“Fox!” Where the heck was he? The cabin was silent, dead silent. She reached for the door of the fridge to pull out Fox’s lunch and saw the note in Aidan’s handwriting stuck under a salmon magnet.
Raven,
I took Fox to school after we fed the dogs. I couldn’t make myself wake you, as you were sleeping so beautifully.
I love you,
Aidan
She glanced at the clock and growled. It was just after nine. If Aidan had planned on coming back after taking Fox to school, he would have been here by now. The blasted man had gone off to confront his uncle. She’d bet her life on it.
Damn it. Why were men so stupid and irrational? He’d promised her, just mere hours ago, that he wouldn’t get himself killed. Fear coiled in like death whispers.
She didn’t think. Just grabbed her dad’s forty-five, loaded it, and headed for Earl’s.
Aidan parked the rental a mile up the road and hoofed the rest of the way to Earl’s cabin. He was going to settle this for good. He would protect his son, his woman, and her family. All the while trying not to give up his life in the process. After all, he’d promised. A grin flashed as he remembered the staggering love making he and Raven had shared last night. He didn’t know when he had felt this happy, this hopeful. Dr. Foster had been correct. He’d needed to return to Chatanika, return to his past, make things right. Everything had been so wrong for so long.
Now he had to neutralize Roland, which seemed child’s play compared to winning back Raven’s heart.
He snuck up on the cabin, scanning the wilderness, listening for anything suspicious.
A ptarmigan cooed to his lover hidden in the underbrush. The sun still had a few hours until it would peak over the horizon. It was freezing, and the ice fog seeping up from the river valley was thick and ominous.
The cabin squatted in the shadows of the hill behind it. There was no sign of activity. No smoke coming from the chimney, no lights glowing through the curtain-covered windows. If someone was inside, he wouldn’t be able to tell. But then Roland wouldn’t know he was out here either. A level playing field.
He’d rather have an advantage.
Slipping to the cabin, he stayed next to the logs as he made his way to the back door. The soft powder of snowfall from the day before cushioned his footsteps. For once he didn’t crunch through a frozen layer of ice-crusted snow.
He stumbled, almost triggering the thin fishing wire pulled taut across the path to the cabin. The meager light bouncing off the snow had caught the wire just right, glimmering iridescent for a second, before blending with the surrounding area. Aidan followed the wire with his eyes until he saw the cans hanging in the spruce branches. One brush of the twine and the cans would have pealed together like bells. Aidan carefully stepped over it, making sure there wasn’t a backup poor man’s doorbell.
He reached the back door and suddenly, his feet slipped out from under him. He fell hard and heavy, grunting as he hit, his injured arm taking the brunt of it. The crafty son of a bitch had iced the area by the back door. Aidan struggled to his feet, slipping again when he reached the stairs. Water had been poured over them too. His shoulder throbbed, and he felt wetness seep down his arm. He’d torn his stitches. Eva was going to make him pay for that.
He’d expected the alarm at the back door. It was set up much the way the other one had been. Only this time the cans were positioned to fall if the wire was brushed, clanging on their way down, most likely knocking the intruder out in the process. Aidan carefully disarmed the cans and then cut the wire strung across the door with his knife. He pocketed the knife in his jeans and pulled the magnum out of his waistband. Slowly, he turned the knob and slid the door open a crack without a sound. Deciding to grease the dirty, rusty hinges with WD40 a few days ago had been a stroke of genius. When nothing came at him, he inched the door opened far enough to peek inside.
The kitchen was empty, but he heard scraping from the other room. Silently, he entered the cold cabin, quietly closing the door behind him. He waited, barely breathing, but the sound didn’t change from the other room, so he slinked farther into the space. When he reached the corner, he gave a quick glance into the living room.
There was Uncle Roland crouched down, pulling up the floorboards.
The last few months had not treated him well. He’d lost weight, but then being on the run from the law would do that to a person. He’d grayed more, too, and his skin had a yellow cast to it, like he’d upped his cigarette intake. If anything he looked meaner and leaner, with long, wiry muscles that gleamed menacingly in the dim lantern lighting.
“Find anything?” Aidan asked, enjoying Roland’s jolt at being caught unawares.