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  After she left the bathroom, she busied herself turning their clothes over by the fireplace to better dry them out, then gathered the blanket and wrapped herself in it. The growling in her stomach fell to a minimum, just exhaustion replacing it as the minutes ticked on.

  The door opened again. O’Hara stepped in, stomping snow off his shoes and shivering, cell phone still clutched in his hand.

  Liliana stood immediately, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Any luck?”

  He nodded and kicked off his shoes. “It’s going to take some time but someone’s on his way. He’ll bring clothes and food, and take you to where he’ll have a car waiting.”

  She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  O’Hara didn’t meet her eyes, just stepped past her to crouch by the fire. He set down the cell phone and reached his hands toward the flames, the orange highlighting near-blue skin—he must’ve been freezing out there. “We were tracked to the motel. He’s definitely seen my face. This poses problems for hiding you.”

  She glared down at him, anger trembling through her skin. “So you’re just passing me off to someone else.”

  “I’m doing what I have to in order to keep you safe.” His tone was even and emotionless. Even more robotic than usual.

  Asshole. She jerked the blanket off her shoulders and threw it at him—he needed it more than her for the moment, and she was pretty sure the rage heating her blood was enough to keep her warm.

  Liliana paced back and forth across the room. “How long?”

  “Six or seven hours.”

  Six or seven hours. And that was it. Would she even see O’Hara again? “And then what happens to you?”

  “I’ll still be overseeing your case, just from a distance.”

  Her “case”. That’s right, she was just a job. A mission. And he was merely one of many tools for that mission. A tool that could be removed and replaced as needed.

  She stalked for the closet, opened it again, and took stock of what remained. Another couple of sealed bags with blankets. And old screen for a window. Nothing really to throw at him, unfortunately.

  “You know, you’re a fucking idiot,” she said as she pulled out one of the blanket bags, which she tore open and pulled a quilt out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did it not occur to you that I am still here? That I haven’t tried to run? Haven’t argued? I’m doing what you’re telling me to do, being cooperative, and now you’re passing me off to someone else.”

  “Because somehow I have been compromised here,” he snapped. “I was followed to the motel, I was tracked down. The safest place for you is with someone else.”

  “I haven’t run because I trust you, O’Hara! You! Not your team. Not whoever else you’re ‘assigning’ to me. You. Just you. I am freaked the hell out by all this and now you’re abandoning me. You fuck me, then abandon me. Nice.”

  He said nothing.

  She stared at him, hurt welling in her, tears she didn’t want to shed filling her eyes. She hated being this emotional but she was exhausted, in both mind and body, and anger was twisting through her on top of everything else. Liliana didn’t trust people easily, as O’Hara had clearly figured out. And despite all his assurances that they were in this together, he was already planning his exit.

  Normally, Liliana was one to argue. To scream and shout and lay it all on the table. But O’Hara had already proven he didn’t do that. He was calm. Careful. Didn’t want to lose his temper. So she’d end up stomping around like a child and it would get her nowhere. Like it or not, he’d made his choice, and she was being passed along to a stranger at the first opportunity.

  O’Hara remained huddled at the fire and she was loath to be anywhere near him in that moment. She’d take the bed and at least pretend to nap.

  Stretched out on her side, staring at the opposite wall of the cabin, she had no idea how much time had passed but at least she was warm under the blanket and somewhat comfortable on the bed. The silence between them just depressed her further.

  O’Hara at last was moving around by the fire and she rolled over to watch him zipping up his jeans and slipping on his socks.

  “There are a couple of other cabins nearby,” he said without looking at her. “I’m going to hike to them and look for extra supplies.”

  She sat up on the bed, the quilt tight around her shoulders, and furrowed her brow at him. “Should I come too?”

  But he shook his head. “Stay here and lock the door behind me.”

  “And if a crazed hitman breaks down the door?”

  O’Hara lifted the gun from where she’d left it on the floor last night and set it on the nightstand near her. His thumb flicked off the safety. “Point and shoot. Hold it in your right hand, steady it with your left. Aim for the torso. Make sure it’s not mine.”

  ****

  He probably shouldn’t have left her, but Mike thought the cabin was honestly the safest place for her. It wasn’t just the previous threat on her life but exposure he worried about.

  He waited until he heard the lock snap closed behind him before he headed off the porch. The blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders and torso, a poor substitute for a jacket but better than just his torn shirt. His own footprints tracked through a few feet from the cabin—he hadn’t gone far earlier, just a few feet before a bar popped up on his cell phone—and he followed those now then past them, his steps punching through the thick snow. In summer, trails wound down from the cabins and converged onto a wider path; in winter, he had no idea where any trails were, the blanket of white over everything hiding most landmarks.

  What he did have was a map saved on his phone from when he’d found a signal earlier before calling Kristof and Benji. The cabins were fairly isolated from one another—it was one of the selling points of this particular vacation spot in the summer—but one was about a five minute walk from where he and Liliana had been staying, just through the dense trees to the west.

  Well, five minutes in summer. More like ten with the thick, uneven drifts. And it was slow going considering he couldn’t see what lay beneath the snow, could only step down and hope he didn’t hit ice or a dip in the ground.

  He saw no sign of anyone else in the area but kept an eye out as he walked. The only tracks were those of small animals and the odd deer. Since the sky was clear and snow had ceased falling, at least he’d see clearly if someone had found the cabin. Of course there was the possibility of the Huntsman waiting with a rifle in the trees, but Mike would have a bullet in his head if that was the case.

  He glanced over his shoulder, a breath of air clouding his vision for a moment, and watched the cabin shrinking in the distance as he walked. She’d be fine there, he knew. Safe for the few minutes he was gone. But she was alone, and she was angry, and he hated himself for it.

  Getting someone else to take over was the most logical decision. The smartest one. He trusted every one of his co-workers implicitly, knew they’d take care of her as he did. And perhaps if he was overseeing the job instead of in the thick of it, he’d notice something they’d missed—bring another perspective to it.

  Or maybe he was just looking for more distance from her before his emotions were even more entangled, and he’d do anything to justify it.

  The second cabin eventually appeared, this one larger than the one they’d stayed in. Its door was unlatched as well and the interior was just as musty and unused. Its bedroom was in a separate room past the kitchen, with a slightly larger area around the fireplace including an additional sofa. The bathroom held a proper first aid kit rather than the handful of extra supplies they’d found the night before in their own cabin, and he pocketed the pack of acetaminophen. The kitchen brought an open box of granola bars, which he grabbed, and some tins of vegetables, which he left as they had no way to prepare them. Kristof would be bringing food with him so they could carb-load before the trek to the car, but that was several hours away. Mike was hungry and he figured Liliana was as well. />
  The closet produced vacuum-sealed bags of bedding and towels. Still not much use to them. A plaid shirt hung in the back from a dusty hanger, no holes in it that he could see. It smelled like any fabric would after being tucked away for six months in an empty closet, but it was something; he grabbed that too and left the cabin.

  A wind cut through the trees, stirring the snow as he retraced his steps. A second and third cabin waited a little farther out but the cold was getting to him, despite the blanket tucked around him, and he didn’t want to leave Liliana alone much longer. He began the slow trek back, following his own deep footprints in the snow.

  His cell phone rang in his pocket. No one was supposed to be calling him unless there was trouble. Mike frowned, wedged the shirt and box of food under one arm, and retrieved the phone to answer it.

  Benji’s number flashed over the screen. “What?”

  “Accident on the highway. Traffic’s being redirected, tacking an extra half hour onto our estimate.”

  Fuck. It wasn’t bad but the delay had him even more irritable. He wanted to be out of the damn cabin, with Liliana safely in Kristof’s care, and done with the whole thing.

  “Belladona caught a call coming to Elise Hartley from a burner phone. No idea who it was from but she traced it to just outside Midsummer.”

  Either the Huntsman was checking in or, more likely, Jimmy was, because Mike doubted the hitman was dealing with the Hartleys directly. There would be a middleman.

  “I still don’t understand how they found us,” Mike said as he started walking again. “She hasn’t slipped and contacted anyone, and she’s stayed out of sight. They must’ve been tracking me, but I don’t—”

  “I think I can help there.” Benji hesitated, the silence on the other line telling Mike he didn’t want to know what his friend had to say.

  Mike’s gut went cold. “What?”

  “Jann Pedersen is dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Liliana sat by the fire, huddled under her quilt still, enjoying the heat but hating the silence. She’d cracked open another bottle of water after finishing the last one, wishing it was enough to quell the hunger twisting her stomach though it wasn’t.

  Her gaze traveled to the gun waiting on the nightstand. She’d used a BB gun of her stepbrother’s when she was nine and that was it for experience with firearms. After O’Hara left, she’d lifted the weapon to test the weight of it and decided not to touch it again unless she had to.

  The porch outside the cabin creaked and she swung around, tense and fearful. The curtains remained closed so she couldn’t see who was out there, could only listen to the sound of steps and snow crunching, her heart leaping to her throat.

  A fist pounded on the door.

  She waited, listening.

  “It’s me,” O’Hara called.

  Liliana scrambled to her feet and padded barefoot to the door. The latch was old and rusted, probably wouldn’t do much good if someone tried to kick the door in, but she’d locked it nonetheless after he’d told her to. Now she lifted it and the door popped open, O’Hara spilling inside with fresh clumps of snow on his shoes.

  She stepped back and out of the way, avoiding the puddles of melting snow, and sat back by the fireplace. “Any luck?”

  He said nothing, just tossed something at her; she caught the small box and found three granola bars inside. She didn’t even read what flavor, just pulled one out, tore down the wrapper, and took a huge bite.

  O’Hara’s silence continued as he kicked his shoes off and set the blanket on the couch. His auburn brows were pulled into a frown, face pale and unhealthy looking. Either he was weakening due to his wounds from the night before, catching hypothermia, or something had him bothered.

  Of course, she was still mad at him and wasn’t eager to ask, either. Instead she ate her food in silence and waited while he retrieved water from the kitchen counter and came to sit next to her. He stole a granola bar as well and bit into it, chewing angrily.

  After downing half his bottle of water, he drew up his knees and propped his elbows on them, back hunched over as he stared absently into the fire. Orange played cross his well-cut features, dyeing his hair a rich red.

  “The man who hired me is dead,” he said at last.

  Liliana stopped chewing and stared at him.

  “This is a giant clusterfuck by this point so there’s no sense not telling you. He was the attorney for the family of a girl who Jimmy Hartley allegedly killed some years ago. Her body was never found and he was never charged with the crime. They thought you were their one chance to see justice done, so they had their lawyer—a friend of mine—hire me and my company to protect you.”

  “The Huntsman got to him,” she filled in quietly.

  “That’s the theory. His body was found about an hour ago. He was killed sometime yesterday. He was the only one who knew Seven Security was hired to do this, the only one connected with me, although he didn’t know where we were staying or how to get in touch with me after I got you and severed contact. Despite covering our tracks, that connection to me is likely how the Huntsman found us last night.”

  Her stomach soured and she couldn’t fathom continuing to eat. She set her partially-eaten food down and hugged her knees. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Actually, I’d say it most definitely is. We took the usual precautions but it wasn’t enough.”

  She couldn’t think of what else to say, how else to reassure him. For days she’d been chipping away at his assurances that he could keep her safe, insisting it was useless. Now she had no doubt that he’d done his job, done the best anyone could do, but he couldn’t have foreseen an assassin thrown into the mix—not one who would leave so many bodies in his wake.

  Then her mind lagged for a moment on what he’d said. Friend. This man they’d just found dead was a friend of his.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly.

  His lips twisted into a bitter, wry smile. “Thank you. And I realize I’ve never said that I’m sorry about yours. The one Jimmy killed.”

  Polly. So much had happened, Liliana still had trouble wrapping her head around the girl being dead. She didn’t know her all that well, had just worked with her for the better part of a year. But despite seeing her death, part of Liliana expected everything to blow over and to walk into The Palace for a normal shift and to find everything how it was. Her entire life had changed the past few weeks and even if she lived through this, it would never be the same again.

  She cleared her throat and tried not to dwell on things. “New game plan?”

  “Still working that out. For now, people are coming to get us as planned. I’d prefer to head down and meet them but the rendezvous point would be too far without outerwear.”

  She watched him hunched there, his brows furrowed and indicating he was still thinking, still plotting, despite whatever grief he might feel. Defeat hadn’t claimed him yet. And she longed to reach for him, to reassure him, to whisper that she trusted him, but the words never came.

  She’d been sitting in her panties and T-shirt still, the rest of her clothes laid out on the hearth. Liliana inched forward to collect them and slipped on her warm, dry socks at last. It would be a few hours left before someone came for them, but the partial nudity was making her feel more vulnerable. Next she slid on her jeans, the denim a welcome fire against her skin.

  Liliana eyed the door. “Can I step outside for some fresh air? Just the porch.”

  A green plaid shirt thumped at her feet. She lifted it and looked at him for an explanation.

  “Found it in the cabin I checked. Doesn’t smell great but it’s clean and warm. Should fit you.”

  She slipped it on over her T-shirt, replacing the bulky quilt. It smelled no more musty than the cabin itself—the scent of dust and stale air was probably infusing her own hair by now too, so she didn’t mind much. Two buttons were missing but she closed the rest, got her shoes on, and started for the door.
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  “Don’t run, Liliana,” he said softly as her hand poised on the handle. “Please.”

  That “please” cut her more than anything else could have. She hadn’t planned to run but even if she did, that was enough to make her reconsider.

  She said nothing, just unlatched the door again and stepped out onto the porch.

  Liliana stopped short at the sight of the man sitting on the railing, staring at her.

  He held a shiny red apple in one hand, partially eaten, his square jaw moving as he chewed languidly. In the other was a pistol, sleek and black, pointed right at her midsection.

  She let out a small yelp of surprise and swallowed back a scream, her gaze frozen on his. Dark, bottomless eyes stared back at her from beneath a fringe of black hair.

  The bark of the gun never came but she expected it, anticipated it, could all but feel the bullet tearing through her insides.

  Why hadn’t he shot her yet?

  The floor creaked behind her, O’Hara on his feet before she could warn him. “What’s—”

  He must’ve seen what she did; his steps ceased and then wood groaned, O’Hara backing up, likely going for the gun.

  “I’d rethink that, Mr. O’Hara,” the Huntsman called.

  Mike’s steps paused.

  The hitman grinned at Liliana. “Back up, dearie.”

  She did, carefully, one step after the other until she was in the cabin again. The porch railing creaked as he hopped off of it, his booted feet punching through the several inches of snow. He took another bite of his apple and followed her into the cabin, leaving the door open behind him.

  Liliana hadn’t raised her hands, just clenched them into fists at her sides. Several feet separated her from him, and off to her side was O’Hara. The gun, she suspected, still lay on the nightstand out of reach.

  “Well.” The Huntsman leaned against the wall by the door. “This is cozy. A little remote but that’s what I like about it.”

  The gun in his hand never wavered. It was quite a contrast, the weapon in one hand and him casually holding an apple in the other. He was younger than she’d expected, perhaps early thirties. Not unattractive either, though rough around the edges with a square jaw and five o’clock shadow. His black hair was damp, likely with melted snow; jacket was in shades of brown and green, made to look like branches and leaves. A hunter’s jacket. He could’ve been sitting in the trees watching them without them knowing.