Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [94]
“I could go up there in the dark and look for them, but I need rest. I need to give the snow a chance to develop.”
“What do you want me to do?”
He cupped the back of her head with his hands and produced a nasty smile. “You know what to do.”
“I mean tomorrow. More deaths on Cameron Mountain will be hard to explain.”
“That’s where planning comes in.”
It was a dig at her, but she shrugged it off and moved her mouth closer to his erection. “Was this planned?”
Her sarcasm was ill timed. He’d retaliate for her snottiness, and she’d have no satisfaction tonight. She’d service Kyle and be sent on her way, back out into the cold night. Thomas awaited her, but it wasn’t the same.
“I feel like the wicked stepmother in a fairy tale,” she said when he didn’t answer.
“It’s not a fairy tale. You’re the real deal.”
“There’ll be a happy ending for me.”
“You’re something else, Melanie. I wish I’d never met you.”
She raised her eyes to him. “If you’re getting squeamish, walk away. I’ll take care of everything.”
“There’s no walking away.” Kyle’s grip on her head eased. “You need to forget Thomas. Once we’re finished here, you Dear John him. Say you didn’t bargain for all this tragedy.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, Kyle.”
He gave her a supercilious smirk. “Sure.”
But even as she opened her mouth and did his bidding, she knew the power she had over him. She and Thomas were getting married. She was walking away from her life with Kyle stronger, better. He would remain a work-for-hire killer.
Of course, he had power over her, too. He could ruin her.
Or kill her. She didn’t want to end up on his list of targets.
He moaned, threading his thick fingers into her hair, and she smiled to herself. She could kill him, but Kyle could never hurt her.
All would be well.
When she arrived back at the farmhouse, Melanie decided she’d absolutely have to talk Thomas out of a Vermont wedding. It would be frigid on New Year’s Eve. It was cold now.
She sat next to him on the couch in front of the fire, welcoming the warmth, the elegance of the beautifully decorated room. As wealthy and well-connected as Vivian and Lowell Whittaker were, Melanie wasn’t sure if she and Thomas would want to maintain a friendship with them after Nora and Devin were dead. It would be just too awkward.
No one seemed the least bit curious about how long she’d been gone. She’d been right, Kyle had refused to satisfy her. She was still all tingly with wanting him. But he’d been adamant—cruel, even. He’d taken her out to his car and given her a gun, a 9-millimeter Browning that she rather liked.
“Be prepared to cut your losses,” he’d told her.
She’d tucked the Browning into her handbag. Thomas was too much of a gentleman ever to paw through any of her things without her permission. She would do what she had to do to protect herself.
But so would Kyle. How much hadn’t he told her? She couldn’t count on his loyalty. If he had a client who’d pay him to do it, Kyle would kill his own mother. An apt cliché in his case.
Melanie trusted her own instincts. She had succeeded in her violent work this past year not just because she enjoyed it and understood her strengths and weaknesses, but also because she didn’t defer to Kyle or anyone else. She had her own mind. Her own plans.
Melanie snuggled closer to Thomas in front of the fire. She sensed his worry and grief—and guilt—and held his hand. Lowell Whittaker offered her a brandy, but she didn’t dare accept. Alcohol in her hyperalert state would be dangerous.
Lowell and Vivian told a funny story about Alex almost falling into the duck pond on a visit to Vermont, and Thomas managed a smile. Melanie nudged him. “Tell us what he was like in law school,” she said. “I can just imagine what you two were like then.”
It took a bit more prodding, but Thomas finally reminisced about his and his dead friend’s days together at Yale. Melanie mumbled a few appropriate comments, but mostly listened sympathetically. He was still in shock, the poor thing. She hated