Black Ice

by Becca Fitzpatrick

The hut's door creaked again and something dark and alive lumbered out, its large, clawed paws crushing into the snow. Covered in thick, oily brown fur, the animal was larger than a dog. It stopped, jerking its snout up, startled by my presence. Its beady black eyes glittered hungrily behind a silvery facial mask. Grunting, snorting sounds ground low in its throat.

  I had heard stories of wolverines. They were ferocious enough to take on prey three times their size.

  The wolverine walked toward me, its gait startlingly bearlike. I turned and ran.

  I heard the wolverine loping across the snow behind me. In a panic, I tried to glance backward, and slipped. Icy slush seeped through my jeans and I curled my fingers into the snow, clutching for something to pull myself up. I grasped the first object I felt and stared at it in a stupor. The long shaft of the bone was picked dry and riddled with tooth marks. With a shriek, I flung it away.

  I got my feet under me and started sprinting toward the blur of trees ahead. Jude's name was the one clear thought drumming in my head.

  "Jude!" I screamed, praying he would hear me.

  Branches whipped at my face and the deep snow swallowed my legs. I risked a second look behind me. The wolverine was a few paces back, its eyes black with raw, animal determination.

  Dodging blindly through the trees, I tried frantically to orient myself. Which way was Jude? I swept my eyes over the frozen ground. Why couldn't I find my footprints from before? Was I heading even farther from him?

  I screamed his name again. My voice bounced off the trees, into the vast sky. Not one bird took flight. He couldn't hear me. No one could. I was alone.

  My hands were smeared with blood from the sharp spruce needles, but I was oblivious to the pain; I was sure I felt the wolverine's razor teeth and thick, hooked claws snatch at the backs of my legs.

  It grabbed me suddenly from behind. I lurched and kicked, almost as desperate to free myself as I was to stay on my feet. If I went down, it was over. I would never get back up.

  "Easy, Britt, I'm not going to hurt you."

  The knots in my chest unraveled at the sound of Jude's low, reassuring voice. The pressure inside me deflated, and I sagged against him. I made a whimpering sound of relief.

  Jude loosened his hold on me gradually, making sure I had my footing. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated. He turned me to face him. His eyes searched my face, quizzical and worried. "What happened?"

  I stared down at my scratched, bleeding hands. I couldn't find my voice.

  "I heard you screaming. I thought a bear--" He drew a rocky breath.

  Without thinking, I pressed my face to his chest. A sob hung in my throat. I just wanted to be held. Even if it was by Jude.

  Jude stood stiffly, startled by my embrace. When I didn't let go, his hands moved hesitantly up to my arms. He stroked them reluctantly at first, then settled into a soothing rhythm. I was glad he didn't touch me like he thought I'd break. I needed to know he was solid and real. When he cradled my head against his chest and murmured soothingly into my ear, I couldn't fight the tears any longer. I buried my face into his coat, crying freely.

  "I'm right here," he said gently. "I'm not leaving. You're not alone." He rested his chin on top of my head, and I found myself instinctively nestling closer. I was so cold. So bone-cold, so sucked of warmth, chilled to the very core. It felt good to let him hold me.

  Right there, in the frigid air, Jude took off his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. "Tell me what happened."

  I didn't want to think back. How ridiculous he would think I was. A wolverine, however vicious, was nothing to cry over. It could have been worse. It could have been a grizzly. I was drawing air too quickly, and it was making my head float sickeningly.

  "Take this." Jude offered me a small bottle from his coat pocket. I was so rattled, I hardly felt the liquid burn down my throat. It was cold like water, but bitter, and I sputtered and coughed as I tipped the bottle for more. Soon a certain warmth crept into my body, and my breathing relaxed.

  "At first I thought it was a bear." I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing my breath start to hitch again. I could still see the animal's snarling lips behind my eyelids. "It was a wolverine and it charged me. I thought it was going to kill me."

  "It must have heard me coming, realized it was outmatched, and bolted. It was gone by the time I found you," he said, holding me tighter.

  After I composed myself, I took a long sip from the bottle and continued, "It was hiding in an old fur trapper's hut, one that I think a girl was found dead in last October. I remember seeing a very similar hut on the news when they reported finding her body, and a minute ago I saw a small piece of yellow crime-scene tape in the sagebrush outside the hut. I think it's the same one. I found a bone outside the hut. It can't be hers, can it? The crime scene investigators would have made sure to remove all her remains, right? Please tell me you don't think it was hers!"

  I remembered the hollow way the bone had felt in my hand. A shell of death. It made me think of the leathery, decomposed body in the storage room of the first cabin. At that moment, I felt certain that death was pressing in from every reach of the mountains. What had ever made me want to come to this horrible place?

  Jude took me by the shoulders, examining my face intently. His expression clouded and his lips pressed tight with concentration. "Which girl?"

  "Kimani Yowell. Do you remember hearing about her on the news? She was a senior at Pocatello High School, and was already a concert pianist. She was invited around the country to play. Everyone said she'd go to Juilliard; she was that good. And then her boyfriend killed her. He strangled her and dragged her body up here to hide it."

  "I remember her," Jude said remotely, looking off in the distance.

  "What kind of guy kills his own girlfriend?"

  Jude did not answer. But something dark and unpleasant darted across his features.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  As we made our way back to camp, Jude walked slightly closer to me than usual. It was hard to believe that only two days ago, I'd shamelessly flirted with him at the 7-Eleven, viewing him as some kind of godsend who was saving me from humiliating myself. In two days, I'd gone from adoring him, to deploring him, to--

  At this moment, I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know what to think.

  Our sleeves accidentally brushed. Jude didn't pull away or apologize. In fact, he seemed so unbothered by it, I wondered if he noticed. I noticed. His closeness made a strange, slippery warmth pour through me. I stole a fleeting glance up at him. Unshaven and sleep-deprived, he still managed to look hot. Like a rugged REI model. He spent time outdoors--it showed in his coloring and the sun-lightened tips of his hair. A few faint lines fanned out from his eyes, the kind you got from squinting into the sun. And he had the faintest raccoon eyes from wearing sunglasses. Instead of corny, it looked almost sexy.

  Despite exhaustion, he walked with his shoulders squared--with purpose. Beneath his dark brows, his eyes gazed out at the world with a long, cool stare. Part calculating, part discriminating, I decided. But under the surface, I detected a glimmer of uneasiness. I wondered what he was afraid of, what scared him most. Whatever his fears were, he kept them buried deep.

  He saw me looking at him. Immediately, I averted my gaze. I couldn't believe he'd caught me staring. More than ever, I resented any attraction I might be feeling to him. He was my captor. He held me against my will. His recent kindness didn't change that. I had to remind myself of who he really was.

  But who was he really? He and Shaun had never made sense as partners. Jude--Mason--had never been cruel. And he had tried to warn me and Korbie not to come in the cabin. I gave a conflicted sigh. Nothing about Jude added up.

  "First order of business, get you warm," he said. "After that, we have to find food. It's too early for berries, so we're going to have to hunt."

  The past two days I'd been wary and even suspicious of Jude's seeming concern for my well-being. This time, I found myself deeply curi
ous about his motives. When Calvin had first started showing an interest in me, he'd showered me with compliments, teased me affectionately, and made little excuses to see me, all of which were flattering, but the biggest clue that he liked me was his sudden interest in taking care of me. When it frosted, he scraped my car windows. At the movie theater, he made sure I had a seat in the middle of the row. When my Wrangler was in the shop, he insisted on driving me everywhere. Maybe I was reading into Jude's gestures too deeply, but I wondered if his concern for me was more than plain chivalry.

  Did he feel something for me?

  I sternly reminded myself that it didn't matter. Because I wasn't going to reciprocate his feelings, real or imagined.

  "How did you know I drive an orange Wrangler, and how did you know my dad loves fly-fishing?" I suddenly asked him, stepping over a fallen tree nearly hidden under the snow.

  "There were two cars in the parking lot of the 7-Eleven. An older-model orange Jeep Wrangler and a BMW X5. When I walked into the store, I immediately pinned your ex with the Bimmer and you with the Wrangler," he explained. "It had two faded, peeling bumper stickers: 'My Other Ride Is a Drift Boat' and 'I Brake for Riffles.' I assumed the Wrangler belonged to your dad before he gave it to you."

  It hadn't, but he'd caught a lucky break. Actually, the bumper stickers were one of the reasons my dad had bought the Wrangler. He felt a kinship to fishermen, and illogically trusted them over other men.

  "What made you so sure I didn't drive the BMW?" I pressed, not sure if I should feel insulted or proud.

  "Your sunglasses came from Target. Your ex had on Fendi. Most people who go flashy do it across the board."

  I tried to think of the last time I'd been that observant about anything. "Do you always match people with their cars at the gas station?" I joked.

  He shrugged. "It's a riddle. I like solving problems."

  "Interesting. You're a riddle to me."

  Jude's gaze cut to mine, then away.

  To break the strange feeling buzzing in the air between us, I cocked my head speculatively. "So. Are you one of those genius types?"

  His countenance automatically closed off, as if he had trained himself not to reveal anything in the face of personal inquiry. After a moment, his expression softened, and a faint smile played around his mouth. "Would it impress you to know my third-grade teacher had me tested for photographic memory?"

  I waved an arm nonchalantly through the air. "Nah, not at all."

  He scratched his head, smiling wider. "I failed. But was close enough to be considered."

  I counted his strengths off on my fingers. "So you practically have photographic memory. And you have excellent survival skills. Anything else I should know? Like maybe where you go to school--you are in college, aren't you?"

  "I dropped out last year."

  I hadn't seen that coming. Jude struck me as a serious, studious person, not a dropout. "Why?"

  "I had to take care of something," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders uncomfortably.

  "Gee, that makes everything clear."

  His mouth hardened at the edges, leading me to believe I'd hit a nerve. "Everyone needs secrets. They keep us vulnerable."

  "Why would anyone want to be vulnerable?"

  "To keep their guard up, so they don't get sloppy."

  "I don't understand."

  "If you have a weakness, you have to work hard to defend it. You can't be lazy about it."

  "What's your weakness?"

  He laughed, but not with amusement. "You really think I'll tell?"

  "Worth a shot."

  "My sister. I love her more than anything."

  His answer took me by complete surprise. Somehow, with that single answer, it was like a layer had been lifted and I could see a softer side of Jude. On the outside, he was a rugged and skilled man, a force to be reckoned with. But on the inside, there was a tender goodness about him.

  "I wasn't expecting that," I said after a moment. "It sounds like she means a lot to you."

  "My dad died when I was a baby, and my mother remarried. My sister was born a few months before my third birthday, and I remember thinking she was the worst thing that would ever happen to me." He smiled. "I got over myself pretty fast and figured out how wrong I was."

  "Is she in California?"

  "Haven't seen her since I left home."

  "You must miss her."

  Jude laughed again, and this time it was thick with emotion. "I took my role as her brother and protector seriously. I swore nothing bad would ever happen to her."

  I exhaled slowly. A certain sadness and longing fluttered inside me. Jude would not know it, but I believed I understood how his sister felt. My dad and Ian had always protected me. I counted on them for everything. I felt like I was the center of their world, and I took no shame in it. They weren't here now, but Jude was. And in a strange, unexplicable way, I found myself jealous of his sister. Jealous that he was thinking of her, when I wanted him to be thinking of me.

  "What about you?" Jude said. "What secrets are you keeping?"

  "I don't have secrets." But I did. I was keeping one very big secret from Jude, and I wouldn't even allow myself to think it, because it was wrong. So very wrong. Suddenly I couldn't look him in the eye, afraid I'd blush if I did.

  "How did you and Shaun become friends?" I asked.

  "Not friends," Jude corrected. "You were right about that. We worked together, that's it."

  "So you didn't like him--you never liked him?" I pressed.

  "We had nothing in common."

  "Where did you work?"

  "Odd jobs, here and there," he answered vaguely.

  "What kind of odd jobs?"

  "Nothing to be particularly proud of," he said in a way that made it clear he wasn't going to divulge more on the matter. "Shaun had things I needed. And vice versa."

  "What happened at the Subway store? Was that a job--a job gone wrong?"

  Jude snorted. "That was a robbery. Plain and simple. After I saw you at the 7-Eleven, I met up with Shaun at our motel," he replied, startling me with his response. I hadn't expected him to be so forthcoming. Maybe he too was tired of building walls. "We had some business to take care of in Blackfoot, and we went together in his truck. On the way, Shaun wanted to stop for a late lunch--or so he told me. He went inside the Subway, held the cashier at gunpoint, then panicked when an officer arrived on the scene."

  "Where were you when this happened?"

  "In the truck," Jude said with thinly veiled rancor. "I heard the shot and started to climb out. I didn't know what was going on. Shaun came running and yelled at me to get back in the truck. If I hadn't gotten back in, Shaun would have taken off without me, and I would have been arrested. Plus, the gun Shaun used to shoot the officer was mine. So I got in the truck and we fled. We went through the mountains, hoping to evade the police, but then the snow hit. We were forced to wait out the storm, and that's when we met you."

  "Why did Shaun have your gun?"

  He uttered a loathsome laugh. "Last week, before we came to the mountains, Shaun had me go with him to collect money from a guy who owed him. It was my job to lean on the guy. We didn't give him the heads-up we were coming, but he must have gotten tipped off. We'd only been there a couple minutes when we heard sirens. We bolted for the alley, and the police followed on foot. I had to dump my gun, and Shaun saw me throw it in a garbage bin right before we split up. We lost the cops, but by the time I circled back to the garbage bin, my gun was gone. Shaun got to it first, and he wouldn't return it. I came up with a few ideas to get it back, but they all would take time. If I'd known a few days later he was going to shoot a cop, I would have worked faster."

  "So you feel bad about what happened?"

  "Of course I do."

  "You expect me to believe you're a good guy, then?"

  Jude tossed his head back with an abrupt laugh. "A good guy? Is that really what you think?"

  I did
n't want to tell Jude what I thought of him. He made me feel tingly and loose and hot under the skin. He'd told me--in his own words--that he was dangerous. And while his dark eyes did smolder with secrets, I had seen beyond them. I knew that buried under the surface was a gentleness, a kindness. It was as endearing as alluring. I recalled Jude's taut, disciplined body when I'd watched him undress at the ranger patrol cabin. He made Calvin look like a boy. I glanced furtively at Jude, my eyes flitting automatically to the soft, mysterious set of his mouth, wondering what it would feel like to--

  I choked at the thought.

  Jude regarded me peculiarly. "What's wrong?"

  Fingering my neck, I said, "Must be getting a cough."

  "Your face is bright red. Do you want some water?"

  Why not? Clearly I needed something to cool me off.

  Before he could reach for the canteen at his hip, Jude came up short. His hand instinctively gripped my arm, holding me back. He stared into the woods, a flash of panic registering in his brown eyes.

  "What is it?" I whispered, my stomach squeezing instinctively.

  Jude's body remained tense for several more beats, until at last his hold on me relaxed. "Timber wolves. Three of them."

  I followed his line of vision. I squinted at where the shadows made strange patterns on the glittering snow, but I didn't see movement.

  "They're gone now," Jude said. "They came to check us out."

  "I thought wolves avoided humans." Calvin had told me stories of spotting wolves while hiking. In the time it took him to pull out his camera, they always ran away.

  "They are. They won't attack unless they're sick or provoked." Jude's eyes fell on mine with a look of significance. "I'm worried about grizzly bears. They often follow wolves, then move in after the pack makes a kill. They're freeloaders. Especially in the spring, when they've been hibernating and they're hungry."

  "In other words, where there's a wolf, there's a grizzly bear." I shuddered, but this time not from cold.

  My stomach scraped with hunger.

  I could not picture myself killing an animal, but I was also deliriously hungry. The hollow ache wore me down to where my thinking shifted, and I agreed to join Jude on the hunt for breakfast. My body had long ago burned through the canned corn I'd eaten yesterday evening for dinner, and I could not continue hiking without food. Hunger pecked incessantly at my thoughts, until it was the only thing I could think about. I wanted to get to Idlewilde as soon as possible, but there was no way we'd last the strenuous and demanding hike without eating first.