Mary Ellen Porter - Off The Grid Christmas

A name Arden hadn’t used in almost two weeks. They’d obviously scanned Sebastian for a microchip and now her assumed alias and the cottage address were linked to Arden’s true identity, through the PetID database.

The jig was up. She needed to leave. If she managed to escape with her life, she’d never ever hang tinsel again.

A powerful gust of wind whipped in from the ocean, drawing her attention to the window. The sun had set an hour ago, and the full moon should have been rising above the ocean. Clouds covered it, light gray against the dark horizon. Below, the beach lay empty. No lights or bonfires. No people with flashlights digging for clams. This wasn’t the time of year for vacationers. That had played to Arden’s advantage. Now she felt vulnerable.

She tried to tell herself it was good that she was leaving, but she’d wanted to stay. A quiet cottage far away from anyone who knew her had been the perfect place to hide.

The wind buffeted the cottage’s shake siding and howled beneath the eaves, the eerie sound spurring her to hurry. She pulled on her coat, partially zipping it up over Sebastian. He purred even more loudly.

Happy cat.

Unhappy human companion.

Arden shoved gloves into her pockets and yanked a knit cap over her ears. This was it. Time to go. She grabbed her pack, flipped off the lights and dropped the house keys on the desk next to a note about the security system she’d regrettably be leaving behind. State-of-the-art. Expensive. She’d probably need it again before this was over, but it was too heavy and cumbersome for someone who needed to move quickly.

The perimeter alarm chirped, the warning sending her pulse racing. She turned back to the monitors. Three were clear. The fourth showed a lone figure making his way slowly up the steep snow-covered path on foot. She smiled at that. She’d chosen this location well—even a Jeep couldn’t navigate the narrow, rock-covered road.

One guy she could handle.

She had the advantage. She knew he was coming.

The cottage was in a large clearing, no place to conceal movement—perfect for seeing what was coming; not so great for a covert escape.

She’d wait until he was on the front walkway, then sneak out the back.

She shrugged the pack onto her shoulders, her attention on the monitor as the man strode up the walkway.

Keeping an eye on the monitor, she crossed the well-worn wood floor to the back door. Heart pounding, hand on the doorknob, she waited for him to reach the front steps. A cold breeze swept in under the door and she shivered. The 1930s cottage, mostly used as a summer rental, was not well insulated. Though it was comfortable enough with both wood-burning stoves fired up, she had extinguished the fires thirty minutes ago in preparation for her departure. Now, with the embers quickly cooling, the cold Maine chill was settling over the house.

The man reached the front steps, eyed the footprints she’d left in the snow when she’d returned from the vet. The image on the monitor wasn’t clear enough to see his face, but she didn’t plan to stick around long enough to get a better look.

“Get ready for a bumpy ride, Sebastian,” Arden muttered, quietly opening the back door. The new storm door stuck, the old frame a poor fit. She should have removed it when she’d first noticed the problem, but she hadn’t thought she’d be found. Assumptions could get a person killed. Her oldest brother and decorated FBI agent, Grayson, was always saying that. Hopefully, she wasn’t going to prove him right.

She walked outside, letting the door rest against the jamb. No time to wrestle it tightly into place. The yard was a slick sheet of icy snow, but she rushed toward the back corner of the property as quickly as she could. She had to reach the shed, and the motorcycle, if she had any hope of escape. She had minutes. Maybe less.

Bang!

The sound sent adrenaline coursing through her blood.

She glanced back, saw the storm door lifted by the wind.

Bang!

The door slammed again, and a dark figure appeared around the corner of the house. Tall. Obviously masculine. Coming toward her with quick, decisive steps.

She sprinted to the shed.

“Arden DeMarco!” the man yelled, his voice carrying over the sound of the crashing surf and wind.

She reached for the shed door with shaking hands, yanked it open just as he grabbed her shoulder.

Arden was ready for him.

The youngest of five children, and the only girl, she’d learned to hold her own early on—her brothers had made sure of that. And what they hadn’t taught her, ten years of mixed martial arts training had. Without hesitation, she pivoted, grabbing his hand and twisting it at an unnatural angle.

He released his hold, giving her just enough space to throw a punch. He dodged at the last minute, her knuckles just brushing his jaw. She pulled back, aiming for his throat this time. She’d practiced this move dozens of times. She knew it cold, but Sebastian hindered her movement and the man was quicker than she expected, grabbing her wrist and yanking her arm down before she could land the blow.

“Enough!” he growled. “I’m just here to—”

She threw a left hook. Her fist connected.

She knew what he was there for. Or she could guess. He was too well trained to be anything but a government operative or a hired assassin.

If he felt the blow at all, he didn’t let on. Instead, he raised his arm to block her next punch.

“I said, enough,” he muttered, his foot sweeping out, catching her ankle as she dodged. She stumbled backward, managed to somehow regain her balance. He reached for her again, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket and pulling her toward him.

* * *

Arden was small, agile and packed a surprising punch for her size. But Kane Walker had spent more than ten years in the Special Forces as part of the army’s elite Night Stalkers airborne brigade, and she was no match for him.

Not that he planned to keep fighting her.

He’d come to bring her home.

She was going. Whether she liked it or not.

“Arden, your—” he began, but she was obviously in no mood to listen.

She yanked away, took a stance he’d seen dozens of times when he’d sparred with her brother Jace. She attacked with Jace’s signature move. It was almost indefensible.

Almost.

He took a calculated step forward, got his knee behind her leg and swept her toward the ground. If she’d been an enemy, he would have added a punch to the chest or nose to speed her descent; instead, he grabbed her arm as she flew backward, slowing her fall. She hit the ground with a thud anyway.

“How about we call a truce?” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Jace didn’t have me track you down so we could spar.”

“Jace?” She got to her feet, eyeing him through the darkness. He doubted she could see his features in the unlit yard. Even if she could, she might not be able to place his face. They’d met a few times in the past. Mostly when he’d joined Jace on home leave.

“Your brother’s worried about you.”

“And you know this because?” she asked, her shoulders tense, her hands fisted.

“I’m Kane Walker. Your brother’s—”

“Business partner,” she finished.

“Right.”

“So, Kane,” she said, sidling along the shed she was backed against. Unless he missed his guess, there was another door in and she was going for it. “Why’d Jace send you when he could have sent any one of my brothers?”

“You’ve hit the FBI’s most wanted list.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“The Feds are watching your entire family. Since you and I are barely acquaintances, I’m not on their radar.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” he agreed as she shimmied to the corner of the shed, pivoted and took off.