Free Colder Than Ice by MAGGIE SHAYNE

This was her!
    Mordecai’s heart had pounded, and he’d barely been able to catch his breath as he watched her running along the winding country lane. Running. Hands clenched into fists pumping at her sides. As if she were fighting.
    And then she slowed and walked right up to the front porch of the very house he’d been watching: the fading, former Blackberry Inn. All night, he’d been parked in his car, keeping the boy under surveillance, just as the guides had told him to do. It had made no sense. He’d been frustrated, thinking it stupid and senseless to sit there, cold and uncomfortable, overnight. He knew where the boy lived now, so what was the point? Even if he was to be Mordecai’s heir…
    Now he understood. This was the point. The boy was a beacon, pointing the way to Lizzie. Already he was connectedto Mordecai, already aiding him in his work. He had led Mordecai to Lizzie. Obviously he was the one. The boy, Bryan, was the one he’d been waiting for. He should have trusted, had more faith. The guides always had a reason for everything they told him to do.
    Mordecai took out his binoculars and watched every move Lizzie made. He watched her sit on the porch, sipping tea with an old woman, watched the looks, the smiles, they exchanged.
    They were close. The old woman was important to her.
    Then the man came out to join them, and Mordecai’s body went stiff and his nerve endings prickled. The man had to be Bryan’s father—the resemblance between the two had told him that much. But what was he doing with Lizzie?
    A short while later, she was running again. But this time the man ran with her. The bastard had no business there, Mordecai thought. Lizzie was his. Always had been, always would be. Dead or alive, she belonged to Mordecai.
    He let them get a good distance away before starting his car and driving a little closer. He was careful not to get too close, and he never let them spot him.
    God, how different she seemed…felt. The energy he sensed surrounding her was not the same as it had been before.
    She’d changed.
    She thinks she’s escaped you, Mordecai. Thinks she’s above you now.
    Look at her, running. Trying to grow strong. She’ll fight you this time.
    â€œShe fought me last time,” he muttered. “Isn’t shooting me in the chest fighting me?” His chest ached a little at the memory, even though the Kevlar vest had ensured he only suffereda pair of broken ribs from the bullet she had fired at his heart…even as she kissed his lips.
    She was weak, back then. And she still loved you, in some desperate, dependent way. She wept when she thought she had killed you.
    But she’s not weak anymore. She won’t shed a tear for you now.
    Mordecai decided to ignore the voices for a while, just the way he was ignoring the presence of the man, the interloper, and simply bask in Lizzie’s presence. In being able to see her, watch her. In being this close to her. God, how he’d loved her once. Still. As he should.
    Jesus had loved Judas, even after his kiss of betrayal.
    Mordecai followed her to where she lived, in a cottage just at the edge of Blackberry. He knew it when they slowed to a walk, entered the house. He even saw her opening the door with her set of keys.
    They’ve seen the car, Mordecai.
    â€œYes. I know.”
    You know now. You know where to find her. You can come back.
    Nodding slowly, Mordecai drove past the two this time. He had to return to his rented home away from home, because there were things that needed doing. He’d begun the preparations, but he had to finish them. So he went to his temporary home. He took time to shower, to change clothes, to get a bite to eat, take his messages off the machine. The school had called. He phoned back and agreed to come in on Monday. Then he rechecked the cord he had run throughout every room of the house, along the baseboards, and the batteries in his remote