Uncharted

by Adriana Anders

  She needed to get ahold of her team, locate Campbell Turner, and get to the virus or more people would die. And that meant ditching the yeti.

  Heavy as lead, she forced herself onto her knees and finally to standing. Determined, she stood, circled the cave, running her hands along the wall in search of any place he could have hidden a weapon or a phone.

  I’ve got to warn Eric and Ford and the others. Get Von and Ans back to Schink’s Station. Figure out what’s going on.

  The walls were surprisingly smooth, no cracks or fissures where he could have squirreled things away. She stretched, reaching as high as her five-foot-six frame would allow. Nothing.

  There was only one place left to look—the hole he’d gone through on his way out.

  She made her way over, ducked, and squinted down a short, narrow passage. It was cooler here and it smelled like…something. Like the outdoors, though she couldn’t say just what that meant.

  She went still. Were those footsteps approaching?

  Impossible to tell down here, where noises echoed dully off stone walls and ceilings and floors. She cocked her head to the side. There was no sound but the steady drip of water.

  Time to get out. No more waiting to see what the big mountain man had in store. No more hoping he was one of the good guys. She needed to locate Turner, who hopefully would have some means of reaching out to her team. Whoever this guy was, she’d figure it out later. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d forever remain the nameless, paranoid yeti guy whose bug-out bag she stole after he pulled her from her one and only crash.

  Ignoring a pang of guilt, she staggered back into the cave, dug a few items from his pack, and threw them on the floor. She couldn’t leave him with nothing after all. Then, using every ounce of effort she could drum up, she heaved his pack up, braced it and herself against the wall, and slid both arms through the straps. With a deep inhale, she pushed off, staggering under the load. The effort sent the pressure in her head skyrocketing.

  Working hard, she shuffled forward, hunched, one hand skidding along the rock wall. The lamplight’s yellow gave way so gradually to blue that she didn’t notice the change until the ceiling went from claustrophobia-inducing to cathedral. Slowly, her gaze slid up, up, up. The space was tinged with a light, ethereal hue, as though someone had left a television on in a far corner. Except there weren’t corners in this place—only curves, rippling in the lamplight. Layers upon layers, glowing as if from within. Some spots were dark as black holes, others bright, all of it frozen in time. In places, what looked like water bulged down into half-finished drips.

  It was the most unearthly thing she’d ever seen. No, not seen— experienced. It felt like she’d stepped from the dark cave into another planet, like being submerged in the ocean, deep-sea diving without a mask or oxygen. Never in her life had a place made her feel this way: cold and lost and caught up in the wonder. She spun, shrinking back instinctively at the movement within the walls. Swelling, billowing, whitecaps rushing, like being caught beneath a wave about to crest, the tide sucking up, bright and shiny. Like galaxies in the sky, swirling, shifting, unending. Yet utterly still.

  She released a lungful of metallic air, unaware of having held it in, and took a step.

  Her boot hit something with a clang. She glanced down. Millimeters below her foot, a trap sat, armed, the two sets of sharp, gleaming teeth wide-open. With a gasp, she overcorrected and wobbled. Pendulum-heavy, the pack dragged her weight in the opposite direction, straight at the gaping jaws. Her instincts, though slow, told her to dive. Airborne for a few breathless seconds, she twisted in a pointless attempt to land on the pack, before ramming into cold, hard ice. The impact emptied her lungs in a single, painful burst.

  Her skull exploded in white-hot pain.

  ***

  The air outside stank of fuel and burned plastic and, if he wasn’t mistaken, charred flesh. He didn’t dare approach the ruined cabin to do a head count. It wasn’t worth the risk, given that his tracks would lead them back here. Even this far, he could hear them taking over the woods around his home with the confidence and recklessness of men convinced they were on the right side of things.

  Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it.

  Hopefully they assumed he’d died in the fire.

  He swiped a gloved hand across his wet face. The stuff falling from the sky was somewhere between snow and ice. The kind of precipitation that slowed everyone down.

  Him included.

  He glanced at the entrance to the cave. Given the state of his unexpected guest—or prisoner, depending on who she was—a few hours rest probably wasn’t a bad thing. The trick would be to time things right. If they left too early, they’d get stuck in this crap. If they waited too long, the other team had the numbers and equipment to catch up with them.

  This time of year was treacherous for travel. Snow and ice melt meant floods and landslides and muddy, impossible terrain.

  He stepped inside, automatically scanned the space, and went dead still. Bo yipped.

  By the time his eyes adjusted, he’d figured out what he was looking at—sort of. The woman appeared to be struggling to sit up on the cave floor, right where he’d armed one of his traps. Filled with dread, he ran toward her. “Leo.”

  She made a sound that was half-grunt, half-gasp and fought harder to rise. By the time he made it to her side, he could see that the trap was still armed—thank God. Her head, on the other hand, was bleeding again.

  “Hold on. Stay still.” He squatted beside her. “You okay?”

  As if finally giving up, she sank back to her butt and let her face fall into her gloved hands. “No.”

  “What’d you do?”

  One dark eye peeked out from between her fingers. “Can’t you put it together?”

  He took in the trap, her arms still strapped into the backpack, which anchored her to the ice floor, a blood smear on the ice wall above her head. “Didn’t make it far.”

  “I almost stepped in that thing.” She threw him a dirty look. “You trying to maim me?”

  “Trying to maim the guys who came after you.”

  “Well, it foiled my escape attempt.”

  “You’re not a prisoner, Leo.” At least he didn’t think so. He hoped not. He didn’t want her to be.

  The impact of her gaze meeting his was visceral. There was something wild in the way she watched him. It reached deep inside him and tweaked a savage little chord of its own. Recognition.

  “Why’d they call you Campbell Turner?” Her question wasn’t what he expected. When he didn’t immediately respond, she carefully leaned her head back on the pack as if it were a pillow and tracked him with her eyes. “That’s what I can’t figure out. Some random guy just minding his business might pull me from the crash. But you…” She swallowed with a grimace. More blood seeped from her scalp, down her forehead to the corner of her eye. She swiped it away and pointed that same gloved hand at him. “You hauled ass up to the cabin like you knew exactly what was about to happen.” She started to shake her head and grimaced. “Shit, why can’t I figure this out?”

  “You cracked your head.” He glanced up at the blood on the wall. “For the second time.”

  “Not feeling so hot.”

  “I can tell.” He scooted closer. “I should clean it. Will you let me do that?”

  The look they exchanged was long, searching. It hit him in that place again—too deep in his bones to identify. Her eyes flicked away. “Yeah. Just…just tell me one thing.”

  He lifted his brows, waiting.

  “Are you her godson? Amka’s?”

  She must have seen the surprise and acknowledgment on his face because she laughed—or started to. Apparently, that hurt, too. After a long, low groan, something like a smile tilted her lips.

  She was beautiful, even in her current state.

  “Is he
even here? Turner? She begged me to…” Her mouth went tight. “You know what? I don’t think she once mentioned his name. The old biddy tricked me.” There was admiration in her voice. “I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Told me these guys had his location.” She snorted. “But she didn’t say that, did she? She said…” Her brows lowered in concentration. “She said she could give me the location of the man we were looking for.” Her eyes flew to his. “Not Turner’s. Her godson’s. Your location. Turner’s not here, is he?” At his head shake, she grimaced. “Crap, my head hurts.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About my head or your godmother?”

  “Both.” A warmth worked its way through him.

  “Well, thanks.” She appeared to hesitate. “Can I count on you not killing me? For now at least?”

  The feeling took hold—part relief, part something too painful to consider. “Guess so.”

  She looked up with a grimace. “I can’t get up.”

  “Here.” He squatted, loosened the pack’s shoulder straps one at a time, and helped her to slide out. “Sorry about the trap.”

  “Want to make it up to me by explaining what’s going on here?” He couldn’t bring himself to respond. “Didn’t think so.” She stood with one hand balanced against the wall. “We heading out?”

  “No. Squalling out there, which is a complication.”

  She looked around, eyes wide, as if she’d just noticed where they were.

  “You all right?”

  “What is this place?”

  “Glacier cave.” He’d forgotten what it was like to see it for the first time.

  “So, we’re inside a glacier?”

  He nodded and surveyed their surroundings, trying to picture it through her eyes.

  “It’s like…” Sounding out of breath, she stared up at the slick shapes curled above them. “Like the ocean just…flash froze or something. Like a rogue wave that’ll never crash.”

  He cleared his throat. “Should see it in daylight. Blue’s electric.”

  She opened and shut her mouth a couple of times and, despite the blood crusted along her hairline and the smudge of something dark on that sharply carved cheekbone, there was a softness to her face that he hadn’t noticed before. Not that he’d had the opportunity to look—running for their lives wasn’t conducive to rubbernecking. Now that he’d taken a second to look, though, he couldn’t stop seeing the velvet plumpness of her lips. He liked the symmetry of her perfectly sculpted head, the crown round and high, while her chin came to a tiny, sweet point.

  “I always figured people messed with photos to make stuff like this more impressive.”

  “Some things don’t need to be messed with.” He had to drag his attention from her mouth and the blue-black sheen of her skin in the glacier’s light. He wiped a hand over his face. The hell’s wrong with me? “I’m a… I’ve got to, uh…” He stood, reached for the wall for balance, and lost his footing. His arms pinwheeled as he slid ungracefully onto his ass at her feet.

  He’d just opened his mouth to cuss when a sound like choking hit him. No, not choking. Suppressed laughter, which bubbled up and out of Leo’s mouth. “Ow.” She moaned, grimaced as if in pain, and got the laugh under control before giving him a sheepish look. “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually laugh at other people falling. Are you okay?”

  He worked his way back to standing. “Fine.”

  “I’m…sorry. It wasn’t even that funny, except you’re just so…” Her eyes made a trip up and down his body. The kind of look that would speak of appreciation, under better circumstances. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  “So what?” The question just popped out.

  “I don’t know. Sure-footed? Able-bodied?” Christ, he knew that wasn’t meant to be a come-on line, but it hit him low and hard. She squinted at him. “Sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Only my pride,” he responded, realizing with a little shock that his mouth had tightened at the corners in the start of a return smile. The ache in his chest lessened.

  Beside him, Bo whined, probably unsure of why her person looked less grim than usual.

  He turned to hush her and spun back just in time to catch Leo’s arm as she took her own unsteady step and started to go down. For a second, they stood there, tense and ready to drop, holding on to each other for dear life.

  “Crap.”

  “Room spinning?”

  “Pretty much. I’m not sure I can take another hit to the head.”

  His body finally found its equilibrium. “True. That lump gets any bigger, it’ll look like you’ve got two heads.”

  “Ew.” She wrinkled up her nose, still grinning. Still crushingly beautiful. Their gazes caught and held. His pulse picked up. “Thanks,” she finally said in a whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For helping me out here.”

  He tightened his hold on her arm. “Let’s patch you up. Get some rest.”

  “Okay.” She inhaled shakily and gave him the sort of smile that had probably left a pile of broken hearts the size of Denali in her wake. “But I’m scooting across this ice on my butt.”

  She put up a hand when Elias tried to help her down, so he stepped back and watched her slide toward the rock cave on her ass.

  Ah hell, Amka, he thought as he scooped up the backpack and followed her, hopeful in a way he hadn’t been in forever. Which scared the crap out of him. What were you thinking?

  Chapter 9

  Back in the cave, he threw the pack down with a thunk and bent to find the first aid supplies.

  “How long will we stay here?”

  “They’re out there. Storm’s coming. Nobody’s moving tonight. Beyond that, got no idea.” He rifled through the pack—noting that she’d turned it inside out—pulled out the first aid kit and then snagged a few of the energy bars he’d stocked for an occasion like this. “Hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  He handed Leo a bar, a water bottle, and a couple pain pills, all of which she accepted with a nod, then set food out for Bo.

  The cave was tight, maybe fifteen square feet total. The low ceiling hemmed them in even further, making the space small, though not warm and nowhere near as cozy as the cabin he’d been forced to destroy.

  Without the blue tint of the glacier cave, Leo’s skin had taken on a wan, gray cast. But the stubbornness to her jaw said that it would take more than a couple bumps on the head to stop this woman. “So, where is Campbell Turner?”

  He sank to the floor beside her and let his head thunk back against the stone wall, cushioned by the thick fabric and fur of his hood. “How’d you know I wasn’t him?”

  He didn’t have to see her features to hear the Oh, please in the air between them.

  “The man’s last driver’s license—which he got sixteen years ago—says he’s five eleven.” She handed him the water, eyes closed, and breathed for a few beats, then leaned her head back and gave him an exaggerated up and down. Though he didn’t think it was meant to be sexual, the attention licked at his nerves. “I don’t need a tape measure to see that you’re well over six feet.” She let out a humorless laugh. “And even in my current state, I know you’re not fifty-three years old. Or blond.” She arched one fine eyebrow. “Natural or otherwise.”

  He thought about making a stupid crack and reconsidered. Instead, he gave her silence.

  “Do you know him?”

  For the first time since this whole thing broke open, he was tempted to spill it all. But what if Amka had made a bad call and Leo wasn’t one of the good guys? What if Amka hadn’t sent her at all? That possibility pricked at his spine, alongside the pull of hope he couldn’t quite tamp down.

  “What’s Amka call that plane you were flying?”

  She didn
’t hesitate. “Dolores.”

  Relief flooded in. No way would she know that if Amka hadn’t sent her. “I knew Campbell,” he finally conceded. “Good man. Got caught up in something way beyond his control.” He leaned forward so she could see his face and lifted his eyebrows, nodding to indicate her head. “Can I…” Their eyes met for a long moment; hers flicked down to his mouth and back up. It sent a bolt of pure heat through him. He blinked and focused anywhere but on her lips.

  At her nod, he examined her scalp, breath coming in fast and light. “I’m no expert, but this doesn’t look good.”

  “We talking stitches?”

  “Might be able to manage with butterfly bandages.” He grabbed his flashlight. “Let me check your pupils again.”

  Both pupils contracted, so that was good. He set to work cleaning her wound, noting the way her body shifted, not moving, per se, but sort of sinking into itself, as if gravity and fatigue were finally taking their toll.

  The silence between them had lulled him too, he realized, when she broke it. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” He pressed a butterfly bandage to her head, moving on to the next one when it appeared to be holding.

  “You get caught up too?” Her voice was low and rough.

  He went still but didn’t respond. If she heard the shakiness of his breathing—and she had to, given how quiet it was—she’d know she hit a nerve.

  “In something beyond your control?”

  A dozen seconds went by in silence while his brain fought an internal tug-of-war. How good would it feel to share the burden?

  No. Not now. She was injured. She needed to sleep. There’d be time to rehash it all later. If he decided to.

  The secret, kept too close for too long, felt as impossible to let go of as an addiction.

  Who would he be without it?

  Didn’t matter. Who he’d been, who he could have become. This kind of what if conjecture served no purpose but to stir up regret. And he’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

  Ignoring her question, he stuck another bandage to the cut on her head, then another, each press as gentle as he could make it. The laceration wasn’t what bothered him—it was the bump. Add to that her exhaustion and the dry heaving near the crash site and there was a good chance Leo whatever her last name was had a concussion.