Chapter 6 - Fire in Eagle Canyon
The wind whipped down through the narrow pass of Eagle Canyon, howling like a wounded animal. Snow churned in the air, reducing visibility to barely twenty feet.
I killed the SUV's headlights a hundred yards before the old logging camp, letting the vehicle coast to a stop behind a dense thicket of frosted pines. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, each beat deafening in the silence of the cabin.
I grabbed the heavy hunting rifle, checked the chamber with shaking fingers, and stepped out into the freezing wilderness. The sub-zero air hits my lungs like shards of glass, but adrenaline burned hot in my veins.
Creeping along the rocky ridge overlooking the abandoned logging site, I peered down through the swirling snow.
Parked in the center of the clearing were two black SUVs with bullet-riddled doors. Happed behind a snowbank on the far side were three of Vincent's guards, returning fire against two masked men stationed near the dilapidated wooden sawmill.
And right in the center of the clearing, kneeling in the snow with his hands bound behind his back, was Vincent.
Even battered, his coat torn and blood stained his white shirt collar from a graze to his shoulder, he radiated an terrifying, unbroken aura of authority.
One of the masked men—a bulky brute holding a pistol to the back of Vincent's head—shouted into the wind.
"Hale! Your little wife took too long! Time's up!"
"Wait!"
My voice cut through the howling mountain wind like a gunshot.
Every head in the clearing snaps toward the ridge. Vincent's dark eyes broadened in absolute shock and fury as he saw me standing alone on the snow-covered ledge, holding the heavy rifle in my hands.
"Clara! Get out of here!" Vincent roared, straining against his bindings. "Get back to the car!"
"Shut up, Hale!" the brute snarled, pressing the pistol harder against Vincent's skull. He looked up at me, a vicious grin split his face. "Well, well. The baker's niece decided to show up. Bring the ledger down, sweetheart, or I paint this snow red with your husband's brains."
I didn't cower. I didn't drop the gun.
Slowly, deliberately, I raised the hunting rifle, resting the barrel against a jagged boulder on the ridge, aligning my breathing with the howling wind just like Vincent had taught me in the back hills behind the estate.
"You wanted the ledger?" I called out, pulling the heavy leather book from my coat and holding it up with my left hand while my right finger rested firmly on the trigger. "Come and get it."
"Drop the book and kick it down!" the man screamed, his grip on Vincent slipped slightly as greedily momentarily eclipsed his caution.
It was the only opening I needed.
I dropped the book into the snow, adjusted my aim by a fraction of an inch, and squeezed the trigger.
CRACK.
The deafening roar of the rifle echoed off the canyon walls.
A fraction of a second later, the masked man holding the pistol dropped his weapon with a howl of agony, clutching his shattered shoulder as he collapsed into the snow.
Chaos erupted instantly. Vincent's guards didn't hesitate; surging forward from the snowbanks, they swarmed the remaining gunman, disarming and subduing him in seconds.
I scrambled down the rocky ridge, sliding through the snow until I reached the clearing, dropping the rifle just as Vincent broke free from his slackened bindings and surged toward me.
Before I could catch my breath, Vincent grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me so hard against his chest that I lost my footing. His arms wrapped around me with a desperate, crushing intensity.
"Are you insane?!" Vincent yelled, his voice breaking with a raw, terrifying emotion I had never heard from him before. "What were you thinking coming here?! You could have been killed!"
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"I was thinking," I gasped, burying my face against his warmth, blood-stained coat as tears finally spilled over my lashes, "that nobody takes my husband."
Vincent froze. He pulled back, his dark eyes searching my face, reading the absolute, fierce devotion burning in my eyes. Then, cupping my face with his rough, called hands, he kissed me right there in the freezing snow, surrounded by his men and the wreckage of an ambush—a kiss that sealed our fates forever.
