opened the door.
The man standing on the snow-dusted front stoop was tall and dressed all in black, including the black face mask he wore that concealed all but his eyes. He growled and lunged for her. He fit his bare hands about her throat, and Yvette stumbled backward.
Jason ran in through the open doorway and encountered a struggle. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a snow-frosted copse of maples, he witnessed a man shove a woman—Yvette LaSalle—against the wall. Her painful grunt fired anger in Jason’s veins. He dashed over a fallen chair and toward the struggling duo.
Suddenly, Yvette swept her hand forcefully backward, her elbow colliding with the attacker’s neck. She twisted and plunged a fist against his head. The man—Smith—yelped and gripped his bleeding scalp.
Jason charged across the room. With a swift right hook, he connected under Smith’s jaw and knocked him out cold. The man dropped to his side, sprawling on the floor.
He spun around to find Yvette behind him, clutching a tactical pen in one hand. A fierce, huffing demeanor held her at the ready before him. Her stance declared she was prepared for more fight.
“It’s okay,” Jason reassured. “He’s out.”
She nodded, but her defensive pose remained. Impressive. She’d been terrorized. The adrenaline must be coursing through her like a snowmobile around a racetrack.
“That was—You were—incredible.” Jason finally found the right words. “You are certainly no damsel.”
“No, I’m not.” She winced, but lifted her chin. “He was strong. Stronger than...”
Jason sensed the adrenaline was beginning to rapidly drop from the high that had served her the strength to defend herself. Yvette’s body began to shake. He rushed over and took her in his arms.
“It’s okay.” He hugged her firmly, pressing his face against the crown of her head. She smelled like salt and summer. A sweep of soft hair tickled his nose. His thundering heartbeats thudded loudly. But was it from the moment of attack, or from the surprising feeling of holding a trembling woman in his arms? Mercy. She had reacted unexpectedly bravely. And her sudden surge of strength may have saved her life.
“You did good, Yvette. Guy’s out like a light.” For now. “I need to cuff him. Can I let you go?”
She nodded against his chest, though her fingers clung to his biceps, unwilling to relent. Jason stepped back but bowed to check her gaze. When she offered him a wincing smile, he slowly extracted himself from her grip. She wasn’t going to faint. Not this brave woman.
Digging out the cuffs from his jacket, he bent to secure the suspect’s hands behind his back.
“You know this guy?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No. Do you?”
“He’s the guy from the black SUV.”
“I told you I didn’t know him when you asked in the diner.”
“I know, but he put up my hackles. I pinned him for something more than a guy taking in the scenery. He was following you.”
“He was? How did you—Why didn’t you stop him before he got here?”
“I thought I had.” Jason stood and grabbed the back of a fallen chair and righted it. He lifted a boot, realizing the papers scattered on the floor were wet and torn. No saving them. “I didn’t expect him to rent a snowmobile and go after you. Why was he after you?”
“We’ve been over this, Chief Cash. I’ve never met him.”
“How did he get inside the cabin?”
“I, uh...” She clutched her throat. Her fingers visibly shook. “Opened the door.”
Jason stopped an admonishing retort and instead asked carefully, “You always let strangers inside?”
“He said he had a delivery from The Moose. Why did you talk to him in town? What made you wonder about him?”
“He looked suspicious. We’ve got an active investigation going on and—”
“Investigation? Like what? A man attacking women?”
She was close. Jason never gave out details of an ongoing investigation. Was the man on the floor the one who had murdered the woman he’d found in the ditch this morning? He had been attempting to strangle Yvette. The one in the ditch had died by strangulation. And Jason never subscribed to coincidence.
Yet would a stalker, or even some sort of serial strangler, have allowed a woman to get the upper hand with a weapon so simple as a tactical pen?
As well, how many seemingly innocent women vacationing in a secluded cabin carried a tactical pen on them? It was a self-defense weapon that most did not know about or bother to keep close enough to use.
“That’s a handy thing, isn’t it?” He gestured to the rugged black steel pen she still held.
She clutched it against her chest and lifted her chin. “I never go anywhere without it. It’s something I was trained—”
“You’ve taken self-defense training?”
When she looked up quickly, as if he’d discovered a secret, a moment of clarity softened her features, then she shrugged. “Like you said, I’m not a damsel.”
“I guess not. But didn’t the training class teach you never to open the door to a stranger?”
Another shrug. She avoided his gaze, as well. Hmm...
“Are you going to get him out of here?” she asked with a gesture to the fallen attacker.
“I’ll give Officer Larson a call.” Jason wasn’t ready to leave without asking more questions. And he couldn’t do that and watch the perp at the same time. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” she said a little too quickly. Then a sweep of her hand through her hair preceded a hefty sigh. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to step into the, uh...little girls’ room for a bit.”
“Go ahead. I won’t leave until this guy is out of your hair.” He tugged out his phone and dialed up dispatch. He and Alex alternated shifts, but both were on call 24/7. And he’d rather have him come and assist than the lackadaisical Ryan Bay.
* * *
YVETTE CLOSED THE bathroom door behind her and exhaled. Her shoulders hit the door. She caught her head in a palm. Her entire body shook, but she didn’t cry. She sank, bending her knees, until she sat on the tiled floor.
That man could have killed her.
She was thankful that the police chief was here and had rescued her in the nick of time. But a retreat to the bathroom had been necessary. She hadn’t wanted him to see her break down. And what was this shaking about? She was better than this—trained for such encounters, and well able to defend herself against some of the strongest attackers.
Yet she hadn’t panicked when he’d come at her. She had done her best to protect herself from what could have been a terrible outcome. Because the man had had his hands about her neck and his thumbs pressed against her larynx. She’d gasped and had felt her lungs tighten.
It had been over a year since she’d worked as a field agent and had exercised her defense skills. Had she gotten so out of shape and ineffective in such a short time?
“Get it together, Amelie,” she whispered. “Why did this happen?”
Because Amelie Desauliniers had been sent out of the country to hide under an assumed identity. But hide from whom or what hadn’t been made clear to her. Surely