmobile, but I don’t have a good feeling about them, and I’m going after them to see what I can find out.”
She looked from his ski boots up to his face. “You can’t possibly catch him.”
“I think I can.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“Former Navy SEAL officer Trevor Hawkins, current lieutenant commander of HERO Force Alpha Squad. Put the fire out and the lights off until I know what we’re dealing with. Take this knife and keep it with you at all times.”
She looked at the blade in her hand and took a step backward.
He zipped up his parka and pulled the goggles over his eyes, then slipped out the door without another word.