At Any Cost (2 page)

She scooped him up into her arms as she turned off the lamp and headed for the stairs. “Let's get a move on, buddy. It's thank-you notes night on Fallon.” Simon purred in her grasp. “I know, right? We're livin' on the razor's edge.”

Chapter Two

Nick stared out the window, through the steady fall of snow outside, at the woman he'd spent months researching and the past week tracking down. Sometimes, the key to following even the vaguest lead was simply being too stubborn to let it go. Lucky for Nick, stubborn was the only way he knew to be. A fairly reliable USMS informant had been picked up for petty theft. In order to get out from under a probation violation, he'd offered up info on Meecum's ex. According to the informant, he'd been passing through McCall, Idaho, with a group of buddies for a concert. Among the waitstaff at the venue was a woman who fit the description of Kari Hanson. He'd told the investigating marshal that her nametag read “Livy.” The USMS, unable to confirm the intel, assumed the guy had made up the story to get out of being charged.

But not Nick. He'd researched the small town for over a month prior to his mandatory vacation and it had seemed like a promising location for someone to hide out from law enforcement. The town's population barely broke thirty-five hundred. He'd searched DMV records for any vehicles registered to women named Livy. He'd come up empty-handed, but had found two cars registered to women named Olivia. His options had been easy to narrow down from there. One of the Olivias was a seventy-five-year-old retired teacher. Definitely not Meecum's ex. The other had only lived in the county for about four years and other than that, Nick hadn't been able to find anything else out about her. It was like she'd appeared out of thin air, which had only further convinced him that she was, in fact, the woman Joel Meecum had been searching for.

She might be going by Olivia Gallagher now, but that didn't matter. He was on the money. The kitchen of the rented cabin provided the perfect vantage point with a direct view of her driveway, and he watched her talk to her shovel as she moved scoop after scoop of snow. Her grumbles, spoken between bouts of profanity that could be heard even through his kitchen window, had woken him from a deep sleep. Pretty much what he'd expect from a woman who hung out with bikers. Those words would make a sailor proud.

She'd done a damned good job of flying below the radar, but not good enough. No one could simply vanish. Sporting a new name and Social Security number wasn't enough. Living in an obscure town in the middle of BFE wasn't enough. Nick had only set up shop in the cabin across from hers yesterday afternoon. Not even twelve hours in McCall and he had eyes on his target.

She wasn't quite what he'd expected.

She continued to shovel, but struggled as the snow stuck to the metal scoop. With every new shovelful, she was forced to knock the snow out before she could clear another section of it away. Labor intensive, and obviously frustrating as evidenced by the constant string of profanity.

“Frank, you piece of shit! How could you do this to me?”

Nick's lips quirked as Olivia continued on with her tirade, loud enough to wake up everyone on the lane. Well, it would have if anyone else had been living on the lane. He grabbed a notebook from the kitchen counter and scribbled the name Frank with a question mark beside it. According to his research, she lived alone. Maybe Frank was her snowplow guy. Or an ex-boyfriend. That wouldn't make Joel Meecum very happy, would it?

A tingle of excitement raced from the base of Nick's neck down his spine, sending a killer rush of adrenaline through his system. Who needed coffee for a morning jolt when he could live off the excitement he felt every time a lead panned out. He'd hit the jackpot with Olivia. Pure solid gold. He watched as she continued to struggle in the fresh snow, wading through a drift that had to have been pushing three feet as she made her way to the back of the car. In the dull red glow of the taillights of the still-running vehicle, he could barely make out her profile. Two long braids on either side of her head trailed down from a large, slouchy beanie that she pushed back up on her forehead. She was decked out in snow gear: ski pants, coat, gloves. Nick watched as she plopped down on the ground to check something out under the car. Hell, she looked like a little kid whose mom had gotten her dressed for the trek to the bus stop.

Where was she going this early in the morning, anyway? Nick hadn't been there long enough to determine any patterns in her comings and goings yet. This could be part of her daily routine for all he knew. He noted the time in his notebook as he flipped on the light in the kitchen. She straightened, her head turning in his direction. Now was as good a time as any to introduce himself. From the rage-fest going on outside, he already knew that Olivia Gallagher had a bit of a temper. What would a conversation with her reveal?

She continued to wrestle with the snow and Nick left her to it as he headed for the bedroom to get dressed. Her car was buried to the hood in the deep drift; she wasn't leaving anytime soon. And for that matter, neither was he.

The sleepy town in the heart of Idaho had to have taken her some time to get used to after living in Southern California where Meecum was rumored to be hiding out. He wondered how she'd come to the decision to move here. Had she closed her eyes and stabbed her finger down on a map? Motorcycle-club life was a far cry from the picturesque tourist town she'd settled in. He'd have to ask around, shake the bushes and see what fell out. People loved to gossip in tiny places like this. Someone had to be willing to talk. Was Olivia an upstanding member of the community? Did she pass bad checks? Hang out at the local bars? When you knew the right questions to ask and how to ask them, people could be pretty damned informative without even knowing they were being questioned.

Nick had yet to unpack his shit. He tossed his duffel onto the bed and dug out a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and a sweater. He searched around in the bottom of the bag and found a pair of wool socks that he added to the pile. His boots were in the mudroom along with his coat, gloves, and hat. Probably should have brought long underwear or some shit. Another angry shout came from outside and spurred Nick into action as he threw on his clothes.

He didn't have a snow shovel, damn it.

Hell, he didn't have much of anything. No groceries and a little over a week's worth of clothes. Was it wishful thinking that he'd get the job done and be out of there in less than a week? Probably. Which meant if he was planning on sticking around Ski Town, USA, then he should probably get his ass in gear and load up on some shit. It might not be a bad idea to get his hands on a snowblower if he had any intention of making it up the lane to the city street. He had four-wheel drive and good tires, but still. This was some serious fucking snow on the ground.

Good Lord, it took less time to get outfitted in his vest and tactical gear to go out in the field. Once he got his boots laced, Nick headed out onto the porch. Olivia stood beside her car, digging snow out from underneath it as best she could with the snow shovel's scoop, which was way too big and awkward for the job she was trying to use it for. But since Nick didn't have even a piece-of-shit shovel like hers to help her out with, he supposed they'd have to make do.

She kept her back turned to him, completely oblivious to his presence. It was a vulnerable position, one that left her exposed to all sorts of danger. He found himself wanting to chide her, but why? No doubt Joel Meecum's old lady could take care of herself. Meek and weak didn't cut it when you rolled with bikers. He waded through the knee-deep snow, closer. Olivia straightened to lean on the shovel and pushed her slouchy hat up on her forehead. A frustrated shriek sent a cloud of steam billowing up into the air above her. “Son of a bitch!”

* * *

This snowstorm was absolute, fucking
bullshit.

Fingers of trepidation speared Livy's chest as she tried to focus on the task at hand and not the lights that had sprung to life at the neighboring house. This time of year, most of the cabins along the lake went uninhabited or rented to vacationers, like the cabin that faced hers from across the narrow lane. She hadn't met her new neighbors yet and she didn't plan on it. Livy kept to herself and she couldn't help but be a little annoyed that her peaceful, deserted haven had gained another resident. No matter how temporary.

That light flicking on—a simple, everyday act that probably had nothing to do with her—was a sore reminder that not a fake identity nor a life a million miles from anywhere in all directions was enough to make her feel safe.

She continued to dig, but with every scoop of snow she moved, it seemed that twice as much sloughed from the drift to take its place. “Stupid, fucking, powdery pain in my ass!” Snow might be pure and white, it might be fun to plow through on her skis, but this morning, with her car hood-deep in it, the snow was surely a device of the devil. Five months and counting till spring . . .

After what felt like a year's worth of shoveling, Livy got in the car and put it in gear. The Caliber's wheels continued to spin and the engine growled as she punched down the accelerator. “Come
on,
you Dodge piece of shit! Move!”

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the cabin next door. No doubt she'd given her neighbor a lovely six
A.M.
wake-up call with her revving engine and swear-fest. The Toyota pickup parked in the driveway looked like it had the clearance to maneuver through the accumulated snow with little effort.

Maybe they had a tow strap?
No.
Livy banished the thought from her mind. She had no idea who had rented the cabin. It could be anyone. And she'd managed to stay hidden the past four years by
not
taking chances.

A frustrated growl grated in Livy's throat as she threw the car into park and got out. She scooped several more shovelfuls of snow out from under the car, her breath coming in quick pants. Was twenty-five too young for a heart attack? Because she was pretty sure she felt one coming on. Her back ached as she straightened and leaned on the shovel handle. Damn it, she needed to take a breather. The wood splintered under her weight and broke in two. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouted as she held the splintered remains of her snow shovel. The damned thing was beyond ancient, and she'd needed a new one about two winters ago. But when forty dollars could be better spent on groceries, she'd decided to live dangerously and work the poor thing to death.

“Well, Frank, I wish I could say it was fun while it lasted.”

Frank totally sounded like the sort of name a snow shovel would have. Utilitarian. All business. Frank didn't take any shit. He plowed through the accumulated feet of powdered evil and made that snow his bitch. Sort of.

The scoop was bent and the sharp metal dug grooves into the wood of her deck and stairs every time she tried to clear the snow away. Wet snow—like the shit currently piled in her driveway—stuck to the scoop and refused to let go. Tough to make any progress. She might as well be trying to shovel peanut butter. Like her life, Frank was useless and pathetic, hiding out in the shed when he wasn't being put to use. For the hundredth time she wondered how she hadn't died from the excitement.

Commercials always made you think that an all-wheel drive vehicle could go anywhere and do anything. But after a winter storm dumps a few feet of snow overnight, even the most stalwart of cars is going to have some trouble. High-centered in a snowdrift, and now no shovel to dig out with. She wasn't going anywhere.

“Goddamn it!”

Livy pulled her gloves up tighter on her hands and went to her knees with the scoop end of the broken shovel. If she could clear some of the snow out from under the car, she might have a chance of getting unstuck. She was already late for work, and since her paycheck was dependent on the number of students she had, she couldn't afford to miss a half day getting her car out of the driveway.

Nope, she wasn't going to ask for help. She'd gotten by this long on her own.

She kicked at the back bumper and her boot slipped against the slick plastic. Her legs went out from under her and she landed in the snow squarely on her ass. “Fuck!” Her voice echoed in the quiet of snowfall. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck
!”

She took the broken handle and wedged it underneath one of the back wheels of her car for traction and went to her knees. The cold soaked through her heavy ski pants. Ass up in the air, toes anchoring her to the ground, she continued to shovel the packed snow out from under her car. Who needed to go to the gym for a workout? With every scoop of snow, the calories melted away....

“You stuck?”

The rumble of a deep voice behind her sent Livy's heart up into her throat. She could practically feel the icy barrel of a gun pressing into the exposed skin at the back of her neck. A shiver of trepidation traveled down her spine and Livy's brain went absolutely blank. Her mouth went dry. She froze; one half of Frank's severed body clutched in her fists.

Slowly, Livy rose up to her knees. The fact that she wasn't dead yet was a good sign. Either that, or she'd grown so paranoid that she couldn't even carry on a simple conversation with another human being in fear that he might be one of Joel's thugs sent to get her. With the shovel clutched close to her chest, Livy stood. Took a deep breath, and turned to face the source of that deep voice.

She brought her gaze up, up,
up
to the face of the man standing just to the left of her headlights. His features were indistinguishable in the dark, making him look sinister and strangely alluring all at once. Livy's heart raced and she swallowed the lump of fear that rose in her throat.

“H-high centered,” she rasped just before clearing her throat. “The road's drifted shut. The snowplow hasn't been by yet.”

He tilted his head to one side as though studying her. She could make out the outline of a strong jaw, and his lips curved as though in amusement as he turned his attention to her car. His profile displayed strong, sharp features and a shock of hair poked out from beneath his beanie, brushing his brows. “You're trying to go forward when you should be backing up.” He jerked his head toward the driver's-side door. “Get in. I'll push.”