Cold Snap (In From the Cold #1)

  ***

  By the time he pulled off the highway into the Mountain Shadow driveway, Cannon had a list of thirty-seven reasons he should have stayed in Atlanta. Over half of them were related to snow, ice, and winter in general.

  The driveway was better cleared than most of the highway, he thought bitterly, relaxing his white-knuckled grip on the Shelby's steering wheel slightly. It hadn't taken him long on the road, once he'd dug his car out, salted the pavement around it, and driven it gingerly out of the university parking lot, to realize that Finn Lorensson was one hundred percent correct.

  His beloved Shelby was a death trap in these conditions.

  And these conditions would kill his car.

  Top of his to-do list was to buy or lease a replacement vehicle and find a garage to winter his baby in. Better yet, he recalled the call he had in to a contractor to do some remodeling work on his cabin. Siggy would probably be able to construct a garage attachment to the cabin for his car. Making a mental note to bring it up at their Monday morning meeting, he slowed down to take the curves in the drive.

  The countryside had been beautiful in the photos on the website. Green and lush, not so different from Georgia. He'd liked the idea of being out from the city. All his life Cannon had lived in cities, lived with crowds, conveniences, crime, exhaust, and manicured parks. Topiaries where trees were forced into balls and hedges looked like boxes. The wild freedom of pine trees that weren't triangles and maples that glowed with color and life and enthralled him.

  So he'd taken the lease on the cabin for the duration of his visit, and he'd had no idea what he'd been letting himself in for. A kitchen too tiny to cook in, no secured parking, and noise.

  A lot of fucking noise.

  Not reassuring mechanical noise, like whirrs and hums of air conditioners and heaters, or the clanks of medical equipment. Nope. The first night in his new place he'd lain awake listening to scratching, crunching, skittering noises. Whistling, thumping, hissing noises.

  And it was so fucking dark.

  Another project that Siggy was taking on for him. He needed an outdoor security light, so he could park when he got home late and walk to his front door without killing himself. Pulling into the allotted space, Cannon sighed. He was home, and it was only noon.

  Finn must have been awake for hours by now.

  Stop thinking about him, he ordered himself, pushing out into the cold. He circled around to the back of the car to remove the all-weather cover he'd gotten at AutoZone and froze. Icy cold seeped into his boots, torturing his sockless feet.

  He didn't care. His gaze locked onto the strange marks, the indentations in the snow. "Hello?" he called. There was no answer but the hushed slide of a pile of snow falling down the roof. Cautiously, he stepped forward, keeping his keys at the ready in his hand.

  The tracks circled his A-frame cabin, darting inward at each window and then outward, creating an odd, almost floral design. His head whipped around, Cannon noted only a single trail of tracks from the road.

  There weren't any vehicles in sight, and he couldn’t see anyone, which seemed to indicate that…"He's in my house." Son of a bitch!

  He stumbled through the snow the few steps to his car and threw himself into gear. His heart beat loud and erratic in his ears, and all he could think of was getting to the lodge and calling the police. Switching on the engine and grinding the gears, he slammed the car into reverse and backed out onto the slushy road.

  It purred into first gear and he sped down the road, keeping one eye on his rearview mirror, watching for the man, the monster, to emerge from his house and follow. Get to where there were people, call the cops…Trees blurred by, Cannon reached for his phone, the tires hit a slick patch and he spun out, a dizzying whirl as he three-sixtied, once, then a half turn shot him forward, burying the nose of the Shelby in a tall drift of snow.

  His head slammed forward, hitting the horn which began to blare, warm blood trickled down his forehead. Cannon weakly pushed upright, stared blankly at the bank of white cushioning his windshield. His cracked windshield.

  He'd dug himself out already, hadn't he?

  Wait…

  The door was wrenched open and a hard hand closed on his arm. Cannon turned, relaxing as he looked into familiar blue eyes. "Finn. Thank you for dinner. It was a lovely evening." The polite words were out before he winced, remembering what he'd done after dinner.

  An impatient sigh that tweaked a memory Cannon wanted buried, a memory of a brown-haired cop, issued from the plump red lips. He knew those lips intimately, didn't he? "It was lovely up to a point. I agree. What the devil are you doing? Driving like a bat heading to hell on these roads?"

  Suspicion wiggled its way to the front of Cannon's mind, and he struggled briefly, trying to wrench his arm from that tight grip. What the devil was Finn doing here? He was supposed to be at the hotel until Sunday.

  "Are you stalking me?" he blurted as soon as the obvious answer occurred to him. "Did you break into my cabin? House?"

  Blue ice shadowed the concerned eyes, and Cannon regretted his outburst until common sense reminded him that the ability to feign emotion well was characteristic of psychopaths. "I might ask the same of you, Cannon Malloy. But the answer is no, this is my home. You've just conveniently wrecked your little car in my driveway, trapping us both."

  "Your home?" He glanced over Finn's shoulder to see another of the charming A-frame cabins, much like his own only larger. "You live at Mountain Shadow?" he repeated dumbly.

  "I do. And you, my friend, need a doctor."

  "I am a doctor."

  "Unless you can stitch your own forehead, you need another doctor."

  Cannon smiled, shifting woozily. "Well, that's okay then. You're a doctor too." He was rather proud of that. A lot of his MD friends mocked academic degrees, but Cannon respected anyone who could handle the intense study required for an advanced degree.

  "Indeed I am, but I must confess that the sight of blood and bone does nothing for me. And my sewing skills are limited to attaching a button." Finn insistently tugged and pulled until Cannon stood, leaning shakily against his car.

  Cannon blinked into the afternoon sun. "God, it's bright out." He raised a hand to wipe a trickle of hot sweat from his forehead, and when it came back bloody, his gut clenched.

  "Yes," Finn murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Lean into me and we'll go inside and call Scott down at the lodge. I'd call a tow truck, but Scott has a plow and a hitch and he can tow you out. I'll drive you to the hospital and you can get checked out."

  "You can't drive my car." Cannon concentrated on walking. Ice was tricky, he'd learned that to his own peril the first time he'd climbed the steps to his new office.

  "I wouldn't dream of it." Finn maneuvered him around to a shoveled walk that led to the front door, painted a cherry red.

  Leaning on Finn made the walk a hell of a lot easier, though. "You're easy," he mumbled, putting one foot in front of the other.

  "Thank you. You're a bit of a challenge, if you want my honest opinion."

  "Honesty is best." He knew that. Had had that particular lesson hammered home over the last year, watching his ex and his friends. "Honesty saves lives."