Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  She searched his skin for any kind of heartbeat. When she couldn’t detect one, she slid her fingers through the blood, pausing on his neck.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the connection, murmuring, “Please be alive. Please be alive.”

  A gentle thump rolled beneath her fingers. Her heart surged. Her eyes opened, and she repositioned her fingers to make sure what she felt was real.

  “Come on, you big military stud,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

  Another thump tapped her fingers. Then another. And another.

  Relief washed through her, the wave so powerful, she slumped into her seat. “Thank you, God.”

  Savannah attacked her seat belt buckle again, but her numb, weak fingers gave out. “Ian,” she yelled in frustration, “wake up, dammit.”

  His lashes never fluttered. Every second that ticked by felt intensely precious. His head wound looked severe. His brain could be hemorrhaging. He could be bleeding internally.

  Savannah tried to wiggle out from the constriction of her seat belt and for the first time realized she was still wearing the bulletproof vest. She ripped at the Velcro and lifted the vest over her head, growling through the pain cutting across her torso.

  With the vest off, she had an extra inch or two to work with. But she was already exhausted. She sobbed in frustration. “Ian, please wake up.”

  She leaned forward, reaching for the glove box. Her fingers barely brushed the metal. She grimaced against the pain. Pushed against the locked belt crossing her torso. Jabbed at the button. The glove box door fell open. With urgency driving her, she wiggled and shifted for another half inch and grabbed at anything she could reach.

  She pulled at papers and let them fall to the floor. Grabbed the string of a tiny flashlight and dropped the device into her jacket pocket. Tugged at something leather.

  Falling back in her seat, she stared at the hunting knife. “Yes.”

  A burst of excitement had her hands fumbling to pull the leather from the blade. She was shaking with fear, shivering with cold. But she pulled the knife free and sawed at the nylon belt across her chest. Something so simple had never felt so difficult. It was like cutting stone with a butter knife. Her numb fingers struggled to hold on to the handle tight enough to cut. Her other hand fought to hold the belt still.

  Finally, she sliced through the last tendril of nylon. The belt fell loose. Savannah pulled her feet under her, knelt on the seat, and leaned over Ian. “Okay, I’ve got you now.”

  She cradled his face, holding his head still in case he had a spinal injury. If she cut off his seat belt, he’d fall to her side of the car. She couldn’t begin to fathom how they’d get out of here. Or what they’d face even if they did.

  Savannah snuffed out her defeatist thoughts and supported Ian’s head with one hand, tapping his cheek with the other. “Hey, Ian, wake up. I need you.”

  She tentatively checked the wound on his head. His scalp had a good slash in it. She was less worried about that than she was the knot swelling nearby.

  “Come on, Ian. You’ve got to wake up. I can’t do this on my own.” She tapped his cheek harder. “I still have all kinds of things to yell at you for, and you’re damn well going to wake up to hear them.”

  Still nothing.

  “Dammit.” She climbed into the back to see what she could find.

  Every move seemed to make her hurt somewhere. Just as she slung one leg over the second seat to investigate a box in the very back, the Suburban teetered. And her equilibrium teetered with it. She froze, struggling to get her bearings. The SUV’s movement made it seem like gravity was pulling the car toward the driver’s side. But her brain told her that the ground should be on the passenger’s side.

  Trying to figure it out made her head ache. She closed her eyes and pressed the palm of her hand to the throb in her forehead. She met wet, sticky skin. Her stomach dropped. And when she pulled her hand away, she found what she’d feared—more blood. But she was alert and moving, so she continued her quest, praying the car didn’t break through some threshold and plummet.

  Holding on to the back seat for stability, Savannah lifted the flap of the box and reached inside. Her hand touched metal. Guns. She recognized the feeling instantly. The small boxes in the corner were probably ammunition. Then she touched something soft and dragged it out.

  A blanket. “Thank God.” She reached back in. “Water would probably be too much to ask for—” Her hand closed on something cold and plastic. Hope swelled inside her. She pulled out a jug of water and exhaled in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Tentatively, she moved back to the front of the car without any more teetering incidents. Once she slipped into her seat, her body settled and her equilibrium was restored—gravity pulled her toward the passenger’s side. Ian’s side of the car was pointed up; her side, down.

  Savannah shook out the blanket and leaned over the console. She passed her hands over his arms, his belly, his thighs, searching for any obvious injuries. When she didn’t find any, she slid the blanket across Ian’s body. Then she eased closer, and ran her hands up and down over his arms, using friction to create warmth.

  “Come on, Ian. Enough slacking.”

  She continued to jostle and talk to him, as much to wake him as it was to keep her mind off the very real, very potentially fatal situation.

  “You went to all this trouble to get me out of that town. You need to follow through. Jamison needs me. You know he needs me.”

  She took a break from warming him and rested her forehead against his jaw. Tears burned her eyes. Tears of fear, of regret. “I’m sorry I got so mad,” she whispered. “I just…I was just…so crazy about you. Thought you might be the one.” Savannah lifted her head and cupped his face again. Desperation snuck in, and she gave him a little shake. “Come on, Ian. I need you.”

  His lips moved. Then his lashes fluttered. Hope burned through her heart. She stroked his face. “That’s it. Right here. Open your eyes. I’m right here.”

  His lids lifted, exposing confusion-hazed hazel eyes. Savannah laughed with relief. “There you are. Damn, you had me scared.”

  He immediately tried to sit up. Savannah put a hand on his shoulder. “No, no.” When his gaze jumped to hers, she said, “You’ve got a couple of head injuries.”

  He exhaled and relaxed against the seat. “Okay.”

  His voice was groggy, but Savannah was so relieved and thrilled to hear it, she leaned close and kissed him gently. His lips were cold, but he lifted a hand to stroke her hair. When Savannah pulled back, he said, “You’re bleeding.”

  “Not as much as you.”

  A smile flickered at the corner of his lips. “I’m competitive like that.”

  She smiled. “God, I’m glad you’re talking.”

  He tried to look around, but Savannah kept his head in her hands. “I’m afraid for you to move. What about your spine?”

  Ian’s feet scraped across the floor, then his thighs moved. “I think I’m okay.”

  “Move slowly,” she cautioned before releasing his head.

  He grimaced and moaned, but he seemed to move well enough. Once he was sitting upright, he took stock of the SUV. “Did a number on this thing.”

  “Yeah. Imagine how this would have turned out if we’d stayed in the truck.”

  He made a dark sound in his throat.

  “When Roman sees this, he’s going to skin you alive.” Their reality sank in again. “If we make it out.”

  “We’re making it out,” he said with an intensity and finality that soothed her nerves. He rolled his wrist and pushed up the sleeve, glancing at his watch. The face had been crushed. “My watch has a GPS tracker. Don’t know if it’s still working, but we need to get it to the surface.” He paused, seeming to fight to get his thoughts together. “No telling how deep we are. Doesn’t transmit through snow.” His words slurred a little, and his gaze went distant again, as if he might pass out. “Need to start digging out.�
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  “We could be under a mile of snow.”

  He let his eyes close and rested his head against the seat. “We were at the edge of it. Don’t think we’re that deep.” He cast a look toward the back of the SUV. “What kind of equipment do they have in here?”

  “The blanket, and I have a jug of water. There are guns and ammunition in the back.”

  “Can never have enough weapons, right?”

  She smiled, and a wave of emotion swept through her again. Gratitude, love, hope. “Ian, I’m so sorry—”

  He lifted his hand and pressed his fingers to her lips. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” He opened his eyes and met hers. “I’m going to make it right, Savannah. I’m going to make it up to you.”

  More tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. She smiled, nodded, and pressed her cheek to his.

  “Water,” he said. “Pull out the jug.”

  She slid back into her seat. Grabbing the jug at her feet, she settled it on the console and opened the top and helped him steady the jug as he drank.

  When he finished, he said, “Drink as much as you need. We have to empty it.”

  “Why?”

  Ian picked up the knife she’d left in the console’s cup holder. “Because it’s going to become a digging tool.”

  Savannah took a few long swallows and recapped it.

  Ian tried the buttons on the driver’s door, and Savannah’s window slid down an inch. The snow was packed tight against the car. “Pour the rest out—slow at first.”

  Savannah tilted the jug and poured the water into the snow, which melted instantly, giving her room to empty the jug. Ian took the empty plastic and cut away the top, leaving the bottom attached to the handle. “Voilá.”

  She smiled at his less than enthusiastic expression. “What a Boy Scout.”

  “So my mom said.” He straightened up in the seat with another grimace and looked around the car. “We’ll work in shifts. One of us in the back seat with the blanket, warming up, while the other shovels. We’ll chuck the snow over to the passenger’s side.”

  She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Don’t think about the big picture,” he told her. “We’re living moment by moment right now.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Then she swiped the jug from his hand. “I’m taking the first shift. Get your ass back here and rest.”

  Ian was drifting in and out of consciousness when Savannah yelled, “We did it!”

  He opened his eyes and looked around the car. No matter how many times he’d done that over the last hour—or two, he wasn’t sure anymore—reality jabbed him in the gut again.

  “Ian,” she said, sliding back to the car through the tunnel to the surface. “We did it. I’m through.”

  “You did it. You’re amazing.” He must have told her that fifty times by now, but he meant it every damn time. She was bruised, bloodied, and terrified, yet she never stopped fighting, never stopped digging, even when Ian couldn’t help because he kept passing out. “What did you see? Any search parties? Any equipment? Anything?”

  She leaned over him and, just as she’d done a dozen times before, rubbed his arms until warmth collected beneath the blanket. Her gaze went distant for a second before she smiled. “I don’t know. I was so excited to see sky, I slid back down here to tell you.”

  He chuckled and brushed the hair back from her face. “Guess I’d better get my lazy ass up, then.”

  “Hold on. Stay put a minute.” She knelt on the edge of the seat and leaned into the back. “I want to pull out some of these guns, ’cause, you know”—she faced him again, holding a Glock in one hand and a box of bullets in the other—“you can never have enough.”

  He started laughing—partly because of what she said, but mostly because of the look on her face. She was bloody and dirty and pale from the cold, but she looked like a kid who’d just stolen a cookie from the cookie jar. Only the pressure of laughing stabbed pain through his head. He put a hand to his head and groaned. “Oh, shit. Don’t make me laugh, baby.”

  She set the gun on his stomach and scanned his face with a frown. “Are you going to be able to climb to the top and walk out? Because don’t even think about telling me to go ahead. I’m not leaving you—”

  His lips twitched into a smile. “I wouldn’t let you leave me.”

  She exhaled and nodded. As soon as her gaze went distant, he knew what was coming next, so he jumped in front of it. “Right now, I’ll bet Sam has Jamison dancing in the back seat, singing karaoke.

  She laughed at the absurd image.

  “I’m only half kidding,” he told her. “The kid is probably having the time of his life.”

  She nodded. “Sorry I keep asking. It’s not like you have a direct line into the Jeep or anything. I just…”

  He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You’re worried because you’re an incredible mom.”

  She sighed and looked down at the gun. “Can you help me load this? I’ve never used this model before, and I’d really rather not shoot myself trying to load it.”

  “My pleasure.” He took the Glock, filled the magazine, and primed the chamber. Now that he was awake, his head throbbed. “There’s one in the chamber, and this weapon has a trigger safety, so just squeeze the trigger.”

  “No safety. Got it.”

  Ian forced himself to sit up, but he couldn’t keep the groan from spilling out. He wasn’t sure how much of the pain was the drop in body temp and how much was injury, but he was having a damn difficult time moving. And that would be problematic if the cops were nearby.

  “Let me take a trial run at it,” he told her. “See how I do.”

  Savannah climbed into the back to give him room to get up, over the console, and maneuver—painfully—out the window.

  When he looked up the length of the tunnel, he swore. They’d ended up far deeper than he’d thought. More like ten or twelve feet than two or three. But that dusky early evening sky was compelling. He could see why she’d gotten so excited. But they still had a lot to worry about.

  Ian worked himself up the tunnel, realizing that Savannah had carved out enough room for her small frame, but Ian’s was another story. He had to use his shoulders like a snowplow to get through the space. He also realized his left knee had gotten pretty banged up in the accident.

  It took what felt like forever to reach the top. Ian had to stop twice to keep from blacking out. The last time he’d done that, he’d fallen back down the tunnel and into the car.

  Not fun. Definitely not something he wanted to repeat.

  When he finally poked his head above the surface, he was light-headed. His brain and knee battled for the most-messed-up award. He drew a deep lungful of frozen but fresh air. And he thanked God for Savannah. If she wasn’t so damn strong, they probably would have succumbed to the cold by now.

  The first thing to catch Ian’s attention was voices. He peered left, where just a couple of hours ago, there had been a road. The new mound of snow was dotted with a couple of dozen people, methodically sticking metal poles into the snow to search for vehicles and people. Between the dimming light, the distance, and the backdrop of complex mountain terrain, he couldn’t see who was working, but he’d bet it was the same band of cops and dimwits Bishop had released with a kill order.

  He closed his eyes to improve his hearing and listened. If there were Manhunters in that search party, he didn’t hear their voices. Ian couldn’t envision anyone but Everly infiltrating a search party. Roman, Liam, and Sam would be strangers and immediately suspect. But no female voices floated on the air.

  No matter. They were all nearby; that, Ian knew for a fact. They just needed to find each other. Until that could happen, he and Savannah needed warmth and rest.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for a signal. As expected, he got nothing. He laid both his phone and his watch on the snow, but he didn’t hold out a lot of hope for catching a signal. Not in these
mountains.

  Ian scanned the terrain. It would be dark soon. The search party would be called off any time now. Everyone under the snow would be written off as dead. The rescue would be reclassified as a recovery effort. And that was good. Because as long as Bishop thought he and Savannah were dead, he’d refocus the bulk of his resources on recovering Jamison.

  He and Savannah weren’t home free by any means. Tomorrow, at some point, this hole in the snow would be found, the SUV would be recovered, and their tracks leading away from the site would be followed.

  At least that would give them a good head start. But a head start to where?

  A gust of wind blew through the pass, and Ian backed down the tunnel. In the Suburban, Savannah sat in the second row of seats, huddled beneath the blanket. She opened it in invitation, and after Ian shucked all the ice clinging to his pants and jacket, he sat beside her, pulled her into him, and dragged the blanket closed.

  “What do you think?” she asked, her voice nervous. “It’s starting to get dark.”

  He shared his thoughts on their next move: getting out of here, finding shelter, and, hopefully, a GPS signal.

  Savannah sat back and met his gaze. Her expression was a mix of stark fear and raw fury. She scraped her lips between her teeth and covered her face for a moment.

  Just when Ian thought she’d burst into tears, she lifted her head with an expression of renewed strength and asked, “Have we got an AK-47 back there? ’Cause I’m just about ready to mow those assholes down and steal their vehicles.”

  Ian laughed, then groaned and swore. “Savannah…”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I couldn’t help myself. I’m freezing, exhausted, hurt, and terrified. And I’m over it. All of it. Seriously. I’m done. I’m not looking forward to sloshing through snow up to my ass. Hypothermia is not my friend.”

  He pulled her close again. “We don’t have to stay in the deep snow for long. Just until we get clear of any searchers and the cops Hank will assign to protect the scene overnight. And if we take the road, he’ll only be able to follow our footprints to that point. Plows will clear them overnight.”