Ice Storm (Ice 4)

“But you…”

He simply stared at her and three years fell away, and she was looking into the face of a killing machine. The man she’d probably thought she’d never have to see again.

She simply nodded, vanishing silently into the shadows.

Leaving Bastien to the hunt.

He didn’t carry a gun—it upset Chloe, and his security system was top-notch. He hadn’t counted on them hitting the generator, too.

He’d grown dangerously soft. Nonetheless, Bastien had no doubt he could get his family out of this. He’d gotten out of worse situations, and it had only been his own skin. No one was going to touch his wife and children.

No gun, but he could improvise. He could kill someone with a wooden spoon if he had to, but there were plenty of knives in the kitchen, tools in the unfinished library. He wondered if the men who’d come after him had been properly warned what they were up against.

He was almost insulted there were only three of them. The first was skulking around the back door, looking for a way in. Bastien cut his throat and took his gun.

It was a heavy pistol—something Dirty Harry would use. It lacked finesse, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Bastien would rather not use it—the sound might frighten the babies, and even though Chloe had nerves of steel he didn’t want to test them.

The second intruder was heading toward the stairs, and he was good, better than the first. The fight was short and savage, and Bastien broke his neck with a quick, ruthless snap.

One more. He was moving in the library where Bastien had just been working on the burled walnut paneling, fitting the pieces together with the painstaking precision that was driving Chloe crazy.

If the man moved fast enough he might make it up the stairs before Bastien could stop him. His family would be safe in that steel-lined closet, but the very thought of a killer getting anywhere near them made him furious.

He stepped out of the shadows, and the man spun around, firing, his semiautomatic sending a spray of bullets across the walnut paneling.

It was the last straw. One shot with the elephant gun in his hand and half the man’s head was gone.

Chloe was going to be pissed. He didn’t know how much they could hear, but he couldn’t let them come down to this mess.

He worked fast, getting most of the blood and bone cleaned up, sprinkling sawdust from beneath the table saw over the mess once he’d dragged the bodies out. There was no disguising the bullet holes in the paneling, but at least he could spare his loved ones the worst part.

He hated to make them wait, in the darkness, not knowing, but in the end it was better this way.

He dumped the bodies at the edge of the woods, making sure no one else was wandering around. Just three of them to take him out. Whoever had sent them had made a very grave error.

He switched on the generator, then raced up the stairs two at a time. Chloe fell out of the closet, into his arms, pale but in control. Sylvia, his fierce and passionate young daughter, was for once perfectly calm, and Swede was asleep.

Bastien had blood on his clothes, but at least he’d washed the hands he put on his wife. She didn’t flinch.

“I took care of him,” he said, wanting to keep the body count down for her peace of mind.

“Him?” she echoed skeptically.

“Them,” he admitted, regretting that he hadn’t been able to question any of them, to find out who’d sent them. There was nothing on their bodies to give him any clue. “How long will it take you to pack?”

“With your help, maybe half an hour. Where are we going?”

“To get help. From the only people I trust.”

Chloe looked down at her somber daughter. “We’re going to visit Uncle Peter and Aunt Genevieve, sweetheart. Go get your favorite toys.”

Sylvia moved over to her toy shelves with that unnerving calm, and Chloe looked up into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling helpless for the first time in the last brief, bloody hour.

She kissed him on the mouth, and if her eyes were bright with unshed tears, she ignored them. “I’m not,” she said. “You did what you had to do.”

He held her so tightly that the baby woke up with an annoyed squawk. Re