Right now, she had good reason to try to lose him. Judging by the excitement on her face when she’d finally left the Altiers’ cabin, she’d found something inside it. And the chances that she hadn’t spotted him seemed low. So, when she rounded another corner and he heard snow crunching hard, as if she’d slammed the brakes, he eased off the side of the road and waited.
When her truck door slammed, he cursed and wedged his door open against the side of the mountain so he could climb awkwardly out of his vehicle. Better she stride over here, furious and ready for an argument than hide somewhere again while he drove past, clueless. But then she yelled “No!” and almost immediately—as if she’d been yelling at the mountain and it didn’t want to listen—an ominous crash and boom signaled an oncoming avalanche.
His heart gave a quick, painful thud and then he was running toward her, rounding the corner before he could fully think it through.
Snow rushed downward from far above, a furious waterfall of white, slowing slightly along the road before it tumbled over the other side. There was a groan of metal over the rush of snow, only the top of Alanna’s truck visible as it flipped sideways, then disappeared over the edge of the mountain.
Dread, anger and grief hit him unexpectedly hard. But he didn’t have time to linger on it, because there she was, outside the vehicle, just a flash of her red coat in the flurry of snow.
He darted toward her and his left boot slid on the spilling snow, almost taking him down, sucking him under. He looked up quickly and saw that the avalanche was slowing, the end in sight way above him. But that flash of red was too close to the edge.
Fear threatened to freeze him in place, but he gritted his teeth and changed his angle, moving toward the edge of the mountain, toward a big old tree withstanding the onslaught of snow. Wrapping an arm and a leg around it, Peter reached out with his free hand, blindly now, since that flash of red had been overrun by snow.
Somehow, he grabbed her—or at least he hoped it was her. Cursing the thick gloves that made it hard to get a good grip, he clung to the edge of material. Then the snow yanked him forward, the pull hard and unrelenting, tearing at the socket in his shoulder.
The momentum ripped him around the front of the tree and the right side of his body burned with the contact. He clung to his quarry tighter, squeezing his left hand as tightly as he could, praying the coat wouldn’t rip right out of his hand and take Alanna with it.
The snow shifted, taking a slight turn over the edge of the mountain, probably catching on the trees there. It pushed him back toward the big tree, easing the screaming pain in his shoulder and letting him get a better grip.
Suddenly, there she was, rising up on the curve of snow. First came her bright red coat, then a swash of long, dark, wet hair. Then her face, both too starkly pale and too bright red in places as she gasped for air.
“Your hand,” he croaked, his voice lost beneath the still-thundering snow. He prayed she’d hear him, grab his arm and pull herself toward him.
If she replied, he couldn’t hear it with his bad ear facing her. Instead, she tried to angle her body toward him in the snow and he saw both her arms wrapped underneath the front legs of her enormous dog. The St. Bernard was scrabbling for purchase with his huge paws and was actually managing to get a little traction, moving them both closer to Peter.
But then the last rush of snow swooped down and both of them disappeared underneath it.
Peter took a huge breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the snow claimed him, too.
* * *
SHE WAS SUFFOCATING.
The world around her finally stopped moving, but where had she landed? Had she tumbled over the edge of the mountain and managed to get wedged between some trees? Or was she still on the edge of the road, where one wrong move would send her flying over it?
She tried to move her fingers and felt Chance squirm in her arms. Tears pricked her eyes with the relief that he was still with her, still alive. But when she opened her eyes, there was only darkness. And cold like she’d never experienced.
The avalanche had buried them both. But how deeply?
She shifted along with Chance, not moving her arms from around his belly, not wanting him to go too far. Hoping there was a pocket of air, she finally had to open her mouth and gulp in a breath. There was a pocket, but it felt too little for both her and Chance, especially as her lungs demanded more, more, more.
Keeping one hand locked around Chance, she thrust the other upward, hoping to encounter fresh air. But there was only more snow. Was she really reaching up? Or had she been spun around so she thought down was up?
Don’t panic, she reminded herself as her heart started thudding faster. She thrust her arm the other way, and this time she felt hard ground. At least, she thought so. Which meant escape was above her. But was it through a few feet of loosely packed snow, just above where her fingers could reach, or twelve feet deep and pressing down hard? Would movement help her get to safety or shift the weight of the snow so it crushed them both?
Her collapsible snow shovel was in her truck, which was probably buried under the snow with her. By the time she’d heard the telltale whomp of snow breaking free that signaled an oncoming avalanche, it had been too late. She should have known better; she never should have been out here in this weather. And now Chance, who’d suffered so much as a tiny puppy, who’d been her constant, loyal companion for the past two years, would probably die with her.
Stop it, she commanded herself. She needed to find a way out for both of them. For Peter, too?
Had she imagined seeing him at the edge of the avalanche in those brief moments when the snow had shifted and let her suck in a desperate lungful of air before it pulled her under again? Had she imagined his hand reaching out, yanking her backward, even as the avalanche tried to throw her forward, over the edge of the mountain? She reached behind her, felt a hand clutching her coat and her heart gave a hard thump.
He’d tried to save her. He didn’t even like her, but he’d tried to save her life. Had it cost him his own?
The fingers locked in her coat weren’t moving. She tried to scoot toward him, tried to urge Chance to come with her. She moved slowly, terrified of triggering more snow that might crush them, not sure how close they were to the edge of the mountain.
But as she slid toward Peter, Chance broke free from her grasp. She fumbled for him, her hands grasping nothing but snow, feeling clumsy in the cold.
“Chance!” As she gasped his name, she sucked in snow and more fell, closing the gap between her and her dog. She stretched her arms farther, but couldn’t find him.
Panic took hold, squeezing her lungs tight as she turned her head and spit out the snow, trying to get more air. She found another pocket of it, but it felt stuffy, like it was already emptying of oxygen, and she tried to take shallow breaths. Reaching behind her, she tugged lightly on Peter’s arm and he moved. But she couldn’t tell if it was just gravity or if he was okay.
“Chance!” she tried again, even as she heard him moving away from her. Was he headed toward the edge of the mountain? She was too turned around to tell. Even if he managed to get free of the snow, would he fall over the edge?
Holding in a sob—for her dog, for herself, for Peter—Alanna shifted again, sliding closer to Peter. She tried calling for Chance again, but she couldn’t hear him anymore. She yelled louder, even as she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Maybe Chance could get free of the snow and save himself, at least.
Now, she had to try to do the same for her and Peter. As she scooted backward toward him through the heavy snow, his hand moved again, this time sliding down to grab her arm. Relief made more tears fill her eyes, but she blinked them back fast, not wanting them to freeze on her face.
She wasn’t shivering so much anymore. Either she was adjusting to the cold or—more likely—she was starting to face hypothermia.
“We have to get out of here,” she told Peter, even as the tiny pocket of air in front of her collapsed and more snow crashed down on her.
The weight felt crushing, the sudden lack of oxygen making her panic. She swung her arms out, trying to find a new pocket of air.
Then something scratched against her leg, a frantic pawing that got faster as she instinctively jerked away. Chance! He was trying to save her.
He was behind her now. Did that mean he’d somehow dug free of the avalanche? Alanna moved her legs, trying to help him free her. She grabbed Peter’s hand as Chance suddenly took her ankle in his mouth and tugged.
She slid backward about a foot, snow crushing her even more, making her lungs and chest hurt. Then Chance’s paws were up near her head and the snow in front of her face suddenly broke away, giving her precious air as the weight on her eased. She scooted toward him, trying to pull Peter with her, but Chance had already turned away from her.
He had started digging frantically beside her and soon Peter’s torso and head emerged from the snow. Peter dropped her hand, somehow pulling himself forward, and then he and Chance were digging her the rest of the way out, dragging her free of the snow.
Struggling to her knees, Alanna threw shaky arms around Chance’s back as she stared at the huge pile of snow. It was as tall as a house in the middle. Somehow, she, Peter and Chance had been at the edge of the avalanche, where it wasn’t as high, where it hadn’t smashed down hard enough to crush their bones or suffocate them. Her truck was gone, either buried under it or tossed over the side of the mountain, crashed somewhere below.
But she was alive. Chance was alive. And Peter was alive. That was all that mattered.
She stumbled to her feet and the bitter wind sliced through her wet clothes. Her teeth started chattering as Peter grabbed her hand.
“Come on. My truck’s around the corner. We have to warm up.”
As she stumbled after him, Chance at her side, Alanna realized his truck was far enough away that he could have avoided the avalanche altogether. He’d run toward it to save her, even though he didn’t like her, even though he seemed to think she might be in cahoots with a kidnapper.
He didn’t trust her. She didn’t trust him, either. But he’d risked his life for her, which meant he was a good person. They might not agree on how to go about it, but they had the same ultimate goal: to save the kids Darcy had kidnapped.
They rounded the bend and Peter held open the door to his truck, waiting for her and Chance, his face a bright, unnatural red from the cold.
She slowed and he urged, “Come on, Alanna. Hurry.”
“I want to work together,” she blurted.
“What?”
It didn’t matter what they thought of each other. She’d figure out a way to convince Peter that he needed to bring Darcy in carefully, peacefully. He had resources she didn’t, like access to whatever the Desparre police learned from other law enforcement. But she had resources he needed, too, and an insight into Darcy’s mindset that he’d never figure out without her.
They’d be stronger together.
“Let’s work together to find Darcy and save those kids.”
He stared at her a minute, something pensive in his brilliant blue eyes, then he nodded. “Deal. Now get in the truck.”
CHAPTER SIX
It was amazing they’d lived through the avalanche.
He wasn’t sure he could handle another minute out in this cold. Instead of running around to the driver’s side and trying to wedge the door open so close to the upward slant of the mountain, Peter clambered into his truck behind Alanna and Chance. His limbs were clumsy from the cold. He slammed the door shut behind him, pressing awkwardly against the dog until Chance leaped into the back to get out of the way. Then, Alanna scooted into the driver’s seat, giving him a little space.
He’d left the truck running with the heat blasting, but he could barely feel it now. He turned it up all the way, then yanked off his sopping wet gloves. He reached up to take off his hat and discovered it was gone. His short hair was iced over and when he ran his hand through it, ice and water flew across the seat. Thrusting his hands in front of the heater, he glanced at Alanna, who’d slumped against the seat and closed her eyes.
“Come on,” he told her and started unzipping her thick coat, which was definitely made for an Alaskan winter but not for getting buried in an avalanche. His fingers felt too big, swollen beyond their normal size and clumsy. But at least he could feel them, the stinging pain assuring him the nerves still worked.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, but the question had no heat. Her eyes opened, then drifted closed again.
“We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” he muttered, running his tongue over his lip, which was way past chapped and split open as he spoke. “Come on,” he said again, and this time, Chance pitched in.
The St. Bernard pressed his big head through the space between the seats and grabbed Alanna’s sleeve with his mouth, tugging on it until she opened her eyes again.
She turned toward him sluggishly. “You okay, Chance?”
“He saved us,” Peter said, giving the dog a quick pat on the head. “I guess he knows St. Bernards are snow rescue dogs.”
Chance let go of Alanna’s coat long enough to give a brief bark, which made Peter laugh and startled Alanna, finally seeming to focus her.
“It’s so cold,” she said, trying to tug the zipper back up on her coat.
“Nope.” Peter ignored the squelch of his own uncomfortable, freezing clothes as he shifted to get closer to her. He yanked her gloves off and tossed them on the floor behind them, then awkwardly pulled off her coat. At least she could feel the cold. Her hands were bright red, which was definitely better than being unnaturally white, but they both needed to warm up fast.
Grunting at the uncomfortable angle and his aching body, he leaned over her and unlaced her boots, tugging them off her feet. Then came her thick socks. Her toes were too white and he rubbed them for a minute, then shoved her feet underneath the floor heaters.
When he came back up, she was shivering. A good sign.
“Get the rest of your clothes off,” he said, slipping out of his own coat and dumping it on the floor behind him, careful not to drop it on Chance.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, leaning over the dog as he grabbed the stack of blankets he always kept in the vehicle in case of an emergency. Getting stalled out in Desparre could mean death if you weren’t prepared.
He set most of the stack between him and Alanna, then tossed one over Chance, rubbing down the dog’s back to dry some of the dampness.
Realizing Alanna was just staring at him, he yanked off his sweater and snapped, “Hurry up.”
She flushed, a different shade of red flooding along her cheeks and neck, and quickly averted her gaze.
She was only five years younger than him, but he suddenly felt much older. He’d been inside war zones for years, lost most of the hearing in one ear and experienced huge change to his professional and personal life as a result. And her?
He realized he was still staring at her as she tried to cover herself with one of the blankets and shimmy out of her soaking jeans at the same time, so he turned the other way. Then he yanked off his boots and socks, sighing as the blast of heat hit his bare toes.
She’d been kidnapped at five years old and, if news reports could be believed, she’d lived a pretty sheltered life with the Altiers. What had her life been like since she’d returned home to Chicago? Had her real family smothered her, too, afraid to let her out of their sight again? Had she ever ventured out on her own before this?
Resisting the urge to glance at her again, he yanked off the rest of his clothes, shivering as the hot air hit his wet skin. There wasn’t much space in the passenger seat, but he managed to get the itchy wool blanket wrapped all the way
around him. Then he closed his eyes and let the warmth inside the truck seep into him.
Alanna was on his bad ear’s side, but in the close confines of the truck, it didn’t matter. All too easily, he could hear her moving around, presumably still in the process of undressing. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, suddenly picturing the paleness of her skin, the long, lean legs that had been encased in jeans earlier. Things he had no business imagining.
When the noise finally stopped, he asked tightly, “You covered?”
“Yes.”
He opened his eyes, trying not to actually glance at her. But he couldn’t help himself.
She was wrapped tightly in the dark wool blanket, covered up to her chin with her drenched hair draped over the front of the blanket and sticking to the seat behind her. Her cheeks were still a patchy red, but it was the bright red of standing outside in Alaska too long, not from embarrassment or shyness.
“You okay?” he asked, staring into her deep brown eyes. It suddenly hit him how beautiful she was.
He hadn’t noticed it before, not really. He’d been far too busy trying to figure out how she’d gone from kidnap victim to accomplice, enabler and defender of criminals.
But she wasn’t out here, risking her life, just for Darcy. She was here for those kids, too, kids she probably identified with because she’d once been in exactly their position. She had to be.
One of her hands slipped free from the mounds of wool and squeezed his arm. “Thank you for coming after me.”
“It’s lucky I happened to be following you around.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but she laughed.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you mean what you said earlier? About working together to find those kids?”
Tiny lines appeared between her graceful eyebrows. “Of course.”
Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 2 of 2 Page 44