Black Ice

  "April."

  She wiped her tears away. "You should have told me."

  "I know. You're right. What I did was wrong, and I feel terrible."

  Korbie sniffled. "Did you keep it a secret because you thought I'd get mad?"

  "No," I said truthfully. "Calvin wasn't ready to tell people."

  "Do you think he's using you?"

  I felt my face turn red. Why did she have to ask me that? On a night when I was already feeling insecure about me and Calvin? "I don't think so. I don't know," I said miserably.

  "If you had to choose between us, you'd choose me, wouldn't you?"

  "Of course," I said quickly. "You're my best friend."

  Korbie dropped her eyes and took my hand. "I don't want to share you with him."

  Little did Korbie know, she wouldn't have to share me much longer. When Calvin took off to Stanford, it marked the beginning of the end of us.

  I closed the memory and returned my mind to the present. I didn't want to leave Korbie's bed, but Calvin would be making his rounds soon, so I pulled her blankets to cover her shoulders, and shut the door behind me on my way out.

  I was halfway to my own bed when my brain registered something not quite right in the corner beside the armoire. The large, human form blended like a shadow, hugging the wall, and before I recovered my breath, he sprang at me, wrestling me flat onto the bed and drowning my cry of alarm with his ice-cold hand.

  "Don't scream--it's me, Jude," he said.

  I convulsed harder, showing him that his announcement did little to mollify me. Managing to get my knee up, I aimed for his groin, but fell a few inches short, giving him a hard jab to his thigh.

  Jude's gaze fell briefly on my intended mark, and he cocked his brows ironically as he returned his attention to me.

  "Close call," he breathed. To prevent any further risks, he swiftly climbed on top of me, flattening me with his large, wet, and very cold body. However he'd gained access to Idlewilde, he hadn't been inside long; snow clung to his coat, and his dark facial stubble glistened with melting ice.

  I protested the crushing weight of his body with an angry exclamation, but with his hand sealing my mouth, I doubted Calvin could have heard it even if he were standing in the hall with his ear pressed to the door. A more likely scenario was that he was downstairs pacing between Idlewilde's front and back doors, oblivious that the danger had already made its way inside.

  "Surprised to see me?" Jude asked, bending close to keep his voice from carrying. He smelled the same way I remembered, of goose down, pine sap, and campfire. Only, the last time we'd lain this close, I'd been far more ignorant and therefore willing. "But not half as surprised as I was when I came back to camp this morning to find you gone. You should have told me you were leaving, and saved me the trouble of killing a rabbit for you."

  There was a controlled anger in his tone that made me squirm inwardly. I didn't want to believe Jude would hurt me. Then again, he'd killed Lauren Huntsman. He was an expert at concealing his true character. Most psychopaths were. It reminded me of neighbors of convicted serial killers, who always exclaimed, "But he was such a nice man!"

  "You're not going to scream, Britt," Jude informed me in that same quiet, lethal tone. "You're going to hear me out. And then you're going to tell me where you put the things you stole from me."

  For one moment, my anger overrode my fear, and without thinking, I arched my eyebrows defiantly. Is that what you think, you psychopath? I inwardly raged at him. Take your hand off and I'll scream so loud your ears will snap off!

  "Have it your way," Jude replied to my outraged wriggling. "I'll do the talking, and you can listen. And your friend downstairs can continue to stare stupidly out the living room window. Like I'd march up under the spotlights he's got fixed on the grounds and wave hello."

  At his insult to Calvin, I bucked wildly with indignation. I prayed Calvin would come check on me and blow a hole directly between Jude's hateful eyes. But maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was good that Jude underestimated Calvin. I couldn't wait to see the shock on his face when he realized he never should have crossed Calvin. If Jude had come here to kill me now that I knew he'd murdered Lauren Huntsman, it would ignite a fire in Calvin. Jude would see.

  "You said you trusted me, then went through my personal belongings. You should have asked me to explain myself before jumping to conclusions and running off," Jude said, his voice cool and pissed. "Then again, I'm not sure you ever cared. I misjudged you, Britt. Excellent marks for getting me to lower my guard--not many get to claim that achievement. You played me hard. Did you intend to go through my stuff all along? Or was your seduction act to ensure I'd help you to Idlewilde? Well, you wasted your time," he said, his tone growing angrier. "And threw away your self-respect. I told you I'd get you here, and I meant it."

  I looked directly in his eyes and jerked my chin in a haughty nod. That's right. I was faking. The kissing was an act. It felt good to think the words at him, to not give him the satisfaction of thinking I ever cared, especially if this was it, the end of my life.

  Only, my eyes filled with tears, and this ruined the brazenness of my attack. I tried to turn my head away before he saw, hating the idea of displaying weakness now. I couldn't decide if I was crying for fear of my life, or because Jude's words had ripped open a wound. Last night under the tree wasn't an act. I'd made out with him because I'd wanted to. I'd trusted him. And the betrayal, the truth about who he was, hurt like my heart was being wrenched in two.

  "Crying now too? You're a better actor than I guessed," Jude snorted bitterly. "Cry yourself dry--I'm not letting you go, Britt. Not after I went to the trouble of tracking you down. I'm not leaving until you give me back what you stole. Now, where are they?" he demanded, shaking me roughly. "Where are the locket and diary?"

  I shook my head emphatically. I panted hard through my nose, glaring at him to communicate my message. Never before had I wanted to curse so vehemently; a slew of the worst and foulest words I could think of flashed across my mind, and I only wished I had the great satisfaction of spitting them in his face.

  "Where are they?" he growled again, grinding me harder into the mattress.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking this was it. He had one hand clasped over my mouth, the other braced behind my head. With one rough twist, he could snap my neck. My breath came in short, dire pants. I knew it was shameful to wait until now to pray, but I was desperate. Dear God, comfort my dad and Ian after I'm gone. And if this is the end, please let Jude do it swiftly, and not draw out the pain.

  When nothing happened, I dared open my eyes. Jude leaned over me, his harsh, raging features crumbling. He shook his head, self-disgust and weariness etched in his expression. He let go of me, grinding his palms into his bloodshot eyes. His shoulders sagged, his whole body trembling as he broke down, silently crying.

  He hadn't killed me. I wasn't dead.

  I lay on the bed, unable to do anything but cry alongside him. My shoulders shook in great, silent heaves.

  "Did you kill her?" I asked.

  "Do you think I did?"

  "You had her belongings."

  Bitterness edged his words. "So now I murdered her? Was it easy to jump to the conclusion, to condemn me as a murderer, or did you wrestle with your judgment a bit first? Given what we shared last night, I hope you spared a couple minutes to weigh my character."

  "I saw Lauren Huntsman's dad on the news. He was adamant she would have been wearing the locket the night she disappeared."

  "She was."

  I swallowed hard. Was it a confession? "What were the handcuffs for?"

  Jude cringed, and I knew he'd hoped I'd forgotten about them. But how could I? What kind of normal person carried handcuffs?

  "Did you handcuff Lauren?" I continued. "So she couldn't get away? To make her powerless?"

  "You think I'm capable of terrible things, you've made that clear," Jude said, his tone halfway between jaded and fatigued. "But I'm not the
bad guy you've made me out to be. I'm trying to do the right thing, which is why I'm here now. I'm trying to catch the real bad guy. And to do that, I need Lauren's belongings."

  More cryptic explanations. I was getting tired of them. I didn't know what to believe. I only knew that if I made the mistake of trusting Jude a second time, I was not only a fool, but probably dead. He could be tricking me . . . only to kill me and eliminate me as a witness.

  "Who was Lauren to you?"

  Jude rubbed his hands over his face, and they shook as he did. He bent over, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, almost like he was being assailed by memories--invisible, bewitched objects that flew at him with painful force.

  "I didn't kill Lauren," he said in a flat, toneless voice. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the shadowed wall. Even in the low light, I could see his eyes were vacant. "She left a message on my phone hours before she disappeared. She told me she was going drinking, and I knew she was baiting me, like she'd done a hundred times before. She wanted me to stop her. My plane had just touched down in Jackson Hole when I got the message, and I wanted to shower and grab something to eat; I was sick and tired of dropping everything to come rescue her. So I ignored her call. For once, I wanted her to clean up her own mess." His breath caught and he looked up at me with hollow, tortured eyes. "Lauren was my sister, Britt. I was supposed to take care of her, and I failed her. Not a day goes by that I don't imagine how things would have been different if I hadn't been so selfish."

  Lauren was his sister?

  Before I could sort it out, Jude went on. "The police gave up on finding her, but I never did. I had her diary, and I pored through it for clues. I went to every bar, club, pool hall, and hotel in Jackson Hole that I thought she might have visited. My family had been vacationing there for a week before I arrived, so I knew she'd had plenty of time to make her way around. People must have seen her. Someone had seen something. Though I criticized the police for not making any headway, I had a resource they didn't--my family's money. I paid people to talk, and one person, a bartender, remembered seeing Lauren leave his bar with a cowboy. The bartender later leaked to the news that Lauren was seen leaving Silver Dollar Cowboy Bar with a man in a black Stetson, which infuriated me, because I didn't want to tip off the man I was hunting for.

  "Based on the bartender's description, I knew I was looking for a man in his early twenties, slim, average height, broken nose, blond hair, blue eyes, and possibly wearing a black Stetson. Then I went back to that same bar every night for weeks, until at last Shaun came in. He matched the description. I learned his name and ran a background check, and found out he'd recently moved to Wyoming from Montana, where he had a record of misdemeanors--petty theft, simple assault, and disorderly conduct. I was pretty sure I had my man.

  "I quit college, left my friends and family, moved to Wyoming, and made it my full-time job to earn Shaun's trust. I created a false identity and committed petty crimes and hustled his enemies to prove myself to him. I would have done whatever it took to get Shaun to confide in me. I believed eventually he'd confess to killing Lauren. And then, once I knew for sure he'd done it, I'd murder him. Slowly," he added in a cold, menacing tone, a flicker of black fire burning in his eyes.

  I had recovered sufficiently to scoot backward across the bed--silently, so Jude wouldn't notice. It was a sentimental and convenient story. Maybe Jude realized threatening me wasn't working, and was trying a new angle. His story also didn't explain the locket and the stalkerish photograph. Lauren's parents were certain she was wearing the locket when she died. Jude must have been there when she was killed. He'd had to have removed it from her body. Carefully, I swung one foot off the bed, but the floor gave me away. It creaked under my weight.

  Jude turned as if startled. I froze. I could scream now, but before Calvin could run up, Jude would have time to land a forceful, deadly blow on my head and slip out the window.

  "Keep going," I urged him gently, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

  To my astonishment, Jude blinked, and in an almost trancelike manner obeyed my request. "Killing Shaun, if he'd murdered Lauren, was my endgame. He had started bragging about some of his crimes, like blackmailing wealthy married women with pictures he took of them when they were drunk. A little longer, and I was sure he'd tell me about Lauren.

  "And then he robbed the Subway and shot a cop. Shaun was freaked out--I'd never seen him so afraid. He knew we were in trouble. As he sped away, he was so panicked, he hit a girl crossing the street. I don't think he even saw her. His reaction should have caused me to reconsider the likelihood that he'd killed before, but I didn't want to be wrong about him." Jude squeezed above his eyebrows, his expression tightening with pain. "I'd been hunting for Lauren's killer too long to go back to square one.

  "After Shaun shot the cop, we were forced to go on the run. To make matters worse, you and Korbie showed up at the cabin we were hiding in. Instead of making your safety my priority, I was furious that you'd screwed up my plans. It was like I wasn't even human. The bloodthirsty rage was in control, driving me to get Shaun's confession. Everything had narrowed to that one target. If he'd killed her, I was going to return the favor to him, and if there were consequences for me, damn them. I knew I'd go down for it, but it seemed right. I wanted to die. I'd failed Lauren and didn't deserve anything less."

  Jude planted his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, weaving his fingers together at the back of his neck. He was closer to the door than me, but if I continued toward it in small, quiet steps--

  "When you and I teamed up to make it off the mountain alive, something happened to me. I came out of the rage. For the first time in months, I had someone other than Lauren's ghost to hold on to. I wanted to be there for you, Britt. I told myself I was worth more alive than dead. I had to keep fighting, because you needed me. And when we kissed . . ." He wiped the backs of his hands over his eyes.

  I stopped abruptly. I hadn't expected him to reference me with such emotion. Out of nowhere, I was seized by an aching squeeze. I swallowed, fighting the sweet, dangerous memory of last night. I could not go back there. I knew it, but I wasn't strong enough to fight it.

  I shut my eyes briefly, feeling the rising wave of longing. I recalled with hungry brightness the smoothness of his bare skin, the shimmer of firelight on his dark features. I could still feel his slow, deliberate caresses. He knew how to touch me. His hands were forever burned into my skin.

  "So it meant something to you too," Jude said quietly, studying me with eyes that were now wholly present.

  I didn't know what the kiss meant to me. And I couldn't sort it out now. I didn't know if I believed Jude's story. What kind of person quit college to finish work that should have been left to the police? Even if Lauren was his sister, I wasn't sure it justified his extreme measures. And the crimes he'd committed to earn Shaun's trust, were they justified? If he really wanted justice, he would have given Lauren's diary and locket to the police, and trusted the system.

  "How did you get Lauren's locket?" I asked.

  "I found it in Shaun's truck right after we took you hostage. I went to get your gear from the Wrangler, but first I broke into Shaun's truck and ransacked it. I knew it might be my only chance to see what he was keeping in there. I found Lauren's locket in a metal box under his seat. I also found Lauren's picture. There were pictures of other women too, but all I could focus on was that I finally had what I was looking for. Proof he knew Lauren. Proof he targeted her, watching and photographing her for days before he made his move.

  "I had to sew the locket and picture, along with the diary and handcuffs I already had, into a canvas bag I could keep hidden from Shaun. That took time, which is why I was late getting back with the gear."

  I still didn't know if I believed him. Jude had already proved himself extremely clever and smart. What if he were tricking me now? "If I tell you where the diary and locket are, will you swear to hand them over to the police?" I asked.
>
  "Of course," he said impatiently. "Where are they?"

  I watched him intently, trying to divine the slippery thoughts darting behind his eyes. He seemed almost too greedy, and it made me uneasy.

  "I don't have Lauren's things," I said finally. "I gave them to Calvin. And you don't have to swear anything, because he's going to turn them over to the police for you."

  Jude's face went white with fear.

  In that next unbalanced moment, my heart started to pound. His reaction could only mean one thing. Guilt. Of course he'd come here to trick me and get Lauren's things back. He was a criminal mastermind. He'd cooked up an elaborate story that made him appear tragically heroic so that I'd drop the evidence in his lap like an obedient child.

  I stepped away from Jude.

  He shook his head, bewildered, as if he couldn't believe his lies were unraveling and I'd figured it out. "You shouldn't have given them to Cal--" he began.

  A rap at the door caused us both to swivel to face it. Jude's bewildered expression dissolved. He leaped off the bed, crouching silently in the darkness beside the door, hands bared to fight. He wasn't carrying a weapon; he would fight with his fists if Calvin came through the door.

  "Britt? Just making sure you're okay," Calvin called softly to me.

  Jude's dark eyes cut to mine, and he shook his head once. He wanted me to send Calvin away.

  There wasn't time to think. I hardly knew Jude. To trust him was quicksand. Calvin was solid; he had always taken care of me. Torn, I looked desperately between the door and the figure beside it poised to spring. My head was telling me to trust Calvin, but my heart wanted me to believe Jude.

  One word from me, and Calvin would either go away or barge in. In the end, it was my hesitation, my silence, that betrayed my uncertainty to Jude.

  And prompted Calvin to enter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Calvin's arm shot up in reflex to deflect the blow Jude swung at him as Cal thrust through the doorway. Still, the impact caused Calvin to stagger back a step, nearly losing his footing. Jude didn't wait for him to find it; he lunged for Calvin, his fists clenched so tightly I could see the veins in his neck straining against his skin. But Calvin had drawn his gun before flinging the door inward, and it was ready and aimed as he fired at Jude.