Chapter Five

Mark, dressed in pajamas, kicked off his bedroom slippers and climbed beneath the welcome warmth of the fluffy comforter with a contented sigh. It had been a very long day and his body was thanking him for placing it on the soft comfort of the bed. He closed his eyes, and prepared to sleep: he'd have a big day tomorrow.

His eyes shot wide as a very familiar smiling face flickered through his mind. Steve. Turning, he looked at the bedside clock. Quarter of ten. He looked from the clock to the phone and thought briefly of calling Steve, just to check on him.

"Nah," he grunted to himself. It was pretty late by middle-of-the-woods standards. Steve would have long since settled in. He really shouldn't bother him. He was probably warm and cozily tucked beneath his blankets. Mark grinned a little as he pictured Steve, dreaming away, a contented smile on his face. Yes, his son was having a great time.

*

Steve stood, shivering behind a tree as he tried to get his bearings. The rain appeared to have stopped, but the temperature had certainly taken a nose dive. Thanks goodness he'd put on the long sleeved flannel over his t-shirt after that second dousing he'd taken. Unfortunately his shoes were another matter entirely. He'd taken them off when he climbed into bed, and now that was where they no doubt still were: sitting placidly where he'd left them. The way his luck was going, he was lucky he hadn't picked up a splinter.

Glancing around the tree, he looked back the way he had come. There was no sound or movement in the heavy darkness, save for night critters. After the gunman had stopped firing his weapon, Steve had halted his dash into the forest. Things had been quiet for a while now. Long enough for Steve's toes to start complaining about the cold and his knee about standing so still and in such an awkward position.

Limping stiffly, he crept back toward the cabin. If nothing else, he needed to find a way to get his boots. The socks, though heavy, were not going to cut it. Already they were soaked through by the wet ground.

As he got nearer, he discovered that his unauthorized guest was no longer trying to keep quiet. He was tearing through the cabin as if he was looking for something. Something obviously worth killing over, since he'd had no qualms about shooting at Steve. Having felt a bullet whiz by and embed itself in the wood beside his head, Steve was fairly certain he hadn't been just trying to scare him.

Moving cautiously onto the tiny porch, he crept up to the side of one of the front windows and peered in. The bobbing gleam of a flashlight moved erratically about the kitchen area. Whatever he was looking for must be there somewhere. Steve glanced toward the side of the cabin. If he could sneak around the side he could probably climb in through one of the bedroom windows. From there he could grab his boots, his own gun and figure out a way to take his uninvited guest down.

Getting to the side of the cabin wasn't too difficult, but wading into the bushes and limbs alongside of the cabin clad only in socks was not an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon. The window moved up with some creaking that he hoped was drowned out by all of the banging around in the other room.

Placing his hands against the wooden ledge, he took a breath and levered himself upward. The pain which shot through his sore hand was expected, the splinter that he caught in his good one was not. The surprise of it threw his balance slightly and he slammed his hurt knee into the side of the cabin. His eyes watered at the sharpness and unexpectedness of it.

Mentally cursing every brain cell that had convinced him that this vacation in the woods was a good idea, he maneuvered his long body through the opening. Once inside, he heaved a sigh and took a moment to get a sense of the cabin's other occupant. The banging around of articles continued. He figured the place had to be fairly well trashed by then.

Dry socks and boots were his next priority. He managed to work them on in record time and was just moving toward the door when the sounds outside of the bedroom changed. Footsteps were approaching the bedrooms. Flattening himself along the wall, he held his gun at the ready.

Suddenly the footsteps paused, almost as it their owner was uncertain and then moved away from the rooms. Steve heard the moving of items start up again.

Now or never, he told himself then spun out into the room, his gun level on the shadowy person who had invaded his space. The movement wasn't appreciated by his knee, and he began to worry that it wouldn't hold him a moment before the shadow spun and landed a martial arts kick to his midsection.

All of the air rushed out of his lungs, and he was wrenched off his feet. He fell backward landing hard on the wooden floor. As he tried to focus through the stars that were forming before his eyes, two very significant items came to his attention. He was in a great deal of trouble. And the he whose gun was leveled on him was a she.