Ice

by Stephanie Rowe

  Sara had pocketed the design and said she’d make it someday.

  And she had.

  Kaylie’s throat clogged as she walked into the sewing room and approached the mannequin. She brushed her fingers over the fabric, so thin that it almost disintegrated under her touch. The material had been sliced into microthin strips, and she waved her hand through them, watching them float across her skin. Gossamer thin and fragile, the strands tickled her hand, spreading apart to reveal her palm beneath it. If she were wearing the dress, even the slightest breath or movement would have exposed all her skin for the world to see.

  It was what an angel would wear.

  It was the most beautiful thing Kaylie had ever seen, and it was exactly as she’d imagined it.

  The dress had begun as a teenage vision drawn in the glow of a flashlight, with the wind whipping around. Sara had made it into reality, even down to the blown-glass beads around the neck. Blown-glass beads on a dress. Was there anything more impractical than that?

  Kaylie realized suddenly that the mannequin was the same height as she was. Sara was six inches shorter.

  Sara had made the dress for Kaylie.

  After more than a decade, she’d finally made it.

  And died before she could give it to her.

  Tears stung Kaylie’s eyes and she fisted a bunch of the material. “I love you, Sara. I always will.” She lifted the skirt and let it sparkle in the light. Tears blurred her vision. “I don’t know whether to laugh with you and wear this dress, or to curl up in the corner and cry until I can’t move anymore.”

  There was no answer in the empty room.

  Her only company was a dress that was the manifestation of Kaylie’s teenage dreams. Despite all her efforts, her life wasn’t like that dress, even before she’d come to Alaska. The gown was light, delicate, free, drifting in the slightest wind. Carefree in a way she never would be.

  The dress wasn’t her.

  Or she hadn’t become the dress.

  Either way, it wasn’t a fit. It was a dream that had failed.

  Kaylie turned away, dropping her hand from the dress, to inspect the room. It was filled with bolts of incredibly beautiful material. A rack of five in-progress dresses hung in the corner. Kaylie knew each dress sold for more than five thousand dollars.

  Sara’s passion and her joy.

  Left unfinished.

  A loud bang sounded against the side of the cabin, and Kaylie jumped, spinning toward the wall. She waited, heart racing like crazy, but no other sound followed.

  It could have been nothing.

  Or it could have been a murderer.

  She glanced at the large picture window. She could see nothing but blackness outside. There was no shade to lower. Someone could be outside. Watching. And she would never know it.

  There was a clank again, and then the shower shut off. Was that the sound she’d heard? Water going through the pipes? She didn’t know. “Cort?”

  “Yeah.” His deep voice rang out in the small cabin, and some of her tension eased.

  “You hear anything?”

  Silence. “No, but I’ll go outside and look around in a second.”

  Kaylie bit her lip and debated going back into the bedroom until he could accompany her into Sara’s office, and then she felt ashamed of her fear. Her entire life had been rooted in fear, and where had it gotten her? She hadn’t become a match for that dress, and everyone she cared about had died anyway. The least she could do for Sara was find the courage to search her sewing room.

  Kaylie squared her shoulders and walked farther into the room, forcing herself to concentrate on inspecting the area, glancing only occasionally at the window to make sure no one was peering in.

  This was Sara’s room, and Kaylie would know if something wasn’t right. This room was her job.

  Expensive bolts of material were piled in an order only Sara ever understood. Three sewing machines were lined up on a table by the window. The antique apothecary’s cabinet she used to hold all the different trimmings was on the south wall, carefully polished and well loved.

  An empty frame was lying on its side on the top of the apothecary’s cabinet. It was the frame Kaylie had given Sara when Sara had moved to Alaska. It had contained a photo of the two of them from their last dinner together before Sara had moved.

  But there was no photo in it anymore, and its back was removed, as if someone had yanked out the picture and tossed the frame aside. Frowning, Kaylie picked it up, a prickle of unease rippling through her.

  Why would anyone want a picture of Sara?

  Or had Sara simply put the photo into one of her albums instead? This room was Sara’s sanctuary, so her photo albums had to be here.

  Kaylie paced the length of the room, scanning for the albums, and when she found them, she almost wished she hadn’t.

  They were in the corner by the closet. On the floor. Pictures everywhere, as if someone had been in the middle of going through them and had been interrupted. Sara was obsessive about order in her sewing room. Never would she have left pictures behind in that kind of disarray.

  Her skin getting colder, Kaylie eased over to the mess and crouched next to the pile of photos, her neck prickling with the certainty that the man Cort had disturbed was the one who’d been going through them. She began flipping pictures over to see if she could determine what was missing.

  Pictures were cut up, remnants left behind. So many pictures of Sara, the other half cut off.

  Kaylie picked up a photo, remembering the day it had been taken at the beach. She’d been in the picture, too, but her image had been cut off, leaving behind only Sara.

  She selected another photo. Christmas eight years ago, when they’d dressed as elves for a party. Again, her picture was gone and only Sara’s remained.

  Kaylie looked down and realized that photos of Sara were strewn across the floor, all of them once pictures of Sara and Kaylie. And Kaylie had been cut out.

  But there weren’t any pictures of Kaylie to be seen.

  Not a single one.

  It wasn’t the pictures of Sara he’d been after.

  He’d been looking for Kaylie.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cort leaned heavily on the bathroom counter, scowling at his bandaged head.

  Shit, he was lucky.

  The ax had glanced off the side of his head instead of scoring a clean hit. A solid blow could have taken his head right off. But why hadn’t the bastard stayed to finish the job, as he’d done with Jackson?

  Cort would be sure to ask him before he made the monster pay for Jackson’s and Sara’s deaths.

  For now, the wound was under control. Cort had used the butterfly bandages Jackson kept in the fully stocked medical kit in the bathroom. It had taken him ten minutes to find the damned thing, but every backwoods Alaskan with half a brain knew how to patch himself up, and he’d finally found it behind a stack of pink towels in Sara’s half of the cabinet.

  Cort probed the bandage, which was already stained with blood. He figured it would bleed for several hours. It had been a hell of a blow…and he hadn’t even seen it coming. How could he not have sensed the man lying in wait?

  But he knew why. He’d been so distracted by Kaylie, he’d totally missed any clues that the bastard had been in the cabin. Jesus. What if he’d had Kaylie with him? What if she’d been the one to take the ax to the head?

  Cort gripped the counter, his muscles going rigid at the thought of that bastard getting his hands on Kaylie. He recalled his absolute terror for her when he’d gone down from that blow and realized she was still outside. Alone. Vulnerable.

  Jesus.

  “Cort!”

  He jerked his head up at the tension in her voice. “Kaylie!” He grabbed the rifle and charged across the cabin, his senses on hyperalert. He sprinted into Sara’s room with the rifle up, skidded to a halt just inside the door, and scanned the room.

  No bad guys.

  Just Kaylie kneeling on the floor in
the corner, looking at something.

  She’s okay. Cort’s body shuddered as a tremor of relief went through him. “Anyone else in here?”

  “No. Look.”

  It took him almost a full minute to peel his finger off the trigger and lower the rifle. Shit. She’d scared the hell out of him. He didn’t want to think too much into that. “You find something?”

  She looked up at him, and his adrenaline kicked right back on. Her eyes were wide and scared, her face pale.

  He swore under his breath, his fingers tightening on the gun as he strode across the room toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “This.” She gestured at the mess of photos on the floor in front of her. “He’s hunting me.”

  He crouched beside her and set his hand on her back. Needing to touch her. To feel the heat of her skin, to know she was really okay.

  Kaylie leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and twisted his hand in her hair. His tension eased, as it always seemed to when he was touching her. Kaylie calmed his demons. Somehow, someway, she was his relief. He squeezed her shoulders once.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you covered.” The fragile smile she gave him twisted his gut, and he forced himself to drop his arm. “What’s going on?”

  She handed him a picture. “This is a photo of Sara and me together, but my face has been cut out. Same with this one, and this one, and this one.” She kept piling photos in his hand. “He took the pictures of me, not the ones of Sara.”

  “Jesus.” Cort stared at the photos, a dark anger exploding inside him. The bastard had targeted Kaylie? Sara’s shredded body flashed across Cort’s mind, and he instinctively looked around the room, taking a couple steps to the right to position himself between Kaylie and the window.

  “You think he’s after me because I was at the cabin with Sara and Jackson…when we found them?” Her face was pale, worried. “Is that why?”

  Cort swore and ran his hand through his hair, trying to pull his shit together. To focus. To be logical. “How do you know Sara didn’t cut the photos up? Like, to make you a collage or something?”

  “Because a collage would have had both of us. Not just me. Plus, she’d have used scrapbooking scissors with scallops or something.” Her voice was certain, expressing absolute conviction, and his blood ran cold as she stood up and grabbed an eight-by-ten frame. “This picture’s missing, too. It was of me and Sara.”

  Cort rose to his feet, fighting off the urge to toss Kaylie over his shoulder, throw her in his plane, and get her the hell out of there. Instead, he called upon years of flying experience to keep his head and stay focused so he could assess the facts. “Listen, we don’t have any way of knowing what’s going on with these photos. Let’s search the rest of the place and see if we can find the photos of you. It makes no sense that’d he would take twenty pictures of you. One, yeah, if he wanted to be able to find you. But twenty?” Cort shook his head. “There has to be something else going on.”

  Kaylie still looked worried, and he was unable to keep himself from squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Kaylie. I’m ready for him now. Jackson was caught unprepared, and so was I. No longer.” He held up the rifle. “According to everyone who knows me, I’m a badass on the edge, apparently. Nothing to fear.”

  She cocked her head at him, a small frown puckering between her eyebrows. “Is it true? That stuff Trooper Mann was saying? That you’re…trying to get yourself killed?”

  Cort’s amusement faded. “He didn’t say that.”

  “It’s what he meant.” She fixed her gaze on him as he wandered around the room, searching for the pictures. “I know people like that. It’s…a bad way to live.”

  “Don’t judge me based on anyone else.” After that little story she’d shared in the bathroom, he had a suspicion the people she was referring to were her family. He got it, yeah, but it still pissed him off to be deemed a suicidal jackass. Trooper Mann calling him on it was one thing, but with Kaylie, it annoyed him more. Felt more personal. Like she’d shoved a hot poker right into his kidney and was grinding it deep.

  Just as his ex-wife had done. Repeatedly.

  Yeah, maybe Kaylie had a better reason to judge him than Valerie had, but it didn’t change the fact both women were cut from the same mold.

  He shoved a stack of glittery material out of the way so he could see into the corner. “You think it’s acceptable to cross the street only when you have the light? Is that your deal?”

  “What’s wrong with being safe?”

  “It’s not about being safe.” He paused, noting that a pile of fabric in the corner was messed up and wrinkled. He knew that material cost more than his truck, and that Sara had protected it like a mama bear protected her babies. He knew it firsthand because he’d once made the mistake of sitting on a pile of it while waiting for Jackson to get back from a hunt.

  “Living in fear is like going through life as a dead person.”

  “You don’t have to risk your life to feel alive!”

  He edged the material aside. “You don’t even know what it’s like to feel alive, do you? You’ve never truly felt your heart explode and your brain hum with such energy you feel like you’ll never sleep again, have you?”

  “I…” Kaylie stopped her protest and fell silent. “I don’t need that,” she finally said quietly. “That high is overrated.”

  There was a catch in her voice that made him look over at her. “You so sure about that?”

  She lifted her chin. “I am.” Her voice was stronger now, more certain. Had he imagined her hesitation?

  “As you say.” He resumed his search and moved aside the last pile of wrinkled material. What he saw made his entire body go rigid. “Oh, shit.”

  Kaylie went still behind him. “What did you find?”

  “The missing picture.” Cort closed his fist around the rifle, his fury rising so hard and fast he felt as if his entire body were on fire. He stared at the soiled photo of Kaylie.

  It was covered in semen. A raw, in-your-face statement by the bastard that he could leave his DNA behind and they still wouldn’t catch him.

  Cort swore again, and knew he was stuck with Kaylie now.

  Until that psychotic pervert was caught, she wasn’t leaving his sight. Cort wasn’t leaving her alone to be caught by this fucker.

  No matter how badly it burned him.

  Kaylie squeezed up beside Cort, leaning around his arm to peer over the stack of materials at the photo. It had been torn, and Sara’s half was gone. But Kaylie’s photo was there and it was covered in—

  Her stomach turned. “He masturbated on my picture?”

  Cort’s hand went to her lower back. “Looks like it.”

  Bile rose in the back of Kaylie’s throat and she closed her eyes. “Oh, God. I—”

  “Hey.” Cort took her shoulders and turned her toward him, away from the photo. “Listen to me.”

  She opened her eyes, staring into Cort’s hard face as her hands instinctively went to his wrists, holding tight. “What?” Her voice was scratchy, terrified. Dear God. What kind of man was this? And why had he targeted her?

  “I’m not going to let him get to you.” His fingers were digging in now, and it felt good. “I will keep you safe, and we’ll find this bastard before he hurts anyone else.”

  Kaylie nodded numbly, grasping desperately at the fierceness in Cort’s expression. He looked wild and angry, a predator who would hunt and destroy at will. She wasn’t alone out here. For the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t alone. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

  He squeezed her shoulders, then his hands slid down her arms, his grip softening. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” She realized how weak her voice sounded, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Thanks. For being here. For me.”

  Cort nodded, then dropped his hands. “Don’t touch the photo. I’m calling Trooper Mann. He needs to see that.” He leaned over to look at it ag
ain, then released a low whistle. “Would you recognize Sara’s jewelry? Because if that’s not hers, then it looks like our friend left behind something else we can use to track him.”

  Kaylie moved up beside him, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she peered again at the display. His arm settled around her shoulder in an instinctive gesture, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned against him. Her gaze strayed toward the photo again.

  “Don’t look at the picture.” Cort’s voice was firm, but gentle. “The ring’s on the windowsill behind it, as if he took it off before he got started.”

  Concentrating on the reassuring warmth of his touch, Kaylie followed his directions and saw a simple metal ring on the windowsill. “No, that’s not Sara’s—” Her breath caught. “Oh, my God. It looks like—” No. She had to be wrong. There was no way. Her hand shaking, she reached for it.

  Cort caught her wrist. “No, don’t touch it. We’ve already screwed up enough by touching all the photos.”

  “I need to see it.” Her throat was scratchy, her mouth dry. “I have to. I think…” She looked around, found a scrap of white silk, and carefully picked up the ring. She turned it so she could read the inside of the band.

  ALICE & KIX. THIN AIR FOREVER.

  Her hand started to close around it, and Cort slipped it out of her grasp. “What is it?”

  “My mother’s wedding ring.” Kaylie stared at it as Cort set it back. “She broke her ring finger twelve years ago, and she can’t get it off anymore. She always wears it. Always.”

  Cort said nothing, but she saw from the look in his eyes what he was thinking. That her mom wasn’t wearing it now, so someone got it off…. “That call you got about your mom still being alive. Was it a man?”

  Kaylie nodded, realization dawning as she recalled Sara’s message. “Sara said something about my mom on that message she left me. About a man and my mom, and—Oh, God.” She stared at Cort. “This wasn’t ever about Jackson and Sara, was it? It’s about my family. My mom. And Sara got caught in the middle.” She felt sick. Sara and Jackson had died because of her family?