Unsafe Haven (24 page)

He pushed down on her shoulder until she had no choice but to sit on the mattress or kneel on the floor. “I told you I want answers. I’ve got nowhere to be right now and it looks like your business is in good hands. So start talking.” He stood with his arms crossed, and waited.

At first she refused to speak or look at him and remained slumped on the bed with her hair hanging in her face. Then she raised her eyes to his and the misery reflected in them just about broke his heart.

He sat next to her. “Wendy, please talk to me. I’ve never seen you this way and I don’t know how to help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t—” She shuddered out a breath, pulled at the handcuffs. “I won’t try to hit you. Take these off, please?”

Denn hesitated, searched her eyes, then capitulated. “All right.” He dug in his pocket for his key ring, then unlocked the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists as he clipped the cuffs to his belt. He stood braced, prepared to grab her if her behavior went squirrelly again. “Now, talk.”

“There it is.” The pilot pointed toward a grayish mass off in the distance, dipping a wing as if in salute. Conroy gave an indifferent shrug as he peered through the window.

“Do you see it?”

“I see mountains, which doesn’t surprise me. However, I wasn’t expecting snow this far into the summer.” Conroy hadn’t been inclined to chat, but obviously this idiot wouldn’t leave him alone unless he offered some form of response.

“Well, we’re not far from the Arctic Circle, and—”

“How soon will we land?” Conroy grew bored with the semblance of polite conversation.

“An hour, maybe less. We’re fighting some turbulence, so I might have to circle a few times. But I’ll get you down there, no problem.” The pilot eyed Conroy, a bit too closely for his liking. “First trip to Alaska?”

Conroy chose to ignore the question and instead gave the interior of the compact plane his attention. “Is this a Cessna Skywagon?”

“Yep. Bought it new, five years ago. Had it fitted with floats and skis. Some of the places I land, you wouldn’t believe. She never lets me down.” He patted the console as if it were a favored pet. “You know planes?”

“Yes. I own a Citation and pilot it whenever I can.” Conroy couldn’t resist a bit of bragging. In a side-by-side comparison, his sleek Citation would make the Skywagon
look like a far inferior, distant relative. “I’ve had my license since my college days.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing like flying. Best job I’ve ever had.”

For the next half hour, Conroy pretended interest in the scenery and held his temper in tight control as the pilot whistled under his breath and waited out a few wind pockets. The plane shook and dipped, adding to his impatience.

Idly, he regarded the burly pilot, who could stand to lose thirty pounds and submit to a decent haircut
. What a cretin.

He gauged their distance to landing and gave a satisfied nod.

Showtime.

He discreetly unfastened his safety belt, then thrust out his hand in a friendly gesture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to introduce myself to a fellow pilot. My name is Connor White.”

“I’m Thom Banks, from Eagle River.” He released the yoke and took Conroy’s hand in a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure to be of service.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Thom.” With a hard yank, Conroy pulled Thom sideways and punched him in the throat. While the man gagged and floundered, Conroy swiftly unclipped his belt, wrested him from the pilot’s seat and took the yoke. It happened so quickly, the plane barely dipped.

He braced himself against the seat in a crouch, stabilized the plane and adjusted the controls. Thom roused, choking. Conroy straightened and sent a vicious kick into his body, uncaring if he hit stomach, kidneys, or ribs. Thom collapsed and lay unmoving. Conroy pushed the man’s limp body out of the way and settled himself in the pilot seat.

Returning his attention to the controls, Conroy circled three times before he spotted what had to be a runway, just north of a thread thin, winding river. Turbulence continued to toss the lightweight plane.
If I had my
C
itation, she’d hold tight through all of this and I’d already be on the ground
.

He took advantage of a sudden air buffet and began his descent. The yoke he gripped defied him, jerking in his hands as if it had a mind of its own, and Conroy laughed aloud, delighted with the challenge.
Just like a woman, isn’t it?
A stubborn, rebellious woman
. He dropped another fifty feet.

Soon, my Victoria. Soon.

“What’s taking so long?” Denn’s low voice hummed pleasantly in Kendall’s ear. “I thought you’d be here by now. You need help closing?”

She leaned on the counter as she brought the phone to her mouth. “A family of seven just came in. They’re casing the joint. I think they’re after The Big’Un.” She smiled at his chuckle.

“You mean, the ‘Winnebago of pop-up tents?’ Then by all means, stay and rid yourself of that dinosaur. Luna bet me you wouldn’t sell it before end of season.”

“You’re placing bets with your baby sister? I can’t believe it. Corrupting a minor, Denn. For shame.” Kendall waved at a customer as he left the store loaded down with a sleeping bag and waterproof pad. “Shoot, I forgot to ask. How did things go with Wendy?”

“Weird. She tried to punch me out. Called me a son of a bitch who doesn’t own her.”

“You’re kidding. What’s going on with her?” Kendall cupped her palm over the phone to block out the chatter from the family, now in a heated tent debate.

“Hell if I know. She wouldn’t talk to me, just says she’s tired of living here and she wants to make a fresh start somewhere else. She asked me if I wanted to buy the Four Hills.”

“She’s
selling
? I can’t believe it.”

“That’s what she says. I about fell over when she told me.”

“Do you think she’ll move to Beijing?”

“Doubtful. Wendy was born here. She’s too far removed from her ancestry. She’d never make it in Beijing. If she leaves, she’ll probably head to the lower Forty-Eight.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, although there doesn’t seem to be much love lost between us.” Kendall glanced up just as her noisy customers stormed the counter. “I think the tent family’s ready to make a deal. I need to go.”

“No problem. Come home when you’re done. Luna’s making you macaroni and cheese.” He paused, and added, “With hot dog slices.”

She had to blink back sudden tears. “You told her.”

“Yep. She thought it was great. She tore off to Fake’s to see if he sold little wienies. No luck, but she got inventive with a package of hot dogs, so this’ll be the next best thing.”

“I can’t wait.” Kendall wiped her damp face with the back of her hand. A customer standing near the bookrack stared at her with raised eyebrows, and she hastily threw him a huge, reassuring smile. He winked at her and went back to flipping through maps.

“Hurry up and get here, okay?”

“I will.” She disconnected and laid her phone on the counter. It immediately buzzed again, and she chuckled when she picked it up and recognized Denn’s number. “What did you forget?”

“Just the most important thing of all.” His voice dropped to a low purr, which vibrated all the way to her toes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She grinned at the family of seven, who’d stopped bickering and stood quietly at the counter. She gestured with her phone. “He loves me.” The kids giggled, but their mother offered an understanding nod.

Fifteen minutes later, free of customers, Kendall scattered her remaining tent stock to help fill in the gap caused by selling The Big’Un. She viewed the more open floor area and did a quick jig on her way to the front door to lock up. With an empty parking lot, a full cash register, and the sun still bright in the sky, it had been a damned good day. “And there’ll be mac and cheese with wienies,” she said aloud to the quiet store. She danced back to the counter and added in a few finger snaps just for the hell of it.

Another twenty minutes to balance the register and make up the deposit, and she’d be on her way.

Proud of his easy landing, Conroy brought the Cessna to a stop and cut the engine. He took in his surroundings with curiosity as well as a sneer. A gravel runway, for pity’s sake. Dust everywhere. Trees in the distance, twisted and deformed. Tin huts with paint peeling from the sides. The more he saw, the more his anger grew.

He remembered reading of Alaska in school. How wild and untamed it was, how beautiful. The area he currently viewed couldn’t be called anything but tacky, inferior. He found nothing of beauty in any direction. To think of his Victoria, willingly languishing here pushed his anger into full on fury.

But not for long.

He made the vow, his hands clenched into tight fists, as he struggled to regain control.

First things, first. With the toe of his shoe, Conroy poked at the unmoving lump on the cockpit floor. Thom Banks of Eagle River, wherever the hell that might be. The man was barely alive, his breathing shallow and labored. The punch to his throat had done a nice amount of damage. For the hell of it, Conroy kicked him in the kidneys, which didn’t elicit as much as a grunt from the burly pilot.

I’ve probably killed him.

He bent and placed a finger against the pilot’s throat, but couldn’t feel much of a pulse. Another ten minutes or so, and he’d be dead.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
Conroy gave a low chuckle.

Where to stash the body? With all that excess flab, it would be hard to maneuver around. No matter, Mr. Banks had to hide, somewhere.

Conroy slipped from the cockpit and stepped onto the gravel tarmac. That tin hut closest to the runway might be a possibility, if he could find a way in. There was a folded plastic tarp on one of the seats, and Conroy eyed it speculatively. He’d have an easier time of moving the corpulent Mr. Banks, if he could be rolled onto a tarp and dragged along the ground.

Nodding at his impeccable logic, Conroy removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“Here you go, dear.” Eloise set the mug on the corner of the desk. “You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

Wendy smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine, El. I might grab something later, after I balance.” She pointed to a mound of receipts next to her laptop. “I shouldn’t have let it go this long.”

“Oh, you’ll catch up. It’s just bookkeeping. I’m glad you’re better.” Eloise patted Wendy’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to finish up in the kitchen and then I’ll take off. I can cover for you another week, you know.” She examined Wendy’s face. “Still awfully pale, if you ask me.”

“No, truly. You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Eloise waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, my dear. Look at all the times you’ve fed me. Goodness, half the time I don’t even have to cook for myself. Pay it forward, that’s what I always say.” She bustled to the door. “Don’t stay in here all evening, you hear?”

“I won’t.” Wendy sipped her tea as she downloaded her spreadsheets. Upstairs, she heard a few murmurs, an occasional laugh. According to Eloise, three rooms were filled, with one more expected to arrive late. Most of her guests stayed a single night, using the inn as a layover in between fishing or hunting trips. Hikers were more inclined to stay a few days in a row, but she didn’t mind the daily turnover, even though it meant twice as much laundry.

She set her mug aside and rubbed her tired eyes. Throughout the day, she’d resisted the urge to crawl into bed and toss the covers over her head. Her final, humiliating conversation with Denn still lingered, a bad taste in her mouth. Mixed in with the humiliation, a hefty dose of guilt added its own nagging voice.

I should tell him. I owe him that much. I should tell him what I did. Then again, the bitch stole my man.
Anger had won out against guilt. Wendy refused to justify it further.

When she’d made the call to Portland, Kendall’s . . . no,
Victoria’s,
ex-fiancé came across as intelligent and caring. He’d thanked her twice for her thoughtfulness in contacting him. She’d ended the call, reassured she’d done the right thing.

Now she opened her center desk drawer, pulled out the crumpled sheet of yellow tab paper, and remembered the restraining order she’d seen. A resurgence of guilt ate at her, but Wendy slapped it down.

You know what it’s like when someone uses their fists, don’t you?

Her damned conscience refused to stay quiet. Angrily, she shoved the paper back in the drawer and locked it.
Not my problem
.

Finished for the day, Wendy stacked her receipts into neat piles, clipped them, and filed everything away. She should head upstairs and make sure her late arrival’s room was ready, but Eloise would have taken care of it as efficiently as she’d handled everything else. Nothing rattled that woman.

Unlike me.

Denn had given her grief for deserting her guests, for not calling him when ‘everything’ got to be too much for her to handle. And for disturbing his precious Kendall. He still didn’t understand, and he probably never would.
Because he doesn’t see you the way you need. And you can’t live with it.

Christ, she hated when her head shouted louder than her heart. Wendy shut the file drawer hard enough to shake the cabinet. Maybe a quick walk uptown to Fake’s for a sherbet cone would improve her crappy mood.

And, this early in the evening, I might see Denn.

“Shut up,” she muttered to herself. She slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and collected her wallet.

As she crossed the parlor, Eloise hailed her from the kitchen. “Wendy, I meant to remind you about your late arrival. I’ll bet he’s already at the airport. You know Thom likes to get in right about now so he can have dinner here.” Eloise’s face crinkled into a smile as Wendy gave a brief chuckle. “Anyway, you should drive over, see if he’s waiting for a pick-up. It’ll give you a nice break from that computer.”

“Okay, I’ll go check. Better me than Egg and Matty the Twit Twins and that rust bucket they call a cab.” Wendy dug in the pocket of her shorts for her keys. “What’s his name?”

Eloise tapped a finger against her lips. “Let me think. Black. No, White! Connor White.”

Conroy arranged a pile of crates in front of the window he broke. From a distance, nothing would appear amiss with the dented tin hut. He’d tried manipulating the deadbolt, to no avail. After five sweaty minutes, fighting with his tools and the lock, he’d given up. Breaking the window might have been impulsive, but he’d run out of time. He didn’t relish the thought of flying unfamiliar airspace late in the evening, but could find no other recourse.

Damn the bitch for leading me to this ridiculous hellhole.
He’d satisfy his need to discipline her, and enjoy every minute.

First things first.

He stood back and assessed his handiwork. He couldn’t imagine anyone would bother hanging around such a depressing place long enough to arouse their suspicion. He and his sweet little fiancée would be far away by the time somebody located Pilot Thom, currently crammed into a far corner. Conroy had dragged him inside after crawling in through the broken window and unlocking the door. When he’d checked again for a pulse, he couldn’t find one. That was enough to put a smile of satisfaction on his face and a spring in his step.