Killer Bunny Hill Read online

  Liberating the man from the wannabe terrorists had been a piece of cake. No fuss, no muss. Getting him out of East Indonesia had been a little less easy. Their extraction team was re-routed, the method of extraction altered, and they did not have papers in order to get him out via civilian transportation. It turned out to be a complete clusterfuck.

  After two weeks of babysitting their target, everything was set. The day before they were to leave, Max’s partner went to pick up the forged passport and papers for the diplomat. To be extra cautious, Max moved the man to another safe house one last time and his partner would rendezvous with them there. Right after he tucked the man away, he received a call that stopped his heart. Someone double-crossed them.

  She only had a fifteen-minute head start, but it was enough. Glock out and ready, scared shitless, Max kicked in the underground contact’s door. Too late. “No!” he yelled, as the shot fired, echoed off concrete walls, and hit its mark. He watched Lucy fall back in slow motion, blue eyes blank with death, and a bullet in her forehead.

  Max returned fire, emptying the magazine into the sub-human who murdered his best friend. Too late, he ran to her. His heart had been ripped out of his chest, and he wanted to bawl his eyes out, but somehow he kept it together. He managed to cover her body, carry her out of there, and put Lucy on the same flight back to the States with the diplomat. Max stayed behind.

  Someone had set Lucy up. Someone destroyed his partner and best friend. And Max was going to find the bastard and kill him. It took him a month, but he finally traced the identity of the man who ordered the hit.

  When he returned home, Max didn’t have enough evidence to put his boss, Lucy’s ex-lover away, but he had enough proof to force his resignation. He would have killed him with his bare hands, but he did what Lucy would have wanted. She believed in the law, in right and wrong, so in the end, he turned the evidence over to the Special Agent in Charge and asked him to hold onto it in case it was ever needed in the future. Then he quit.

  Max resigned from the FBI. The government agency that got Lucy killed. The same agency his brother worked for now, the one that misplaced Kevin and from his point of view had done jack shit to find him.

  Because of the agency assholes, Max knew almost nothing about his brother’s disappearance and was standing outside ‘Flapjacks’, freezing his balls off. This time, he was not going to lose. He had been too late to save Lucy. He would not be too late to save Kevin.

  The lights went off, and Max slunk back into the shadows, and watched Betty exit the back door, and lock up. Dressed in red, trimmed with white fur, black buttons going down the center of the jacket, rosy cheeks puffing for air, Betty loped down the steps. Trying to stifle the sound with his gloved hand, Max chuckled at the sight of Betty shuffling over to her car. Once she was in and started it, Max ran to his SUV, and waited. A couple minutes later Betty’s Buick pulled on to Main Street, and headed out of town. He followed from a distance until she stopped and parked in front of a green Colonial.

  Instead of going into the house, Betty hopped on the snowmobile parked next to the driveway, and gunned the engine when she turned over the ignition.

  “Well, damn.” That meant the green house wasn’t Sam Spenser’s, like he had hoped. It also meant it was going to be a bitch to continue to trail Betty. He had no choice.

  When she took off into the woods, he followed the lights in the trees, and the sound from the two-stroke engine. To his surprise, he managed to keep Betty in his sights, and see her stop at the edge of a lake. With purposeful strides, she crossed the frozen water, halting in front of a blue ice-fishing shack.

  She hammered the door several times with mitten-covered hands, and then went inside.

  Max moved in closer so he could hear what was being said. Sure enough, his plan paid off. Betty was yelling for Sam Spenser. Before he could bust in on them, Betty left the building in a huff. Arms flailed, breasts bounced, and she mumbled under her breath as she strode quickly back toward her snowmobile.

  That left just him and Sam.

  SIX

  Whoever shouted for Sam Spenser was gone. After several minutes of listening to a woman with heavy footsteps search the fishing shack for Sam Spenser, she had finally given up. When she heard the door shut, Bunny sighed, her heart slowing to a gentle rhythm. Careful, not wanting to rip her stitches, she slid out from the hiding place. On her feet once again, she dusted off her pants.

  The door flung open. Startled, Bunny nearly jumped out of her too large shoes, her head hitting the wooden door. She stumbled back, and her fanny made solid contact on the bench with a thud.

  “Ow!”

  Hand on her forehead, squinting, she looked up. A tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway with an almost palpable menace. And a large gun. Without blinking, Bunny threw the pick ax she still had clutched between her breasts, watched it twirl in the air the short distance, and land in the wall, just missing his head.

  “Oh, my gosh, Max,” she exclaimed, hand to her chest. “You scared the heck out of me. I almost killed you.”

  “Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, sweetheart. Your aim sucks, Sam. Sam Spenser.”

  “What?”

  “Sam Spenser. That is your name. That’s what Betty called you. I’ve been looking for you.”

  His cold stare froze her in place. His sarcastic tone told her Max still did not believe she lost her memory, and that whatever reason he searched for Sam Spenser could not be good.

  What had Sam done to piss off this man? Sam Spenser. Sam Spenser. Betty. It was Betty Jacks who had been in the cabin hollering for Sam. Betty always did have a sweet spot for her dad. And her father loved her cooking. She grinned inwardly at the thought of her father and Betty together. Holy Mary, mother of…she remembered her father, Sam Spenser.

  The sound of a fast approaching engine caught her attention. Disregarding Max and his formidable weapon, she gripped the ax handle protruding from the wood, and peeked out the window. Max moved in right behind her, pinning her between the wall of the shack and the solid wall of his chest, and peered over her shoulder. The hard length of his body pressed against her back, making it so she couldn’t turn around. Not that she wanted to. The heat that radiated off him was intoxicating and inviting. She wanted to meld with him. Instead, she focused on the window.

  It was too dark to see who was barreling their way. Friend or foe, she couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. The fishing hut was no longer safe. It was flippin’ grand central station, and Max was the beacon that led them there, the damn idiot.

  “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “We don’t know how many of them there are. Last time there were only two, but this time,” she shrugged, “there could be an entire platoon.”

  “It might not even be the same men. It could be someone wanting to go ice fishing in a really big way.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s it. Get for real. No self-respecting New Englander would drive like a crazy person on the ice in the pitch of night. Not if he wanted to make certain the ice didn’t crack and take him down with the fishies.”

  Max moved away from her, and a chill ran up her spine. As he stepped back, taking his heat with him, he yanked the ax from the wall. The movement was effortless, and annoying. That was her weapon. Her only weapon. Lower lip between her teeth, Bunny glanced around the hut.

  “Any suggestions?”

  Huh? Suggestions?

  “The ax won’t do you much good against guns,” Max said, as if reading her mind. “Got any other bright ideas to evade your friends?”

  She looked at him. “Friends?” The eyes that once looked warm as whiskey now looked dark and deadly. They didn’t have time for his stupidity. “Lift that piece of wood on the front of the bench.” She pointed at the long bench with the cushions on top. “Crawl underneath and squish to the back. I’ll climb in after you.”

  Max’s eyebrows quirked and his nose crinkled. He looked at her as if she w
ere stoned. She would have laughed, but there wasn’t any time.

  Exasperated, her fists perched on her hips. “Look, it worked before. That’s why Betty didn’t see me. It latches from the inside.

  He didn’t move. He stood there, gawking at her.

  “Go.”

  Finally, he moved.

  * * * *

  The secret cubby was a snug fit, especially for two. Snow Bunny…er, Sam couldn’t latch the hidden door when she got in behind him. Instead, she had to squeeze in on top of him and plaster herself to him. Despite the layers of flannel, every time either of them breathed, Max felt her breasts press against his chest. She was definitely cold. Or maybe she was excited. He was.

  The juncture of her thighs warm against his crotch, his Johnson strained inside his zipper. Here he lay, trying to evade kidnappers so he could find out who Sam Spenser was, and what she knew about his brother, and he was in the middle of a wet dream. He had to think of Bunny…Sam, as a suspect, not a woman. She moved. Damn!

  “Quit wiggling,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

  “It’s uncomfortable.”

  “You moving only makes it worse.” He squeezed her tighter against him. In the shadows, her eyes met his and widened. She got the point, and he couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.

  “Pervert.”

  “Nope. A man.”

  “A pervert. How can you even be…be…”

  “Hard?” Max asked, finishing her question.

  She tried to smack him, but she was pinned to him with barely enough room for them to breathe.

  “There are bad guys after us, and you’re thinking with your little head?”

  “Darlin’, there’s no thinking involved.”

  “Well, try, damn it. We’re stuck together, for better or worse, and I’m trying to save your butt…”

  He kissed her. If he hadn’t, she would still be rambling, getting ready for a tirade, and the goons that had just opened the door would have heard her, giving their position away. Then she kissed him back. The only part of their bodies that shifted was their mouths. Bunny’s lips parted, and his tongue slid inside her mouth, in a slow and thorough invasion. He swallowed her moan, and grasped her hips, holding her in place, firm against his hard-on. Apparently, she still didn’t realize they were not alone.

  The slam of a door broke the lip lock. Sam’s head snapped up, her gaze locking on his. He nodded, the movement minimal. She finally understood. Good. They lay there, trying to not breathe. Damn near impossible when the kiss stole their breaths away, leaving their chests heaving, sucking for air.

  “Let’s go. No one’s here.” Footsteps faded away and a door slammed.

  She reached to unlatch the hidden compartment, but he clasped her wrist, halting her. When Bunny looked at him, he shook his head. How did they know they were truly gone? They needed to make certain. She must have realized she had made that mistake before when he showed up, because she dropped her forehead to his chest.

  The quiet relief broke when a loud thud hit against the roof. Followed by another. Then glass broke, and another thud. Smoke. Max sniffed the air. Definitely smoke. Holy shit!

  “We’re being firebombed,” he muttered under his breath. “Get out, Bunny. Now! We’re on fire.”

  She moved quickly. Her fingers didn’t fumble. Once the lock was undone, Bunny rolled out and he followed.

  She was a fast thinker. Fire was all around them, but Bunny— Sam, remained calm. She grabbed whatever material she could find and started swatting at the flames. To no avail.

  “They’re trying to smoke us out,” she told him as she clobbered a sheet at the flames on the wall.

  “No shit. And it’s going to work,” he replied, looking back from the shattered window. “They’re waiting. I can’t see them, but they’re there. Damn shadows.”

  Max turned back. It was useless fighting the fire. A bullet whizzed by his head. “Shit! Get down.”

  Bunny dropped to the floor without a thought. Curious, he wondered why she had such good reactions. He expected her to want to argue with him, not automatically obey.

  More bullets whizzed through the walls.

  “Give me my ax.”

  Max eyeballed her, one brow raised. What was she thinking?

  “I can get us out of here. Give me the ax.”

  Max slid it across to her. “Stay down.”

  She flipped up the fishing hole hatch, peered up at him with green eyes blazing in the fire and mischief.

  “You’re crazy. We’ll die from hypothermia.”

  “Better that than bullets or blaze. Besides, any chance at living is better than giving up. I need to figure out who they are and what they want and I can’t do that if I’m dead or waiting for them to kill me.”

  She was right. They both had something that couldn’t wait. Max inched over to her on his belly. “Give it to me, Sam.” He gestured for the ax with his hand.

  After a brief hesitation, she dropped it in his palm. He took it and hacked away at the layer of ice. “Keep the flames back while I get this wide enough.”

  For every whack of the ice, she pelted the fire. Finally, the hole was big enough.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Sam turned on her knees toward Max. “There’s an area of the lake behind us that is always kept cracked just in case someone falls in. It’s marked by a couple of orange cones and there’s a buoy tied off underneath it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do. It’s about fifty yards straight back. Can you make it?”

  “I can, if you can. Ladies first,” Max said gesturing toward the hole.

  “Give me the ax. If I’m going first I’ll start the breakthrough at the other end. When we get out go straight ahead. The manager of the rental cabins has a snowmobile or truck he leaves behind, depending on whichever he’s using. Ready?”

  Max nodded and snatched the underwater light that hung on a nearby hook.

  Sam took a breath, and plunged headfirst. He followed her into the ice-covered water.

  SEVEN

  The frigid water knocked the breath out of her. Her lungs ached, her extremities tingled, and she was afraid to open her eyes for fear they might freeze in that position. But she did, and to prove she could, Sam blinked rapidly.

  She mentally cheered herself on. Just get to the other side. You can do this. It does not hurt. It hurt like hell. Little needle pricks were inserted in every inch of her body as she trudged through the lake. Her clothes weighed her down, but she didn’t dare shed them. Why couldn’t she be in Hawaii or Florida, not New Hampshire?

  Sam peered over her shoulder toward the beam of light. Max was on her tail, kind of like a suckerfish on a shark. Dressed in even more clothes than she, his arms and legs moved as if in Jell-o. Suddenly, he jerked back. His mouth opened and bubbles escaped, followed by a short scream. Cold water allowed the sound to travel. Then he snapped his lips shut and turned away.

  His back facing her, the lamp light bounced around. Max struggled with something. Her heart jumped inside her ribs when she saw his body thrash and fight, but she couldn’t tell with what, or who. Had they come in after them?

  Sam started toward him, ax extended in front of her, prepared to kill whoever had Max. As she got closer, she saw blood in the water. It scared the bejeezes out of her. She was too late. Did she turn back toward shore or see what she could do for him? It wasn’t a lot of blood, just a shadow floating in the water. Maybe she could drag him. Hell, she could barely drag herself, but she could not leave him to drown.

  When Sam reached him, her eyes went wide at the sight that greeted her. Max wasn’t fighting with an evil-doer. He wasn’t even battling with a gigantic Pickerel. He wrestled for his life against a fishing line, a very strong line that could catch a moose.

  He looked at her, pleading with his eyes. If they both weren’t trembling and about to run out of air, Sam might have laughed. Instead, she pulled the line taut and sliced easily throu
gh it with her great grandfather’s pick ax. Some poor fisherman would be extremely disappointed when he didn’t reel in “Nanook North”, the legendary lake trout that local fishermen have tried to catch for as long as she could remember.

  She hurt and she was losing it. Waving her hand in front of her face it looked fuzzy, psychedelic. She prayed the shore was close because she didn’t think she could go much farther.

  Lungs aching with the need of air, Sam pulled Max’s hand and dragged him, half swimming, but more sinking in the direction of their escape. Unable to hold her breath much longer, she forced herself to continue on, push out the thoughts of frozen body parts, and keep kicking for shore.

  When she saw the underwater marker, indicating they reached their destination, she let go of Max and moved even faster toward the ascent line. She wanted to cry with relief. Then she looked up and wanted to cry even more. She did not have the energy or strength to hack at the frozen over hole, their escape route. She hoped Max did.

  When he reached her, Sam pointed up, and handed him the ax. He gave her the light.

  His lips the purplish hue of plums, Max nodded, took the handle, and whacked at the ice. Nothing happened. Head bent forward, exhaustion drooping his body. He looked at her, concern in his eyes.

  No way. Sam refused to die. Taking the ax from him, she dropped the flashlight and struck at the ice lid of their watery grave. This was a nightmare come true, only Sam did not intend on the ending being her funeral. With a burst of inner energy, she attacked the ice again. The frozen water splintered, but did not open.

  Max grabbed the ax. As he hacked at the ice, Sam felt his determination bounce off him in waves. Death was not an option for him either, and she was grateful for his fortitude.

  Finally, the ice cap cracked. They pushed enough aside to stick their faces above water and suck in air. Then Max went back to hacking a hole big enough for them to get their bodies through.