“Rented?”
She shrugged. “They won’t be needing it again.”
Willow tasted bile.
All too soon they pulled up, not to a cabin, but a mobile home. Trees grew tall throughout the property, something the homeowners must have enjoyed as they built the covered front porch around one.
“Out,” Tom ordered. The cold sliced deep as Willow slid from the vehicle. She crossed her arms, shivering, longing for her coat which was hanging over a chair back at the reception.
“Wonder why Jack hasn’t called.” Tom commented.
Marg looked Willow up and down. “Guess you were nothing but a diversion for your bathroom buddy.”
Willow jutted her chin, yelling in her head, I’m more than a diversion, you bitch. I’m his mate. But she kept her mouth shut.
Stephen wanted an explanation of that comment and when Tom told him where they found Willow, the driver licked his lips and ran a hand over his crotch. Willow thought she might have vomited a little in her mouth. Stephen was so fugly that prostitutes probably put a bag over his head.
“Dammit, Stephen. You disgust me,” Marg snapped. “If anyone gets Willow, it’ll be me, but unfortunately we don’t have time. Just grab her and let’s go. It’s too cold to prolong this.”
Oh yeah. Willow was going to hurl. Thank God Marg wanted her dead sooner rather than later, because she just might tell Tom to pull the trigger if the old crone came at her with lust in her eyes.
A flash of anger crossed Stephen’s face before he took hold of Willow’s arm. Ah. Dissension among murderers. Lovely.
Fugly steered her after Marg and they wound deeper into the forest, Tom taking up the rear. After several minutes Marg halted and looked around. “I thought this was where you dug the grave.”
Willow guessed that would be her grave. She looked around with wide eyes, not seeing any big, empty pit. Everything looked the same to her.
“Nah, it’s over there.” Tom pointed with his gun.
Fugly squinted, trying to see. “You sure? I thought it was back that way.”
Willow looked up at the stars. Great. She’d been abducted by the Three Stooges.
“I fucking told you to set up a flag or something.” Marg cursed her men out. “Incompetent fools.”
They turned around and tramped for several more minutes over fallen logs and winding around bare trees heavy with the latest snow fall. Apparently Marg had enough because she came to an abrupt halt. “That’s it. I’m done searching. Kill her now and just leave her body to the animals.”
A wolf’s howl broke the silence, long and mournful. It was followed by another wolf, and another. Then came the eerie sound of a seriously pissed-off cat, and Willow wasn’t thinking a tabby.
Oh. My. God. Rome. Rome’s not a wolf, he’s a cat. Ben called him a cat back at Kaylie’s place.
Her stunned brain was still coming to terms with that news when her heart soared light and free. Ben was coming for her. They all were!
Willow gulped and tried to step back as Tom turned his gun on her, but Fugly tightened his grip. Safety minutes away, she struggled in earnest, not to break free but to keep Stephen between her and Tom’s gun. She also screamed bloody murder, remembering belatedly that her scent would travel through the air, and with any luck, lead the wolves straight to her.
“Shit, woman. Quit your wailing. You sound like those damn coyotes.” Marg wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Willow shot the woman a death-ray glare that would make Tess proud. “Not coyotes, you dumb bitch. Wolves.”
Marg’s mouth dropped in shock. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that. Gaping like a fishmonger she said, “That’s it. Tom.”
In that split second Willow wished she’d told Ben she loved him. Loved him so much that her heart ached with it. She loved his charm, his personality, his wit and, yes, even his wild, furry side. And now she never would.
She sucked in a breath to scream when two lethal black streaks blurred out from the corner of her eye, her vision suddenly sideways as she was ripped out of Stephen’s grip and shoved onto the snowy ground. Something heavy lay on top of her, snarling and snapping. Breathless, she turned her head—to peer around a large tan paw.
Marg stood alone, her mouth open wide in horrified shock. Tom laid at her side, motionless, a large black leopard standing over him, roaring out in victory.
Swiveling her head the other direction, she saw a huge black wolf doing the same with Stephen. God she hoped whoever the black wolf was didn’t catch any disease from the henchman.
She tried to look up. “Ben?” At her soft whisper the snarling stopped and a big, moist tongue swiped across her cheek. “Ew.” He chuffed and boinked her face with his wet nose, as if assuring himself she was fine. “I’m okay. Really. Just wouldn’t mind breathing.”