SHIVER (34 page)

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.

His beady eyes swung to Aidan, scoffing at the gun he held in his hand. “Gonna kill me like you did your daddy?”

“Am I going to need to?”

Roland cackled. “Looks as though murdering a man has finally given you a backbone.” He rose slowly to his feet, a plank of wood—bent nails sticking out of one end—gripped in his hand. “So, how do you want to play this?”

“I’m going to turn you over to the law.”

He scoffed and rolled his black eyes. “Like that’s gonna happen. I’ve forgotten your sense of humor.”

“I’m not laughing.” Aidan moved a few steps to the left, blocking Roland’s path to the rifle he’d left out of reach, leaning against the cold wood stove. But there was still Earl’s gun cabinet, fully stocked, at Roland’s back. Aidan doubted the old man would be fast enough to arm himself from the cabinet before Aidan was on him, but he wouldn’t put it past him. “Put down the wood. You’re coming with me.”

“The only way I’m going anywhere with you is if I’m dead.” He cocked a brow. “You willing to kill me too?”

“Lana’s here.”

A spasm of pain crossed Roland’s weathered features.

“She’s real scared, Roland. For some reason she still loves you after all the crap you’ve put her through.”

“Well…she’s too tender-hearted. Too much like her mother. Nothing I can do about that.”

“You don’t care that your actions are causing her more pain?”

“She’s plenty aware of what has to happen here. Not my fault if she doesn’t like it. Besides, the blame lies at your feet. None of this would be happening if you hadn’t gunned down my brother in cold blood.”

“He didn’t give me a choice,” Aidan ground out, his grip tightening on the butt of the gun. “He would have killed Sonya.” He knew Roland was pushing his buttons but couldn’t seem to stop the anger and shame oozing like crude oil through his veins.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t something else you could’ve done?” His gleaming eyes met Aidan’s. “There wasn’t a part of you that wanted him dead?”

Guilt fed the anger and shame. He’d wanted Earl dead most of his life. Had wished it were Earl who had been killed in the car accident when he was a child rather than his mother.

“I knew it,” Roland purred. “I’ve seen it on your face. You wanted him dead. Sonya was just an excuse.”

Had he shot Earl because deep down that was the outcome he’d preferred?

The gun wavered in his hand, and before he could tighten his grip, Roland swung the wooden plank, hitting him square on his upper arm, right where he’d been shot. Pain flared like gas poured on a bonfire. Cursing, he dropped the gun and cradled his arm. The gun spun across the floor, falling into the hole Roland had created. Roland swung at Aidan again, the plank coming down on the side of Aidan’s neck, the twisted nails in the wood cutting into his flesh. He stumbled to his knees.

Roland sneered, walking around Aidan. “I’d hope to see some fight in you. But this—” he gestured with the wooden plank at Aidan kneeling at his feet “—it’s a good thing my poor brother isn’t around to see the pathetic coward his own son has become.”

“If I was a pathetic coward, Earl would be alive now.”

Fury and grief mixed in Roland’s muddy eyes. “You son of a bitch.” He swung his leg out to kick Aidan in the kidneys. Aidan shifted just as Roland was off balance, grabbed his leg, and in one move had Roland on the floor, while he jumped back on his feet.

“Shit.” Roland spat out of the side of his mouth, glaring up at Aidan. “Forgot about those fancy moves of yours.”

“Might as well give it up, old man. You’re only going to get hurt.”

“Fuck that.” Roland slashed out with a switchblade that he had hidden in the pocket of his cargo pants, cutting through the skin of Aidan’s calf. The cut was deep enough to make Aidan lurch back, and gave Roland time to regain his footing.

They circled each other, Roland with the knife, Aidan with his fists. The guns lay forgotten as if they both wanted this to end personally.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Aidan swung out with his fist, connecting with Roland’s steel jaw. His head jerked back, blood and spittle spraying from his cut lip.

“Yeah, really regretting that, right now.” He flexed his jaw, his eyes full of death and hate. “You’d’ve been dead if it wasn’t for that damned wolf leaping out of nowhere.” He wiped the blood trailing down his chin, then parried quick with the knife, cutting into Aidan’s borrowed coat, slicing through the fabric and into the flesh of his chest. Down feathers floated into the air.

“What about hitting me over the head?” Aidan swung right then left. Roland exchanged him swing for swing. Both were bleeding, their punches sliding on open skin more than connecting.

“If I’d had knocked you on your noggin, I’d’ve happily slit your throat.” He lunged, blocking Aidan’s right chop, and slicing left with the knife over Aidan’s throat. Aidan caught his wrist just before the sharp blade would have connected with his jugular, and twisted his arm trying to get him to release the knife.

Aidan struggled to keep Roland in his grasp. “You didn’t hit me over the head a few days ago?”

“Like I said, if I’d done that you wouldn’t be here now. You got more than one man after ya?” Roland head-butted him, breaking the hold Aidan had on his arm.

Stars flickered in front of his eyes, and bells rang in his ears. Then he was flat on his back, Roland on top of him, the knife once again at his throat.

“Oh, this was too easy.” Roland shook his head as though disappointed. “I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Aidan swallowed, feeling the sharp blade cut into the skin of his neck.

“You know, I’ve watched you,” Roland said. “I take it you finally figured out that you have a bastard son of your own.” He scoffed. “I’m doing the kid a favor by killing you. All you’ve brought to people is pain and death. First your mother, your father. Sonya and her family, and look what ya did to that poor Maiski girl. Murdered her father too.”

“I didn’t murder Raven’s father.” His vision turned red.

“That’s not how Earl told it. You bought the explosives.”

“I didn’t know what they were going to be used for.”

“Ri-i-i-ght.” He snorted. “Just like you had no idea when you set the charges who they were meant for.”

Aidan growled and bucked Roland off, slamming the old man’s hand down on the hard floor again and again until the knife went skidding under the couch. Then he punched him. Left. Right. “I did
not
kill him!”

Rage overtook him and he kept beating Roland even though the old man was no longer blocking his punches or fighting back. His hands were slick with blood as he battered his uncle.

A gunshot rang out.

He glanced up from Roland’s bloody mug to find Raven lowering the forty-five she’d just shot into the ceiling. Her face was white with shock as she took in the sight before her.

Raven
.

Bloodlust demanded that he end it. Finish Roland with his hands. Raven’s pale, frightened face as she stared at him in sickening horror, had him reining in the beast.

He rose slowly to his feet, dread shaking the very ground he stood on. He stepped over Roland’s prone body and moved toward Raven, coming up short when she slowly shook her head, her eyes wide and haunted in her colorless face.

Her gaze narrowed as though she was trying to see the real him. “Who are
you
?”

“Raven—”

“
You
bought the explosives?
You
set the charges?”

Oh God, how long had she been standing there? He vaguely remembered hearing bells when Roland head-butted him. Raven must have tripped the wire of Roland’s poor man’s door bell.

She pointed with the gun—he knew she wasn’t aware she still held in her hand—to Roland on the floor. “Is he dead? Did you kill him too?” she whispered the last part.

His heart stopped at the look of condemnation in her eyes.
‘Did you kill him too?
’ echoed through the cavity of his chest, stopping his heart. Aidan looked down at Roland. Oh God, had he killed him? He knelt and felt for a pulse. It was there, steady and strong, like the crafty and resilient wolverine that he was. A groan escaped Roland, but he didn’t open his eyes, just lay there a bloody and bruised mess.