It was time to move on. Time to put this past behind her.
She knelt at his side and reached for the beanie but stopped. It’d been his favorite head warmer. The Seattle Seahawks logo was embroidered on the front, and around the edges he’d had the player’s signatures inked into the fabric. It was one of a kind, and perfect to prove it was Milton’s original beanie.
She stepped back and photographed him, taking care to zoom in on the beanie. Then, with the video on, she filmed her hand removing the beanie. It was frozen solid and cracked as she pulled it upward. She lifted his mirrored glasses off too.
Thankfully his eyes were closed, and other than a red graze to his right temple, he didn’t appear wounded. She turned back to the camera and replayed the footage to confirm it was sufficient. Satisfied, she removed the knife from her pocket and cut one of the frozen curls from Milton’s head. She put it in the beanie and put both in a zippered pocket in her jacket.
With that done, she raised her face toward the opening. “I’m coming up now.”
“Thank Christ.”
Holly took her time surveying the crevice walls, planning out the best route. She decided the one that led to her ledge was the best, if only because it’d provide her with a decent place to rest. Oliver could get a rope down to her from there and haul her up the rest of the way.
She put her glove back on, and with nothing left to do, she rammed her ice axe into the wall and took her first step upward. Holly ensured each spike with the axe sounded solid and complete, just like her mountaineering guide had taught her. Only once she was happy with the axe’s position did she move. Every couple of minutes Oliver shouted encouragement down to her and she relayed her progress.
It was therapeutic: right axe, left axe, boot, boot. She repeated the move over and over and over. Her advancement was slow. Too slow, and she imagined Oliver pacing back and forth up top.
But she wouldn’t rush. This took time, patience, concentration, and determination.
Whiskey Mountain had tried to kill her twice before. It hadn’t succeeded then. Damned if she’d let it win this time. Not when the man of her dreams was waiting for her at the top.
The entire time she was climbing, she’d resisted the urge to look up or down, so it surprised her when she reached the ledge. “I’m at the ledge.” After climbing up and over the side, she sat with her back against the wall and her feet splayed out before her to catch her breath.
Her dried blood was still in the ice to her left. Just a few spatters. Not enough, considering the hundreds of stitches the doctors needed to patch her up. She rolled away and crawled to Angel and Fred.
She stared at them for a long while, then, heaving a heavy sigh, she placed her hand on Fred’s knee. “Rest in peace, my friends.”
Holly lifted the locket from Angel’s fingers and opened it. Inside were two pictures of the pair. They were both smiling in the photo on the left, their arms around each other. In the photo on the right, they were sharing a kiss.
This proved their love affair. Holly gradually wove the gold chain from Angel’s frozen fingers and placed the prized possession in her top pocket.
“I’m so mad at you.” She turned toward Oliver’s voice. He was dangling from a rope in the crevice.
“Hi, honey.”
“Don’t ‘hi honey’ me. That was a stupid thing you did down there.”
“But it’s okay. I’m here now.”
He tossed a rope toward her. “Yeah, well don’t mess around anymore.”
Holly clipped the rope to her harness. “Okay, boss.”
“I’m not joking, Holly. A big storm is coming. We’ve gotta get back to that plane.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Regi was on his stomach, peering into the hole, waiting to see Holly finally show on the end of the rope. The weather had changed dramatically. Clouds had come out of nowhere, covered the sun completely, and made it even harder to see anything down the damn hole. The wind whipped up, spitting frozen pellets from the icy overhang into his face.
“There she is.” He turned to Oliver; whose look of pure grit showed just how quickly he was trying to haul Holly up.
She smiled up at him. “I got it, Regi. Photos, hair, and his beanie.”
Regi swallowed back the lump in his throat that made it difficult to breathe. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Holly crawled up over the edge, and the second she was free he went to her and wrapped his arms around a woman he barely knew. She’d just saved his ass. “I can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you.”
She clapped him on the back. “Thank you.”
He pulled back. “For what?”
“For telling me about Milton.”
“Oh.” He had no idea how that was a good thing.
“Holly! We need to get moving.” Oliver jabbed a finger skyward.
Black clouds swirled like they’d been caught in a blender, and the wind howling up the mountain was both freezing and packing a punch.
Oliver took charge, roping them all together and making decisions on what they’d take and what they’d leave. Within fifteen minutes of Holly stepping out of the chasm, they started walking. Regi looked up the mountain, trying to see the wreck, but it was gone, hidden completely by years of snow. Thank god the two stone pillars gave them something to aim for.
They formed a line, Oliver in the front and him at the end. Holly was in the middle, and as he watched her progress through the increasing whiteout, he tried to comprehend why she’d done what she did. Holly had put her life on the line for him. No one had ever done that before. Not one person. He wasn’t even sure his mother would do it.
Holly had said she’d help him. But the extent she’d gone to was crazy.
His thoughts turned to Carson, and he wondered how he’d react to the news of Pope’s death. The answer came quickly: he wouldn’t. Carson didn’t care about anyone. Not Pope, not Regi, and not even the women he surrounded himself with.
Once he gave him his money, Regi had no intention of ever seeing that asshole again.
But then he thought of Pope’s comment. Was it true? Would Carson still have his claws in, even after Regi payed him off?
The wind howled at him like a tormented beast, driving the anger growing inside him. With each step he took, he grew more certain that even once Carson had what he was owed, Regi would still be trapped.
His calf muscles were killing him, and his ears were aching so much from the cold he wondered if they were frozen solid. They seemed to be taking forever. It’d grown dark too, and he wished he had a headlamp like Holly. Thank god he was attached to her rope; it was the only thing showing which way to go.
The howling wind changed slightly. It seemed more high-pitched, and he looked to his left, trying to work out why. To his surprise, he saw the plane. Oliver and Holly had walked right past it. He planted his feet and pulled on the rope. Three short tugs.
The rope tried to pull him forward, but he pulled back. Again, he gave three short tugs.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Holly signaled back to him by pulling on the rope. Soon the rope was loose, and he looped it over and over, taking up the slack, confirming they were walking back to him.
As soon as he saw Holly materialize out of the whiteout, he cupped his hands and yelled, “Plane!”
She looked in the direction he pointed and moments later gave him a thumbs-up signal. When she reached his side, she touched his shoulder. “Good work. I can’t believe we missed it.”
“Holy shit,” Oliver said once he got to them. “That could’ve been bad.”
Regi couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something that filled him with such pride. Riding that wave, he led the way to the plane door, shoved the new layer of snow from the bottom of the entrance, and swung it open.
He stepped in and plonked into the middle seat. The other two didn’t come in right away, and when he looked out and saw them untying their rope, he removed his gloves and did the same.
> Holly came in and he handed her his end of the rope. She tossed it outside.
Oliver remained outside, sorting through stuff in the sled. Regi hoped he was planning on food, because he was starving. None of them had eaten since the night before.
Holly went to the back of the plane and sat looking down at Chancy’s body.
“What’re we going to do with him?”
She looked Regi’s way and shrugged. “I don’t think we should take him back ourselves. I’ll arrange for someone to come get him, though, and the pilot.”
Holly seemed really beat up about what happened to Chancy, though he was pretty certain they didn’t know each other.
She turned to him, and when their eyes met, he was stunned by how blue they were. “Regi, you know we’ll need to make up a story, don’t you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Well, Oliver and I said we were coming up here to retrieve Milton’s body, but we didn’t succeed. You and Pope said you were here for an insurance claim. Now that people have died, we need to figure a few things out.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“We know. None of us did.”
Regi was thinking that Oliver had sorta killed Pope. Then again, if Regi hadn’t punched Pope, the gun wouldn’t have gone off. So maybe he sorta killed Chancy too.
The door creaked open, luring Regi from his tumbling thoughts. “Who’s hungry?” Oliver tossed a couple of packets of freeze-dried meals onto the front seat.
“Hell yeah.”
As Oliver set about making their meals, Regi toyed with his earlier thought. If he wanted to, he could label Oliver as Pope’s murderer—if he needed to, that was. If Holly and Oliver decided to throw him under the bus when they got back, he’d have his own backup plan.
Holly moved away from Chancy and sat opposite Regi. “Olly, I was just talking to Regi about our need to get our story straight.”
Oliver looked up from the stove he was getting ready to light. “What story?”
She turned to Regi. “It seems that we both have secrets. You didn’t want anyone to know you were looking for Milton’s DNA, and we didn’t want anyone to know we were looking for Angel and Fred’s bodies. It’s a crazy coincidence that put us all together.”
“You got that fucking right. Why were you looking for those people anyway? Was it the money?”
A look of sadness crossed her eyes. “It’s a long story.”
He held his hands wide. “Got nothin’ else to do.”
She huffed and looked at Oliver as he ripped one of the packets open. “He’s right.”
Holly pulled her water bottle from her pack, and after taking a swig she turned to him. “Four years ago, I took a helicopter flight up here with Milton. We crashed, and well… your father and everyone else died.”
The way she spoke, almost trance-like, made him wonder if this was something she needed to talk about. Regi decided not to tell her he’d read all about it in the paper. When she told him about Angel and Fred, though, he was glad he didn’t stop her.
She was right about it being a long story, and they’d all eaten their meals by the time she finished. Regi had never met anyone like Holly. He thought she was amazing before, when she’d fetched that stuff for him, but her willingness to risk her life for people she’d never even met was the most unselfish thing he’d ever heard of.
It was there and then that he knew he’d never need that backup plan with Oliver. And when Holly had said she’d help him, he was certain she would.
“So,” Holly said, “we need a favor. When we get back, I don’t want anyone to know about Fred or Angel. At least not until I’ve had a chance to tell Fred’s mother.”
Regi nodded. “I can manage that. But I’m going to need your help.”
“Sure.” She didn’t even hesitate.
“Well, I assume it’s going to take time to get the DNA tested and stuff. Then there’ll be more time settling the estate.” He screwed up his nose. “I don’t really know any of that stuff, but I need to get Carson off my ass as soon as I can.” He cleared his throat. “Do you reckon I could have that money? In the case?” He pointed out the window. “I’ll pay you back when my money comes through.”
“There’s no need to pay us back. It’s not our money.”
“Oh… um.” He was stunned speechless by her response.
“Let’s see how much it is.” Oliver went outside to fetch the case, and between the three of them they began counting the money stacks. Regi had never seen so many hundred-dollar bills in his life. As he counted up the thousands, it began to hit him that he was about to be rich. Mega-fucking-rich. He could ditch his boring job, buy a new car, a new house. Get one for his mother too. He could buy fancy clothes and shiny leather shoes like he’d seen Carson wear. The thought of Carson brought the whole fantasy crashing back to reality.
None of it was worth a cent if Carson continued to own him.
“Holly, when you said you’d help me, did you mean it?
“Of course.”
He believed her. One hundred percent.
The next day, everything went to plan. The weather was back to perfect and they set off as soon as the sun lit the horizon. Once they crossed through the towering pillars, Oliver used Chancy’s two-way radio to call for a rescue.
They were back at Miracle Lodge before lunch and the police were choppered in a few hours later. Holly, Oliver, and Regi were interviewed together. Regi made a point of keeping his mouth shut, and it worked exactly as planned because Holly answered most of the questions. No one seemed to question her story about Pope looking for the ransom money he’d thought was in the plane. They also didn’t ask too many questions when she told them how Pope had gone crazy and shot Chancy when the money wasn’t there.
“So, where’d he go?” the redheaded policeman asked Holly.
“We don’t know.” She shrugged. “After Pope shot Chancy, he just left the plane. Maybe he tried to come back down. We never saw him again.”
Oliver and Regi both nodded, agreeing with Holly’s story.
What the police didn’t need to know, nor anybody else, was their visit to the crevice after Chancy had been shot. As far as the police knew, they spent over twenty-four hours hiding in the wreck, from both the storm and the madman outside.
When the interview was over and the police left, Holly arranged for them all to get a helicopter back to the airport. On the way back, she handed Regi a piece of paper. “Here’s my cell number. Call me whenever you need.”
As much as he hoped he wouldn’t, he was also pretty certain he’d be needing her help again, and probably very soon.
They landed to a mob of reporters all shoving microphones in their faces. But it wasn’t him they were after, it was Holly. And while Oliver tried to save her from the pushy bastards, Regi snuck away, and that was the last he saw of them.
When his plane landed in Seattle, the temptation to go home, shower, eat, and sleep was strong. But the need to get it over with with Carson was stronger. He looked like shit. His hair was a mess, and in addition to the split in his fat lip and his black swollen eye, his face was sunburnt. He stunk too.
But he didn’t care.
Regi took a taxi from the airport straight to Carson’s gate. He paid the driver and tugged his pack from the trunk. It was the same guard from last time, but it wouldn’t matter and he knew it. He’d still have to go through the motions. Even though the pit bull had seen him walk up, he still waited until Regi knocked on the small glass panel.
“What?” he grunted.
“Reginald Tate, here to see Mr. Carson. Tell him I have his money.”
The guard cocked his head as if Regi’s comment jogged his memory. It should’ve, because it was what got him through the gate last time.
Once again Regi was ordered to sit on the bench nearby. As he waited, he wondered who Carson would send this time, now that Pope was dead.
Pope was dead.
He hadn’t
even had time to celebrate.
Regi waited out the minutes by trying to count how many times Pope had beaten him up. He was at number twelve when Carson’s Rolls-Royce Wraith curved into the waiting zone.
The side gate popped open, and Regi grabbed his pack and aimed straight for the back seat. He climbed in and checked out the driver. He’d seen him before. The man had joined Pope in many of Regi’s beatings, but Regi had no idea of his name.
He said nothing, so Regi didn’t either.
Once again, he was driven down to Carson’s twelve-car garage, but this time, when the car stopped Regi got out and made his own way to the exit. He climbed the steps, and at the top he searched for Carson. The entire house was lit up, but nobody was around. Some kind of buttery pastry was cooking in the kitchen, and the smell had Regi’s stomach growling.
Unsure of which way to turn, he waited for the driver to make his way up from the garage.
“Where is he?” Regi asked the second the man appeared on the stairs.
“In the bar.” He pointed in the direction and Regi strode that way.
After a few strides on the polished white tiles he heard music, and then laughter. Women and men. And a loud crack that sounded like the start of a game of pool.
He entered through the open double doors and Carson was there, arms open as if ready to hug him. “Ah, there he is, the man of the hour.”
Regi pulled to a stop and did a quick scan of the room. Other than Carson, he recognized only one other man, another one of Pope’s goons. Centered in the room was a giant pool table. To the left was an enormous bar, and the brunette behind it was topless. The remaining women ranged from fully clothed to nothing but G-strings. All six men and seven women around the room turned to face him. Everyone had a glass in their hand.
“Can I talk to you, please, Mr. Carson?”
“Of course.” Carson indicated to the bar.
“Alone.” Regi pleaded.
“But we all want to hear your story. It’s been headlining all day.”
That was news to Regi, and he wondered just how much Carson knew. But as he squeezed the handle of his backpack, loaded to the brim with half a million dollars, he knew Holly wouldn’t have said any more than she needed to.
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