Luc shot up, woozy and caught in a wave of déjà vu stronger than any he’d felt in his life. What was that? An engine? Something shifted against him, and he glanced down to see Abby asleep, mouth slightly open, face looking bruised in the moonlight. Bleary-brained, he startled again when the sound solidified into a car door slamming, followed by voices.
What the hell?
On the floor, Le Dog growled, golden eyes narrowed, muzzle curled aggressively. Another glance showed fur puffed up along his spine, ears flattened back. That sight brought every hair on Luc’s body to standing.
He pulled back the curtain, like he’d done earlier this evening, only now there was something to see. Several men got out of a pickup with a snow plow attached to the front and disappeared around his property, leaving the truck running.
Once again, they were heavily armed.
He reached for his rifle, and his hand found nothing but wall.Bordel de merde. Where…? The shed. He’d left it there when he’d carried Abby inside.
Moving fast, muscles tense with adrenaline, and anger making him fearless, he pulled his clothes on, raced to the kitchen, and made sure the back door was bolted. In the living room, he picked up the poker from beside the fireplace and went to the sofa, where Abby remained oblivious.
They were here for her. Of that, he had no doubt. Would they force their way in this time? Take her?
He’d kill them first. The poker in his fist proved that. A goddamned poker. It should be funny, this pathetic weapon against theirs, but it wasn’t. There was violence in his muscles and bones. It made him stronger. He’d tear them apart with his bare hands if he had to.
Yelling reached him from outside.
“Abby!” he whispered, hunkered down beside her, face against hers. “Wake up.”
Her breathing changed, eyes opened, almost focused on him. He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “Stay here and don’t make a noise. No sound. Understand?”
She nodded, and without thinking it through, Luc pressed his lips to her hair in a hard, silent kiss.
He moved to the door, which he hadn’t thought to lock. He hadn’t planned for this, an all-out attack on his property. He slid into his boots, yanked on his coat, and stepped outside, poker clenched in his fist. He wanted to slam that asshole in the face with it, drive the end in through his neck.
But that wouldn’t do, would it? With a glance, he took in the single set of footsteps leading up to his porch. He’d carried her up here.They don’t know she’s here, he realized, awash with relief.
How would I act if she hadn’t shown up here tonight?No frontal assault, although there would be enmity between them, certainly. He’d already confronted them once today. Scanning the night, he thought of the more than two years he’d spent without seeing these people at all. And here they were, at their third encounter in the space of just a couple of days. It was time for this to end.Now.
“Who’s there?” he yelled. His voice carried a few meters and disappeared, soaked up by the heavily falling snow. He took a big, angry breath and stepped to the edge of his porch, the rage burning too hot for him to notice the cold.
From somewhere past the chicken coop, he heard voices. Goddamn it, he wished he had his gun. He’d fire a warning shot. Without waiting, he pounded down the steps, through the fresh snow, and straight to their truck. Its lights burrowed soft, yellow tunnels into his yard, speckled with falling snow. Holding up the poker, he approached—caution forgotten—and yanked open the door.
Nobody inside, despite the wipers and the engine and lights. Diesel exhaust wrapped him up in its cloud of stink. He leaned in and honked the horn twice, long and loud, before grabbing the keys, twisting them out, and sliding them into his pocket.Fuck it, he thought, laying his hand on the horn again and keeping it there. Nobody around to hear except these bastards, and he wanted them scared.
Here we go.One man, followed by a few more, came into Luc’s line of vision, all of them focused on him. He watched them, waited, breath painful from adrenaline or the cold. He took a step back, two, and one man approached Luc, separating himself from the pack, rifle in hand this time. Isaiah.
Damned bastard.
That feeling of excitable fear hit him—it made his muscles heavy and his brain buzz. Made him feel invisible and dead already—kicked into double time.
“What’s going on here?” Luc asked, keeping his voice as low and calm as possible despite the man now standing just a few feet from him.
“Isaiah Bowden here, sir.” The man moved into the glow of the headlights. He—unlike Luc, who was freezing his ass off out here—appeared to be dressed for this encounter.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Luc gritted out, reaching for a grim glimmer of humor in this messed-up situation.
“Apologies for the late hour, but we have something of an emergency. Would you have a minute please, sir?”
So polite with his sirs and pleases, despite the veiled threats every time they met. All of this was so unbelievable, and just for one second, Luc let himself wish Abby wasn’t here. That he’d never met her, that she hadn’t come and turned his perfectly empty, uneventful life upside down.
Imagine that, he decided again. He needed to channel that cluelessness if he was going to convince this man that she’d never come here tonight.
He ran one soaked sleeve over his eyes, clearing them of snow, and shook his head. Play up the bewilderment and tamp down the fear—that was the key. “Bit late for a visit, isn’t it, neighbor?” Luc said, moving out from the truck’s door, edging two steps closer to the cabin.
“We’ve had an incident. Wanted to warn you.”
