Chapter 13
Nick lay at the edge of the woods in the snow, his back to the clearing where the house stood, his weapon trained on the disappearing blur of snowmobile. Damn it! He’d missed, and the son of a bitch had gotten away.
“Nick!”
Mary’s voice jerked his concentration back to the area behind him. He sprang to his feet and scanned the area for more potential threats. Deep down, he knew the lone rider of the speeding snowmobile had been the only bad guy here.
Mary ran across the open space toward the downed man. Apparently, she hadn’t seen Nick in the shadows. When she reached the figure, she dropped to her knees.
The man’s hat lay in the snow beside him, exposing a shock of gray-white hair Nick could see from where he stood.
“Mr. Feegan?” Mary’s voice cracked. She rolled the man to his back, shucked her gloves and felt for a pulse in his neck.
Nick strode across the snow, angry he hadn’t been able to help Feegan, angry at the man who’d gotten away, angry at himself and angry at Mary. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
“It’s Mr. Feegan,” she said in a choked whisper. “I...I think he’s dead.” She looked up into Nick’s face as if begging him to prove her wrong. Her blue eyes swam in tears, one fat drop trickling down her cheek.
Nick dropped to his haunches beside her and pushed her hand away. He pulled his gloves off with his teeth and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck.
Already the man’s body temperature was falling, the cold air leaching the warmth right out of him. The gunshot had hit him square in the chest. He never had a chance. Still, Nick prayed for the soft thud of a pulse pumping against his fingers.
After several long seconds, he shook his head.
“He should have stayed put in the shed. I warned him, but he was standing between me and the shooter. I couldn’t get a clean shot.
” He didn’t know why he was explaining, but the sadness in Mary’s eyes made him do things totally out of the tough-guy character for him.
Tears spilled over and tumbled down Mary’s cheeks, the moisture chilling as they touched the icy air, making crystallized trails on her skin. “He was one of my father’s closest friends. I’ve known him all my life. He was an uncle to me.”
Never having known an uncle, Nick could only guess at the depth of her loss.
He supposed if Royce died, he’d miss the man.
He’d been a mentor to Nick, bringing him back from the self-destructive bent he’d been on before joining SOS.
Whatever Mary felt was hurting her and the more Nick knew Mary, the more her pain manifested itself in him.
Nick pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
Mary leaned her forehead into his chest, the tears falling faster. “Is this what’s going to happen to my father?”
“Not if I can help it.” Nick smoothed his hand down her back and tugged her closer. He wanted to hold her there until all the bad guys were dead and gone.
Mary gripped the front of Nick’s jacket and stared up at him, her teeth clenched. “Who the hell wants him dead? And why? Tell me,” she begged, her words choked.
Nick shook his head, his mouth twisted. “I don’t know. But let’s make sure Chris isn’t here.”
Mary’s eyes rounded. “Oh my God.” She jumped to her feet. “You don’t think...oh God. And what about Uncle Jimmy?”
“Kat’s got him covered. Let’s check inside for Chris.” Nick motioned toward the back door. “The shooter came out of the house.”
Mary lifted Mr. Feegan’s hat from the ground and covered his face with it. “We have to notify the police.” Her attention shifted to the house, her breath ragged and shaky.
“Does Feegan have a phone line?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you should wait outside.”
“No way.”
Nick knocked the snow off his boots before stepping up on the back porch. The door stood open.
Tapping her boots on the corner rail, Mary knocked the loose snow from the treads.
Nick entered first and did a quick once-over. “Chris isn’t here.”
Mary inhaled and let the air out slowly. “Thank God.”
“Try not to touch anything. The police will want to collect evidence.”
“Why would that man be after my father and his friends?”
“Maybe your father was hiding out here.”
Mary blinked back tears. Anger flared in her pale blue eyes. She turned into Nick’s chest, pounding a fist against him. “But why would they want to kill my father?”
He grabbed her wrist and held her. “Easy there.”
“I’m sorry.” She stared at where his hand held her wrist. “I just don’t understand.”
“I think it has to do with his time in Bosnia.” Nick held her at arm’s length. “He never talked to you about it?”
“No, never.” Mary brushed tears from her eyes. “Until yesterday, I didn’t even know his other name. How stupid is that?”
Nick sighed. “We all have secrets. I’m sure your father had a good reason for keeping them.”
“But why now? It’s been over thirty years. Why are the secrets surfacing?”
Nick stepped inside the small cabin with the hardwood floors hewn of split logs.
The furniture was handmade of smoothed cedar with leather cushions.
A stuffed moose head hung over the smooth river stone fireplace.
Blankets draped the back of the sofa. In the corner, a tall safe like the ones men used to store guns in stood open, the lock having been blown off.
All the contents spilled out on the floor, including several shotguns, rifles and documents.
The documents had been scattered across the room.
Throughout the two-room cabin, cabinets and dresser drawers hung open, the contents shoved out on the floor.
“He was looking for something.” Mary spoke Nick’s thoughts aloud.
“Yeah, but what?”
“I don’t know. Obviously, he thought it was worth killing for.”
Nick lifted a telephone receiver off the kitchen counter and listened for a dial tone.
Nothing.
“Line’s dead.” He dropped the receiver in the cradle. “Come on, let’s get back to North Pole. I want to check in with Kat.” Nick grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her out the back door.
“What about Mr. Feegan?”
“We’ll send the police out to take care of him.
” Nick wanted to talk to Royce. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
No reception. A satellite phone would come in real handy about now.
He should have known his cell phone wouldn’t work this far out of town.
Maybe Royce would have more information for him.
They couldn’t keep losing people to this hit man.
Mary trotted to keep up with Nick. “I don’t feel right leaving him here.”
The sorrow in Mary’s voice tugged at Nick’s heart, but he pushed aside the unwanted feelings. He had a job to do. Find Santa and keep Mary from being killed. “It can’t be helped.”
Mary’s feet slowed. “Maybe I should stay with him.”
Fear tightened Nick’s chest. Not for himself, but at the thought of Mary alone in the wilderness with a dead man, exposed to the machinations of a killer. “No.”
“But—”
“Not an option.” He climbed on board the snowmobile and pushed the start button. The sooner he got her back to town, the better. If he could lock her in a room for the duration of the case, he would. “Get on.”
Mary frowned but did as directed. Her gaze strayed to the house, behind which Robert Feegan’s body lay. Tears swam over blue eyes.
Nick’s grip on the handlebars loosened and he grabbed one of her hands and squeezed. “The sooner we get to the police station, the sooner he’ll be taken care of.”
Mary sighed. “I know, but it still doesn’t feel right.
As far as I know, Mr. Feegan didn’t have family.
Dad and the other poker players were all he had.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them all until I moved to Seattle.
” She settled on the back of the machine, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back.
Bob Feegan had lived a lonely life with no family, yet he had friends who were like family.
Nick found himself envying Feegan’s connections.
In his line of work, Nick was destined to live an even lonelier life, never forming lasting relationships, never having a family or a little blond-haired girl bouncing on his lap, calling him Daddy.
When had the action and stimulation of life as an SOS agent lost its glamour and become less fulfilling?
When he’d come to North Pole and met a woman who loved her father enough to risk her own life to save him.
Nick ground his teeth together. Something about this place and this woman was getting under his skin. Still, he refused to acknowledge Mary’s hold on him. To acknowledge was to admit he cared. In Nick’s books, caring got you in trouble. Caring made you vulnerable to the enemy.
Unwilling to switch the headlamps on and create a more visible target, Nick left them off and hugged the edge of the roads on the way back to town. The clouds had cleared sufficiently to allow light from the stars to guide them.
When they pulled up in front of the bed-and-breakfast, Kat ran out. “I talked to Janovich.”
Mary’s face brightened. “Is he all right?”
“Alive and kickin’.” Kat’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “I had to convince him I wasn’t a threat. He had a gun big enough to shoot an elephant pointed at me the entire time.”
Mary laughed. “Sounds like Uncle Jimmy. He and Dad used to hunt bear together.”
“I’d be scared if I were a bear.” Kat grinned. “I was just about to scout out Ms. Reedy.”
“Let’s move this discussion inside.”
When Kat opened the glass door to the bed-and-breakfast, it shattered into a million shards.
Nick dove for Mary, but she jerked and he clipped her side, taking her down into a snowbank beside the building.
“I didn’t hear anything, did you?” Kat asked.
“No. He must be using a silencer.” Nick rolled off Mary, placing his body between her and the shooter. “Mary, are you all right?”
She gave him a half smile. Her brows creased in a strained frown. “I’ll live.” He didn’t like the way her voice shook, but she didn’t appear injured.