Page 19 of Frozen Secrets

Her laugh grated on his insides. “I’m starting to like you. Too bad you and your partner have to die.”

The killer swung the paddle straight for his head.

Adrial brought up his forearm, forcing him to drop the gun. The wood cracked in two as fire erupted straight into the bones of his arm. Splinters shot in every direction as she stalked forward, driving him back. After tossing both pieces of the broken paddle, his attacker swung at him with a strong right hook.

Pain exploded across his face. Another round of lightning danced behind his eyes. He staggered two steps, torn between fighting back or striking someone much smaller than him, but the killer was on the verge of making the choice for him. He blocked her left fist, bending out of the way as he fought to add some distance between them, but she just kept coming.

A boot landed in the center of his chest, and Adrial hit the ground a second time. Scrambling to his feet, he retreated up as another kick aimed for his groin. He threw his good leg out and caught her mid-strike a split second before a honed blade swung up toward his face. He dodged the first attempt, barely managing to block the second. But he was running out of room. If she got him on the ropes, there was no telling how far he would go to ensure and Winnie got out of this alive.

Her second kick to his chest thrust him straight into the ledge of one of the windows. Air crushed from his chest at the impact. The killer had him cornered as she stabbed the blade toward his chest. Adrial was fast enough to lock both hands onto her wrist, but she had the upper hand and the body strength to see it through. His arms shook as the tip of the blade worked closer to his sternum. The wound in his shoulder screamed under the pressure.

“This is the part where you die.” The blade easily pierced through his shirt, nicking skin. A bead of blood welled. Too close.

“Who are you?” His strength was giving out, and Winnie… She still hadn’t moved. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or where she’d been injured, but something was wrong. And his entire being needed her to be okay. To make this right. Adrial forced himself to focus on the woman in front of him.

The muscles in his arms threatened to give out at any second, but she wasn’t much better off. No matter her training, he still had a good amount of mass on her. He could use that to his advantage. It was a risk, but there wasn’t anything he wasn’t willing to give for Winnie. Tightening his grip around the killer’s wrist with one hand, he released the other. And ripped the mask from his attacker’s head.

Blond hair frizzed out around an incredibly familiar freckled face. For a moment, he didn’t understand, and he didn’t give himself time to. Throwing his weight to one side, he pulled the killer closer with everything he had left.

And tossed her straight through the window.

Glass shattered around him, slicing through his coat and jeans just before the impact of her body registered. He’d bought himself enough time. How much? He didn’t know, but it would have to be enough. “Winnie!”

Adrial charged down the center of the dock, then crouched, stretching out one hand and fisting it at the collar of her coat. He ignored the fractures spidering through the ice and dragged her toward him as fast as possible. The ice broke under the shift in weight, but he managed to pull her free of the gaping hole that was growing larger by the second, and into his arms. “I’ve got you.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Seventeen

Winnie blinked against the too-bright lights and a water-stained tile ceiling overhead. It took a few too many seconds to realize she wasn’t dead. That was concerning but also a relief. Scratchy bedsheets and low voices registered in the minutes she tried to gauge her whereabouts.

Crunching added to the weird-as-hell soundtrack. “It’s creepy that you’re just staring at the ceiling like that.”

Realizing she wouldn’t suddenly go into a coma by taking her eyes off the Pac-Man-shaped brown stain overhead, she let herself take in the man sitting to one side of her bed popping what looked like caramel popcorn every few seconds from a Cracker Jack box. She knew him from Adrial’s office. Baxter something. He…worked forensics? Kind of hard to believe the man with tattoos inked up his arms and the grungy motorcycle-gang-member aura had chosen such a hard science, but he somehow managed to pull it off. “You’re not the person I expected to be sitting at my death bed.”

“But would you say I’m the handsomest?” Baxter threw another few kernels of the sweet-and-salty combo into his mouth. He tipped the opening of the box toward her. “Popcorn?”

“No. Thank you.” She hadn’t died. The killer hadn’t succeeded in…whatever she’d set out to do, but there was a big gaping hole in her memory of how she’d gotten here. Winnie struggled to sit up, sinking deeper into the pillows arranged at her back. An IV line tugged at the thin skin in the crook of her elbow. She followed it up to a clear bag dripping fluids—and probably some kind of pain reliever—into the line.

“Where am I? Where is Adrial, and how the hell did I get here?” Shoving herself upright, she sucked in a strained breath.

Baxter was suddenly out of his seat, the box of Cracker Jacks on the floor and his hands on her biceps to steady her. “Take it easy, killer. You’ve been through a lot. I know all that seems important right now, but you’re still recovering from hypothermia and a good hit to the head.”

Is that why she couldn’t seem to see straight? She didn’t remember that part. There was the lake and the stabbing and the blood and the drowning. Then…the boathouse. The killer had taken her to the boathouse. Was going to kill her for… Pain streaked through her head. Too fast to be a migraine but just as debilitating for those few short heartbeats. “Adrial.”

“He’s getting stitched up. The woman who attacked you got him pretty good. He’ll recover, but for now, you’re both out of commission.” Baxter’s hands were warm and callused in much the same way Adrial’s were, but they didn’t feel right on her skin. He settled her back against the pillows, and the pain trying to shred her brain into a thousand pieces eased. After taking his seat, he grabbed the box from the floor and tossed the few pieces of popcorn that’d escaped into the trash can positioned beside the bed. “Until the ER clears him to move around, you’re stuck with me. Or until he gets tired of being told what to do and barges in here like his stubborn-ass self. My money’s on the latter.”

So was hers. And if Baxter was putting bets on his boss, that meant Adrial was alive. That he was safe. Relief unlike anything she’d felt before replaced the panic crushing her chest. Tears burned in her eyes as some muted daytime talk show with six female hosts played out on the TV mounted from the ceiling across the room. She couldn’t read the captions, but Baxter had obviously kept himself busy waiting for her to wake up. “He’s okay?”

Understanding softened the harsh lines around the forensic investigator’s mouth and eyes, and right then she could imagine him as the type that hated to deliver bad news. Supportive in that unwavering way, the kind of man who wanted to be there for the people he cared about. People like Adrial and probably the rest of the Cold Hollow Investigations teams. “He’s okay, Winnie. He managed to get himself stitched up in the field and stop the bleeding before he lost too much. If he hadn’t, I doubt either of you would be here.”

Adrial had saved her? How? Why? She’d left him there on the ice to face the killer alone, and he’d come for her. She didn’t know why the idea of him risking his life for her made her so uncomfortable, but rubbing her chest where an ache started didn’t help.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Baxter didn’t even bother looking at her this time, seemingly engrossed in whatever topic the ladies on TV had moved onto in the captions.

She doubted that, but she was willing to use Baxter as a distraction rather than sit in these feelings she didn’t want to acknowledge and get stuck inside her head. It wasn’t a great place to be right now. Someone had murdered her dad. And not just that. The killer had insinuated Arthur Hutton—the chief of police and the greatest detective she knew—had been directly involved in the death of twenty-year-old Lila Mercer. That her father had compromised key pieces of evidence in the investigation. No. She didn’t want to think about that. He was her dad. Not some kind of criminal mastermind. “That you can’t possibly eat that much popcorn in one sitting and keep your six-pack?”

Baxter chomped down on another handful of peanuts and caramel. “My eating habits shouldn’t concern you unless you’re interested in going back to my house and getting an up-close-and-personal look at said six-pack, but I’m a fan of staying alive. I don’t cross that line. Ever.”

Understanding steadily sank in as Baxter watched his program, and Winnie’s face heated. He couldn’t mean… No. She shook her head, retriggering the pain at her temples. “Adrial and I aren’t…together.”