SUSAN TIPPETT BRAITHWAITE

Amy took an instinctive step back from Harvey and choked up on the axe handle. “How do you know Kelvin?”

Harvey watched her intently; his face unreadable. “Where is he?” The calm tone of his voice more chilling than if he’d roared the question.

Ice-cold fear coiled low in her belly. This man could be Kelvin’s saviour or his killer. And if she was wrong about which one he was… “I’m not answering any more of your questions until you tell me how you know Kelvin.” If her voice wavered slightly, she didn’t care.

Harvey shrugged.

“Who are—”

A blur of denim and plaid rushed her. Harvey was on her before she could raise the axe—not that the weapon would do any good in their close-quarter battle. He kicked the axe from Amy’s hand then tossed the shotgun aside.

He seemed to know what she was going to do before she did it. Every fist, elbow, headbutt was blocked by hard, impersonal hands. She was out of breath, fighting for her life, and this oaf—who was old enough to be her father—wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Enough.” Harvey captured both of Amy’s hands in one of his, immobilising her. He picked up the shotgun and forced her toward the backdoor of the stone cabin. “We’ll do this the easy way then.”

Amy stared wide-eyed at the cabin. If she went in there, she’d never come out alive. Images of pickling jars with body parts suspended in them filled her head. She kicked out at him, but he just side-stepped it. She struggled against his grip, but that only caused him to grip harder. She toyed with going boneless, but that would cause him to carry her. Shit!

Harvey kicked open the door then shoved her inside ahead of him. Amy spilled to the floor. She remained there, unwilling to look at the horror show that awaited her.

Instead, she focused on the rather cosy carpet beneath her. Not exactly what she expected, but who says evil can’t have comfort.

Snow coated boots paced by her, then back again, stopping before her. When she didn’t look up, Harvey snatched her right hand and placed it on a glossy device. The device glowed red around her fingertips, then a series of beeps emanated from it before the glow turned green. He released her hand and moved away.

The creak of leather sounded behind her. “So, Miss Amy Rebeca Shaw, how’d Kelvin manage to extort a flight out of you?”

Amy whirled round to face Harvey who looked a fraction less scary on the sofa. “What was that thing?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Why’d you fly him out here?” He leaned toward her, elbows on his knees. “I’m going to need an answer.”

“He paid double.” It was the truth, mostly. She didn’t have to share the fact her own father tried to put her out of business.

He got up from the sofa and Amy watched him closely as he moved around the totally ordinary—and not murder-y—cabin. “Nothing to do with dear old dad poaching your clients?”

Amy ground her teeth. No one knew about that, not even her brothers. “Who are you?”

“Harvey Dalton. Kelvin’s boss.”

“You’re in his Deniable Unit?” she blurted out as relief, and something else washed over her.

His eyes widened for a second before annoyance took over his features. “He told you that little tidbit of classified intel?”

Fuck.

Harvey took her hand and pulled her up. “Put this on.” He tossed her an oversized ski-jacket. “Let’s go find your boyfriend so I can kick his ass.”