by Seton, Cora
Adrenaline surged through Remy as he landed on top of the man and jerked the hat from his head. He didn’t recognize him, and he really didn’t care. Yanking off his glove with his teeth, he slugged the man in the face again and again until he laid still, blood seeping from his nose and a cut on his cheek, his body limp.
Remy climbed to his feet, a sharp pain piercing his chest. Probably a broken rib. Nothing that would kill him, which was more than he could say about Mitchell. He gathered his skis and poles, snapped his boots into the bindings, and unzipped the pocket holding his gun.
With only a quick glance at the attacker, he pushed off, stabbing the snow with his poles to build up speed fast. The snow was coming down like gritty grains of sand, hitting hard against his goggles and limiting his visibility to only twenty feet ahead. He followed the tracks of the snowmobile around a bend in the trail, praying he’d find Mitchell waiting patiently.
The trail was deserted, the only indication anyone had been there was the tracks of the snowmobile, quickly being filled by the steadily falling snow. Remy raced down the slope, pushing hard with the poles and bending low to limit wind resistance. Still no Mitchell, and no snowmobile. At several points, he could swear he saw the thin tracks of skis beside the wider snowmobile tracks.
His heart thundering against his ribs, he flew down the mountain. The tracks led toward a stand of trees, swerved, and seemed to slide to the side at the edge of the forest.
Remy slowed to study the tree line, praying Mitchell had made it into the forest where a snowmobile would have difficulty zigzagging through the trees. He almost missed the bright, neon green glove half-buried in the snow, a ski pole lying with only the webbed tip sticking out nearby. His heart slipped into his belly as he dug the glove out of the snow and held it to his cheek. There was no doubt in his mind that whoever had been on the snowmobile now had Mitchell.
Shoving the glove in his pocket, he hardened his resolve and pushed off, racing down the slope, following the tracks, hoping they wouldn’t disappear before he found Mitchell. At a trail crossing, the tracks turned off onto a maintenance road that cut across the mountainside.
The snow had thickened, and now came down so hard Remy could barely see the tracks. If he didn’t catch up soon, he wouldn’t find her. With the storm descending with force over the mountain, daylight was cut off and the dark gray of a winter’s night settled around him.
Pulse racing, Remy pushed on. Failure was not an option. He refused to come down off the mountain unless the snowmobile left first.
Darkness and the blinding snow threatened to obliterate his view, and when the road angled upward, Remy slowed on his skis. No amount of poling would get him up the increasingly steep grade.
He stopped, removed his skis, slung them over his shoulder, and trudged uphill, staying between the stands of trees that were nothing more than a darker shadow on either side of the road in the ever-increasing gloom.
By now the slopes were empty, all other skiers having headed down the mountain before the storm got too dangerous. The grooming tractors wouldn’t start work until the early hours of the morning, after the snow stopped falling. Groomers worked through Christmas and all holidays when there was snow on the mountain.
Climbing the hill, his heavy boots sinking into two feet of snow with each step, he couldn’t help thinking he was moving too slow. Every minute Mitchell was out of his sight was one more minute Rocco’s men could use to hurt her.
At the top of a rise, he paused, catching his breath while studying the ground in minimal lighting. He dug his smart phone out of his pocket and used the flashlight app to get his bearings and determine the direction of the snowmobile tracks. He remembered he’d entered the NCIS agent’s number in his contact list and dialed. Shoving the phone under his helmet, he cupped his hand over the mic and his mouth so that he could be heard over the howl of the wind.
The agent answered on the first ring. “Hello.”
“Agent Thurmon, Remy LaDue. Agent Sanders has been taken.”
“Where are you?”
“On the mountain. Someone on a snowmobile snatched her from the slope.”
“Damn,” the agent said. “Look, the storm is predicted to get worse. You need to come down from the mountain now.”
With the cold wind biting his cheeks, Remy tightened his grip. “I can’t. She’s still up here, as far as I can tell. I need you to find out if there are any cabins or maintenance sheds south of Eagle’s Nest Ridge? If I’m having trouble seeing through this storm, they will have had to stop as well.”
“I’ll get with the mountain patrol, and also have a snow crawler sent your way. I retract what I told you before. No use trying to get down the mountain now. It’s too dark and dangerous. We’ll come to you.”
For the short time he’d been standing still, Remy’s body temperature had dropped, and his toes were numb with cold. Sliding up his neck scarf over his chin, he slipped his boots into the ski bindings and pushed off. The road went downhill at a slight descent, giving him just enough momentum to climb the next rise, only to be hit with the full force of the wind at the top. He squinted into the murky blizzard-like sky and thought he might have seen a yellowish blink of a man-made light.
Hope surged through his blood and powered him forward. Using his poles, he skated across the snow with his skis, aiming for the point at which he’d seen the light, praying it was a shed and Mitchell was safely inside, her bare hand warming.
If they had hurt her and dumped her over the side of the maintenance road, Remy didn’t have a chance in hell of finding her until it was too late.
Chapter Eleven
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A roaring wail nudged Mitchell back to consciousness, and she blinked to clear her vision. For a moment she thought she’d gone blind, until a light flickered on and she could see the silhouettes of two men.
“Save your phone battery,” a gruff voice said. “We might need it to find fuel for a fire.”
“I should steal the bulb out of the light outside to replace the one in here that’s burned out.”
“Yeah, you do that.” The man sitting on the other side of Flashlight Man snorted. “Got a ladder? Wanna stand out in that blizzard and unscrew a light bulb?”
“Fuck no.” The beam swung her way. “How will we know when she’s awake if we don’t use the flashlight?”
Mitchell closed her eyes almost all the way, leaving just a slit so that she could watch what they were doing. Her arms were trapped together in front of her body, the sleeves of her jacket wrapped in duct tape. A dull ache pounded in her head.
“She’ll be out for a while. She hit the ground pretty hard. Besides, she’s tied up. What could she do, anyway?”
“Why didn’t we just kill her and dump her over a cliff?” Flashlight man spat on the floor. “The snow would have buried her until spring.”
“Rocco wanted her alive. He has plans for her.”
The man with the flashlight clicked it off and chuckled. “Bet he plans on selling her to the highest bidder.”
“Yeah. She should bring top dollar. She’s in good shape. I saw her in the pool last night. Looks great in a bikini.”
The light flashed on. “How long do you think we’ll be holed up here?” Light blinked off.
“Too long, if you ask me. And it’s getting colder. If this storm doesn’t let up soon, it’ll be morning before we can get out.”
Again, the light came on. “Rocco ain’t gonna like that. Too many eyes in the light of day. Someone might recognize him from his picture on TV.”
“Good news is that if we can’t get out because of the storm, Rocco can’t fly out either. He’ll be coolin’ his heels in that hangar at the airport. Turn off that damned light.”
Mitchell’s heart skipped several beats. Rocco was in Vail.
The light blinked off. “Do ya think Joey made it back to the airport?” Flashlight man said into the dark.
“I think he had the toughest job of all of us. Attackin
g a SEAL, even if he’s not expectin’ it, isn’t something I’d wanna do.”
“He was supposed to kill him and meet us here.”
No. Mitchell refused to believe Remy was dead. But that didn’t stop her chest from aching and her eyes burning with unshed tears. She focused on getting out of her current situation alive so that she could get back to Remy.
As far as she could tell, she was laying on the floor of what appeared to be an equipment shed littered with shovels, old snowmobile skids, a faded gas can, and a broken-down rescue basket. She guessed it was a shed on the ski slope. Thankfully, they hadn’t made it off the mountain, and Rocco’s orders weren’t to kill her. He wanted her to suffer for breaking up his and Candy’s human trafficking operation.
Unfortunately, just because they caught Rocco, didn’t mean the NCIS stopped the flow of women being sold. Nor had they jailed the men or organizations who bought them to establish brothels for paying customers. The money was good. Rocco and Candy probably had a stash somewhere in a foreign bank with which they could restart the business.
While the light was off, Mitchell raised her arms and sank her teeth into the tape around her forearms. She managed to gnaw through one layer before the light flashed on again. She laid her arms down slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself.
“Bet Rocco’s glad Candy’s still in jail.” Flashlight Man shone the light into the far corner, running it along the wall to the other corner before he clicked it off. “You don’t think he’ll try to bust her out?”
“Hell, no. She jerked his chain every which way and acted like she ran the show. Rocco’s probably glad she’s out of the picture.”
A long stretch of silence followed, and then the guy with the smart phone flashlight said, “This storm fuckin’ sucks.” The light blinked on and the man stood. “I’m gonna check outside. If we can see anything, I vote we get off this mountain while we can. I don’t wanna get caught up here all night.” He jerked open the door, and it slammed against the wall with the force of an arctic blast blowing though.
The wind chilled Mitchell, but gave her the distraction and noise she needed to tear through several more layers of the tape. Just a little more and—
“Shut the fuckin’ door, dumbass.” The other man lurched to his feet and shoved the door closed. “It’s cold enough in here without you letting out any heat we generate.”
“Did you see? Storm looks like it’s easing up.”
The flashlight shined into the other man’s face and he raised his hand to block the light. “So?”
“So, with the headlight on the snowmobile, we should be able to drive down the mountain. Come on.” Flashlight Man zipped the front of his jacket all the way up to his chin, reached down, and grabbed Mitchell’s jacket, dragging her to her feet.
She slumped, pretending she was still out of it, falling like deadweight into Flashlight Man.
“Damn, woman. I know you’re awake. Don’t fuck with me.” He backhanded her, sending her staggering across the cramped space. She tripped over the empty gas can and landed on her knees on the hard dirt floor. What the men couldn’t see was that she’d broken through the last of the tape.
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t relish being caught here with the chick on our hands. Rocco’s the one who was convicted. If anyone goes to jail for assaulting a fed, let it be him.”
“Now you’re talking.” Flashlight Man shined the light toward her. “Get up, bitch.” He kicked her hip.
She pretended to fall, landing on her side. Then she rolled over, caught Flashlight Man’s legs between hers and twisted, sending him toppling to the ground.
Jumping to her feet, she plowed headfirst into the other man with her helmet, glad they hadn’t seen fit to remove it. The hard plastic made a great battering ram and she used it to her best advantage, slamming the guy up against the wall.
He hit hard, but was so wrapped in cold weather padding, the blow didn’t hurt him badly enough to knock him out.
Her only hope was to get out of the shed and hide in the snowstorm.
“I wouldn’t try it,” said the man against the wall as he held her Glock aimed at her chest.
“I’m gonna kill that bitch.” Flashlight Man stood, dripping blood from his nose, and lunged forward.
Mitchell sidestepped him and shoved him in the back, sending him straight into the other guy.
The gun went off with a blast that echoed, and Flashlight Man slumped to the ground.
“Fuck!” the other man yelled. “Look what you made me do. Fuck!”
Diving for the door, Mitchell yanked it open and would have made it out, but another loud bang echoed in the small confines of the shed, and heat slapped into her shoulder. Pain radiated through her chest and arms. She took one step and fell face-first into the snow, the icy flakes stinging her skin.
Though she tried to push to her knees, she couldn’t make her arm work, and rolled to her side instead. She gazed up at a dingy yellow light blinking in the storm at one corner of the shed. Something warm and sticky slid across her skin. Was this it? Was she destined to die from a gunshot wound, her body buried in the snow until someone stumbled upon her?
Had Joey succeeded in killing Remy? Was he lying on the slope, being buried by the same heavy snowfall?
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Just one.
“You bitch! You made me kill him. I should fuckin’ shoot you for that.” He aimed her own gun at her head.
Anger knifed through her. These men hurt Remy. She couldn’t leave him on the slopes to die, and she couldn’t let these men get away with murder. Not only did she have to live to help Remy, she now knew where Rocco was. She had to stay alive long enough to tell someone.
Mitchell kicked hard and fast, her heavy ski boot slamming into the man’s hand holding the gun. His wrist snapped and the gun flew out into the snow.
The man screamed and kicked hard, landing his boot in her rib.
Pain shot through her, but she wasn’t done yet. She couldn’t be.
The guy kicked again, and she grabbed his foot with her good hand and twisted.
He tripped over her body and landed on his broken wrist, screaming again. Rolling onto his side, he came up on his knees and clamped his good hand on her throat, squeezing hard.
Mitchell bucked and kicked, but couldn’t throw off the heavier man. She couldn’t let him win. Remy was somewhere on the mountain and she had to get back to him.
The yellow light faded to gray, and darkness threatened to extinguish it altogether.
No. She needed to get to Remy. She had to tell him…to tell him…that she loved him.
Remy skated across the knee-deep snow, focusing on that yellow light, now glowing brighter and brighter, like a beacon, drawing him near as if to say this is where he’d find Mitchell. And if he didn’t?
He refused to think past reaching the light.
As he drew closer, the snow abated a little, and he could make out the shape of a building. The light was fixed to the outside of a maintenance shed. Still a football field distant, he picked up his heavy boots and forced his skis to slide through the snow, his calves and thighs burning from the effort.
A muffled bang alerted him to potential gunfire.
Please, not Mitchell.
He skied faster.
Suddenly, the door to the shed flew open and another shot rang out. A figure in a white jacket fell through and landed face-first in the snow.
Mitchell had been wearing a white jacket. A dark stain spread across the back of the white jacket. Was she dead? For a moment, she lay completely still. Then she rolled onto her back.
Remy couldn’t get to her fast enough.
A big man lurched out into the snow, aiming a gun at her head.
Like watching a silent moving unfolding before him, Remy could do nothing to stop the man. His shouts were swallowed by the wailing wind.
Mitchell kicked her leg, caught the man’s hand with the gun, and sent it flying through
the air, and then he fell to the ground, rolled on top of her, and was choking her when Remy finally reached the two.
He yanked off the man and slammed his fist into the man’s face hard enough that, even with his hands gloved, the punch made the man’s head snap back and he staggered backward, landing on his ass in the snow.
“Remy?”
“I’m here, babe.” Heart rate in overdrive, he squatted in the snow beside her. “Whatcha got there?” He wanted to unzip her jacket and get an idea of how bad her wound was, but the cold might kill her before the blood loss.
She coughed, and said in a scratchy voice, “I’m okay. And if you shoot that bastard, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
The man on the ground groaned and tried to crawl to where the other gun had landed in the snow.
Remy pulled his H&K .40 from his pocket and pointed it at the man. “Move, and I’ll shoot you as a Christmas present to my girl.”
The man lay still for a moment, and then flung himself toward the gun on the ground.
Remy pulled the trigger, hitting the man in the thigh.
He rolled onto his back, screaming in pain.
“Sweetheart, get my Glock, if you can.” Mitchell’s voice faded into a whisper Remy had to lean close to hear. “I like that gun.”
Torn between getting her gun and slowing the blood loss, Remy remained at her side and pressed a hand to her wound, applying enough pressure to keep her from bleeding out. He debated moving her back into the building, but the reassuring rumble of an approaching vehicle made him decide to leave her there. Using his body to block the wind and driven snow, he kept a steady pressure on her wound.
Mitchell opened her eyes and gazed upward. “Before I pass out, you need to know.”
“Whatever you have to say can wait. Conserve your energy.”
She gripped his hand with her good one and held it with surprising strength. “Rocco’s here.”
Remy turned toward the shed. “Here?”
She smiled and closed her eyes. “Not here, but in Vail. He’s at the airport, in one of the hangars.”