Chilled (A Bone Secrets Novel) (32 page)

Alex had seen Brynn watching the big guy. Assessing, studying, and caring. She’d spoken softly to Thomas a few times. The conversations were too quiet to hear, but Alex knew she was questioning his comfort. Thomas would listen, then shake his head. He didn’t like help from others, but there was always a respect for Brynn in his eyes. For Jim too. Ryan usually caught a few glares or eye rolls from Thomas, but Alex felt the big guy genuinely liked the younger man. Maybe even envied his happy-go-lucky attitude.

Alex did.

Alex made a mental addition to his list of self-improvements for when they got back to the real world.
Loosen up. A lot.

Right now he needed to concentrate on finding a piece of scum in the woods. He ducked under a snow-laden branch, feeling like he was playing cops and robbers in his backyard as a kid. Samuel had always been the robber and Alex the cop. Their fenced backyard had been huge with great trees for hiding and building forts. Alex had wanted to be a cop when he grew up, except for a short period when he was nine and he’d wanted to be a fireman. Then a house caught fire on his street and he’d been traumatized by the absolute destruction and smells. He’d returned to his dreams of being a cop.

He’d always wanted to bring down the bad guy.

Gee. I’m living my dream.

But he’d never dreamed he’d be freezing his ass off while doing it or camping in half a plane that’d run out of protein bars.

His stomach growled. They’d be fine without food for a few days, but he guaranteed everyone was going to get real crabby.

He felt the small disturbance in the air by his face before he heard the crack of the gun. He dropped to his stomach, his mouth filling with snow. His body sank into the snow, but he kept his head up slightly as he scanned around him.

Besand? Thomas? Thomas wouldn’t shoot at him, would he?

Alex couldn’t tell the direction of the shooter. The crack of the gun had echoed several times through the forest, almost sounding like several shots. His best guess was the shooter was at two o’clock.

Thank God he’d put several hundred yards between him and the plane.

Brynn clutched at Jim’s arm as the shot echoed its way to the plane.

“That was a gunshot.”

“Yeah, but who shot at who?” Ryan muttered.

“Besand shot,” Jim stated. “Alex and Thomas won’t shoot unless they can empty their magazines into the prick.”

Brynn took two steps for the door and Jim grabbed at her shoulder, holding her gaze with his serious eyes. “No one’s going out there. Not till Alex comes back.”

But what if he doesn’t come back?

Brynn felt the heat wash out of her face and her shoulders sag. She collapsed into one of the chairs. Ryan put an arm around her shoulders. Thomas was out there. He’d help if Alex were in trouble. Alex was consumed with his need to find Besand. He plainly wanted revenge for the death of his brother and all those other victims. Besand had dragged Alex down a graphic path of reliving his killings. Before he’d give up a victim, first he made

Alex listen as he replayed the event. Alex hadn’t told her any specific details—she hadn’t wanted to hear them. But she’d seen the shift on Alex’s face as his humanity disappeared when he talked of Besand’s victims.

Her gaze met Jim’s. His lips were pressed in a grim line.

How can he just sit here after that gunshot?

She was ready to jump out of her skin.

Jim knew what happened when you took someone’s life. He was a trained sniper. The best shot in four counties. For all the times he’d been called on for his expertise, only twice had he fired his gun and killed suspects as they threatened their hostages. One child hostage’s throat had been slit a split second before Jim fired. The girl had been saved, but Brynn knew Jim had suffered nightmares for a long time afterward. Dreams where he hit the girl or his shot made the suspect slice deeper.

The glory from the media didn’t help. They highlighted each event and dragged it out for days in the newspapers. Each time Jim had spent months in counseling and considered different lines of work. But he was a cop through and through. He couldn’t walk away. He knew his shooting skill was a gift for helping others, and he’d learned to deal with his demons. Brynn knew Alex fought his own type of demons. But if Alex were forced to kill Besand, would that wipe them out? Or just add more?

Her mind locked on a question.
Has Alex killed before?

Deep inside, she knew the answer was yes.

It showed in the shadows in his eyes. The knowledge of taking another life and the emotional torture afterward. He knew exactly what hell he’d face if he were forced to kill Besand, and he would still do it. She rubbed her upper arms with both hands and paced the short aisle between the seats.

Damn it, Alex. Are you OK?

She heard Tyrone stir and mutter and she turned to look back at him, seeing Liam had already responded. Liam’s voice soothed as he talked to his brother. Jim joined the two men, as always, checking on those in his charge. Once Tyrone and Liam had entered the plane they’d fallen under Jim’s umbrella of supervision; they’d became part of his responsibility.

Tyrone’s head injury was beyond her care. His head hurt like hell, and he couldn’t stand to be jostled or hear loud noises. He needed a specialist and probably a CAT scan. Brynn ran her hands through her hair, swearing at her uselessness. All she could do was give him ibuprofen and she was nearly out.

Liam had contusions everywhere and had brushed off her offers to examine him.

At each offer he’d snap at her, “I’m fine. I know I’m fine. I don’t need you to look.” Then he’d turn his attention back to his brother.

She’d backed off.

Surprisingly, Liam had hated Alex on sight. It was almost like Alex had marked her and Liam could smell it.

She snorted. The two men were like dogs. Carefully circling each other, both alpha, neither willing to back down.

She had to set Liam straight. Apparently, kicking him out of her house hadn’t been enough of a message for him. In his mind, she still belonged to him. But trapped in half a plane in the middle of a snowstorm with seven people wasn’t the time to break up with someone. Again.

Besides, Liam already knew. He had to know. He just didn’t want to admit it. Months of sleeping on the couch had to tell him something. Her refusals to set wedding dates or even exchange rings had to tell him something.

Or is he really that dense?

No. He simply ignored it. He ignored everything she’d told him about how she felt. Maybe he thought she’d change her mind if he didn’t pressure her.

She sat in one of the seats and leaned her head back. Waiting and waiting. It was all she’d done for almost two days. It’d been nearly forty-eight hours since Ryan had spotted the plane. Twenty-four hours since Jim and Thomas had left to hike out.

Seventy-two hours since Alex had entered her life. And turned her heart and brain upside down.

Is Alex all right?
She fought down the need to tear out the door and find him. Jim was sitting on the floor by Tyrone with his head in his hands. If she was stressed, Jim was beyond measure. She strained her ears to hear beyond the plane, but today the woods were silent. No wind, no ice pellets. Simply deliciously soft snowfall.

Alex hadn’t changed how she’d felt about Liam. Her feelings for Liam had disintegrated before she’d met Alex. She had been surprised and rather embarrassed how quickly and compellingly she’d responded to another man. A warm flush crawled up her neck as she thought of his gray gaze.

How long had it been since she felt that deep a desire for a man? It was more than lust or simple attraction. She wanted to do things with him. Normal things. Snuggle on the couch watching movies, plant bulbs in the backyard, get coffee at Starbucks. She wanted to know how he liked his coffee. Black? Sugar and cream? She’d bet black. Her eyes watered and she brushed impatiently at her cheeks. He seemed like a no-frills kind of guy.

But how damaged was he inside? Maybe the nurse in her was simply reacting to someone in pain. And Alex had some of the heaviest emotional pain she’d seen since her own.

He might increase her load. He could easily leave her heart in shreds.

Two more gunshots echoed outside.
Alex.
Brynn grabbed at her armrests, sitting straight in her chair. The thumping in her chest beat a drum solo and her lungs refused to draw breath.

Lurching out of his seat, Ryan fumbled at the door. Jim’s voice filled the plane. “Ryan! Do not go out there. That is an order.” Ryan froze, swaying slightly, his back to Jim, one hand on the door.

“That was a handgun. I think the first shot was a rifle,” Ryan said.

Alex ducked from tree trunk to tree trunk, moving in the direction he thought the single shot had come from. It was taking him deeper into the forest, away from both pieces of the plane. No more shots. For now.

He’d heard something else. At first, it’d sounded like a man’s voice, but he was too far away to make out words. The sound wasn’t directed at him. If Besand had wanted Alex to hear him, he would have. Three times since the single shot, he’d simply heard…noise from this direction.

What was in the woods?

Please, not a bear.

Aim for the brain.

He clenched his Beretta and felt his hand start to numb. He breathed onto his fingers, wiggled them, doing anything he could to keep them from literally freezing. He couldn’t risk slow reflexes. Not out here. At least Besand would be suffering the same problem. He’d be an extra-lousy shot. Did someone just yell?

He blinked and listened hard, holding his noisy feet in place. Arguing. Somebody was arguing strongly. Not Thomas’s voice. Not Besand. He knew what Besand sounded like. His voice haunted his sleep and his waking hours. All the time he’d spent in little interview rooms with the killer as he’d recited the horrors he’d inflicted on his victims had imprinted Besand’s voice on Alex’s brain. Permanently.
Who is out here?

Another voice shouted back. Definitely two men. Alex felt like he’d fallen through the rabbit hole. Hunters? In this weather? Most likely searchers. His entire spine relaxed. Until he remembered that he’d been shot at.

No one could possibly mistake his New York Giant’s colored jacket for a deer or bear.

He’d been shot at on purpose.
Who else wants me dead?

He knew. At that exact second he heard the puzzle pieces click into place in his brain and his legs nearly crumpled. There was one person who had the means and motivation to send men into the forest with orders to shoot him. Paul Whittenhall.

Alex bent over, hands on his thighs, panting heavily. His ex-boss wanted him dead. Alex knew it as surely as he knew his nose was Rudolph-red from the cold. Alex had probed and poked at Whittenhall, and he must have hit an artery. Whittenhall was dirty.

Why now? Why would he go after me in the middle of a blizzard? Why not take me out in front of my TV?

Besand.

Whittenhall was afraid he’d find Besand.

But Alex had been meeting and talking with Besand on and off for months. What was different out here in the snow?

One of the voices grew louder, yelling orders. Alex’s heart stuttered as he recognized the voice, and his feet moved of their own volition. He awkwardly jogged between the trees in his snowshoes, feeling his lungs beg for more oxygen. He didn’t know what elevation he was at, but his lungs could tell the difference. Being thrown about in an avalanche might have a little to do with his weakened state too.

He broke into a small clearing and saw two men wrestling in the white fluff. Two backpacks had been thrown to one side and a sniper rifle’s butt stuck up out of the snow. He recognized both men immediately. Whittenhall’s right hand, Gary Stewart, was blocking blows from Matt Boyles. Stewart was on his back in the snow as Boyles straddled him. Boyles plainly had the upper hand.

Boyles would kick Stewart’s ass. Stewart was a pencil-pushing, ass-kissing asshole. Boyles was a Steven Seagal look-alike with the same physical skills. And the soul of a true cop. If this was the team Paul Whittenhall had sent to take Alex out, he’d fucked up royally.

Matt Boyles had been a groomsman at Alex’s wedding six years ago.

Out of breath, Alex leaned a hand against a tree as he trained his Beretta on the two men. He wouldn’t shoot, but Stewart wouldn’t know that. He just needed to distract him.

“Stewart!” Alex shouted hoarsely. He startled Matt, who spun his head to the side and stared at Alex in shock. Stewart
flipped Matt off him and onto his back in the snow. Moving to his knees, Stewart drew his Glock and pointed it at Matt’s head.

He’s going to kill Matt.

Alex fired. Twice.

Gary Stewart fell back in the snow, a stunned look on his face. Through the snowfall Alex spotted the two small holes in his coat near his neck. Alex blew out a breath and his gun hand drooped.

I had no choice. Matt would’ve been dead.

Matt rolled over to Stewart and slapped a hand over the blood that spurted from the two holes. He looked back at Alex, shock on his face.

Alex jogged over and collapsed next to Stewart. His breath froze in his windpipe as he realized Stewart was still breathing.
Holy shit.
The dying man met Alex’s gaze and blinked rapidly.

“Whittenhall,” Stewart whispered.

Alex nodded, his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. “He told you to take me out.”

Stewart’s eyelids fell closed, then slowly opened. “He thinks you know.”

“Know what?” Alex moved his face closer to the dying man. “What’s Whittenhall think I know?”

Surprise crossed Stewart’s eyes. “Besand. You know about Besand.” He coughed and bloody spittle hit Alex in the face. Alex wiped at his face, knowing he was talking to a dead man.

“Know what about Besand? What do I know?” he yelled.

Stewart’s face contorted into a grin, his eyes focused beyond Alex, and his breathing halted. Blood pooled in his mouth.

Alex grabbed the front of Stewart’s coat and shouted, “What do I know?” He shook the dead man, froze in horror at his