“Yeah, I know.” Sam helped May take off her snowshoes, propping them next to his by the door. There was a big duffel that hadn’t been there before, and he stared at it a moment before leading May into the kitchen and sat her on one of the stools by the island.
Becky, Haley Anne, and Molly were already gathered. Ilya glanced up from where he slumped in one of the chairs by the windows. In the chair next to him was Jim Gustafson of all people. Becky took one look at them and put a kettle on.
“What’re you doing here, Jim?” Sam asked
Jim shrugged. “I was in town at Sarah Milton’s place. We… ah, we have kind of a thing going.”
“Yeah?” Karl asked, sounding interested.
Jim turned a little red. “Yeah, so we heard the shooting and the phone lines were down this morning.” Jim shrugged. “Thought I should come see what was going on. If Sam needed help or anything.”
“Appreciate that,” Sam said. “May lost her skis and we got caught by the storm. Had to hole up in Tony Hopkins’s cabin.”
“Thank God you made it there,” Becky said quietly. She was sticking something in the microwave to heat.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Everyone else make it back?”
Becky nodded to the downstairs bedroom. “They’re all in there, still sleeping. We patched Doug up, but he needs a doctor. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“What about Doc?”
The lines deepened in her face. “He’s got a low fever. I think he’s okay for now, but we need to get him to a hospital as soon as we can, Sam.”
“Noted,” Sam said grimly as he shucked his parka. He threw it over a chair. “How’d you get here, Jim?”
“Snowmobile,” Jim said, short and succinct.
Sam nodded. “Anyone try the phones?”
“Still not working,” Becky answered.
The microwave beeped at the same time the kettle began whistling, and Sam walked around the island to help get out some silverware. He noticed then that a big grey-and-black sled dog was curled on Otter’s dog bed, a bandage on her side. The bandage was bleeding through and Otter had gone to sniff at it. The bigger dog opened her eyes and lifted her lip in a silent snarl to warn Otter. He sat on his butt and lowered his head to the floor in submission.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“That’s Cookie, my lead dog,” Karl said from behind him. “Got shot. She’s…”
He broke off, gulping.
“She’s not doing well,” Molly said gravely, her eyes on Karl. “But she’s strong. She’ll last until we can get her to a vet.”
She put her hand on Karl’s shoulder and he looked at her gratefully.
A toilet flushed and Walkingtall came out of the downstairs bathroom. “Did they tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Sam frowned as he took down a package of herbal tea from the cupboard. It was left over from an old girlfriend and was probably two years old or more, but it would be hot.
“George is gone.”
Sam froze, his hand on the teakettle. He looked at May.
She’d straightened, her face stricken. “What? What do you mean?”
For a second Sam wished he could’ve just decked Walkingtall.
Karl looked like he had the same idea. “Apparently one of the SUVs showed up down the road, cruising slow like it was searching. Fortunately, Becky was watching with your binoculars, Sam. She spotted them before they got too close and saw the tracks out front of your house.”
“What happened to my uncle?” May asked. Her face had gone white.
Becky brought over two plates of some kind of casserole with canned green beans on the side. “George said he was going out to talk to them before they came closer down the lane and figured out which cabin we were in. He took one of the suitcases, went out the back, and walked through the woods by the lake before coming out on the road.”
Karl nodded. “Becky saw him get in the SUV. Next thing we knew they were gone.”
“Oh, God,” May said.
Tears sparkled in her eyes and Sam went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She sagged against him and that more than anything worried the hell out of him. May wasn’t a quitter. She never gave up, never gave in. She was tough as nails and as ornery as a mad badger, and it made him sick to see her head bowed into his shoulder.
Sam looked at Stu. “So George kept them from discovering you all.”
Stu nodded grimly.
“That was brave of him,” Sam said. He looked at Karl. “When was this?”
But it was Stu who replied. “Before the storm.” He closed the door to the downstairs bedroom quietly behind him. “We got back just after.”
Karl shook his head. “No way they could’ve made it back to town before the storm hit. They were moving slow—it’s a wonder they could get that SUV through the snow at all. Might’ve stuck on the way back for all we know.”
May inhaled.
Sam squeezed her shoulder. “That’s a good thing. If they’ve gotten stuck or had to stop, they’re vulnerable.”
May stood, her stool screeching back behind her. “We have to go after them.”
She was still wearing her parka so Sam unzipped her and pulled it from her shoulders. He placed the parka over a kitchen chair, and as he did so he felt the lump in her right pocket.
Karl glanced out the window. “It’s dark.”
May looked as well, and as she did so, Sam took the diamonds out of her parka pocket and slipped them in his jeans pocket.
Stu shook his big, shaggy head. “No way. It’s too dangerous. We don’t know the route they took back to town, and besides, the dogs are pooped. They need to rest before they go out again.”
Jim Gustafson stirred. “I’ve got my snowmobile.”
Stu shot him a look.
Jim shrugged. “But, yeah, it’d be stupid to go out now. Might get lost. Freeze to death.”
May turned on Sam fiercely. “I’ll go after Dyadya myself if you won’t go. You don’t understand. He testified at Beridze’s uncle’s trial. Dyadya is the reason his uncle will be in prison for the rest of his life. Beridze can’t get his hands on Dyadya!”
Sam gripped her shoulders, trying to tamp down his own worry, trying to channel all his strength and calm through his hands into her body. “It’s dark and we’re tired. We can’t go up against them without a plan.”
She wrenched against his hands, trying to fly away. “You don’t understand—”
“I do understand,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “He means the world to you. He’s the father you never had. You can’t lose him.”
She stopped and stared up at him, her eyes wide.
He rubbed her arms with his thumbs. “I understand, May, I do, and I promise, I promise on everything I hold dear—on this town and us—I promise I’ll get your uncle back for you.”
Chapter Forty-One
The police station was cold—so cold that Jabba’s feet ached as they hadn’t since he’d been a very small boy in Moscow. The fucking townspeople had blown up the small electrical generator in the parking lot. Smoke still trailed sluggishly from the remains of the shed.
He’d lost his hostages. Lost one of his SUVs to the lake’s ice. Nearly lost Sasha in the water of the lake.
And he still didn’t have his diamonds.
“I do not understand why I cannot go shoot up this fucking town,” Jabba said, peering through the window to the darkened street below. Nothing moved. Maybe all the townspeople had frozen to death.
“You know,” Sasha said. “We wait for the last SUV. Without it we cannot escape.”
Jabba jerked his chin at him. “You think I was stupid to send Rocky to find that policeman’s house. The policeman who is in charge.”
He had ordered Rocky out before the police station had been attacked. Because Rocky had been out, they’d been short of manpower. When the fucking dog sleds had shown up and then a sniper appeared on the roof opposite, Jabba had taken Sasha and two other men out
side and split up to find that sniper.
Instead he’d lost two men outside, four inside, and the fucking SUV when it’d gone through the ice. If Sasha hadn’t pulled himself and Nicky out of the SUV, Jabba would have been entirely alone in the police station.
“It is not my job to think, Boss.” Sasha said flatly. “But we’re running out of time. By now the FBI will be alerted and will be looking for us. We need to leave the country.”
He looked at Sasha. Sometimes Jabba wondered if he should kill him. Sasha was the only one who did not fear him, and Jabba thought this was not good.
On the other hand, Sasha was very useful.
“Truck,” barked Nicky. He was looking out the back window. “Ours.”
“Rocky?” Sasha asked.
“Rocky and Ivan,” Nicky said. “And they have another with them.”
Jabba looked at the door as they heard the footsteps on the stairs.
Sasha rose, his gun pointed at the door. He gestured to the remaining two men to do the same.
Rocky opened the door, his expression cautious.
Behind him was George Rapava.
Jabba cocked his head. “Have you come to visit me, my old friend George?”
George Rapava was a mafiya of old—those who showed fear did not last long in the gulag. He sauntered in, his back a little bent, his hands clasped before him like an old man. He was an old man—over seventy, most likely—yet he was dangerous as well. None of the old mafiya, the ones from Mother Russia, were entirely safe, even in old age.
Old George smiled, a thin smile such as a snake would give, and said, “I have come at the invitation of your men, Jabba.”
Jabba stretched wide his arms. “My house is yours, I assure you, dear George. I hope you do not mind, it is perhaps rather cold because your friends have destroyed the power.”
George shrugged. “I have survived Siberia. This? This is nothing. Although”—he glanced about—“there are far less of your men here than I was led to believe.”
For a moment Jabba felt the rage rise within him, firing his blood, boiling the thoughts from his brain.
And then he was controlled again. Serene and complacent. He looked at the black suitcase one of his men carried. “Have you brought me a present?”
“For you? Naturally,” George rumbled.
“There’s a bomb inside,” Rocky said.
“You brought a bomb to us?” Sasha snarled. His gun, which had never lowered, swung to point at Rocky’s face.
George Rapava chuckled.
Jabba felt his lip curl as he strode forward and took the suitcase from his man’s hand. He laid it on one of the policemen’s desks.
“Boss,” Sasha warned. “He was known for his explosives in Russia.”
Jabba looked and saw the pathetic piece of tape closing the zipper, the childish warning: BOMB. DO NOT OPEN.
In one motion Jabba unzipped the suitcase and flung open the lid.
Rocky and those behind him jerked away, their arms raised as if to shield their faces. Sasha stood his ground, but flinched.
Only George and Jabba did not move.
Inside the suitcase were a few old magazines, some towels, nothing else.
“A foolish trick,” Jabba said contemptuously, shoving the suitcase off the desk. It fell to the floor, spilling its contents. “Perhaps you have grown weak in your old age, George my dear friend, to think this would deceive me?”
Old George shrugged, his smile never wavering. “I thought it would make you laugh only.”
“Yes? This is so?” Jabba perched on the corner of the desk. “But if you seek to amuse me, this is easy enough to do.”
George’s smile faded.
“Very easy,” Jabba continued, taking a knife from his pocket. He flicked it open with his thumb, the razor-sharp blade gleaming dully. “You will tell me where Ilya the thief is, where my diamonds are, and you will do this very quickly.”
“Ah.” George shook his head in sorrow, smiling wryly. “And yet I am afraid I must disappoint you, my friend Jabba, because I can do neither.”
Jabba had been expecting this answer and his smile answered George’s as he said softly, “Then I will have to find my amusement another way, eh?”
Chapter Forty-Two
Maisa closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of Sam from his sweater. She knew he was perfectly sincere. That he really would do all he could to bring back Dyadya to her. Except that Beridze had shot Doc, and if it meant giving the diamonds to Beridze and letting him go, she wasn’t sure Sam would do that. He hadn’t said so explicitly, but she knew damned well that Sam wanted to avenge Doc. Avenge his town. And beyond that, Sam was on the side of law and order. He wasn’t going to let a murderer, a psychopathic gangster, go free. If it came right down to it, she was afraid that he’d choose capturing Beridze over rescuing Dyadya.
She took a breath, trying to calm her shaking. This was it: the event that would tear them apart. She’d known it was coming, she just hadn’t realized that it would arrive so quickly.
“Okay.” She raised her head, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes, and she was able, finally, now that it was too late, to acknowledge to herself that she loved him. Completely, utterly, and awfully, she loved Sam West, and she suspected she always would. “Okay, I’ll wait.”
The relief that swept his features eased the lines around his eyes and mouth. He was almost as tired as she from their trek and the events of the last few days. She wished she could comfort him, just spend a little time savoring this man.
“We’ll find your uncle,” he assured her, low.
“Yeah, we will,” Stu said. “Doug’s out, but we have Jim’s snowmobile and the three sleds still, plus me, Karl, and this guy here.” He jerked his head at Walkingtall, who looked suddenly alarmed.
“Us, too,” Becky spoke for both her and Haley Anne.
“And me,” Molly Jasper said quietly. Maisa remembered how the petite woman had given them all cover from the roof of the antique shop.
“Oh yeah, and me and Molly took out one of the SUVs,” Karl said, perking up.
Sam swung on him, intent. “What?”
Karl beamed. “Yup. Led them out on the ice on Lake Moosehead and over that spot where Gopher Creek lets on the lake. Ice’s thin there. They went right in. Coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Damn,” Stu said, admiration in his voice.
“That means they’re down to one SUV,” Sam said. “Did you see how many men were in the truck?”
Karl shrugged. “At least two.”
Sam nodded absently, his eyes narrowed. He was probably calculating odds and the number of enemy still left.
Maisa just felt tired. She needed some rest if she was going to accomplish what she needed to do. She looked down at the macaroni, ground beef, and cheese hot dish Becky had set on the table, and her stomach rolled. She placed her palm on Sam’s chest and pushed gently.
Immediately his arms tightened and his gaze focused on her.
“I need a shower,” she murmured.
He nodded and his arms opened, letting her go, though his eyes were speculative as he watched her. “Go on. I’ll be up in a bit after I check on Doc.”
She felt her cheeks heat. It seemed sort of ridiculous to be self-conscious now, but she was suddenly aware that everyone must know she was sleeping with Sam. She walked around the island, past Stu as he moved aside, and grabbed her suitcase—the right suitcase this time—from the kitchen closet.
“Let me take that,” Sam said, as she came back by him.
She shook her head. “It’s okay.”
He nodded, but his eyes narrowed as she turned away. She’d need to be careful if she was going to go through with her plan to rescue Dyadya and betray Sam.
Her Sam wasn’t stupid.
Otter trotted after her as she mounted the stairs to the loft above.
It was dim up here in Sam’s personal space, dark but cozy, with the warm air rising to fill the loft. She set her suitc
ase on a straight-backed chair next to his bureau, and for a moment just stood there, staring at nothing. It was nice to be alone. To have a minute to gather her thoughts apart from anyone else. Fine tremors were shaking her arms, and a part of her marveled at them in a detached way.
She frowned and bent to open her suitcase.
She picked out fresh underwear and the sleep pants and long-sleeved T she’d packed almost a week ago. They weren’t at all sexy, but they were all she had.
She’d noticed that first day that Sam’s bathroom was pretty small, but nice. He must’ve put it in himself, because the toilet and pedestal sink were newer, and the shower was lined in light terra-cotta tile. No bath, but the shower was roomy. She started the water as she stripped out of her clothes, then tested it before stepping under the spray. It was nice and hot, and she nearly moaned as the water hit her sore muscles. She’d never been snowshoeing, and the exercise had used muscles that she hadn’t known she possessed.
She closed her eyes, letting the water stream over her face, flattening her hair. She felt as if she needed to wash away more than sweat and grime.
The shower door opened behind her and she didn’t even look, because she’d been half-expecting him.
And anyway she was so very glad he’d come.
“Want me to wash your back?” he murmured in her ear. His smoky voice sent shivers down her neck, making her nipples peak even under the hot spray.
“Yes.”
He kneaded soapy hands down her back, his thumbs digging small circles on either side of her spine. She bowed her head and this time she did moan aloud, not caring if anyone else heard her in the house. He moved back up her spine and then over her shoulders, loosening her muscles, turning her to putty. He rinsed her back and she started to turn around, but he halted her with a touch.
“Don’t move.”
She waited, not even caring what he meant to do next, she was so relaxed, so tired emotionally and physically.
Then she felt the touch of his fingers in her hair, working shampoo in. He massaged gently over her temples and at the base of her head where she hadn’t even known the muscles were tight, and then he tipped her head back so that she rested against his shoulder. Carefully, cupping his hand against her forehead to prevent the soap from streaming in her eyes, he rinsed her hair.