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Bait
Bait
Copyright © 2012 Dawn Brown
Part V
From the window of Luke’s guest bedroom, Ella
watched the snow drift softly to the ground like a veil of white in the dying
light. A deep expanse of forest
surrounded the A-frame chalet like a fortress wall, tree’s tangled, skeletal
branches grasping at the blue gray sky above, leaving her feeling isolated,
shut off from the outside world.
A shudder rippled down her spine.
She closed her eyes
and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Tonight was the night. Tonight
she would have the answers she’d wanted for so long.
Could she do it? She
swallowed hard and did her best to ignore the way her hands trembled as she let
the drape fall back into place. She turned away from the window and knelt next
to her suitcase, checking she had everything she needed for about the one
millionth-time since arriving.
Pulling pack the flap
on the lid, she inspected the contents. The bottle of sleeping pills her doctor
had prescribed for her when Phoebe first disappeared. She hadn’t used them
long, feeling groggier and more muddle-headed than she had before taking one.
Plastic ties used for securing wires that she bought at the hardware store.
She’d considered rope, but didn’t know anything about knots. Besides, Luke
wouldn’t be able to wriggle free from these. The only way ties like this would
come off would be if she cut them, and she wouldn’t do that until he’d told her
everything she wanted to know. And finally, the hammer also purchased at the
time she bought the ties. She hadn’t brought any other tools. If the hammer
failed to produce the results she wanted, she would improvise with whatever she
found around the chalet. She remembered seeing a hatchet on the mantel of the
stone fireplace in the living room.
Her stomach lurched
and she ground her teeth together to keep from throwing up. She couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t.
You can. Think of Phoebe. Think of that bastard’s smug expression when
you showed up at his door. Think about what he must have done to your sister.
And think about the next fifty years not knowing what happened to her while he
gets away with it.
She
drew in a shaky breath, plucked the pill bottle from the pouch in her
suitcase. After unscrewing the
child-safe lid she shook a half dozen capsules into her hand. How many did she
need? She wanted enough to knock him out for a few hours, but not send him into
a coma.
She stuffed the entire
handful into her pocket. If a few didn’t work, she’d give him more until he
passed out.
The doorbell
downstairs chimed, making her jump and her heart start to pound. Who in the
hell would that be? They were out in the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm,
not terribly conducive to drop-ins. Had Luke invited someone else to join their
merry little party? That would throw a real wrench in her plans.
She left the bedroom
and walked to the rail overlooking living room. The fire crackling in the
fireplace reflected orange off the gleaming wood floors. Candles on the mantle
and in the center of the coffee table between the two couches glowed warmly
next to a bottle of wine and two glasses.
How romantic. Did he actually think
she’d mess around with her maybe dead sister’s husband? A man she’d less than a
month ago accused of foul play in her sister’s disappearance.
She shrugged off her
annoyance. His ego actually worked to her advantage. The wine would be the
ideal opportunity to begin drugging him. Or it would be provided whoever was
knocking at the door left.
Male voices drifted to
her ears as she descended the stairs to the front hall where the men were
speaking. Mid-way down both men came into her line of vision. Luke faced her,
dressed in black pants and black turtleneck sweater. His eyes gleamed in the
dim light like neon and his sculpted lips thinned into a straight line as he
eyed the other man.
She froze on the
bottom step. Her heart started to pound. Even with his back to her there was
something horribly familiar about the other man’s messy brown hair and wet,
rumpled coat.
“Ella,” Luke said,
catching sight of her. “It would seem we have a guest for Christmas
dinner."
The other man turned.
Hot golden eyes, the color of whiskey, locked with hers.
“Andy,” she half
gasped half squeaked.
###
Of all the times for her to start using his first name. Andy
glanced over his shoulder to gauge Luke’s reaction. If he thought there was
anything strange in her reaction to him, Summers wasn’t letting on.
“Ms. Martin,” Andy
said. “I must admit, I’m surprised to find you here.”
She gaped at him for a
long moment, then cleared her throat and said, “Detective, I assure you the
feeling is mutual.”
“It seems,” Summers
cut in, drawing Ella’s attention him. “Detective Harlowe has had some car
trouble.”
“I see,” she said, her
gaze shifting from him to Summers then back again.
“Do you?” Luke
snapped. “Because I don’t. What are you doing out in this neck of the woods on
Christmas Eve, Detective?”
Andy gave him a hard
smile. “Watching you. You’re under surveillance. Didn’t you know?”
“Is that really the
sort of thing you march up to your quarry’s front door and announce?” Ella
asked, resting her hands on her hips.
“Not usually.” He’d pissed her off. Whatever game she was
playing she hadn’t wanted him to see it. “But the battery in my car died and
the idea of sitting outside and freezing to death wasn’t terribly appealing.”
“So phone for a tow,” Luke
ground out.
“Can’t get a signal on
my phone. Probably the storm. It’s supposed let up by morning. Surely, you
wouldn’t turn out a police man on Christmas eve.”
Andy smiled wide, his
gaze bouncing between two silent, furious stares.
Luke spoke first. “Of
course not. It seems it will be the three of us celebrating. How surreal. Let
me show you to a bedroom. You’re soaked through. I should have something you
can wear. I’m taller than you and wider in the shoulders so what I have might
be a bit big.”
Jesus, maybe they
should whip out their dicks to see whose was bigger and just be done with it
already. “Whatever you have is fine.”
Luke led him to a
small room at the end of the hall made smaller by the sharp wall angle of the
A-frame. After dropping a pair of jeans and a gray turtleneck on the bed, Luke
left, closing the door behind him.
Alone at last. Andy’s
shoulder’s sagged and he nearly flopped onto the bed until he remembered his
wet clothes. As he peeled the cold material from his skin, the sound of hushed
voices carried through the door—unfortunately not loud enough for him to make
out actual words. After a few minutes the voices faded as the speakers moved
away.
Well, he was in. Next
step, stop Ella from getting herself killed and get her as far from that
scumbag Summers as possible. He yanked open the fly of his wet pants and
shimmied out of them, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
Without warning, his
door clicked then swung open. He spun around to face his uninvited guest in
nothing but his boxers and a curse on his lips. He froze, the words dying on
his tongue as Ella slipped inside, closed the door and leaned back against it.
Her pale green gaze moved over his nearly naked body and a flash of need heated
his blood.
Ooooh, I like it...NEXT! :o)
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