SHE’S KEEPING SECRETS.

Now he must keep her alive.

A murder in the tiny town of Frost Falls is big news. And a mysterious “vacationer” with the same first name as the victim has police chief Jason Cash intent on finding out who Yvette LaSalle really is. Especially with someone now after her. Yvette is hiding dangerous information, and Jason is the only man she can trust...but how much? Because the truth will get them both killed.

MICHELE HAUF is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually feature in her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com.

Also by Michele Hauf

The Witch’s Quest

The Witch and the Werewolf

An American Witch in Paris

The Billionaire Werewolf’s Princess

Tempting the Dark

This Strange Witchery

Ghost Wolf

Moonlight and Diamonds

The Vampire’s Fall

Enchanted by the Wolf

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Storm Warning

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09370-5

STORM WARNING

© 2019 Michele Hauf

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Jason Cash squeezed the throttle on the snowmobile he handled as if a professional racer. The five-hundred-pound sled took to the air for six bliss-filled seconds. Snow sprays kissed Jason’s cheeks. Sun glinted in the airborne crystals. The machine landed on the ground, skis gliding smoothly onto the trail. With an irrepressible grin on his face, he raced down an incline toward the outer limits of Frost Falls, the small Minnesota town where he served as chief of police.

Thanks to his helmet’s audio feed, a country tune twanged in his ears. His morning ride through the pristine birch forest that cupped the town on the north side had been interrupted by a call from his secretary/dispatcher through that same feed. He couldn’t complain about the missed winter thrills when a much-needed mystery waited ahead.

Maneuvering the snowmobile through a choppy field with shifts of his weight, he steered toward a roadside ditch, above which were parked the city patrol car and a white SUV he recognized as a county vehicle. Sighting a thick undisturbed wedge of snow that had drifted from the gravel road to form an inviting ridge, Jason aimed for the sparkling payload, accelerated and pierced the ridge. An exhilarated shout spilled free.

Gunning the engine, he traveled the last fifty feet, then braked and spun out the back of the machine in a spectacular snow cloud that swirled about him. He parked and turned off the machine.

Flipping up the visor and peeling off his helmet, he glanced to the woman and young man who stood twenty yards away staring at him. At least one jaw dropped open in awe.

A cocky wink was necessary. Jason would never miss a chance to stir up the powder. And every day was a good day when it involved gripping it and ripping it.

Setting his helmet emblazoned with neon-green fire on the snowmobile seat, he tugged down the thermal face mask from his nose and mouth to hook under his chin. The thermostat read a nippy ten degrees. Already ice crystals formed on the sweat that had collected near his eyebrows. He did love the brisk, clean air.

It wasn’t so brutally cold today as it had been last week when temps had dipped below zero. But the warm-up forecast a blizzard within forty-eight hours. He looked forward to snowmobiling through the initial onset, but once the storm hit full force, he’d hole up and wait for the pristine powder that would blanket the perimeter of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, where he liked to blaze his own trails.

Clapping his gloved hands together, he strode over to his crack team of homicide investigators. Well, today they earned that title. It was rare Frost Falls got such interesting work. Rare? The correct term was nonexistent. Jason was pleased to have something more challenging on his docket than arresting Ole Svendson after a good drunk had compelled him to strip to his birthday suit and wander down Main Street. A man shouldn’t have to see such things. And so frequently.

He almost hated to share the case with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, but Marjorie had already put in a call to them. Someone from the BCA would arrive soon. Standard procedure when a homicide occurred within city limits.

“Cash.” Alex Larson, who had just graduated from the police academy and headed north from the Twin Cities to find work, with hopes of eventually getting placed on search and rescue, nodded as Jason walked nearer. The tall, gangly man was twenty-four and had an eye for safety and a curiosity for all things female. Unfortunately, most of the women in Frost Falls were over forty. Not many of the younger ones stuck around after high school. Smart move in a dying town. The Red Band iron mine had closed four years ago. That closure had sent the migrant workers—and far too many locals—packing in search of a reliable paycheck.

Alex was the only officer Jason needed in the little town of Frost Falls, population 627.

Though, from the looks of things, the population was now 626.

A middle-aged woman, wearing a black goose-down coat that fell to her knees and bright red cap, scarf and mittens, stood beside Alex. Elaine Hester was a forensic pathologist with the St. Louis County medical examiner’s office. She traveled the seven-hundred-square-mile area so often she joked about selling her property in Duluth and getting herself an RV. She gestured toward the snowy ditch that yet sported the dried brown heads of fall’s bushy cattails. The forthcoming blizzard would clip that punky crop down to nothing.

“What have you got, Elaine?” Jason asked, even though his dispatcher, Marjorie, had already told him about the body.

Jason led the team toward the ditch and saw the sprawled female body dressed in jeans and a sweater—no coat, gloves or hat—long black hair, lying facedown. The snow might have initially melted due to her body heat, so she was sunk in to her ears, and as death had forfeited her natural heat, the warmed slush had iced up around her and now crusted in the fibers of her red sweater.

“Female, mid-to late-twenties. Time of death could be last evening,” Elaine reported in her usual detached manner. She held a camera and had likely already snapped a few shots. “Didn’t want to move the body for closer inspection until you arrived, Cash. You call in the BCA?”

“On their way. We can continue processing the crime scene. The BCA will help, if necessary. Last night, eh?”

“I suspect she was dumped here around midnightish.”

Jason met Alex’s gaze, above which the officer’s brow quirked. They both tended to share a silent snicker at Elaine’s frequent use of ish tacked to the end of words when she couldn’t be exact.

“How do you know she was—” Jason drew his gaze from the body and up the slight ditch incline to the gravel road. The marks from a body sliding over the snow were obvious. “Right. Dumped.”

Jason studied the ground, noting the footprints, which were obviously from Elaine’s and Alex’s boots, as they’d remained only on this side of the body. They hadn’t contaminated the crime scene. That was Elaine’s forte: meticulous forensics.

Jason walked a wide circle around the victim’s head and up the ditch to the road. As he did so, Elaine snapped away, documenting every detail of the scene with photographs. Though they were still within city limits, this was not a main road. Rather, it was one of four that left the town and either dead-ended or led deeper north into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, a million-plus-acre natural reserve within the Superior National Forest that hugged the Canadian border. The only people who used this road were two families who both lived about ten miles out of Frost Falls. The gravel road showed no deep tracks in the mix of snow, ice and pebble, like if a vehicle were to take off quickly after disposing of evidence. But there were boot prints where the gravel segued into dead grass long packed down by snow.

Jason bent and decided they were a woman’s boot prints for the narrowness.

“Marjorie said a woman called in the sighting?” Jason asked Alex.

“Yes, sir,” Alex offered. “Call came from Susan Olson, who works at The Moose in the, er—ahem—back.” If Alex hadn’t been wearing a face mask, Jason felt sure he’d see him blush. The back of The Moose offered a low-class strip show on Saturday nights—basically, Susan and a few corny Halloween costumes that had fit her better back in high school. “Miss Olson was driving out to her aunt’s place to check in on her when she saw something glint in the ditch.”

Jason shuffled down into the ditch, avoiding Elaine as she stepped around the woman’s head. “Evidence?” he asked Alex.

“Just the body and the clothing on it. No phone or glasses or personal items that may have fallen out from a pocket. I’ll bag the hands and head soon as Elaine gives me the go-ahead. Any tracks up there?”

“They’re from the caller, I’m sure. But take pictures of the tracks, will you, Elaine? We’ll have to see if Susan’s fashion lends to size-eight Sorels, if my guess is correct.”

“Of course. Nice thing about snow—it holds a good impression of boot tracks. I hope it’s Ryan Bay with the BCA.”

Jason cast her a look that didn’t disguise his dislike for the guy for reasons he couldn’t quite place. He’d only met him twice, but there was something about him.

Elaine noticed his crimped smirk and shrugged. “Guy’s a looker. And he’s easygoing. I can do what I need to do without him wanting to take charge.”

“A looker, eh?”

There it was. She’d nailed his dislike in a word. A looker. What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t as if handsome held any weight in this small town. Least not when a man was in the market to hook up. Again, no eligible women as far as a man’s eye could see.

“You’re still the sexiest police chief in St. Louis County, Cash.” Elaine adjusted the lens on her camera. “But if you won’t let me fix you up with my niece...”

The niece. She mentioned her every time they had occasion to work together. Blind dates gave Jason the creeps. His brother Joe had once gone on one. That woman had literally stalked him for weeks following. Yikes.

“Didn’t you mention she was shortish?” Jason asked with a wink to Alex.

“Short girls need love, too, Jason.” The five-foot-two-inch woman laughed. “Don’t worry. I know she’s not your type.”

Jason squatted before the body, thinking that if Elaine actually did know his type—What was he thinking? Of course, she did. Along with everyone else in the county. The gossip in these parts spread as if it had its own high-speed internet service.

Focusing on the body, with a gloved hand he lifted the long black hair that had been covering the woman’s face. Her skin was pale and blue. Her lips purple. Closed eyelids harbored frost on the lashes. No visible signs of struggle or blood. She was young. Pretty. He’d not seen her in Frost Falls before. And he had a good mental collection of all the faces in town. A visitor? She could have been murdered anywhere. The assailant may have driven from another town to place her here.

In the distance, the flash of headlights alerted all three at the same time.

“BCA,” Elaine said. “We’ll review the evidence with them and then bag the body.”

“You’ll transport the body to Duluth?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You going to follow me in for the autopsy?”

“You going to process it this morning?” Duluth was about an hour’s drive to the east.

Elaine shook her head. “Probably not. But I will get to it after lunch. If you can meet me around oneish, that would work.”

“Will do.”

The white SUV bearing the BCA logo on the side door pulled up twenty feet from Alex’s patrol car and idled. Looked like the driver was talking on the phone. Jason squinted. Couldn’t make out who the driver was. A looker, eh? Why did that weird comment bother him?

It didn’t. Really. He had a lot on his plate now. And he wasn’t the type for jealously or even envy.

He glanced over the body of the unfamiliar woman. Pretty. And so young. It was a shame. “Any ID on her?”

“No, but she’s probably Canadian,” Elaine said.

Jason raised a brow at that surprising assessment.

Elaine bent and pushed aside the woman’s hair with the tip of her penlight to reveal a tiny red tattoo of a maple leaf at the base of the victim’s ear.

“Right.” Jason frowned. “Are those ligature marks on her neck?”

“Yes.” Elaine snapped a few close-up shots of the bruising now revealed on the woman’s neck. “There’s your signs of struggle right there. Poor thing.” She replaced the victim’s hair in the exact manner it had been lying and stood. “Looks like you just might have a murder case on your hands.”

He’d suspected as much. Even though the weather could be treacherous and oftentimes deadly in the winter, the evidence screamed foul play.

“We’ll get the BCA up to speed here, then I’m heading in to talk to Susan Olson,” Jason said.

Jason had seen a lot, and he wasn’t going to allow some psychopath to think he could get away with murder. As well, this was his first big case since his humiliating demotion from the CIA. The timing was either laughable or fortuitous, depending on how he looked at it. Because he’d just received notice that the police station had been marked for budget cuts. In all likelihood, it would close in March and Frost Falls would send all their dispatch calls through the county. The tiny town couldn’t afford to pay Jason’s meager salary anymore. But the notice had also mentioned it wasn’t necessary to employ someone who was merely a town babysitter and not involved in real criminal procedures.

That one had cut deep. He was not a babysitter. Sure, he’d taken this job out of desperation. Getting ousted from the CIA was not a man’s finest moment. Yet he had made this job his own. And he did have a lot on his plate, what with the domestic abuse calls, the poaching and—the public nudity.

Time to prove he wasn’t incompetent to all those who were watching and taking notes. And with any luck? He might earn back his pride and a second chance.

Chapter Two

Nine a.m. on a lazy Sunday. Most of the Frost Falls inhabitants were at church in the neighboring town or sat at The Moose noshing on waffles and bacon. Most, but not all.

Susan Olson yawned and scrubbed a hand over her long, tangled red hair. Her eyes were smeared with dark eye makeup, and one streak veered up toward her temple. She wore a Black Veil Brides T-shirt and bright pink sweatpants. They might have graduated the same year, but Jason had been born and raised in Crooked Creek, a town sixty miles west from here. Susan had lived in Frost Falls all her life.

Another yawn preceded “Really? Do you know what time it is, Chief Cash?”

“I do,” Jason reported. He turned his head to block the wind that whipped at the front of the house. “Heard you found something interesting this morning.”

“I knew you’d be stopping by. Just thought it would be at a decent hour. Come in.”

Jason stepped inside the tiny rambler that might have been built in the ’40s. It boasted green shag carpeting in the front living area; the walls were painted pink and—did they have glitter on them? He stayed on the rug before the door. His boot soles were packed with snow.

“Just have a few questions, then you can head back to bed,” he said. “I know Saturdays are your busy night. Hate to bother you, but a woman has been murdered.”

“She was murdered?” Susan’s eyes opened wider. She clutched her gut and searched the floor. “I thought maybe she just died from, like, frostbite or something. Oh my God. I remember her. I mean, I didn’t touch the body, but I did see her face this morning. I always run to check on my aunt Sunday mornings, even though I’m so raging tired after my shift.”

“You...” Jason leaned forward, making sure he’d heard correctly. He tugged out the little notebook he always carried from inside his coat. Pen at the ready, he asked, “Remember her? The woman in the ditch?”

“Her and three others. It was Lisa Powell’s clique. Must have been someone’s birthday. They were loaded and loose last night. But the woman in the ditch didn’t look familiar to me. I mean, I don’t think she was from around here. It’s not difficult to know all the locals.”

Jason nodded and wrote down the information.

“She tipped me a ten,” Susan said with a curl of a smile. “Doesn’t happen often, let me tell you. The people in this town are so stingy.”

“She was with Lisa Powell, and—do you know the names of the other two?”

“Hannah Lindsey and, oh, some older woman. Might have been one of their mothers. They are all older than me, don’t ya know.” She tilted out a hip and fluffed back her hair with a sweep of hand. “Must be in their late thirties, for heaven’s sake.”

Jason placed Susan at around thirty, same as him.

“Not an issue right now,” Jason said. “How long were the women in The Moose? Did they all leave together? Who else was watching your performance?”

Susan yawned. “That’s a lot of questions, Cash.”

“I know. You got coffee?”

“I do, but I really don’t want to wake up that much. I usually sleep until four on Sundays. Do we have to do this now?”

“We do. You’ll remember much more detail now as opposed to later. And I have an appointment in Duluth in a few hours I can’t miss.”

Susan sighed and dropped her shoulders. “Fine. I got one of those fancy coffee machines for Christmas from my boyfriend. I’ll make you a cup. Kick off your wet boots before you walk on my carpet, will you, Cash?”

“Will do.”

Jason toed off his boots, then followed Susan into the kitchen, where a strange menagerie of pigs wearing sunglasses decorated every surface—all the dishware and even the light fixtures.

* * *

YVETTE LASALLE WANDERED down the tight aisles in the small grocery store set smack-dab in the center of Main Street in Frost Falls. The ice on her black hair that had sneaked out from under her knit cap melted and trickled down her neck. If she didn’t zip up and wrap her scarf tight when she went outside, that trickle would freeze and—Dieu.

Why Minnesota? Of all the places in the world. And to make life less pleasant, it was January. The temperature had not been out of the teens since she had arrived. Sure, they got snow and cold in France. But not so utterly brutal. This place was not meant for human survival. Seriously.

But survive she would. If this was a test, she intended to ace it, as she did with any challenge.

This little store, called Olson’s Oasis, sold basic food items, some toiletries, fishing bait and tackle (because crazy people drilled holes on the lake ice and actually fished in this weather), and plenty of cheap beer. A Laundromat was set off behind the freezer section. It boasted two washers and one semiworking dryer. The store was also the hub for deliveries, since the UPS service apparently didn’t venture beyond Main Street.

Frost Falls was a virtual no-man’s land. The last vestige of civilization before the massive Superior National Forest that capped the state and embraced the land with flora, fauna and so many lakes. This tiny town reminded Yvette of the village where her grandparents had lived in the South of France. Except Frost Falls had more snow. So. Much. Snow.

“Survival,” she muttered with determination, but then rolled her eyes. She never would have dreamed a vacation from her job in gorgeous Lyon would require more stamina than that actual job. Mental stamina, that was.

But this wasn’t a vacation.

Something called lutefisk sat wrapped in plastic behind the freezer-case glass. Vacillating on whether to try the curious fish, she shook her head. The curing process had something to do with soaking the fish in lye, if she recalled correctly from a conversation with the store’s proprietor last week. It was a traditional Nordic dish that the locals apparently devoured slathered in melted butter.

Not for her.

Fresh veggies and fruits were not to be had this time of year, so Yvette subsisted on frozen dinners and prepackaged salads from the refrigerator case.

Her boss at Interpol, Jacques Patron, would call any day now. Time to come home, Amelie. The coast is clear. Every day she hoped for that call.

Unless he’d already tried her. She had gotten a strange hang-up call right before entering the store. The number had been blocked, but when she’d answered, the male voice had asked, “Yvette?” She’d automatically answered, “Yes,” and then the connection had clicked off.

Wrong numbers generally didn’t know the names of those they were misdialing. And an assumed name, at that. Had it been Jacques? Hadn’t sounded like him. But he’d only said her name. Hard to determine identity from one word. Impossible to call back with the unknown number. And would her boss have used her cover name or her real name?

The call was not something to take lightly. But she couldn’t simply call up Interpol and ask them for a trace. She was supposed to be dark. She and her boss were the only people aware of her location right now. She’d try her boss’s number when she returned to the cabin.

Tossing a bag of frozen peas into her plastic basket, she turned down the aisle and inspected the bread selections. Not a crispy, crusty baguette to be found. But something called Tasty White seemed to be the bestseller. She dropped a limp loaf in her basket. She might be able to disguise the processed taste with the rhubarb jam that she’d found in a welcome gift basket when she’d arrived at the rental cabin.

When the bell above the store’s entrance clanged, she peered over the low shelves. A couple of teenage boys dressed in outdoor gear and helmets joked about the rabbit they’d chased with their snowmobiles on the ride into town.

Town? More like a destitute village with a grocery/post office/fish and tackle shop/Laundromat, and a bar/diner/strip joint—yes, The Moose diner offered “pleasure chats” and “sensual dancing” in the far back corner after 10:00 p.m. on Saturday nights. The diner did dish up a hearty meal, though, and Yvette’s stomach was growling.

Her gaze averted from the boys and focused beyond the front door and out the frost-glazed window. Had that black SUV been parked before The Moose when she’d arrived? It looked too clean. Not a beat-up rust bucket like most of the locals drove. And it wasn’t dusted with a grayish coating of deicing salt that they seemed to sprinkle on their roads more than their meals around here. She couldn’t see the license plates to determine if it was a rental.

Yvette was alert for something she felt was imminent but was unable to say exactly what that could be. It reminded her of when she’d worked in the field. A field operative had to stay on her toes and be constantly aware of her surroundings, both physical and auditory. A wise state to embrace, especially in a town not her own.

She’d take a closer look at the SUV after she’d purchased her groceries.

The teenagers paid for energy drinks and left the store in a spill of laughter. Making her way to the checkout, Yvette set her basket on the counter.

“Bonjour, Yvette.” Colette, the shop owner, a Canadian expatriate Yvette had bonded with because she spoke fluent French, fussed with the frilled pink polka-dot apron she wore over a slim-fitting black turtleneck and slacks. “Twenty dollars will do it.”

Surely the bill was thirty or more.

Yvette nodded, unaccustomed to kindnesses, yet receiving such generosity felt like a warm summer breeze brushing her icy neck. Very much needed lately.

She handed over the money. Colette packed up her provisions and helped Yvette fit it all into the backpack she brought along for such trips. She looked forward to riding the snowmobile into town for twice-weekly grocery trips. And today, despite the single-digit temperature, boasted bright white sunshine. A girl could not ignore fresh air and the beautiful landscape. She always brought along her camera and stopped often to snapshots. It was a good cover for an agent, but photography had also always been a hobby she’d wanted to take to the next level.

“Those wool leggings look très chic on you,” Colette commented, with a slide of her gaze down Yvette’s legs. “But you really do need to wear snow pants if you’re snowmobiling in this weather.”

“I’ve got on layers.” Yvette waggled a leg. The heavy boots she wore were edged with fake fur, and the leggings were spotted with white snowflakes on a blue background. Beneath, she wore thermal long johns, an item of clothing she hadn’t been aware existed until she’d arrived here in the tundra. A quilted down coat topped it all.

Fitting the backpack over her shoulders, she paused at the door while Colette walked around the counter and met her with a zip up of her waterproof coat and a tug at her scarf (which happened to match her leggings—score one for fashion).

“You don’t have a helmet to keep your ears warm?” Colette asked. She eyed Yvette’s knit cap with the bobble of red pom-pom on the top. “You foreigners. I’m surprised your ears don’t drop off with frostbite. It’s colder than a polar bear’s toenails out there. And with the wind chill? Uff da.” The woman shuddered.

“Don’t you mean mon Dieu?” Yvette countered.

Colette laughed. “Minnesota has gotten into my blood, chère. It’s uff da here. Want me to order a helmet for you?” She tapped the pom-pom. “We order directly from the Arctic Cat supplier in Duluth. Takes only a day or two. And some are even electronic so you can turn on the heat and listen to music.”

“Sounds perfect. The helmet provided by the cabin is too big for me and tends to twist and block my vision. Thanks, Colette.”

“You heading across the street for a bite to eat? I see the chief’s snowmobile just pulled up. That is one fancy machine. And I’m not talking about the snowmobile.”

“The chief?” Yvette glanced across the way. “You mean a police chief? What’s up?”

“Nothing of concern, I’m sure. It’s just, have you met Chief Jason Cash?”

“Should I?”

Colette winked. “Uff da, girl, he’s the hottest catch this side of the Canadian border. Young, handsome and cocky as hell. But none of the local girls can seem to turn his eye.”

“I am hungry,” Yvette said with a wistful glance across the street. For so many things she’d not had in almost two months. Sunshine. A buttery croissant. Conversation. Sex.

“Good girl. Tell the chief I said hello.” Colette pushed the shop door open and virtually shoved Yvette out.

Bracing for the blast of cold, Yvette cursed how easily she had succumbed to the suggestion she hide out overseas until the heat on her blew over. Her boss had chosen this location and given her a cover identity. He hadn’t told her exactly what it was that could implicate her, but she knew it had to do with her photographic memory. Thing was, she never really knew what some of the stuff that she worked on meant, as it was generally out of context and merely a list or scramble of information to her brain.

Boots crunching on the packed snow, she crossed the wide double-lane Main Street. A couple of pickup trucks with snow chains hugging the tires were parked before The Moose, as was one of the fanciest, most powerful snowmobiles she had seen. Walking by it, she forgot about the mysterious SUV she’d noticed earlier and instead took in the sleek black snowmobile dashed with neon-green embellishments. The body was like a blade, streamlined for speed.

The owner was handsome, eh? And single?

She wasn’t looking for romance, that was for sure. But a woman could not survive on staticky rerun episodes of Sex and the City and her vibrator alone. Might as well give the man a gander, as she’d heard people say in these parts.

But for the official record, she was just here for the food.

Chapter Three

Jason took in the woman who sat before the diner counter. Two stools separated them. After setting a backpack on the floor, she’d pulled off a knit cap to let loose a spill of long black hair. Unzipping her coat halfway revealed a blue-and-white wool sweater that featured snowflakes and reindeer. Looked like one of Marjorie’s knitted projects. Jason had one of those ugly sweaters—it featured a moose and possibly moose tracks (because he could never be sure it wasn’t moose scat)—but he wore it proudly because someone had made it especially for him.

The woman at the counter was not a resident of Frost Falls. And today, of all days, he was particularly alert to strangers. This morning had brought a dead stranger onto his radar. Lunch had found him standing over an autopsy of the same woman. When driving back to Main Street, he’d sighted a shiny SUV that did not belong to a local. He’d run a plate check. Belonged to a Duluth resident. No police record or accidents reported. Worked for Perkins. Probably in town visiting friends.

And now Miss America was sitting ever so close.

She ordered mint tea and the club sandwich with extra bacon. The waitress winked and commented that she was glad to finally use up the tea she’d had stashed under the counter for years.

Jason noted the woman’s cringe when she heard the date of the tea, and he chuckled.

“Not many tea drinkers in these parts,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in The Moose. You passing through Frost Falls?”

“In a means, yes,” she said with an accent that sounded familiar to Jason.

She was an exotic beauty. Her skin tone was olive, and her features were narrow. Bright blue eyes twinkled beneath delicate curved black brows. She didn’t fit the standard profile of the Scandinavians who populated a good portion of Minnesota’s frozen tundra. Gorgeous, too, far prettier than most. And she didn’t appear to be wearing a lick of makeup. Something about natural red lips...

Jason shook off a bittersweet memory of red lips and sly winks. Weird that he hadn’t heard about this beautiful woman from the town’s gossip mill. He turned on the stool to face her. “Name’s Jason Cash,” he offered. “I’m the town’s chief of police.”

For another few months, at least. If and when he lost this job, what would he have to show for his years of service to both his country and this small town?

Not a hell of a lot.

“Nice to meet you, Chief Cash. I’m Yvette LaSalle. I’m not exactly passing through this cozy town. I’ve been here a few weeks. For a, um, vacation. Decided to stop in the diner today because I was across the street making a grocery run.”

“LaSalle.” Must be French Canadian. Nix the Miss America idea, and replace it with...hmm... Her tone didn’t seem to possess the rugged edge the Canadian accent offered. Interesting. And come to think of it, he had heard Marjorie mention something about a newcomer sitting in The Moose last week. Why had Marjorie failed to point out how drop-dead beautiful the woman was? Her gossip was usually much more on point. “I’m glad our paths crossed today.”

The waitress set Yvette’s plate and tea before her.

“Mind if I slide over?” Jason asked. “Then we don’t have to yell across the room at one another.”

“Go ahead.” She pulled a strip of bacon out of the sandwich and munched the crispy slice. “Mmm, meat, how I have missed you.”

“You go off meat for some crazy reason?”

“I am a vegetarian,” she said, prodding another bacon strip, then eyeing it disdainfully. “Or rather, was.” She took a big bite of the sandwich. “Mon Dieu, that is so good!”

Miss France, he decided. He’d only been assigned a single two-day Parisian job while serving in the CIA. He knew a handful of French words, but beyond that, his capacity for learning foreign languages was nil.

“You must not order the tea very often, eh?”

She rolled her eyes. “I had a misguided craving. I think this’ll be the last time I get tea here.”

“Stick with the root beer,” Jason said. “Root beer never lets a man down.”

“Sounds like a personal issue to me, but to each his own. I like your snowmobile,” she said. “The one parked out front, yes? It looks like a racing machine.”

“Oh, it is.” Jason’s back straightened, and he hitched a proud smile in the direction of the powerful machine parked outside. “Could have been a professional racer. I love burning up the track. But I don’t have the time. This job keeps me on call 24/7.”

“I suppose there is a lot of crime in this sleepy little town.” She tried to hide a smirk, but Jason caught it. A fall of dark hair hid half her eye. Oh, so sexy. And every part of him that should react warmed in appreciation.

The last time he’d felt all the right things about a woman had been two years ago in Italy.

And that had ended disastrously.

“Someone has to keep the Peanut Gang in line,” he offered.

“The Peanut Gang?”

“Bunch of old farts who think poaching wolves isn’t harming the ecosystem. Idiots.”

“I’m not afraid of wolves. I think they are beautiful animals.”

Jason nodded. “They are. But I’ll leave it to my brother, the wolf whisperer, to kneel on the ground and pet them. It’s always best to be cautious around wild animals.”

Yvette nodded, but then said, “I got a great shot of a moose last week. On film, that is.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve learned to snowshoe out in the forest behind the cabin. Always take my camera along.”

“You should be careful. Those beasts look gawky, but a moose can run fast.”

“Tell me about it. I was photographing the snow-laced birch trees and out of nowhere a moose charged through the deep snow. It was beautiful. But I’m cautious to check for big critters now when I venture out.”

“You should stick to the trails. Safer.”

“Safe is good, hmm?”

Jason almost responded with an immediate yes, but he sensed by her tone that she was angling for bigger fish. Were those thick lashes as soft as they looked? And did she prefer not so safe? Now that was his kind of woman.

“Depends,” he said. “There’s safe and then there’s, hmm...wild?”

“Wild is not a word I’d ever place to anything in this town.”

If that wasn’t some wanting, repressed sexual desire in her sigh, Jason couldn’t guess otherwise. She had been in Frost Falls a few weeks. Why had he never noticed her before? And could he hope Alex hadn’t already hooked up with her?

“You, uh, like wild?” he asked.

“I do.” She finished off one triangle of the sandwich, but from his side view Jason noticed her smile did not fade.

Oh, he liked the wild, too. In so many ways.

The waitress set his bill down before him. He did not put it on the station’s expense account. He couldn’t see asking the town to pay for his meals. And now with the closure notice hanging over his head, he wanted to be as frugal as possible with the city budget. Much as he didn’t like sharing the investigation with the BCA—yes, Ryan Bay, the looker, had arrived in town—it was a good thing, considering they had the resources and the finances to serve the investigation properly. As soon as the final autopsy report arrived, Jason intended to meet with Bay at the station house and go over the evidence.

Reaching for her backpack, Yvette shuffled it on over her arms. Ready to head out so quickly? She still had half a sandwich on the plate. He couldn’t let her leave. Not until he’d learned more, like where she was staying, and did she have a significant other? And did her hair actually gleam when it spilled across her shoulders?

Briefly, Jason frowned as memories of his early morning stop resurfaced. The deceased had long black hair and a beautiful face.

At that moment, his cell phone buzzed with a text. Elaine had ID’d the victim as Yvette Pearson.

“Yvette,” he muttered and wrinkled a brow. That was a weird coincidence.

“Yes?”

He looked up and was met with a wondering blue gaze. He’d once fallen for a pair of blue eyes and a foreign accent—and life had changed drastically for him because of that distraction.

“You said my name?” she prompted.

“Huh? Oh. No. I mean, yes. Not you. It’s a text.” He quickly typed, Thanks for the info. Forward the final report to me and Ryan Bay. He tucked away the phone and said to the very much alive Yvette, “It’s a case. Not you. Sorry. Police business.”

She nodded. “Yvette is a common French name.”

“You betcha. Lot of French Canadians living up in these parts.”

“These parts.” With a sigh, she glanced out the front window.

Jason noticed she eyed the black SUV parked across the street. The one that hailed from Duluth.

“Friend of yours?” he asked, with a nod out the window.

“You mean the owner of that SUV?” She shook her head. “Despite my sparkling personality, and a desperate desire for good conversation, I don’t have any friends in this town. Other than Colette at the market. She’s the only French-speaking person I’ve run into.”

“You speak French? I was wondering about your accent.”

“I’m from Lyon.”

Lyon, eh? That was a major city in France.

“So, what is there to do in this town that is more interesting than Friday night at the Laundromat slash grocery store?” Yvette asked.

“Let’s see...” Jason rubbed his jaw. “A guy could nosh on some of the amazing desserts they have here at The Moose. I have to admit, I’m a big fan of their pie. You want a slice before you rush off?”

“Much as I would love to, I’ll have to pass. Wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.” She pushed the plate forward to indicate she was finished. “But I won’t rule out pie in my future,” she said with a teasing tone. “What else you got?”

“Well, there is Netflix and chill,” Jason suggested slyly.

“I don’t understand.”

“It means...uh...” A blush heated Jason’s cheeks. Since when had his flirtation skills become so damned rusty? And awkward. Mercy, he was out of practice.

“More coffee, Jason?” the waitress asked.

Saved by the steamy brew. “No, thanks, I should get going. Marjorie is waiting for me back at the office to sign off on some...paperwork.”

The last thing he wanted to do was let the cat out of the bag that a body had been found so close to town. On the other hand, he expected when Susan Olson next went on shift at the back of the diner, it wouldn’t take long for word to spread.

He pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter. “That should cover both our bills.”

Yvette zipped up her jacket. “Thank you, Chief Cash. I’m going to look up Netflix and chill when I get home.”

“You do that,” he said. And when she learned it meant watching Netflix together, then making out? “I’m down the street at the redbrick building if you ever need me. Used to be a bustling station house, but now it’s just me and dispatch.”

“Keeping an eye on the Peanut Gang.”

“You betcha.”

He walked her to the restaurant door, and she pointed across the street where a snowmobile was parked before Olson’s Oasis. It was an older model, similar to the one he’d once torn through ditches on when he was a teenager.

“That’s me,” she said.

“How far out do you live?” he asked.

“I’m renting. Here for a short stay. It’s a cabin about five miles east. Lots of birch trees. Very secluded.”

“Everything around here is secluded. You step out of town, you’re in no-man’s land. That’s what I love about this place. And lots of powder.”

“Powder?”

“Snow. When I’m not working, I spend my time on the cat, zooming through the powder. Er, cat is what some locals call the snowmobile. At least, those of us with an inclination to Arctic Cat sleds and racing.”

“Ah, a thrill seeker?”

“You nailed it. You must be staying at the Birch Bower cabin?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Jason nodded. The owners rented the place out in the winter months while they vacationed in their Athens home. Nice place, Greece. Beautiful blue waters. Fascinating local culture. Ouzo in abundance. He’d nearly taken a bullet to the stomach there a few years ago. Good times.

“Thanks again,” Yvette called as she walked away.

Feeling as though he wanted to give Yvette his phone number, Jason also suspected that would not be cool. Not yet. They’d only chatted ten minutes. So instead he watched her turn on her snowmobile and head off with a smile and a wave.

Besides, he knew where to find her now if he wanted to.

A glance to the SUV found it was still parked. Exhaust fumes indicated the engine was running. Hmm...

Jason strode across Main Street toward the SUV, boots crunching the snowpack. The vehicle shifted into gear and drove past him. It slowed at the stop sign at the east edge of town. And sat there. Yvette had crossed to the town’s edge and taken a packed trail hugged by tall birch trees.

The thunder of Jason’s heartbeats would not allow him to dismiss the SUV. It was almost as if the driver had been parked there, watching... Yvette?

He looked at his cell phone. Elaine’s message read, Yvette Pearson.

As the very much alive Yvette LaSalle had said, it was a common French name. But two Yvettes in one small town? Both, apparently, visiting. And one of them dead?

Unable to shake the itchy feeling riding his spine, Jason returned to his snowmobile and pulled on his helmet. By the time he’d fired up the engine and headed down Main Street, the SUV had slowly moved toward the birch-lined road heading east. Yvette’s direction.

Jason pulled up alongside the SUV, switched on the police flasher lights and signaled the driver to pull over. He did so and rolled down his window. The thirtysomething male wearing a tight gray skullcap and sunglasses tugged up a black turtleneck as the brisk air swept into the truck cab.

“Chief Jason Cash,” Jason said as he approached the vehicle. A nine-millimeter Glock hugged his hip, but he didn’t sense a need for it. Nor did he ever draw for a routine traffic stop. Not that this was a traffic stop.

“Hello, Officer,” the man said with an obvious accent. Texan? A Southern drawl twanged his voice. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem. I’ve not seen you in Frost Falls before, and it is a small town. Like to introduce myself.” He tugged off a glove and offered his hand to the man. The driver twisted and leaned out the window to shake his hand. A calm movement. Warm hand. But Jason couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses. “Your name?”

“Smith,” he said easily. Which was the name Jason had gotten from the plate check. “I’m visiting the Boundary Waters tourist area. Just out for a drive. Beautiful day with the sunshine, yes?”

“You betcha.”

Definitely a Texan accent. Fresh out of high school, Jason had served three years in the marines alongside a trio of Texans who had extolled their love for hot sauce whenever they were bored.

“You got some ID and vehicle registration, Smith?”

The man reached down beside him. Jason’s hackles tightened. He placed a hand over his gun handle. Smith produced a driver’s license and, opening the glove compartment, shuffled around for a paper. He handed both over.

Hiding his relief that he hadn’t had to draw against a dangerous suspect, Jason took the items and looked them over. It was a Minnesota license, not Texas, but people moved all the time. The name and address matched the vehicle registration. It also matched the info he’d gotten earlier. Thirty-seven years old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Donor. A Duluth address. Hair was longer in the photo, but the man looked like he’d recently had a clipper cut.

“You a recent move to Minnesota?”

“Why do you ask?”

“There’s not a lot of uff da in your accent.”

The man chuckled. “Born and raised in Dallas. But I do enjoy the winters here.”

“I gotta agree with you there. You must enjoy outdoor sports.”

“Mostly taking in the sights.”

“Uh-huh. You got the day off from work?” Jason asked.

“You bet.”

“Duluth, eh?” Jason handed back the license. “Where do you work?”

“Perkins. Just off Highway 35 west.”

Jason had eaten at that location before. So that checked out, too. In town to take in the scenery?

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. You should turn around here before the road gets too narrow,” he said. “It’s not for tourism. And it’s also not a through road.”

“I had no idea, Officer.”

“That’s part of my job. Making sure everyone stays on the straight and narrow.”

The man furrowed his brows. And the fact he’d misnamed the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness gave Jason another prickle down his spine. A strange mistake for someone who should be familiar with the area.

“The Moose serves up some tasty meat loaf with buttered carrots,” Jason offered. “Stop in before you head out of town.”

“Thank you, Officer. I will. Is there anything else?”

“No. You can go ahead and turn around here. Road’s still wide enough. But watch the ditch. The snowpack is loose. You’ll catch a tire and have a hell of a time getting out. Tow service is kind of sketchy in these parts.”

“Sure thing.”

The window rolled up, and Jason walked back over to his snowmobile. The SUV sat for a bit, not making any motion to turn around. Clouds of exhaust formed at the muffler.

Jason sat on his cat and swung the driver a friendly wave. If he had been following Yvette, there was no way Jason was going to leave his post. And if the driver had known her, he would have mentioned he was following a friend. Maybe?

When the vehicle finally began to pull ahead, turn, back up, turn some more, then make the arc around to head back the way it had come, Jason again waved.

“Something up with Smith,” he muttered.

He could generally spot a fake ID at a glance. The license had been legit. Everything checked out in the police database. But still, his Spidey senses tingled. Sure, Frost Falls got sightseers. The town’s namesake, the falls, froze solid in the winter months. It attracted thrill seekers. And idiots.

But the man hadn’t mentioned the falls specifically. And if that had been his destination, he should have headed out of town in the opposite direction.

Jason had met three strangers today. And one of them had been lying dead in a ditch. He wasn’t going to let this one sit.

Firing up the cat, he headed back into town to keep an eye on Smith.

Chapter Four

Jason breezed into the station but didn’t unzip his coat or stomp his boots. Marjorie had gotten used to his tromping in ice and snow and had laid down a rubber runner mat a year ago. She still complained about the mess, but when he’d given her a budget for a monthly rug cleaning, she’d settled.

That would all change soon enough. He wasn’t sure how to tell her the station might be closed in March. He had to tell her. Maybe if he waited, it would never happen?

“There’s a message,” Marjorie started as he walked by.

“From the BCA?” Jason asked.

“No, Bay’s in your office—”

He strode into his office and closed the door behind him. “Bay.”

The agent was seated in the extra chair against the wall beneath a sixteen-point deer rack with a laptop open and his focus pinned to the screen. “Cash. Give me a minute.”

“Minute’s all you get. I’m investigating a murder. Have to get out there. Talk to people. Gather information.”

Walking across the room, Jason pushed aside the shades to give him a view of Main Street. He’d seen Smith’s SUV heading east toward Highway 35. The man had taken the hint.

On the other hand... He glanced down the street toward the gas station that sat at town’s edge.

“They still renting snowcats from the gas station?” Jason called out to Marjorie.

“You betcha. Jason, do you want some krumkake?”

That invite turned his head. He strode back into the next room and eyed the plate of sweet treats Marjorie pointed to on the corner of her desk. Half a dozen delicate rolled sweets sat on a Corelle plate decorated around the circumference with green leaves (just like his mother’s set). Krumkake were like crunchy crepes, but so light and delicious.

“You make those?” he asked.

“Of course. I use my grandmother’s krumkake iron. They don’t make those things anymore, don’t ya know.”

He grabbed one of the treats and bit into it, catching the inevitable crumbs with his other hand. Two more bites and it was gone. He grabbed another, then tugged out his notebook and tore out a few pages to hand to Marjorie. “Can you type up these notes I took while talking to Susan Olson?”

“Of course. I’ve already got a case file started. Elaine Hester forwarded the autopsy report for the woman in the ditch. I left a copy on your desk, and Bay’s got a copy as well.”

“Yeah, she texted me the name Yvette Pearson.” Jason wandered back into his office and closed the door behind him.

Ryan Bay stood and set the laptop on Jason’s desk. “I’ve got family info on the victim.”

“Lives in a Minneapolis suburb,” Jason said. Susan had been sure the women at the club the other night were from the Twin Cities, because one had worn a jacket with a high school logo embroidered on the sleeve. “Blaine?”

“Yes, Blaine. I’ve already contacted their police department so they can get in touch with the family.”

“I’ve got a list of the deceased’s friends I intend to question as soon as I step out of the station. But first, I’m going to head east and check on—”

“That pretty young woman you talked to in The Moose?” Marjorie asked as she entered with the plate of treats in hand.

Marjorie took his silence as the hint she needed it to be and, after handing him the plate, she left the office with a promise to get right to his notes.

Jason closed the office door again and nodded to Bay, who turned his laptop toward him. “Classic homicide. Ligature marks. Struggle bruises on forearms and DNA under fingernails.”

“Yep, I was there for the autopsy. It was all very clean. Generally there’s much more bruising on the body as the killer struggles to complete the unfamiliar—or unintended—task. Anger and aggression.”

Bay shook his head and exhaled heavily. “You said you talked to the woman who found the body?”

“Yes, she gave me the names of the women the victim was last seen with. That’s where I’m going next—”

“I thought there was a pretty young woman?” Bay said with a smirk.

“A...” Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. Marjorie really needed to stay out of his personal life. But the worst part of it was that she knew about his personal life before it tended to get personal. “Never mind,” he said. “You don’t want to question the victim’s friends, do you?”

Bay tilted his head, a casual thought process taking place inside his perfectly coiffed head. He wore a suit, for some damn reason, and it looked like his fingernails had been manicured for the glossy shine. Was that what women found attractive? Yikes.

“Go for it,” Bay said. “The locals are more likely to be comfortable talking to someone they know. When I consult on a case, I like to guide and keep track, but ultimately, this is your case, Cash. I’m not going to trample on your turf. And I’m starving. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

“Then The Moose is your next stop.” Jason picked up the documents Marjorie had left for him on his desk. “You staying in town?”

“There’s no motel. Snow Lake has a halfway decent Best Western and free coffee.”

“Not a problem. My office is yours. I’ll let you know what I learn.” Jason strode out and through the reception area, pleased that Bay was easygoing. Which would give him all the rope he required to control this investigation. He really needed this one. It was an opportunity to show the powers that be that he had what it took to manage real police work, and that the Frost Falls police force, as small as it was, was a necessity.

Instead of the snowmobile, he’d drive the Ford. He could use some warmth. Turning up the car heater to blast, Jason rolled down Main Street, the car tires crunching as if across Styrofoam as they moved over the packed snow. He loved that sound. It was hard to describe to anyone who didn’t live on snow six months out of the year. To him it meant home.

From here he could see the small parking lot in front of the gas station. No business name on the broken red-and-white sign above the station. It had been called just “gas station” forever, according to an elder member of the town.

And yet, when Jason cruised closer to the gas station, he saw the black SUV parked around the back side of the white cinder-block building. It was the one licensed to James Smith.

“What the hell?”

He pulled into the station lot. Hopping out of the truck and blowing out a breath that condensed to a fog, Jason quickened his pace into the station.

“Afternoon, Cash,” the owner said from his easy chair placed on a dais behind the cash register. Easier to see out the window and watch the town’s goings-on from that height.

“You rent out any cats this afternoon, Rusty?”

“I just did, not ten minutes ago. Local fellow.”

“Local?”

“Well, you know, he mentioned he was from Duluth. That’s local.”

It was. The port city that sat on Lake Superior was an hour’s drive east and within the St. Louis County lines.

“Gave him directions to the falls and told him to stick to the trails,” Rusty said, “but I think he went east. Idiot. Your brother still with the State Patrol?”

“Justin? Yep. He’s stationed near the Canadian border right now. Big drug-surveillance op going on.”

“Those marijuana farms.” Rusty shook his head.

“You betcha. What was the name of the renter?”

Rusty tapped a crinkled piece of paper hanging from a clipboard to the right of the register. “Smith. Sounded foreign. And not Canadian foreign. He was a mite different. Like those duck hunters they got on that television show.”

“Thanks, Rusty. Gotta go.”

Jason made haste to the truck, and before the door was even closed he pulled out onto the main road and turned to hit the eastbound road that led to the Birch Bower cabin. It was only five miles out, but with each mile the forest thickened and hugged closer on both sides of the narrowing road. It was as desolate as a place could get so close to a small town.

As he drove down the gravel road that the plow only tackled every Monday morning, he noted the snowmobile tracks lain down on the road shoulder. A couple of them. Freshly impressed into the crusted snowpack. One set must belong to Yvette. The other?

“Smith.”

In his next thought, Jason wondered if he were getting worked up over nothing. No. She’d said she didn’t know anyone in town. And yet she had looked at the SUV for a while.

Didn’t feel right to Jason. And if he’d learned anything over the years, it was to trust his intuition.

* * *

ONE OF THE reasons Yvette hadn’t minded leaving home for a while was that she’d been questioning her job choice for some time now. She’d never been fooled that being a field operative for an international security agency was glamourous or even 24/7 action-adventure. The job could be tedious at times. Mildly adrenalizing, at best. Most people associated spies with glamour and blockbuster movies. In truth, the average agent spent more time doing boring surveillance than the few minutes of contact with a suspect that might provide that thrill of action.

Yet beyond the intrigue and danger, a surprising moral struggle had presented itself to her when she was faced with pulling the trigger on a human target. She was not a woman prone to crying fits. And yet, the tears had threatened when she’d been standing in the field, gun aimed at a person and—she’d been unable to pull the trigger. Human life meant something to her. Even if the human she had been charged to fire at was a criminal who had committed vile crimes. She’d not expected to only realize such moral leanings until the heat of the moment, but that pause had changed her life irreversibly.

She asked for a change of pace and had, thankfully, been allowed to continue her work in data tech. A job that didn’t fulfill her in any tangible manner. It had become an endless stream of data on the computer screen.

Now seclusion in a snow-covered cabin offered an excellent time to consider her future. Did she really want to continue on this career path? Days ago, she’d started a list of pros and cons regarding her current employer.

Yvette tapped the pen beside her temple as she delved deep for another pro. She felt it necessary to write down the good as well as the bad reasons to stay or leave. Solid and tangible. Easy to review. Difficult to deny once inked on paper. Because she’d followed in her parents’ footsteps, career-wise. Had thought she was cut out for the gritty hard-core work it required.

Yet to her surprise, the desk job had, strangely, become more dangerous than fieldwork. She had seen something on the computer screen that she was not supposed to see. She just didn’t know what that something was, because it had been a list, and perhaps even coded.

Setting aside the pros and cons list and getting up to stretch, she exhaled. She’d been working on the list for an hour while listening to the wind whip against the exterior timber walls. A blizzard was forecast.

“Joy,” she muttered mirthlessly and wandered into the kitchen.

No thought cells could operate without a healthy dose of chocolate. Plucking a mug out of the cupboard, she then filled the teapot with water and set that on the stove burner.

She shook the packet of hot chocolate mix into the mug. Right now, she needed a heat injection. Her toes were freezing, even though she wore two layers of socks. And her fingers felt like ice. She’d turned up the heater upon returning from the grocery run, but it didn’t want to go any higher than seventy-four degrees.

With the wind scraping across the windows, she felt as if she sat in a wooden icebox. A glance to the fireplace made her sigh. A woodpile sat neatly stacked outside and behind the house. The owners had suggested she carry some in before too much snow fell, but she’d not done that. After she’d fortified her chilled bones with hot chocolate, she’d have to bundle up and bring out the ax to chip the frozen logs apart. The night demanded a toasty fire in the hearth.

The teapot whistled, and she poured the steaming water into the mug. Oh, how she missed the thick, dark chocolate drink served exclusively by the French tea shop Angelina. Unfortunately, the shop hadn’t come to Lyon, but she visited Paris often enough and stocked up when there.

Tilting back the oversweet chocolate drink, she sighed and took a moment to savor the heat filling her belly. Who would have thought she could enjoy a moment of warmth so thoroughly? It was a different kind of warmth from the one she’d felt sitting in the diner talking to the chief of police. Colette had been spot on regarding her assessment of the man. He was a handsome one. He’d seemed about her age, too.

A knock on the front door startled her. That was—not weird. The postman knocked every day with her mail in hand. Not that she got personal mail. It was always ads and flyers for retirement homes. But she did appreciate his smile and some chat. He often asked if she was comfy and did she like fruitcake? His wife had extra. Yvette always declined with the knowledge that fruitcake was not a culinary treat.

Yet something stopped her from approaching the door. She still couldn’t erase the police chief’s question about the mysterious SUV. It had seemed out of place in the small town. And she was no woman to ignore the suspicious.

Grasping a pen from the kitchen counter, Yvette fit the heavy steel object into her curled fingers, then walked cautiously over to the door. She stood there a moment, staring at the unfinished pine wood that formed the solid barrier. There was no peephole.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Delivery,” answered back. “Is your name...Yvette?”

“Yes, but...” Yvette frowned. It was her cover name. She hadn’t ordered anything. And she’d only this morning asked Colette to order the helmet.

“It’s from The Moose,” the man said. “You didn’t order anything?”

“No,” she called back. “It’s food? Who sent it?”

A pause, and then, “Note says it’s from a new friend.”

A new friend? And The Moose? But she’d just—had the police chief sent her a gift? Of food? They had discussed pie. How nice of him. And if it was a flirtatious move, she was all in.

Yvette opened the door.

The man standing on the snow-dusted front stoop was tall and dressed all in black, including the black face mask he wore that concealed all but his eyes. He growled and lunged for her. He fit his bare hands about her throat, and Yvette stumbled backward.

Chapter Five

Jason ran in through the open doorway and encountered a struggle. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a snow-frosted copse of maples, he witnessed a man shove a woman—Yvette LaSalle—against the wall. Her painful grunt fired anger in Jason’s veins. He dashed over a fallen chair and toward the struggling duo.

Suddenly, Yvette swept her hand forcefully backward, her elbow colliding with the attacker’s neck. She twisted and plunged a fist against his head. The man—Smith—yelped and gripped his bleeding scalp.

Jason charged across the room. With a swift right hook, he connected under Smith’s jaw and knocked him out cold. The man dropped to his side, sprawling on the floor.

He spun around to find Yvette behind him, clutching a tactical pen in one hand. A fierce, huffing demeanor held her at the ready before him. Her stance declared she was prepared for more fight.

“It’s okay,” Jason reassured. “He’s out.”

She nodded, but her defensive pose remained. Impressive. She’d been terrorized. The adrenaline must be coursing through her like a snowmobile around a racetrack.

“That was—You were—incredible.” Jason finally found the right words. “You are certainly no damsel.”

“No, I’m not.” She winced, but lifted her chin. “He was strong. Stronger than...”

Jason sensed the adrenaline was beginning to rapidly drop from the high that had served her the strength to defend herself. Yvette’s body began to shake. He rushed over and took her in his arms.

“It’s okay.” He hugged her firmly, pressing his face against the crown of her head. She smelled like salt and summer. A sweep of soft hair tickled his nose. His thundering heartbeats thudded loudly. But was it from the moment of attack, or from the surprising feeling of holding a trembling woman in his arms? Mercy. She had reacted unexpectedly bravely. And her sudden surge of strength may have saved her life.

“You did good, Yvette. Guy’s out like a light.” For now. “I need to cuff him. Can I let you go?”

She nodded against his chest, though her fingers clung to his biceps, unwilling to relent. Jason stepped back but bowed to check her gaze. When she offered him a wincing smile, he slowly extracted himself from her grip. She wasn’t going to faint. Not this brave woman.

Digging out the cuffs from his jacket, he bent to secure the suspect’s hands behind his back.

“You know this guy?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No. Do you?”

“He’s the guy from the black SUV.”

“I told you I didn’t know him when you asked in the diner.”

“I know, but he put up my hackles. I pinned him for something more than a guy taking in the scenery. He was following you.”

“He was? How did you—Why didn’t you stop him before he got here?”

“I thought I had.” Jason stood and grabbed the back of a fallen chair and righted it. He lifted a boot, realizing the papers scattered on the floor were wet and torn. No saving them. “I didn’t expect him to rent a snowmobile and go after you. Why was he after you?”

“We’ve been over this, Chief Cash. I’ve never met him.”

“How did he get inside the cabin?”

“I, uh...” She clutched her throat. Her fingers visibly shook. “Opened the door.”

Jason stopped an admonishing retort and instead asked carefully, “You always let strangers inside?”

“He said he had a delivery from The Moose. Why did you talk to him in town? What made you wonder about him?”

“He looked suspicious. We’ve got an active investigation going on and—”

“Investigation? Like what? A man attacking women?”

She was close. Jason never gave out details of an ongoing investigation. Was the man on the floor the one who had murdered the woman he’d found in the ditch this morning? He had been attempting to strangle Yvette. The one in the ditch had died by strangulation. And Jason never subscribed to coincidence.

Yet would a stalker, or even some sort of serial strangler, have allowed a woman to get the upper hand with a weapon so simple as a tactical pen?

As well, how many seemingly innocent women vacationing in a secluded cabin carried a tactical pen on them? It was a self-defense weapon that most did not know about or bother to keep close enough to use.

“That’s a handy thing, isn’t it?” He gestured to the rugged black steel pen she still held.

She clutched it against her chest and lifted her chin. “I never go anywhere without it. It’s something I was trained—”

“You’ve taken self-defense training?”

When she looked up quickly, as if he’d discovered a secret, a moment of clarity softened her features, then she shrugged. “Like you said, I’m not a damsel.”

“I guess not. But didn’t the training class teach you never to open the door to a stranger?”

Another shrug. She avoided his gaze, as well. Hmm...

“Are you going to get him out of here?” she asked with a gesture to the fallen attacker.

“I’ll give Officer Larson a call.” Jason wasn’t ready to leave without asking more questions. And he couldn’t do that and watch the perp at the same time. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Of course I am,” she said a little too quickly. Then a sweep of her hand through her hair preceded a hefty sigh. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to step into the, uh...little girls’ room for a bit.”

“Go ahead. I won’t leave until this guy is out of your hair.” He tugged out his phone and dialed up dispatch. He and Alex alternated shifts, but both were on call 24/7. And he’d rather have him come and assist than the lackadaisical Ryan Bay.

* * *

YVETTE CLOSED THE bathroom door behind her and exhaled. Her shoulders hit the door. She caught her head in a palm. Her entire body shook, but she didn’t cry. She sank, bending her knees, until she sat on the tiled floor.

That man could have killed her.

She was thankful that the police chief was here and had rescued her in the nick of time. But a retreat to the bathroom had been necessary. She hadn’t wanted him to see her break down. And what was this shaking about? She was better than this—trained for such encounters, and well able to defend herself against some of the strongest attackers.

Yet she hadn’t panicked when he’d come at her. She had done her best to protect herself from what could have been a terrible outcome. Because the man had had his hands about her neck and his thumbs pressed against her larynx. She’d gasped and had felt her lungs tighten.

It had been over a year since she’d worked as a field agent and had exercised her defense skills. Had she gotten so out of shape and ineffective in such a short time?

“Get it together, Amelie,” she whispered. “Why did this happen?”

Because Amelie Desauliniers had been sent out of the country to hide under an assumed identity. But hide from whom or what hadn’t been made clear to her. Surely this hadn’t been a random attack. And yet she was undercover. Dark. Who had found her?

A quiet knock on the door preceded “Yvette? You okay in there?”

She closed her eyes.

“Yvette?”

“Oh.” Despite embracing the name, it just didn’t click sometimes. As well, she’d have to form words to reassure the police chief. Inhaling a quiet sniffle, she said, “Sorry. Yes, give me a few minutes. I’m a little shaken.”

“Thought you might be. I’ll be out in the living room. Another officer is on the way to pick up the perp.”

She waited until his boots echoed away down the hall. Amelie stood and walked to the sink. Twisting on the water spigot, she splashed her face but let out a gasp. She would never get used to the fact the water took a good three or four minutes to reach room temperature. But the frigid water did work to shock away her tears.

Pressing a towel over her face to dry it, she then nodded at her reflection. The agent she had once been must be tugged out of retirement. For survival purposes. “I can do this.”

But she couldn’t ask the sexy police chief for help. Her stay here in Minnesota was classified. And not knowing what she knew had suddenly become a detriment. She had to speak with her boss. And soon.

Returning to the living room, she walked around the prone body on the floor. The attacker was coming to, groaning. Another knock on the door sounded. Amelie jumped. A pair of gentle, warm hands settled onto her shoulder.

“It’s Alex, my assistant,” Chief Cash reassured her in a deep voice that hinted at the strength she desperately required. “Why don’t you sit on the couch.” He touched her upper arm, and she winced. “Looks like you got hurt. Your sweater is torn. I’ll take a look after I get the perp out of here.”

He opened the door, and the waiting police officer nodded and introduced himself to her as Amelie settled onto the couch. He was tall and attractive. Not handsome sexy, more like boy-band cute. The thought summoned her out of the heavy tension that had made her clutch the tactical pen. She set the pen on the coffee table and inspected her sweater.

She’d been hurt? She hadn’t noticed while shivering in the bathroom. Yet now that Jason had pointed it out, she felt the sting of pain in her biceps. Her sweater was torn and bloody. And...yes, the pointed tip of the pen was bloodied, so she’d caused her attacker some damage.

The two men picked up the suspect by his upper arms. He growled and struggled against the handcuffs. Both officers had to move him out of the cabin, kicking and gyrating across the threshold. As they exited, the attacker called, “I will be back for you!”

Amelie swore and turned to clasp her arms about her legs, pulling them tight against her chest. Her heart thudded up to her throat.

She knew something dangerous. It was locked away in her brain, and only she possessed the key to dredge out the information.

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