Chapter 20

Dean stared out the window of the third story conference room, listening to the little pings the sleet made as it struck the glass. His final meeting of the day was almost over and thank God. Today was exactly the reminder he needed as to why he let Mike handle most of the corporate stuff. The tie to go with his stuffy, button up shirt didn’t help, either. It felt like a noose around his neck, even though he’d tugged to loosen it a couple times already.

On the notebook in front of him, the screen on his phone lit up, pulling his distracted gaze from the gloom outside. When he saw the notification for a text from Gina, his lips curved. Now, she was a torture he could live with. Her and her hard-on inducing sass talk.

The woman had known exactly what she was doing to him earlier, and he’d loved every minute. He’d also meant every letter of the text he’d sent her after they’d hung up and had grinned at the thought of her reaction. Hell, if he could’ve, he’d have ditched so damn fast and broken speed limits to get home.

Instead, as he’d told her, he was stuck here with the rest of his executive board like a good CEO. Most of those present lived in town where the roads had already been salted, and the few that didn’t would be staying at a hotel within walking distance of their building. The other office staff had been sent home at one. Like Gina.

His imagination had made good use of her earlier teasing during the more boring parts of his afternoon, and now he thumbed the screen with a hot thrill of anticipation.

As he read the message, the blood in his veins turned to ice. His gaze shot to Mike’s, who trailed off in the middle of his sentence.

Dean shoved to his feet and grabbed his suit coat off the back of the chair. “I need to talk to you.”

After a quick nod, his VP wrapped up the meeting and the day. Dean added a brusque thank you to his executives before stalking toward his office with Mike on his heels.

“What’s going on?”

He handed him the phone to read Gina’s message. “I gotta go home.”

“Shit,” Mike said as they entered the office. He gave the phone back after he’d shut the door. “You don’t know for sure he’s even going to try anything. It was a long shot anyway with this storm.”

Dean tossed him a dark look as he pulled his keys from his desk drawer. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her alone out there.”

“We could call the police.”

He shook his head. “With this weather, they’re busy with accidents and emergencies.”

“And if you go out in this you might become one of them.”

“I’ve got four-wheel drive.”

“Which doesn’t do shit on ice,” Mike argued. Not that it mattered one bit. He followed Dean as far as the elevators, his expression worried as they parted company. “Be careful, man.”

Dean nodded as the doors closed.

Outside, the sidewalks had been salted, but the parking lot was like a skating rink. It was a few minutes after three p.m., but the looming, oppressive clouds blocked out any hint of afternoon light. Between the dusk-like dark and the thickening fog, the automatic sensors had tripped for all the street lights in the lot.

He started his vehicle and turned the defrost on high to melt the build up on the windshield while he scraped the other windows and engaged the four-wheel drive. His hair was wet by the time he slipped into the driver’s seat.

Once on the road, the city streets were okay, and the highway wasn’t too bad. The radio reported trees and downed power lines to the west of the city with more outages expected as the wind speeds increased. He thought about texting Gina that he was on the way, but didn’t want her to worry about him on the slick roads. As for Jack, if he did decide to take their bait, it was unlikely he’d beat Dean to the house now.

He left the defrosters on high to keep up with the ice forming on the windshield, and had to shrug out of his suit coat when he began sweating. Once he was off the highway, his hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he eased the SUV along at 35 mph. With the road built into the side of the mountain, no guardrails and a steep drop-off peppered with trees and boulders to his right, this was where he really had to be careful.

Numerous times he navigated around large, fallen tree branches, but the little sticks that littered the pavement and became stuck in the ice helped provide some traction for his tires.

He’d seen one other car about ten minutes ago, but since then, nothing else until headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. Dean glanced up, squinting against the glare as he realized the vehicle was approaching way too fast. His grip tightened on the wheel as he carefully steered toward the side of the road.

“Slow down, idiot,” he muttered. The person behind him flashed their brights, and he added, “Stupid bastard.”

The vehicle moved past, and Dean did a double take as his heart lodged in his throat. That looked a lot like the truck he’d seen parked in Jack’s driveway last weekend. Pulse instantly at high throttle, he turned the steering wheel to get all four tires back on the road. When the red taillights ahead began to disappear in the fog, urgency pressed his foot down on the gas.

The SUV began sliding sideways. It lurched when the tires caught for a brief moment on the graveled shoulder, then tipped at an angle over the edge.

It rolled three times before jolting to a stop on the driver’s side. After a moment of disorientation, Dean sucked in a breath, battered, bruised, but still in one piece. He batted the deflating airbag out of his way and reached to turn the car off, his fingers clenching on the keys for something solid to hold on to.

A picture of the vehicle that had passed him flashed in his mind as the smell of gas began to permeate the SUV. Spurred into action at the possibility of an explosion, he fumbled for his seatbelt. The driver’s side door was obviously out of the question, so he grit his teeth against the pain radiating through his body and maneuvered until he could reach the passenger door handle. It wouldn’t budge, and the gas smell grew stronger by the second.

His frantic glance caught sight of a smashed back window. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt collar, he scrambled for the opening and tumbled out into the cold, wet elements. With the gas fumes just as strong outside, he crawled up the hill toward the road, his movements crunching the ice-covered leaves and brittle remains of winter snow.

As the cold rain ate right through his thin cotton dress shirt, too late he remembered his suit coat lay in the car—with his cell phone in the pocket.