Ice

by Stephanie Rowe

  But still no one.

  “Could it be the wind?” she whispered, not taking her gaze off the entrance.

  “No chance.” Cort still hadn’t moved, still ready.

  Rain was slanting sideways into the cockpit, soaking the seat. The door continued to rattle off its hinges.

  The passenger door flew open with a crash, and they both spun toward that.

  No one appeared.

  Just the wind howling through the plane, blowing the rain back into their faces. Cold, bitter, wet, going right through her jeans. She still didn’t have her shoes on, just jeans and a coat.

  Both doors were banging loudly, rattling against the plane, metal crashing against metal.

  Cort swore, swinging the gun toward the pilot side, then back toward the passenger side. “Get your boots on.” His voice was low, menacing.

  She scrambled for her shoes, found them in the corner. She yanked them on and stood up. Rainy mist was filling the plane with a damp chill. “What now?”

  Slowly, keeping his gun ready, Cort eased toward her, crooking one finger at her.

  She quickly moved over to him, and he bent his head, speaking quietly into her ear. “We’re sitting ducks in here, so we need to get out. We’re going to jump out the pilot door. The minute you land, start running and don’t look back. Just haul ass until I find you.” His hand clamped around her arm, his grip like a vice. “Whatever you do, don’t stop. Do you understand? Just. Keep. Running.”

  She nodded, the vision of Sara’s bloodied body all too vivid in her mind. “What are you doing?”

  “Covering you.” He slapped a small knife in her hand. “Just in case I fail.”

  She stared at him, dread tightening in her chest. “But you don’t believe you can fail.”

  He gave her a grim smile and tugged her toward the door. “Make up your mind. You want someone who thumbs his nose at death, or someone who will admit he can die?”

  She jumped as the passenger door banged again. “Right now, I go for option one.”

  Cort took her arm. “Women. So fickle. Drives me nuts.” He leaned up against the side of the plane and pulled her against him. Slowly, he began to slide them along the wall toward the pilot door. “If you jump out and go straight, you should eventually reach Bill’s cabin, where there should be a phone or a radio. Don’t go inside until you’ve given up on me catching up to you, though.”

  Kaylie swallowed. “Have I mentioned that it pisses me off when people in my life die?”

  Cort grinned. “Yeah, you might’ve.” He pulled close, kissed her once, too brief and too short, then readied himself. “On three.”

  The passenger door slammed again, and she didn’t have to look at Cort to know it hadn’t been the wind. It had been too precise and too hard.

  It had been a direct challenge.

  “One.” Cort edged up next to the door.

  “Two.” He braced himself.

  “Three.”

  He shoved her out in front of him and they jumped.

  Kaylie stumbled when she landed, but Cort yanked her to her feet, and then she began to run. Rain slashed at her face. The muddy ground sucked at her boots, like a quagmire trying to drown her. The wind howled so loudly she could hear nothing but the roar of nature crushing her.

  A branch raked across her cheek. She ducked her head and slogged onward. She tried to run, but her pace was torturously slow, dragged down by the woods and the mud.

  No sound behind her.

  No footsteps.

  Just the storm.

  Where was Cort?

  Kaylie heard the loud crack of a rifle, and she whirled around, heart racing. Then she heard the crash of heavy footsteps coming toward her. “Cort?”

  The footsteps stopped.

  Silence.

  Waiting for her to call again so he could pinpoint her location.

  If it had been Cort, he would have answered.

  Dear God, what had happened back there?

  Panic hammering at her, Kaylie began to move again, trying to be silent. But twigs snapped and mud sloshed. It sounded so loud…but was it really audible over the howl of the storm?

  She could hear nothing behind her.

  Not a sound.

  Not a—

  She tripped over something and hit the ground. Hard. Her hands on something that felt too much like the cold body of her dead grandpa.

  “Oh, God.”

  She scrambled backward, but not before she saw the shadowed face of her mother.

  Dead.

  “Mom!” Kaylie fell to her knees, a crushing pain slicing through her heart.

  Then she saw the rest of the bodies. Not just her mom. Her dad. Other bodies. So many. Numbly, she stared in disbelief at the pile, became aware of the rank odor of death mixing with the driving rain. Death, decay, the loss of life…

  A hand was sticking out of the pile, as if entreating her to come closer.

  There was a carved gold band on the right index finger.

  Sara’s ring. Sara’s body.

  Kaylie whirled around, doubling over as she retched, as all the grief and fear and horrors caught up to her. She went down to her knees as the tears burst free—the anguish, the loss, the guilt. She was too late, too late….

  Gradually, she became aware of a hand stroking her hair, of a low murmur of a male voice comforting her.

  She went rigid.

  Because it wasn’t Cort who was touching her.

  Kaylie lurched to her feet and whirled around.

  Old Tom was still crouched on the ground behind her.

  She blinked. “Tom?”

  He slowly stood, not with the stiffness of an old body, but with the easy grace of a predator trying not to scare his prey. “It’s okay, Kaylie.”

  His hair was matted to his head, rain streaming down his face.

  “Where—where’s Cort?”

  Tom shook his head. “No, it’s not about Cort. It’s about you. Come here. Let me get you warm.”

  “Me?” She inched backward. “What did you do to Cort?”

  “What did I do to Cort?” He snorted. “That list is too long to go into while we’re standing out here freezing our asses off.”

  The backs of her legs hit the pile of bodies, and she froze.

  Tom’s gaze flicked behind her, and then his eyes widened. “Holy fuck. What the hell’s that?”

  She didn’t move. “You—?”

  “Shit!” Tom suddenly moved past her, pushing her aside as he examined the pile. “Mother fucker.”

  Kaylie whirled around and raced away from him. She’d gotten only a few yards when he tackled her, throwing her face-first into the wet ground.

  She screamed, fighting him, but he pinned her easily, his wiry body not heavy like Cort’s, but just as strong.

  Old Tom slammed his hand over her mouth, anchored an arm around her throat, and pinned her face to the mud. “Shut the hell up,” he snarled. “Or I drown you. Right here. Right now.”

  She froze, her face already half-submerged.

  Tom bent down, his mouth next to her ear. “I’ll say this only once.”

  She nodded. The water she was lying in was icy cold. She was already shaking. Had to get up. Had to get away.

  “I didn’t kill those people.” Old Tom’s voice was low. Hard. “Which means you and I need to get the fuck out of here before whoever did comes back, pissed off that we found his stash. He’s not going to let us live long enough to tell anyone about it. Got it?”

  She scrunched her eyes shut.

  “I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to stand silently and follow me back to my plane. Understand?”

  She didn’t answer, frantically trying to think of what to do. What if he was lying, and she went willingly with him? But what if he was telling the truth, and someone else was coming after them? Shit!

  “Kaylie.” His voice was a growl. “I’m not getting my ass killed because you’re going to freak and reveal our location to the b
astard. You agree to shut up, and I’ll bring you with me. Otherwise, I’m knocking you out and leaving you here for him to find.” He scowled. “And where the hell is Cort?”

  Cort.

  If Old Tom hadn’t taken him down, then someone else had. Or he’d have been here by now.

  Someone had gotten to him.

  She fought back the sudden swell of tears, of panic. She had to keep it together. She had to make a decision now. She thought of Cort’s story about how Tom had stood in Cort’s defense.

  Decision made. She would trust Old Tom. It was the only choice that made sense.

  “Where is Cort?” Old Tom asked again.

  “He’s at the plane,” she whispered, praying she wasn’t making a mistake. “Someone came after us. He’d be here by now if he was okay.”

  Tom didn’t move. Didn’t react. Then he swore. “Stupid bastard always needs me to bail him out. Let’s go get him.” He was off her and on his feet in an instant. Grabbed her hand and hauled her up.

  A dark shadow leapt out of the woods right behind Tom. She shouted a warning, too late. The glint of a blade. Tom’s face contorting in pain as his hands went to his slashed throat. Then he was facedown in the mud.

  Not moving.

  His face shadowed in the early-morning dawn, Tom’s assailant turned to face her.

  Bill.

  And then it was her turn.

  Despite the freezing rain, Bill was wearing only a T-shirt and jeans. His drenched shirt clung to his body, showing the physique of a man who had spent his life doing hard labor. Not an ounce of fat, not a wasted muscle. A ragged growth of beard on his face, mud caked to his chest and arms, eyes wide and agitated.

  A wild man.

  “It’s about time you got here,” he said.

  Simple words, but there was such hatred, such lust, such…intensity in those words, Kaylie couldn’t stop the shiver, couldn’t keep herself from taking a step back.

  A mistake, she realized instantly, when his face contorted into a twisted rage. “Bitch!”

  His fist came in a wet blur, smashing into the side of her head. She stumbled, went down, fighting against the blackness swirling at the edge of her vision. Her hands went out to brace herself, accidentally landing on Old Tom’s leg.

  She stared in horror at his face, at the blood everywhere, at his glazed eyes.

  “On your knees. Exactly how it should be.” Bill caught the back of her hair and yanked her head back, shoving her face into the front of his pants, into the erection straining at the front of his jeans. “You owe me. For thirty years I waited, and now it’s time to show me it was worth it.”

  She fought to get free, to breathe, but he pressed harder. Frantic, she clasped her hands and slammed them upward into his crotch. He gasped and doubled over, releasing her.

  She was on her feet and running before she even had time to think, nearly tripping over Old Tom’s body—

  Kaylie sensed rather than saw the knife hurtling through the air and ducked…too late. Pain exploded in the back of her thigh. Her leg collapsed. She crashed to the sodden dirt.

  Bill was standing over her in an instant, and he ripped the knife out of her leg. Kaylie screamed, grabbing for her thigh, but he shoved her hand aside.

  “Stupid bitch, making me hurt you.” He crouched beside her, and she couldn’t move, holding herself rigid against the pain. Fighting for breath. He stripped off his drenched Tshirt and lifted her leg.

  She tensed, preparing for another blow, but his hands were gentle and skilled as they wrapped her leg. “Don’t you understand? It hurts me to hurt you. Why don’t they understand that? They never understand that.” His words were a distracted monologue, creepy and unsettling, as he bandaged her leg.

  Kaylie let her head sink back into the mud, too exhausted to fight, as he finished tending her wound. Was Cort dead? Like her family? Dear God. They were all dead. Total loss. Ten years since she’d seen them. She’d been waiting for them to admit she was right. To ask her to come back. To say they accepted her the way she was.

  Ten years, and for what? For death in the Alaska woods at the hands of a madman?

  It was as stupid as dying on a mountain when she was sixteen would have been.

  “Up we go.” Bill slid his arms beneath her, and she shuddered as his forearm crushed her breasts. “I’ll try to be gentle, my love. Don’t struggle, or it’ll make it worse.” He lifted her in a fireman’s carry. “We need to get you cleaned up, or infection will set in.” His hands dug into her wound, and she gasped at the pain. “You’ll piss me off if you allow your injury to get infected. Stupid of you to get hurt in the first place, but I forgive you. I always do.”

  Kaylie braced herself against his bare back as he began to walk, fighting not to jar her leg. Her head was still ringing from the blow, and her injury was killing her. Going numb. “Where’s Cort?”

  “Shut up!” His thumb jammed into her injury, and she screamed. “I tried to get Cort away from you. Tried to save him from your temptation, but you sucked him in anyway. His dad saved my life once and died before I could repay him. So I owe Cort, instead. Because of Huff, I owe Cort his life. But you won’t leave Cort alone. You involved him in your mess, and you’ve forced me to hurt him for having his hands on your body, for kissing you. I’ve tried to spare him, and you’re fucking with my plans. You ever say his name again, and I swear I’ll cut your heart right out of your body.”

  Kaylie closed her eyes, her throat tightening at the hatred, at the violence in her captor’s voice. There was no way he’d allowed Cort to live. Oh, God, what had she done? She’d blamed him for being the risk taker, yet she was the one who had brought death to his doorstep.

  And to Sara and Jackson.

  Why did Bill want her? What had she done to bring him after her? What had happened thirty years ago?

  Her mother. Her mother had come thirty years ago. This wasn’t about Kaylie. It was about her mother. “I’m not her,” she said. “My name is Kaylie, not Alice—”

  “Shut up!” Bill jabbed something into the wound again, and she gasped, fighting not to scream.

  They passed a wooden shed, the door half-ajar, darkness within. She thought she saw the faint outline of a person’s body, and then they were past.

  Bill’s boots were loud as he stomped up stairs, each movement making her leg throb. Nausea churned in her belly, and she closed her eyes, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  Then they were inside.

  The barren cabin smelled of rotten meat and mold. A mound of animal skins dominated the middle of the floor, a dark circle of wetness bleeding out from the base of it. A small fridge in the corner, filthy and rusted. A sink.

  Bill carried her across the room, kicked open another door, and set her gently on the floor of a very small bathroom with an old porcelain tub. Dark rust stains coated the cracked surface, and thick mildew coated the floors.

  Bill rubbed her shoulders, and Kaylie pulled back…then realized she’d made a mistake when she saw his expression go dark. “You will learn to love me,” he snarled. “I’m your world now. No one but me. You’re lucky I chose to give you this chance instead of killing you for being a slut.” He grabbed her shoulders and he shook her. “Apologize!”

  “I’m sorry.” The words spilled out of her, even as she searched the small room for a window. An escape.

  But there was nothing.

  Just solid walls.

  As if she could run. Her leg was useless, screaming with agony every time she moved.

  Bill stared at her, then nodded. “You’re forgiven. Again. But my patience runs thin.” He yanked a pink towel out from under the sink. It was faded and worn…and it had Kaylie’s mother’s initials on it.

  “I saved this for you, all this time.” He pressed his face to it and inhaled deeply. “It’ll be like before. Together. Like before…” His eyes narrowed, his gaze on her neck.

  Kaylie touched her throat a split second before Bill threw the towel aside and slammed
her up against the wall. He yanked at the zipper, and too late, she remembered she had nothing on beneath the jacket.

  She tried to cover herself, and he pinned her hands above on the wall, slammed a knee into her stomach to pin her there. He had the jacket off and on the floor, then gazed down at her body.

  The air was cold on her breasts, and she was utterly defenseless as he ruthlessly inspected her.

  She was temped to close her eyes. To hide from it. To pretend it wasn’t happening.

  And then she thought of her parents.

  Of Cort, who’d been willing twice to go out and risk himself to go after this very man.

  They all deserved more.

  She couldn’t hide. She needed to fight. For them.

  She forced her gaze to his, couldn’t help shuddering at the violence on his face, at the intense fury.

  “You let him mark you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I love him. Not you. I’m not Alice. I’m not her. You don’t know me. Just let me go.”

  “Shut up!” He crushed his forearm into her throat, cutting off her air. “I gave you a chance! I waited for you, and you let him violate you while you were in my backyard!” He threw her down and her head cracked against the toilet.

  Pain shot through her, and then he was dragging her out of the bathroom, across the floor. Knife in his hand, still covered in Old Tom’s blood.

  He grabbed and tossed her onto something soft.

  A mattress.

  Metal chains attached to the headboard.

  She lunged for the chain and swung it, just as he leaned over to grab it. The chain hit him in the temple, and he pitched forward. He swung with his knife, slicing across her wrist. She swung the chain again, got him in the back of the head with a sickening thud, and then he was down.

  Rolling off the bed, she tried to run for the door, and her leg gave out. She hit the ground, crawling as she heard him rolling around behind her. Panicked, she grabbed the door and yanked it open as he fisted her hair, yanked her back—

  A rifle shot exploded through the night, and she ducked as Bill fell on top of her.

  Then Cort stepped out of the shadows.

  Bloody, a black eye, and a limp.

  But alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO