Except for random snowflakes, the air was clear.For the first time in almost two days, he could see the sky, trees, and ground without obstruction.A thick strip of the moon hung above the pine trees, stars speckled the sky, and the treetops swayed, warning of the windchill.
He brought his attention to the sleek, soft lines of snow sloping through the backyard.Now he could see the greenhouse nestled in the back corner of the lot, on the edge of the woods.No footprints broke the snow.The intruder could have worn snowshoes, but he’d have to be fast at getting them on and off.Then again, Jaxon and McKenna had been detained by Trevor for nearly ten minutes out front.
McKenna’s terror-filled eyes overtook his mind.He clamped his teeth together.Acid bubbled in his stomach.He’d do whatever necessary to make sure no one bothered McKenna again—which meant getting the truth out of Trevor first thing tomorrow.The storm had passed.His bones confirmed that.He’d make sure the bastard fucking with McKenna paid for what he’d done.And if Jaxon had to spend a few nights in a cell to settle the score, so be it.
He made his way back to the bedroom, clicking the flashlight off in the hall.The sight of McKenna’s graceful form beneath the blankets made him stop in his tracks.She’d turned over since he left the room and now faced the door.Her hand pillowed her cheek, her lips were parted in a half-moon shape, and her dark hair trailed over the white pillow.
Beautiful.Sweet.Everything good he’d ever wanted lay in the bed for him to hold.Then memories of finding his brother passed out, cocaine covering the tip of his nose, assaulted him.In that moment less than two years ago, he’d been filled with deep grief knowing he’d lost his brother.
He hadn’t told anyone in Whistlemore about Raf.He thought about his brother every day, and checked on him through Isaac periodically, but talking about it was a whole different ball game.One that had ripped open the sealed wounds all over again.
Raf had survived, gone to rehab, and relapsed.His baby brother was dead to him.The pain Jaxon carried knowing he hadn’t been able to save him, hadn’t been able to keep him out of the clutches of drugs and money, clouded the back of his mind every day.He’d failed Raf and had to leave to save himself.
He wouldn’t fail McKenna.
He lifted the covers and slid in next to her.She curled into his chest, and he enveloped her in his arms.
What he’d said to McKenna had been true.He couldn’t guarantee anything past tonight.But he could guarantee he’d never be the same.
CHAPTER 12
Jaxon’s snore snappedMcKenna out of a dead sleep.She turned over in his arms, but he didn’t budge.Her bladder nagged with the need to pee, but the last thing she wanted to do was escape his warmth.She snuggled deeper, but sleep didn’t come.
He snored again.
She fought off a sigh and wiggled out of his embrace.She waited to see if he stirred, but his arm dropped over the space she’d vacated.His mouth hung open, and ragged breaths moved through his lips.She smiled and flicked back a lock of his hair.Between the stress of the intruder, her mind constantly mulling over Trevor, and Jaxon’s getting up earlier, she’d slept only off and on.The night seemed to be dragging on eternally.She lifted her phone from the nightstand: 2:02 a.m.
She didn’t bother taking the flashlight to the bathroom.The route was one she took in the dark often.She closed the door halfway, peed, and washed her hands.Stepping into the hallway, she heard the sound of the fire crackling.If she added more firewood, they just might make it till morning before being woken by the cold again.She turned toward the living room.Shadows were scattered around the space in the orange glow.She picked up some logs and used the poker to position them.Satisfied, she put the iron piece back in its place and stood.
A cold draft hit her back.
The air in the room changed.
She froze, her breath lodged in her airway.
Someone’s here.
Panic skittered up the back of her neck.
She was just being paranoid.
Creak
The moan of the floorboard made bile hit the back of her throat.She needed to run, to scream, to wake Jaxon despite the terror seizing her tongue.She looked in the direction of the bedroom, sucked in a breath, and opened her mouth.A rush of movement hit her back and a hand slammed over her face, stifling the scream before it reached her throat.Metal ground into her temple: a gun.
She closed her eyes, pushing out the tears that had welled behind her lashes.The man’s scent invaded her: Hot.Stuffy.Astringent.She had to alert Jaxon.But with her attacker’s other arm clamped around her chest, she couldn’t so much as breathe let alone scream.
He dragged her backward.She clamped her hands around his forearm, but the thick flannel of a coat met her nails.She had to fight.Had to do something.If he took her from the house, she wouldn’t survive.
She twisted and bucked, but he moved swiftly backward, his hold unbreakable.Her breath stifled her, hot and damp in the palm of his hand.Cold air blasted her as he opened the back door.The floor creaked, and hope surged through her.
Please, Jaxon.Wake up.
The intruder lowered the gun from her temple as he lifted her over the threshold.He eased the old wooden door shut but didn’t latch it—probably for fear of waking Jaxon.
The northern wind ate through her thin pajama pants and long-sleeved Henley.The attacker’s arm remained across her chest, his hand over her mouth.He moved backward down the steps, half carrying her.She took inventory of his body and proximity.He must have pocketed the gun.He held her too tightly for him to still have it in his hand.
Now was her only chance.
