Chill (4 page)

Isabella tensed as the Hummer skidded around the sharp turn of the highway on-ramp. The truck’s rear slid out and its front end careened straight toward the guardrail. She hauled the steering wheel to left, the truck bounced back up on the road and she slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the breakdown lane.

She was shaking so badly she could barely get the gearshift into park. She draped her arms over the steering wheel and dropped her forehead to the cool leather, trying to calm down.

But despair and grief welled up and burst free. She pressed her palms to her eyes, rocking back and forth as the sobs shattered her defenses. Was Marcus dead? Was Roseann? What about her baby? Were Leon and Nate after her?

Of course they were.

She couldn’t stop. It wasn’t over. She needed to get help. But where? Whom could she turn to?

Not Leon.

Not the police. She knew enough about Marcus’s business to know she couldn’t bring the police in.

She had to pull it together. Focus.

Who would help her? Who could she trust?

Isabella looked down at the necklace. Answers were in there. She quickly started the truck and drove a half mile to the service area ahead, hiding her vehicle behind an eighteen-wheeler.

She put the cark in park, then turned her attention to the necklace. Her hands were trembling so much it took three tries to unfasten it. She turned on the interior light and began to inspect it. She needed to know what was so important about the piece that Leon would shoot her.

God. He’d
shot
her. Her shoulder was throbbing, but she forced herself to ignore it. No time to be hurt.

Instead, she carefully assessed the jewels, but found nothing unusual. She flipped the necklace over…and found a little mark by the clasp.

Please, God, don’t let it be what I think it is.

Her hand trembling, she looked more closely at the necklace. The etching was a double X, carved in a style only one man had ever used. An artist who had switched over to jewelry in a stroke of genius. He’d made only three pieces before he was murdered: a necklace and a pair of earrings. His tribe had converged to protect his legacy, and they had held on to those three items for centuries, killing anyone who tried to take them. Eventually, the tribe had dissolved, and the jewelry had been declared missing.

They were priceless—for the stones, the design and their rarity.

“Oh, God.” She pressed her hand to her chest, which was too tight to breathe, the truck beginning to spin, her vision starting to darken.
This
was what Marcus had gotten them involved in?

People like Zack were just the start. And Leon…dear God. How much money was it really worth? Enough to make him turn on Marcus? And now
she
had it. People would be after her. Chasing her. Her shoulder throbbed. What would Leon do to Marcus to force her to give it back? He’d said Marcus needed to be alive only until she turned it back in.

If she went back, Marcus would die. And probably she would, too.

She pressed her hands to her head, trying to think, trying to focus. How did she save Marcus? Herself? Make the nightmare go away and leave them alive? She was so out of her depth. There had to be something she could do. Someone who could help.

But only Marcus would understand what they were facing. Marcus or—

She sat up, her hands clenching the steering wheel.
Marcus’s son.

From everything she’d heard about him, he would understand the severity of the situation, and he had the skills she needed. Marcus had even said the necklace had once been his special project. But he would never help his father. The hate ran so deep…

Marcus’s son would never knowingly save his father’s life, or his business, or help anyone associated with him.

But what if she asked for help but didn’t tell him why, until he was too deep to get out? It was her only chance. It had to work.

Marcus’s son was going to be difficult to fool, which was why he had been so good at his job.

But she had to try.

Without him…

She glanced at the necklace resting on the seat beside her, and knew the red stone wasn’t a ruby. It was the lifeblood of everyone who had ever touched it.

And hers would be next, unless she could convince the one man in the world who wouldn’t help her, to do exactly that.

And the moment she made contact with him, his life would be on the docket as well.

She hesitated at the thought. How could she endanger someone else?

But she knew she had to.

Somewhere out there, Marcus was being held by the men who had killed Roseann. She had to do something. From all she’d heard, Marcus’s son could take care of himself.

But could he take care of her? And more importantly, would he?

She knew he’d try to say no, but she wasn’t going to let him. He was her only option. Even a bad option was better than no option.

Car headlights flashed behind her, and she tensed. She held her breath as the car slowly passed her, but it was a light blue Mini, not the kind of car Leon and the others were driving. A respite, but she knew they were tracking her, and they wouldn’t be far behind.

Now at least she had a plan. Maybe a bad one, but it was still a plan, and she was still alive. Not the best odds, but she’d survived on long odds before.

She’d had practice, and this time, the life of someone she loved was at stake.

This time, she wasn’t going to fail to keep that person alive.

This time, she was going to win.

This one’s for you, Mama.

She hit the gas hard and the truck leapt out into the night.

Less than thirty-six hours after the water rescue, Luke stepped out of his plane with a new, much more gruesome cargo. He ground his jaw as he opened the rear door of his plane for the paramedics.

“Out of the way!” The young medic shoved Luke aside, and Luke jammed his hands in his pockets as he watched the procedure. Nearly midnight, it was pitch black outside, and the only light came from the medics’ hats and the dim interior light in his plane.

They were going through the motions, but Luke knew the female climber in the back of his plane would never climb again. She’d never do a damn thing again. The same storm that had nearly taken out his scientists had trapped another set of his clients on the mountain.

Because he’d gone to get the scientists first, he’d missed the window to get on the mountain, and he’d had to wait for the storm to clear before he’d been able to get up there. A deliberate, intelligent choice. The climbers were experienced enough to survive a storm.

But not a broken leg and a lost climber.

And now she was dead.

“Hey.” Cort clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Get a beer with me.”

“Fuck that.” Luke couldn’t take his eyes off the action in his plane. Off the climbers huddled around the woman’s body. The grim silence.

“Hey!” Cort punched him in the arm. “Cut the crap. I need a beer and you’re buying.”

Luke scowled at Cort. “I—”

Cort shook his head once. “Gotta let it go, buddy. It’s the nature of the job.” He jerked his head toward the bar just across the street. “You’re nothing but a stranger sticking his nose into their business. They want space to deal. Give it to them.”

Luke let out his breath, then turned and silently followed his partner across the new snowfall dusting the ground. He zipped up his jacket, hunching his shoulders against the bitterness of the night. Fall was coming hard and fast to Alaska, and the nights were getting cold. Cold and darkness had come home, and they fit his mood tonight. He kicked at a tree branch that had been ripped apart by the storm, but said nothing as they walked into the dimly lit building.

He dropped to his seat and let his head rest against the wall as he surveyed the patrons at Rick’s Tavern. Their favorite place was the Shed, a tavern in Twin Forks. But that was forty-five minutes away, and after a night in hell, sometimes the proximity of a beer was more important than the atmosphere.

Like tonight.

Cort dropped a couple of mugs of brew on the table, then took over the bench across from Luke. He also looked a little haggard. Cort raised his mug.

Without a word, Luke lifted his and they clanked their mugs together.

No words needed to be spoken.

They both had felt Death’s rancid breath on the backs of their necks out there tonight. The storm had still been raging up on the mountain, barely abating enough to land. And then taking bodies back…four total. It had taken two trips for each of them, carting the frozen dead back to the airport, along with the shocked survivors and their gear.

On the last trip Luke had lost his focus for a split second and nearly let a gust of wind take him into the side of a mountain. It was the closest he’d come to biting it in a long time, pretty much since the first time he’d soloed and crashed.

His knee still ached from that mistake eight years ago, and he was glad. That ache kept him sharp, always a reminder of the costs of fucking up in the air.

He took a drag of the beer. “Still tastes like shit,” he commented. The beer was the one thing he hadn’t been able to adjust to since moving to Alaska. He missed the sheer artistry of the local brews in Boston.

Cort snorted. “You need to stop pining for beer that costs a hundred bucks a bottle. You’re in Alaska now, you pampered ass.”

Luke wouldn’t trade his new life for the kind of beer he used to drink. Freedom was worth any cost. “I’m not pining. I’m just trying to get you backwoods cretins a little more sophisticated.”

Cort grinned. “No chance. We’re a bunch of ruffians.” He checked his watch, and Luke knew he was thinking about getting home to his new wife, Kaylie, who was six months pregnant with their first child.

Luke shifted, uncomfortable with the new relationship. Kaylie’s link with Cort put her too close to Luke’s circle. She could be caught in the freefall if all hell broke loose for him, and he didn’t like that.

Roots were starting to form in Alaska, and people could get hurt. It might be time to move on.

But fuck. He didn’t want to ditch this life, dead climbers notwithstanding. He liked it here. Liked the people, enjoyed the life, appreciated the fact that no one gave a shit who his daddy was or where he’d come from. All they cared about was whether he could be
counted on in a crisis, and he’d made good on that promise repeatedly.

A simple life. Good values.

He wanted to stay.

But not at the risk to anyone, and with Kaylie pregnant, the noose was tightening.

Luke hunched forward in his seat and wrapped his hands around the mug. “Go home to Kaylie,” he muttered. “Get the hell out of here.”

“I will.” Cort leaned back in his seat, his body relaxed. “In a minute.”

The face of the dead gal from the last flight flashed into Luke’s mind. Her hair had been dark brown. Ponytail. Skin so pale. Reminded him of his mother. Of that god-awful day he would never forget—

He swore and tossed back the rest of the beer. Jesus.

“If you think about it, it’s incredible that this is the first body you’ve had to retrieve since you started flying,” Cort said. “Not sure how you managed to avoid it until now.”

Luke knew how. He’d been freaking insane in his efforts to keep his people safe, and it had been by sheer luck that Cort had been the one to get the call each time it had been to bring back the dead.

Until now.

Cort leaned forward, his face intense. “First time I brought a body back I was eleven. The guy looked like a monster, frozen into a block of ice. Freaked the hell out of me. Had nightmares for weeks.”

Luke had seen his first body when he was eight. And it had been his mother. And yeah, he’d had the nightmares, too. Still did sometimes. “Tough thing for a kid.”

Cort snorted. “Hell, yeah. My dad was so embarrassed his kid was so soft, he chained me to a beehive for a month to toughen me up.”

Luke laughed then. “Well, that explains your ugly mug.”

Cort grinned. “Bees cured me of all corpse-related issues. It’s a little late in the season for bees, but I’m sure we could drum up something for you.”

“Screw that.” Luke leaned back in his seat. “I’m fine. A corpse is nothing new to me.”

Cort raised his brows, clearly sensing there was more than Luke was saying. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Luke turned his attention away from his friend. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t feel like opening doors with Cort that had stayed firmly closed during their long friendship. They’d been partners for eight years, but he’d hired Cort on several prior occasions when he’d come to Alaska to do research.

Luke shifted in his chair as he surveyed the bar. The jukebox was blaring. A few pilots were hanging around. Some locals. Place was gloomy as hell.

It had never bothered him before. But right now, it was jagging him big time.

“I’m going outside.” He shoved his chair back to stand up, and then the front door opened. In walked a woman of the ilk he hadn’t seen in eight years, since he left Boston. Her dark hair cascaded down her back. Even in the dim light of the bar it was glistening. Looked as soft as the fur on a Husky pup.

It reminded him of the kind of hair women shelled out a thousand bucks a week to maintain. The gal strode up to the bartender and began hammering him with questions. She was gesturing furiously, her hands flying around like she was agitated beyond hell.

The bartender nodded in Luke’s direction, and she turned and looked directly at Luke.

He immediately sat up, his body responding when he felt the heat of her inspection. Her eyes were black as the sky during a stormy night, but they were alive and dangerous. Sensuous and passionate. He knew instantly that this was a woman who ran hot, who didn’t hold back from whatever was in her heart. Sort of reminded him of how he used to be, before he’d realized living that way made too many people die.

Her jaw was out, and she looked fiercely determined. Yet there was a weariness to her posture, and dark circles under her eyes, visible even in the dim light. She rubbed her shoulder and winced, her body jerking with pain.