Gingerly opening the door, she swung her head around and listened for a minute. It was deceptively calm as the thick snow covered any sound and wiped out all visibility. Sliding out from under the airbag, she evaluated her injuries. Her elbow and knee were both aching from the fall in the driveway, but besides knocking the air out of her and probably bruising her chest, the seatbelt and airbag had done their jobs.
She hugged herself for warmth and cursed her thin jacket and high-heeled boots as she started down the pavement that should lead to the gate and escape. The road twisted and turned. She started to wonder if she’d taken a wrong path. There had been numerous paved paths leading off the main one when she drove through this afternoon. In this thick snow, she couldn’t see the asphalt, covered with inches of snow, except where her boots left a thin trail.
She had to be on the right path. Any other option could mean death. Death. The closest she’d ever come to that terrifying word was being mugged last summer, but all the punk had really wanted was some cash to buy alcohol. He’d barely roughed her up and though he’d threatened to hurt her, as soon as she gave him money, he’d taken off. Why had she ever left the city? A mugging was nothing compared to this.
Her gaze darted around the thick snow and even thicker trees. A shiver raced through her that had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t feel her toes. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d freeze or a bear would rip her to shreds. Suddenly, Tucker Shaffer’s house of crazies didn’t sound so bad.
ChapterThree
“What happened?” Mama Porter’s voice was as soft as the hand on his shoulder.
Tuck concentrated on the red car peeling out of his driveway. “She saw…” He shook his head and gestured to the desk, cursing himself for not hiding or burning those pictures. “And I behaved badly.” That was a huge understatement. Why didn’t he control his temper? All the old fears and insecurities had arisen, but most of all was the worry of what she thought of him. Instead of trying to fix the situation, he’d turned into a growling jerk.
“Why didn’t you explain?”
Tuck gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Explain what? That I killed those children? That would surely make everything better.”
“You talk yourself into being a monster, but you’re not.” Mama Porter gently patted his shoulder and then left. There wasn’t anything she or anyone else could say.
Tuck raised his head and watched the snow fall from the heavens. He shouldn’t have let Maryn go out in this, but she was probably safer in the elements than in the house with him. He buried his head in his hands and wallowed in self-pity. His PR people were going to be so ticked at him, but he didn’t really care. He was too upset at himself for terrifying Maryn. He’d started to believe they had a chance to become friends at least. What could he have done differently? Besides keeping her out of his rooms. He couldn’t have explained. There was no excuse for what he’d done that day, and the fear in her eyes would’ve only grown. That fear had ripped at his insides. He shook his head and cursed again.
His phone rang. He didn’t answer it. It rang again and again. Finally, he swiped the screen open and barked, “What?”
“I’ve lost track of the bear in this storm,” Johnson informed him.
A clutch of fear hit him. What if Maryn encountered that bear? She’d be safe, as long as she stayed in the car. “Johnson, Maryn left. Did you get her out of the gate?”
“That’s the other problem. When I got back to the gatehouse, there was no sign that she had left. I backtracked and found her car. Looks like she hit a tree, but… she isn’t in the car.”
Tucker jumped to his feet, grabbed a sweatshirt off a chair, and ran down the stairs. “Find her,” he ordered Johnson.
He headed all the way to the basement and unlocked his safe, grabbing a .33 caliber big bore rifle. Sprinting to his lower garage, he jumped onto a four-wheeler and yelled at Braxton, who had followed him, “Call the sheriff. Get Search and Rescue on their way. Maryn’s out in the storm and there’s a grizzly on the loose.”
He peeled out of the garage and wished he hadn’t heard Braxton’s words, “She’ll be dead before the sheriff gets here.”
ChapterFour
Maryn hated cold. Her feet and hands were so numb she wasn’t sure they were part of her body anymore. She couldn’t stop shivering as her temperature seemed to drop more with each second. Even her face hurt, every flake stinging like a bee sting. Snow was not pretty anymore. It was evil.
When she got home to California, she would refuse any assignment that wasn’t on a tropical island. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her waste of material, stylish jacket and plunged on. That stupid gate should be in sight, any time now. She started begging the Lord to help her out of this situation.
The fence appeared next to the road. No, no, no! She couldn’t have gotten lost. This should be the gate. How had she not noticed that she’d veered off the main road? Fear clawed at her throat, tasting metallic. How was she going to get out of here? She’d have to stay next to the fence and hope she was going toward the gate, not circling back to the mansion of scary guy. Actually, she’d take her chances with him right now.
Could she climb the fence? She looked up. It was wrought iron, straight up, with spiky bars at the top. She didn’t hear a hum so it probably wasn’t electric, but who knew what kind of newfangled contraption Tucker Shaffer might be capable of.
She ripped a pine cone off a nearby tree and chucked it at the fence. It bounced off without bursting into flames or getting zapped by blue lightning. Wrapping her stiff hands around the cold iron, she tried to scramble up. The slick metal seemed to laugh at her as she slid right back to the ground. Crap. Her hands ached like she was a ninety-year old with arthritis. She forced herself to try again, but couldn’t get her fingers to even grip the metal. She rubbed her fingers together to bring back some circulation but it didn’t help. No hope but to find that stupid gate.
An uneven thumping sound came from behind her. Maryn searched the whiteness. The sun had gone down shortly after she started walking and the approaching night didn’t give much reassurance of any kind of visibility with this blasted snowstorm. She couldn’t see anything, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she heard breathing.
No. She was imagining things. It wasn’t a bear. It wasn’t Tucker Shaffer. Though at this point she’d take Tucker over the bear. A man could at least be reasoned with, right? Maybe. He’d been pretty terrifying.
Just hold onto the fence and keep walking.Maryn beseeched a merciful Father in Heaven to please, please get her out of this mess. She started making all kinds of bargains—she’d call her mother every week and she’d settle down and marry James, even though she didn’t really love him, but it would make him happy and since she was going to dedicate her life to service as soon as she was safe and warm, marrying James was a good first step. Then they’d both give up writing articles about celebrities and go to work for Beckham and Alyssa and their charity stuff. James would hate that, but she was making a sacrifice to marry him so he could make sacrifices too.
The thumping and the breathing were growing louder and louder. Maryn wanted to sob. The hand brushing a new bar every few seconds was stiff and shaking terribly. She couldn’t hold on any longer. It was all she could do to simply drag her frozen fingers along the metal so she wouldn’t get lost. Her feet were just blocks of ice at the end of her legs. Shaking so hard, her teeth were knocking together, she couldn’t see anything past the cold. Even her eyelashes were frozen and heavy. Trying to blink, she could barely see past the ice coating her lashes.
She stumbled over a log or something and went down to her knees. Wet snow seeped through her pants. More cold. Insult to injury, but still she wanted to stay on the ground and bawl. Slowly climbing back to her feet, she peered through the snow and trees but couldn’t see anything. The horrible chills encompassing her body were nothing to the terror she felt of a bear finding her.
Could the bear smell her? Was he tracking her? She tried to climb the fence one more time, but couldn’t even force her hands around the metal. She slid straight to the ground. Slowly bringing her hands to her lips she blew on them to try to restore some movement. Her arms and legs trembled from exhaustion, cold, and terror. She couldn’t take it any longer. Unable to force herself to her feet again, she curled into a ball and prayed more diligently.Let the bear pass me by. Please let him not see me in the storm. Hide me, please, please, please. I’ll turn into a stinking saint, I promise.