Her Rocky Mountain Hero. Jen Bokal

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       Chapter 2

      Viktoria tensed. Like the hammer of God had fallen, a gun’s report boomed in the small cabin. The noise pressed in on her chest, squeezing her heart and lungs. The stench of burning sulfur wafted over her. She waited for the agony, the heat, the nothingness.

      The man’s hold on her arm lessened, then released altogether. Free of his grip, Viktoria fell hard to her knees. She flipped over, ready to fight again. The assailant stared at her blankly and then tumbled to the side. In the meager moonlight seeping through the windows, she saw the shadow of another man. A tendril of smoke rose from the barrel of the pistol he still pointed toward her.

      Scuttling on hands and feet, Viktoria pressed her back into the wall. A branch from the Christmas tree scraped her face but she paid it no mind. Her attention was trained on the man with the gun.

      Dressed in black from head to foot, he was nothing more than a shadowy figure, his features lost in the darkness. Yet, she saw his eyes. They were light blue—the same crystalline blue of the sky over the Rocky Mountains on a crisp winter’s day.

      He approached the man on the floor and placed two fingers under his chin. With a sigh and a shake of the head, he stood. Even without someone checking for a pulse, she knew her assailant was dead. A pool—black as tar—surrounded him and grew. The coppery scent of blood filled the cabin. It mingled with the tang of the pine tree and sweet scent of the cookies. She pressed a hand to her mouth and fought the urge to retch.

      The man with the gun approached, trapping her against the wall and at the same time allowing her to see his features. He wore a black fleece cap. It was pulled down low, but not so low that it covered his face. The fringes of his dark brown hair were also visible. A dark sprinkling of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. At another time, in another life, she would have seen him as handsome. But now, he still held his gun. He was dangerous, deadly, and Viktoria was wholly at his mercy.

      Panic and adrenaline made Viktoria’s breathing short and ragged. Her tongue was leaden, her mouth dry. Somehow, she managed to ask the only question that mattered. “Gregory? What have you done with Gregory?”

      The man shook his head and took another step toward Viktoria. She shrank back, as if the cabin’s wall could absorb her.

      “I don’t have your son,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

      “Who are you?” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

      “I’m Cody Samuels,” he said. He slid his gun into a holster on his hip. “If you want to live, come with me.”

      Viktoria pressed her hand to her mouth, unsure whether she should laugh or cry. Cody Samuels’s line sounded like something out of a bad movie. Yet this was real life, not a B-rated thriller. Her son was gone. Gregory was the only reason she had strength to get out of bed in the morning. How would she ever get him back?

      More than the grief—that awful, sickening hollowness in her chest—was the despair at knowing she had been made powerless. Her only hope now was a stranger with a gun. Much like the man who had tried to kill Viktoria, Cody Samuels had materialized from the darkness, bringing with him death and destruction.

      Indecision weighed her down. She knew nothing about Cody Samuels, less than nothing. Was he any better than the men who had stolen her son? In fact, Gregory might be his real target.

      Perhaps he’d only spared her life to use her to meet his own wicked goals.

      “We have to go,” Cody said. He lifted his hand a bit, reaching out to her.

      Viktoria ignored his outstretched palm and rose on shaking legs. “They took my son,” she said. Somehow the words made this nightmare real. Fear took over and gripped her middle. Its intensity bent Viktoria double, escaping in a sob.

      Cody stepped toward her.

      “Are you hurt?”

      The unexpected kindness of his question surprised her and she stood upright. Viktoria had a hard time imagining a possible assassin inquiring about her health. She catalogued her injuries—lip, shoulder, knee—and decided they were all manageable. She realized, though, that she was freezing. Her whole body trembled. Her teeth chattered. The room grew dim; the outline of furniture became indistinct. “I’m cold,” she said. The words she spoke didn’t seem to come from her.

      “You’re in shock,” said Cody. He slipped off his parka and draped it over Viktoria’s shoulders. He gripped her biceps, and with his hands on her arms, he steered her past the body on the floor.

      Something about the calm command of his voice, along with the warmth of his touch and scent of his coat—pine and earth and sweat—snapped Viktoria’s mind back into her body.

      “I’m okay,” she said, her voice was weak and her throat tight. “I’m okay,” she repeated, more to convince herself, and she stood up taller.

      “Good,” he said. “We have to get you out of here. Now.”

      She looked around the tiny cabin that had been her place of refuge for the past two months. All her meager possessions were here. She was wearing one of her two sets of pajamas—fleece bottoms and a long-sleeved thermal tee. For a moment, she wondered what she should take with her and how quickly she could pack. Once she and Gregory were together he would want some of his toys and books. She needed her money. Cody already stood by the door, looking into the night. His pistol was once again out of the holster and in hand, angled slightly down. Viktoria cast one more glance at the dead man on the floor, a vapor cloud rising from the pool of blood surrounding him. The sight left her light-headed and uneasy on her feet. She held on to the wall for support and moved to Cody’s side. Her boots sat nearby and she slipped them on over her thick wool socks.

      Viktoria began to tremble again. “There were other men,” she said, “the ones who took my son.” How many had remained to make sure that her fight to keep Gregory was over, permanently?

      Cody nodded toward a black SUV that sat silently in the driveway. “As far as I can tell, only three men invaded your cabin. One took your boy and left. Then, there’s the one back there.” He hitched his chin toward the dead man. “And the last guy is in the SUV.”

      “How do you know all that?” she asked. Cody may have saved her, but who was he? His stare pinned her where she stood.

      “I just do,” he said, before casting his light blue gaze out the door. A few fat snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, silvery white against the darkness of the mountains.

      A spark of anger flickered to life inside her chest.

      “What’s that supposed to mean? I just do?” she asked. Someone had taken her son and tried to kill her. She deserved some answers.

      He didn’t bother to turn around, much less give her a response. Cody edged toward the door. The small spark of anger licked to life and became a flame. Fury warmed her and gave her something to cling to while dangling over the gaping pit of despair.