Ice (10 page)

More than once in her life, she had ended up in the hospital when one of the most common of illnesses resulted in a fever that over-the-counter medication could not control. Influenza was her enemy, and Maggie knew it. She always took all the precautions, and every year she was first in line for her vaccination against the newest strain, but it didn’t guarantee that another strain wouldn’t get through, and this year, one had. Maggie knew that her fever would go from tepid to torrid and back again over the next few days before eventually taking a turn for the worse, and this time, it would be worse. This time there were no doctors to save her. This time would be the last time.

Alex’s first stop had been the bathroom in her hunt for something to use as a bandage, but after checking the small closet and medicine cabinet, and finding them both stripped bare, she rushed to the kitchen. Pulling open every drawer and door, her annoyance began to build. They were all empty. Everything was gone.

“Damn it!” she said, pounding her fist on the counter. “Why lock this fucking place up like a bloody bank when there’s nothing here that anyone would want?” Angrily grabbing the bucket, she went outside and filled it with snow.

“Who were you talking to?” Maggie asked quietly as she heard Alex shuffle back into the room.

Placing the pail near the fireplace, Alex took a pillow from the bed, removed the case and began tearing it into strips. “Tell me this, Detective Inspector Campbell,” she said as she attacked the cotton covering. “Why lock up a cabin like it contained a million treasures, when there’s nothing here?”

“What?”

Sitting on the floor, Alex pulled over the bucket and dropped a few strips of cloth inside. “There were padlocks on everything when we got here, but every bloody closet, drawer
and
cabinet are completely empty.”

“There’s no food?”

“No food, no dishes, no pots, no pans…nothing. It just doesn’t make any sense, if you ask me.” Lifting the edge of the sweater, Alex said, “Sorry, but this is going to be a bit cold, I’m afraid.”

Wincing at the iciness of the cloth, Maggie said, “Maybe…maybe they hid it.”

“What?” Alex asked, tossing the bloody piece of fabric into the fire as she grabbed another.

“We’re both assuming we’re miles from anywhere, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would anyone travel with all that stuff—”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Alex said as she continued to dab carefully at the bloody gash.

“Well, then maybe they hid it, so if someone broke in and didn’t find anything, they’d just leave.”

“Good point, but this place isn’t that big,” Alex said, throwing the bloody remnant into the fire. Wringing out another piece of cloth, Alex was about to press it to the wound when she looked up and saw that Maggie’s face had gone gray.

“What’s wrong?”

Wincing at the taste of bile growing in her throat, Maggie rolled to her side as she feebly replied, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Shit,” Alex said, quickly grabbing a wastebasket near the bed. “Here use this.”

In seconds, Maggie’s stomach emptied, and as she continued to heave, Alex sat behind her, intuitively rubbing her back until the sickness had passed. Finally, Maggie pushed the wastebasket away and rolled to her back. Sweating and pale, she said weakly, “I’m sorry. I guess I drank too much.”

“That’s okay. Lessons learned, but keep trying to drink more. You’re going to get dehydrated, if you aren’t already.”

“What about you? You said there wasn’t any food, and if there isn’t any water—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll melt some snow. I’ll be fine,” Alex said. “And speaking of snow, we need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“All right,” Maggie said, struggling to sit up.

“Whoa,” Alex said, placing her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “You need to stay still. Every time you move, this cut opens back up, so just sip that water, and I’ll do the rest.”

Moving to Maggie’s feet, Alex pulled off her shoes and socks. Smiling at the light pink nail polish on the Detective Inspector’s toes, she began rubbing her feet to warm them up.

Noticing the strip of black wool wrapped around Alex’s head, Maggie asked, “What happened to your head?”

Looking up, Alex said, “Oh, I must have bumped it when we landed.”

“Is it bad?”

“I haven’t had time to look at it.”

Pulling her foot out of Alex’s hand, Maggie said, “You need to take care of yourself. Don’t worry about me.”

Glaring at the ill woman, Alex snatched back Maggie’s foot. “I’ll take care of myself once I make sure that you’re warm and dry, and since you are in no shape to argue, don’t!”

After a few minutes, satisfied that the blood had returned to Maggie’s feet, Alex looked up and asked, “How you doing up there?”

“I feel warm,” Maggie said quietly, turning her face away from the fireplace.

Crawling to sit by her side, Alex placed her hand on her forehead. “You’re getting hot again.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Picking up the bucket, Alex said, “Let me go fill this back up, and I’ll get you a cold cloth. Be right back.”

Having traveled the hallway several times, Alex knew where every single squeak lived in the old wooden floor, and approaching the one that annoyed her the most, she stepped over the small carpet outside the bathroom door without thinking twice. Quickly returning to the porch, she refilled the bucket and then headed back to the bedroom, but as she was about to step over the small remnant of carpet again, she came to a sudden stop. Tilting her head to one side, she thought for a moment, and taking four steps backward, she looked at the rug in front of the fireplace in the lounge. It made perfect sense that the living area and bedroom would have area rugs, but as Alex glanced down the hall at the mismatched scrap of carpeting, she could only think of one reason a rug would be placed in that particular spot. Walking over to it, she lifted up the frayed piece of matting and a smile appeared on her face. Cut into the floor was a small hatch complete with a black iron handle mortised into the wood.

The hinges creaked as Alex lifted the heavy wood panel, and wrinkling her nose at the musty, earthen smell rising from the darkness, she dangled the oil lamp into the opening. Seeing a ladder bolted to the side, she took a deep breath and climbed down into the subterranean room. Reaching the bottom, Alex turned up the wick on the lamp and her eyes widened at the sight of the treasures that the owners of the cabin had been trying to hide. The walls of the root cellar were lined with shelves, and on each were the supplies that she and Maggie would need in order to survive.

Canning jars filled with fruits and vegetables lined one shelf, while the next held dozens of freeze-dried food in foil packages. Glass containers marked sugar, coffee, tea, and dried milk were neatly lined up on another, and piled on the floor were clear plastic totes containing the missing pots, pans, toiletries and towels.

Noticing several bottles standing proud toward the back of one shelf, Alex walked over and read the labels. Grinning, she shrugged her shoulders. Scotch wasn’t her favorite, but it would definitely do in a pinch.

Feeling as if she had just hit the lottery, Alex debated on what to open first, but when she saw several cases of bottled water stacked in the corner, she made up her mind in an instant. Tearing open one of the boxes, she pulled out a bottle, quickly drank it down and paused for only a moment before opening another. With her thirst finally quenched, she carried a case to the ladder, but then something caught her eye. Reaching up, she pulled a white metal case from the top shelf. Seeing the large red cross painted on the lid, she exclaimed, “Yes!”

With the first-aid kit firmly in her grasp, a few minutes later Alex strode into the bedroom and happily announced, “Hey, you were right!”

Hearing no response, she knelt down and placed her hand on Maggie’s forehead.

“Damn,” Alex said with a sigh. The fever had come back, and once again, it was out of control.

***

“You’re wrong!”

“Mr. Campbell, I understand how you must feel—”

“You don’t understand anything!” Douglas Campbell barked. “How dare you walk into my house and tell me that my daughter is dead without having any proof!”

“Sir, I can assure you—”

“Do you have proof?” Campbell screamed back.

“Sir—”

“Do you?”

John Harper had always considered himself a lucky man. He had worked for Interpol for over fifteen years, and in that time, he had never had to tell a parent that their child had died, but his luck had just run out. Even though Maggie Campbell and Alexandra Blake had not been his agents, he had felt it his duty to inform their parents of their demise. Having already broken the news to the officers’ superiors at the Met the night before, he had traveled to Scotland on a red-eye flight to face the first of two sets of parents whom he would be visiting that day. He had prepared himself for tears and sadness. He had not prepared himself for anger.

“Mr. Campbell, I’m sorry I can’t give you the proof that you’re asking for, but please understand. I wouldn’t be here if there was any chance that she was still alive.”

Setting his jaw, Douglas Campbell sat on the arm of the sofa and glared at the man. Crossing his arms, he calmly said, “You said she was in a plane crash. How can you not have proof?”

Letting out a long breath, and relieved that the distraught parent had curbed his anger, John Harper walked over and sat in a chair opposite Campbell.

“Their plane went down in the middle of a blizzard. We can’t get to it.”

“A blizzard?” Campbell said, mulling over the information. “Are you talking about the one over North America?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My daughter is a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police Service. She works in London. What the hell was she doing on a plane over Canada?”

“My agency needed some decoys for a very simple mission, and your daughter and another Met officer were assigned the case.”

“Decoys? Are you telling me that you put my daughter in danger?”

“No, sir, not at all. The mission was already over, but for some reason, they didn’t stay at the airport where they landed. The pilot disobeyed orders and tried to fly them out, and that’s when the plane went down.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I was in the Air Force. Pilots are trained to follow orders or…or people die.”

“We’re still trying to piece together why ours went against direct orders. He has a lot of years under his belt, and he’s never done anything like this before.” Seeing the confused look on Campbell’s face, John Harper added, “Sir, perhaps…perhaps you might be able to help us with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve had limited communication with the airstrip due to the storm, but what information we have received leads us to believe that one of the officers was sick, and that’s why our pilot went against orders.”

“Sick?”

“Yes, sir,” Harper said, nodding his head. “We’re not sure which one it was, or even the extent of her illness, but I was hoping that you might be able to tell us if your daughter had any kind of condition that we weren’t aware of.”

“A condition?”

“Yes. The Met assures me that both officers passed their yearly physicals with flying colors, but…but if there was anything else—”

Harper’s words died in his throat as he saw all the color drain from Campbell’s face. Watching as the man buried his head in his hands and began to weep, Harper had his answer. Although he didn’t know the specifics, by the wails of anguish coming from Douglas Campbell, John Harper now knew that he had spoken the truth. Whether it was from the crash, from the cold, or from some unknown illness, Margaret Campbell was dead…without a doubt.

Naively believing that Maggie’s fever wouldn’t return, when it had, it had done so with a vengeance. Within minutes of returning to the bedroom, Alex was forced to carry Maggie back into the snowstorm. Twenty minutes later, covered in snow and shivering, Alex returned to the bedroom with Maggie in her arms.

Pulling a pair of scissors from the first-aid kit, Alex said, “I’m going to cut off your clothes.”

“What? No,” Maggie replied weakly.

“They’re covered in blood, and I need to get you into bed. I’m sorry, but we’re both freezing, and I can’t help myself until I help you.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“When are you going to understand that I’m not going to let you die?” Alex said as she began cutting through the gray tweed trousers. Reaching for the bottle of water, she placed it into Maggie’s hand. “Drink this.”

“What’s the point? I’m just going to throw it back up.”

Shaking her head, Alex let out a sigh. “Not if you take small sips. Now stop arguing and start drinking. That’s an order.”

“You don’t outrank me.”

The smallest of grins appeared on Alex’s face, and leaning over, she looked directly into Maggie’s eyes. “I will if you die, and I know how much that would piss you off, so take a sip…or start calling me Ma’am.”

***

A short time later, wearing only her underwear, Maggie lay quietly under the quilt while Alex tended to gash on her side. In and out of fever for the past several hours, she hadn’t paid much attention to Alex’s appearance until now, and as she took another sip of water, Maggie was finding it hard not to stare. Between the strip of black cloth tied around her forehead and the streaks of dried blood running down the side of her face, Alex Blake looked like some sort of crazed warrior.

“You need to do something about that cut on your head,” Maggie said.

“I will,” Alex said without looking up.

“Promise me.”

Stopping what she was doing, Alex looked up. About to respond with a flippant reply, when she saw the concerned look on Maggie’s face, she thought better of it. “I promise. As soon as I’m done with this, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex said. Thinking for a moment, she added, “Can I ask you a question?”