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  But he didn’t quit, feeling around with nearly numb fingers until he felt the cracked glass. He slammed his fist into it next, hammering at the weakened glass until he felt it give.

  Water would be rushing in now. If glass was stabbing him as he cleared it away, he didn’t feel it, just pushed it aside and reached for her. His fingers wrapped around her arm, drew her up, out of the damn coffin, her body faintly outlined by the light above the surface.

  Mike got his arms around her, his blood clouding the water around them. He pushed off the lake’s sandy bottom and fought to swim, but his body was weakening from the cold.

  Then he was being tugged up, up, toward the surface at last, the pressure from the rope around his waist cutting into him. Seconds later his face broke the surface, lungs stung as he heaved in a breath.

  Liliana was in his arms and he tipped her head back so her face was out of the water. His lips parted to ask for help but no sound came, no words formed.

  But he didn’t need to. Benji was there, grasping under Liliana’s arms and hauling her onto the ice. Sirens sounded nearby, lights flashing, and the shouting of voices indicated emergency services were on their way.

  Mike got his arms onto the icy shelf over the water, pulled himself up. His hands had gone blue, water dripped from him and froze. But he didn’t care, couldn’t think of anything else as he leaned over Liliana and felt around her neck for her pulse.

  A slow thready beat met his fingertips.

  Thank God.

  ****

  When the emergency crew pulled him aside so they could tend to her, he let them. Accepted the blanket thrown over his shoulders, the hands that helped him rise unsteadily and move toward the shore.

  He might have hypothermia, but he didn’t care. He only half listened, his focus on Liliana the entire time until he saw her conscious at last and sitting up, responsive to the EMT’s questions. Only then did Mike acquiesce and allow himself to be settled in the back of an ambulance, his vitals checked and wounds inspected. He’d dripped a trail of blood everywhere, deep gashes on his right hand and arm requiring stitches once they got him to Midsummer general.

  Benji stood near him for assistance while Kristof barked orders and dealt with the cops. Other members of their team were scattered about, assessing and evaluating the situation, seeing if there were any loose ends. But Jimmy was dead and Elise Hartley sat cuffed in the back of a police cruiser. The Huntsman was long gone, out of the equation. Mike doubted they’d ever see him again—he might even go on hiatus for a while with the money he’d cleaned from his account.

  The EMTs wheeled over a stretcher with Liliana on it, wrapped in several layers of blankets. She reached for him and he accepted her outstretched hand with his left, as the right was being bandaged.

  “You were stupid,” he mumbled.

  “You like that about me.”

  He snorted. She’d be lucky if he didn’t handcuff her in a padded room where she’d never be hurt again after that.

  Liliana turned her dark eyes toward the glittering lake for a moment. “When she dumped me in there, when I was sinking in the water, I thought...I thought, drag the lakes.” She looked at him again, tears turning her eyes red. “For the bodies. Polly and that other girl they think Jimmy killed. Drag the lakes. If Elise hid the bodies...that’s where she’d put them.”

  Those were the only moments they were allowed as the EMTs gave the order to load them up in separate ambulances again. Mike climbed up with assistance and onto the stretcher in his, then leaned back to rest as the doors closed and he was driven to safety at last.

  Safety where Liliana would be as well.

  Happily Ever After

  Grigori’s Pizza didn’t have the tips The Palace had, but the clientele was much nicer, so Liliana didn’t complain. They didn’t have many hours for her either—she was on call, filling in now and then when someone called in sick, which was how she ended up there on a Friday night when she’d really rather be home relaxing.

  Of course “home” wasn’t quite right either. She’d lost her apartment and didn’t have a steady income now, but lucked out renting a room from one of the guys who worked the kitchen at Grigori’s. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  That’s the thing no one ever warned about being a witness in a murder trial, having your life upended—landlord didn’t care why your rent money wasn’t there, just that you were late. Employers didn’t care that you left your last job after you caught your boss and her son covering up a murder, just that you had a sporadic previous employment history and few references.

  So she took whatever she got and figured eventually her luck had to turn around again.

  Liliana wiped down the recently emptied table and rearranged the salt and pepper shakers, gathered the handful of used napkins. She had a few hours left on the clock but thankfully the dinner rush was over.

  “Sir!” the hostess was calling near the door behind her. “Sir, you have to wait!”

  Assholes always stomping around, ignoring the “Please Wait To Be Seated” rules. Liliana sighed and turned around.

  She stopped short at the sight of Mike O’Hara.

  His dark peacot was dotted in freshly fallen snow, as was his auburn hair. He stood a few feet from the hostess’s podium, staring at her.

  It had been weeks since she’d seen him. Elise Hartley pleaded out and after the initial rush of police interviews and re-interviews, statements and testifying, Liliana’s contact with everyone from that world had promptly been cut off, making her a normal woman trying to earn a living again.

  Now here he was. Standing in the front tiled space of Grigori’s Pizza. Pissing off the hostess.

  His head tilted, indicating he was speaking to the hostess, but he kept his eyes on Liliana’s. “Please get your manager. Quickly.”

  The girl—whose name Liliana couldn’t remember—sputtered something incoherently, but rushed to do as he instructed.

  Liliana blinked at him. “Hi.”

  A small smile played on his lips. “Hi.”

  Before they could say more, the hostess was there with the manager—who wasn’t actually named Grigori but Gary, a short white guy with big teeth and no hair—and neither of them looked pleased with O’Hara’s presence.

  Mike turned to them calmly. “I’m going to need a table for six. Your best table, in fact. Two tables for four around it. Then I need to check the back exit of the restaurant for a moment. Liliana can show me the way. I will also need you to give her the rest of the night off.”

  “Excuse me—” Gary started.

  “In exchange, I am about to make your restaurant very, very popular. A new hotspot in the city that will get you a lot of attention.” He lifted the cell phone in his hand and spoke into it. “Front is secure. I’ll verify the back is fine but send them in.”

  The doors opened, voices chattering, and Gary’s eyes got wide. Liliana frowned, trying to see past O’Hara, who gripped her upper arm and led her back through the restaurant as a cluster of people entered the building.

  “Is that...?”

  “Sean Philip Sawyer,” he confirmed. “Along with his girlfriend, Bryar. Gina’s there too, and her husband Brennen. You’ll meet them in a moment.”

  Her feet were slow to follow him as she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. “Wasn’t he in a pop band? Is he a client?”

  “And a friend. The back door’s through the kitchen?”

  “Um.” She blinked and returned her attention to the task at hand. “Beside it, yes.”

  O’Hara found the door like he knew where he was going and led her through it. The winter air was cold but not bitter and snow slowly drifted down in the dark back lot. The only cars there were for employees, just a single light above highlighting the space.

  He stopped and held the cell phone again. “Back’s secure. Send someone around to watch the space in case we need it for an exit but should be fine.” Then he hung up and stuffed the phone in his pocket, turning
to face her.

  Liliana stared up at him, snow clinging to her shoulders and curly blue-black hair. Soon she’d likely feel the cold on her bare arms but for now she was too stunned, staring up at O’Hara. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sawyer wanted to go out for pizza.”

  “There are a lot better pizza places.”

  His grin told her he knew exactly why they’d chosen this one and she inwardly wished she worked at a nicer spot, if only for their sake.

  “They also wanted to triple date. Which means I need a date. So now you have the night off.”

  “I could lose my job over this.”

  “I highly doubt that with the business Sawyer’s about to bring in. Photos of him in front of the place have already hit Instagram.”

  She crossed her arms at her stomach. “This is a weird pitch for a happily-ever-after, you know. If you wanted a date, you could’ve just called.”

  “I don’t get into the city often, which is why I was going to suggest you consider moving to Midsummer.”

  She cocked a brow at him. “Is this the part where you sweep me off to your castle in your horse-drawn carriage?”

  “No, I’m not Prince Charming in this scenario. I work a lot and I don’t have a lot of time to date, but I want to see you. I’ll make the trek to the city when I can, but you’ll find rent’s cheaper in Midsummer and there are just as many jobs. Then I could see you more, and you could see me.”

  “What if I don’t want to see you?”

  The confident spark to his eyes darkened just a little but his half-smile remained steady. “Then I’ll be disappointed.”

  Truthfully, she did want to see him. A lot. Particularly naked. But he was always so careful to plan and be aware, he’d likely plotted out various scenarios before settling on this one, and she liked him knocked off kilter a little. Even though she liked the idea.

  Liliana pretended to think it over. “Hmm. There is also Gina’s bakery and she has really good food.”

  “That too.”

  “I can be tempted with pastries, that’s for sure.” She inched a step closer to him. He closed the rest of the distance so they were toe to toe. Despite the warmth of being nearer to him, she shivered a little. O’Hara slipped off his jacket and set it over her shoulders, then gripped the lapels and drew her close.

  “Come back with me tonight?” he whispered.

  She rose on her tiptoes, mouth brushing his, their breaths mingling and heating the air between them. “One rule.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’m putting a moratorium on handcuffs for at least six months.”

  “Done.”

  What’s Next for Midsummer?

  Snow is the third Midsummer book, following Cinders (July 2014) and Beauty (January 2015). At least two or three more are planned, and hopefully I’ll be able to continue with them later this year, after I’ve had a chance to see how the first three do.

  If you enjoy the books, please consider telling a friend or leaving a review where you bought them—every little bit helps, and a series can live and die by word of mouth. If you obtained an illegal copy of any of my books, please pick up a legit one or request your local library order copies. When deciding what to work on, I look at what books of mine people are buying, not what ones they’re illegally distributing.

  Reader support means so much to me—your friendly emails and kind words are wonderful. Thank you so much for reading and spending time in Midsummer. I hope we’ll get a chance to connect again with Seven Security member Belladona, when she goes undercover in Beast.

  All my best,

  —Asha

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  Beauty

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  Coming Soon...

  A scarred recluse hiding from his past.

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  About the Author

  Asha King likes good-looking men and hot books, and often strives to combine the two in contemporary, paranormal, and suspenseful romantic stories. She lives in the exotic land of Alberta, Canada, where she doesn’t ride a polar bear to work but does drink vast amounts of locally brewed beer and watches hockey.

  She loves connecting with readers and you can keep up to date with her online at www.AshaKing.com, where you’ll find a list of her books as well as what she’s working on.

  Find more of Asha at...

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ashaking78

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAshaKing

  Email: [email protected]

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