Chapter 9
Gwen sat upright in bed, her nose picking up the acrid scent of wood smoke. She flung the covers off her body and quickly got up, her pulse racing.
Twice before in her life she had awoken in such a fashion. The first time, she was eight years old and found her grandmother had fallen and broken her hip in the downstairs guest room. The second was when David was hurt in a car accident coming home from the airport.
For Gwen, smoke didn't always signal fire. But it signaled danger every time.
She flew down the darkened hallway toward Colin's room, clad in a simple satin sheath of vibrant pink. She opened his door and rushed to his beside, the light of the moon streaming in from an uncovered window. She touched the bare skin of his muscled arm, barely registering his nakedness.
“Colin, wake up.”
He grunted in his sleep and moved to roll over.
She shook him. “Colin.”
His eyes opened and he sat up. “What?”
“I had a dream, I smelled smoke. Something's wrong.”
Colin inhaled deeply. “I don't smell anything.”
“Trust me. Get up, you have to get up.” She stood back and watched as his muscular form unfolded from the bed, clad only in a pair of black briefs. His body was beautiful, and she suddenly realized she should have gotten dressed. She crossed her arms over herself.
“What's wrong? There's no smoke...”
“I don't know. Go and check out the house. Quickly.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, then grabbed a plaid bathrobe off a hook and headed downstairs, leaving the lights off and making his way through the moonlit house. He got two-thirds of the way down the stairs before he began to shout.
“Gwen! Get down here!” He turned and raced back to her, meeting her several steps down and grabbing her hand tightly as he reversed direction. “We have to get out of the house!”
Colin didn't stop running, pulling Gwen to match his steps, until he was more than a hundred feet from the building, finally releasing her hand and patting the pockets of his robe.
“What was that horrible smell?” asked Gwen.
“Propane. That’s how the house is heated. Shit, my phone's inside.” He put his hands on her upper arms. “Run to the neighbor's over there,” he said, gesturing through a narrow band of trees. “Call 911. Tell them it's an emergency, that we have a propane leak.” He took a step back toward the house.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I have to get my phone.”
“No!” wailed Gwen, icy fear slicing through her consciousness.
“It will just take me a minute.”
She was clutching at him now, digging in with her fingernails. “No you're not! I'm not going to lose you, too! Don't you go into that house, Colin Mitchell!”
He shrugged his shoulder, pulling his arm from her grasp. “Damn it, Gwen, go call 911.”
“David! Stop this!”
Colin froze, his eyes staring into hers in the moonlit field. He ran his hands down her arms and spoke quietly. “I'm not David, Gwen.”
Her mouth curled down and she stared at him, her chin quivering. “I know.” She took a small breath. “Please don't go, Colin.”
He lightly cupped her cheek. “Okay. We’ll call 911 together.”
She pulled him toward the tree line, and they began to jog, just as a fiery explosion lit the night sky. The force of the blast knocked them both to the ground.
Gwen walked into the Cigs-For-Less store in Beacon, New York wearing Colin's plaid bathrobe over her nightie. She held a hand to her temple, her eyes squinting against the light as she turned to the clerk.
He was young, with long brown hair stuck through the hole in his brown baseball cap, and chuckled as he took in the sight of his latest customer.
Gwen’s voice was a rasp. “Aspirin?”
He gestured to a small display of toiletries, watching as she grabbed a bottle of Advil and a six-pack of malt liquor, putting them both on the counter.
The clerk smiled, flashing a straight set of yellow teeth. “Rough night?”
She cast him a look steeped in camaraderie and trouble. “You have no idea. Pack of Marlboro reds, and I need to pick up a wire transfer.”
He reached overhead for a form, which Gwen filled out.
“I.D.?” he asked.
She blew out a puff of air and rolled her eyes. “With my clothes and a guy named Teeter, if you can believe that.”
“That, I can,” he said with a laugh. “You got a keyword for me?”
“Hudson.”
He typed the information into a computer, then counted out a neat stack of bills from the register. “You feel better, now sweetheart. Go get yourself some shoes for them pretty feet.” He winked.
Gwen winked back, holding up the beer. “I'll be feeling just fine in a minute.”
She stepped outside and into the waiting cab.
Colin raised an eyebrow. “Make a new friend?”
“Colin, dear,” she said, her eyes roving over his bare chest, “you're sitting in a taxi cab in your underpants. You are not in a position to criticize my new beau.”
He snorted.
“Colt 45?” she offered. “It works every time.”
He seemed to consider her offer, a grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Not right now.”
Gwen leaned forward, passing the Marlboros to the cab driver.
“Here you are, Samuel.” He was skinny and olive-skinned, with thick dark hair and a lined face.
In the short ride from Cold Spring, he had endeared himself to Gwen by offering her a blanket from the trunk of his taxi and carefully avoiding the obvious question of why these two people were barely clothed and in desperate need of transportation.
The memory of the explosion made Gwen shudder. The sound had been deafening, her own shock from the being thrown to the ground overwhelming. Colin hadn’t missed a beat, hauling her to her feet and running urgent fingers over her arms and legs.
“Are you hurt? Anything broken?”
She shook her head. “Colin, your home!”
“We can’t worry about that now. We need to get out of here.”
Gwen hadn’t understood. “Why?”
“This isn’t an accident, Gwen.”
Time seemed to stand still as she stared at him, the light of the fire casting an orange glow over his skin and all-too serious eyes. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“Someone tried to kill us. Which means they’re probably going to try again as soon as they realize they didn’t succeed.
” He took her by the arm and began pulling her toward a different bank of trees.
Gwen could hear sirens in the distance, and was suddenly aware of her bare feet on the dewy grass beneath her toes.
Colin’s words were beginning to hit home, adrenaline rushing through her.
David had been killed, murdered on a ski slope, and now someone had tried to kill them as well.
She jogged alongside him as he sped up. “Where are we going?”
“The train station. Sometimes you can find a cab there late at night.”
And so it was that they had found Samuel, leaning against the side of his yellow cab, smoking his last Marlboro Red.
He turned grateful eyes to her in the mirror as he smacked the new pack against his palm. “Thanks, ma’am. Do you mind…?”
Colin opened his mouth to object, but Gwen put her hand on his knee.
“Of course not.” She placated Colin with her eyes.
“You’re driving us all the way to Boston.
You can smoke if you like. And please, call me Gwen.
” They’d been exceptionally lucky Samuel had agreed to take them on the long drive.
They were paying him a king’s ransom, money from the wire transfer Rowan sent from Italy after they called him from Samuel’s cell phone an hour ago.
Yes, they’d been lucky to find Samuel indeed.
Gwen settled back against the seat, turning to Colin. “How long is the drive?”
“About three hours.” He raised his voice. “There’s a Wal-Mart up on Route 9, Samuel. I’d like you to go in and pick out some clothes for us to wear. Just jeans and t-shirts. And I’ll need a cell phone of my own.”
Samuel nodded. “Just tell me what size clothes.”
Gwen watched the village pass by out her window, her eye drawn to a sign for The Dew Drop Inn.
An image of Becky’s cozy Craftsman appeared in her mind.
The best friend of Gwen’s niece Julie, Becky was dear to Gwen’s heart, and the prospect of seeing her made her smile. She always says I’m welcome anytime.
She turned to Colin. “I know where we can stay in Boston.”