by Mallory Kane
Her pupils were dilated, and barely reacted to the light.
It was what he’d been afraid would happen.
Aimee was hypothermic. If they didn’t get to the shelter soon, she could die.
Chapter Six
Matt knew hypothermia didn’t require freezing temperatures to affect someone. But he also knew they were being pummeled by winds that made the temperature that was already below freezing seem at least five degrees colder.
Plus the snow was wet, and dampness was seeping into their clothing.
He pulled off his down jacket, wrapped it around Aimee and snapped it closed. That gave her two layers of down, the best light insulation there was.
Then he dug the hood out of its pocket and tugged it down over her balaclava. He should have done that a long time ago, but he’d overestimated her endurance.
“Not a good idea,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Now you’ll be cold. We’ll both be cold.” She giggled faintly.
He was worried about her. “Come on, Aimee. We’re not far from the shelter. Let’s race.”
“No,” she drawled. “Don’t wanna race. Tired.”
“I know,” he said, putting his arm around her again to support her and urge her on ahead.
“Sleepy, too. I need to get home. William’s waiting for me.”
“Aimee, do you know where we’re going?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then, quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear, she spoke. “Home?”
He tightened his arm around her waist. “Listen, Aimee. We’re up on Ragged Top Mountain. We’re having an adventure. It’s kind of like a treasure hunt.” The wet snow was beginning to penetrate his wool sweater and underwear. He shivered, wishing he had the waterproof poncho that had burned up in his backpack.
“It’s really important that we get to the shelter within the next twenty minutes. Can you walk really fast?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure. My feet aren’t there.” She laughed, a sound like ice cubes tinkling in a glass. “I mean, I know they’re there. I just can’t feel ’em.”
“That’s okay. They’re there. I can see them.” Matt smiled at her and looked up at the dark, cloud-filled sky. God, help me get her to the shelter in time. Don’t let me lose her. William needs her—I need her.
MATT LIFTED THE BLANKETS that hung over the door to the shelter and pushed Aimee inside.
He’d already made her wait while he reconnoitered to be sure no one else was there. He figured both the kidnapper and Al Hamar already had a destination. The kidnapper was headed for wherever he was keeping the baby. And if Al Hamar had any sense he’d get off the mountain and get his wound attended to.
The shelter was primitive, with a wide opening on the east side and blankets as the only coverings for the two windows that faced north and south. The inside was ice-cold, but this version of ice-cold was at least ten degrees warmer than the outside. He shuddered as his body took note of the small increase in warmth.
After shrugging off the daypack, he shone the flashlight’s beam around. Two cots, a fireplace, a couple of chairs. He examined every inch of the space.
Firewood? Where was firewood? Then he saw it. A small pile of limbs and branches against the far wall.
Under a window. Coated with a sheen of snow. What idiot had stored the firewood there? He grimaced. The wood was wet.
“Matt?” Aimee’s voice quivered.
He pulled her toward one of the cots. “I’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes,” he said firmly. “And get you under the covers. Hurry.”
She looked at him without moving.
He pushed his jacket off her shoulders and jerked the insulated hood and watch cap off her head. Her hair was wet and she was shivering so much her teeth chattered.
“Okay, Aimee. We’re going to get you warm. Trust me?”
“I’m a little chilly,” she whispered.
“I know, sweetie, I know.” He unzipped her down parka and pushed it down her arms. “I’m just going to get these wet things off you, okay?”
She nodded shakily. “I’m sleepy.”
“That’s good,” he lied. His second lie to her.
Drowsiness was a symptom of hypothermia, a severe one. It meant her body temperature was dropping to dangerous levels. He had to work fast.
By the time he got the parka and her hiking boots off, she’d almost quit shivering. That wasn’t a good sign, either.
He talked to her while he undressed her. Nonsense things. Little reassurances, endearments, the kind of things one might use to soothe a frightened child.
Finally, she was down to a little tank top and her underpants. They weren’t wet, but there wasn’t enough to them to provide any warmth. All they were good for was preserving a little of her modesty and titillating him a lot.
Her skin was cool to the touch, and her fingers and toes were cold. He examined them closely, but they didn’t appear to be frostbitten—yet.
He was tempted to rub them, but he knew better. Too much rubbing could damage freezing skin and nerves permanently.
He checked out the cots, which, thank God, weren’t near the windows. The blanket he unfolded was slightly damp, but it was made of wool. Even wet, wool would still keep her warm—once he got her warm.
He lay her down on the cot and put the blanket over her.
“Stay there, okay? I need to get a fire going.” He grabbed two blankets from the other cot and piled them over her, too.
Then he turned to the fireplace. The wood stacked inside it was wet, like all the other firewood. He brushed the snow away from the wood piled under the window and dug through it.
Toward the bottom, he found some sticks that weren’t wet through. Grabbing an armful, he stacked them in the fireplace and took a couple of wet-weather fire-starter sticks out of his pack. He placed them under the branches and lit them with all-weather matches.
The starter sticks flared immediately. Now if the wood would just catch before they burned out. He adjusted a limb here, a branch there, until he was sure it was arranged for the best draft, and that was it. That was all he could do.
He watched for a few seconds, encouraged by the crackling and spitting as the hot flames generated by the starter sticks burned off the dampness.
He stripped down quickly, until he was covered in nothing but his boxers and goose bumps. All his clothes were wet, even his insulated underwear.
He was shivering, and he knew his body temp was down, but he wasn’t hypothermic, thank God. His core was still warm.
Working as quickly as he could, and keeping one eye on the struggling fire and one on Aimee, he spread their clothes on chairs that he sat in front of the fireplace. If he could get the fire going, maybe they’d dry by morning.
He found some hurricane candles on a shelf and lit them, then carefully poked at the fire, checking the draft. To his relief, a few of the small branches caught.
“Hey, Aimee, I think we’re going to have a fire before too long.” He rose and picked up one of the hurricane candles. Crossing the room to the cot, he held it so the light shone on her face.
“Aimee, are you awake?” Her eyes were closed and she was lying too still. He touched her cheek, then reached under the blanket and found her hand. Icy. Dammit. He looked at her fingers. They were still white and pinched.
“Okay,” he said, hoping his voice sounded calmer than he felt. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. I’m going to move the other cot next to the fire and lay you there. I’ve got a mummy bag—that’s a head-to-toe sleeping bag, made for subzero conditions. It’s a single, but if I unzip it, we can both get under it, like a blanket. How does that sound?”
He didn’t like that she was nonresponsive. He knew how to treat hypothermia, but most recommended treatments assumed that dry clothes and a heat source were available.
Until the fire caught enough to actually generate heat, Matt only had one source of warmth available—his own body.
He checked the other cot. At least it was no wetter than the one Aimee was on. He pulled it over in front of the hearth, grabbed two of the blankets from on top of Aimee, and spread them over the mattress. The wool would hold the heat in.
Then he bent over Aimee. “Aimee, sweetie, can you wake up? I need you to wake up for me.”
She stirred and opened her eyes. They were glassy and not quite focused. “Is it William?” she whispered.
His heart twisted. She was dreaming, maybe even hallucinating. “Aimee, listen to me. Sit up for me. Can you tell me how you feel?”
“I’m tired,” she said. “Sleepy.”
“I know. And you can go to sleep, just as soon as we get you over closer to the fire and get you warm. Come on. Let’s move over to the fireplace.”
She pushed at the blankets covering her.
“That’s good. Here. I’m going to pull the covers down so you can get up.”
Her eyes met his briefly. “Matt,” she said. “What a nice surprise. Bill will be so glad you’re here.”
He’d thought he couldn’t carry any more guilt, but her slurred words cut him to his soul. She was hallucinating. She thought Bill was still alive, thought they were all still friends.
Don’t worry, he told himself. Tomorrow she’ll remember, and hate you again.
If she lived until tomorrow. Unless he got her warm, she wouldn’t last that long.
“Let’s go,” he said and lifted her to her feet. She almost collapsed against him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and half carried her to the cot.
Her skin felt cool, pressed against his. He had to get her body temp up—and fast. “Here we are,” he said softly. “Just lie down there, and I’ll get the sleeping bag.”
She obeyed him without protest. She lay down and closed her eyes. “Cold,” she murmured.
“I know, Aimee, but I’m going to fix that.” He grabbed his daypack and retrieved the small bundle that was the compressed down sleeping bag. He pulled it out of its stuff-sack, unzipped it and shook it out to fluff the down.
“I’m just going to lay the sleeping bag over you, and then I’ll put a couple of blankets on top.”
He looked down at her. She lay on her side, facing the hearth, with her arms wrapped around her middle. The warm light from the fire made her pale skin look like the color of a ripe peach. Her bare legs and arms were silky and delicately muscled. The little top and panties emphasized her slender curves. Her dark hair was still damp and beginning to wave around her face.
She looked the way she had in high school. Fresh, beautiful, vibrant. No wonder Bill had fallen in love with her.
Matt swallowed against the lump that rose in his throat from just looking at her.
“All right, scumbag,” he muttered to himself as he spread the down bag over her like a blanket. “Stop ogling and get started warming her up.”
He fetched two more blankets. The down inside the sleeping bag was the ideal insulator. It was lightweight, held in heat and wicked out moisture. But Matt wanted some weight on top to seal in the heat his body produced, because he couldn’t afford to lose even a couple of calories to the chilly room.
He carefully placed the blankets over the spread-out sleeping bag. Then, after a check of the fire to be sure it was lit and growing, he slid under the covers. Aimee’s back was to him, so he cautiously moved closer. The scent of lemon assaulted his nostrils. How, after everything she’d been through, did she still smell so fresh and clean?
Her skin was cold, but apparently his body didn’t care. When his groin came in contact with her backside, he swallowed a groan and grimaced. The feel of her supple body affected him—a lot.
He felt himself growing hard, felt his heart rate rise. Clenching his teeth and cursing himself for his weakness, he pulled away.
Aimee whimpered and scooted backward slightly.
Since her skin felt cool to him, his must feel hot to hers. “Okay, Aimee. I’m going to get as close to you as I can—” and keep my sanity. “It’s just to warm you up. I promise I won’t make you uncomfortable.” Too bad he couldn’t promise himself the same thing.
He scooted closer, wrapping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest. He knew he had to concentrate on her core, rather than her chilled arms and legs. What made hypothermia deadly was that the body got chilled straight through. The most important thing was to warm up the vital organs. Once her core temperature rose, her arms and legs would start warming up.
He gritted his teeth and pressed his thighs against the backs of her legs.
Keep it professional, Parker.
After a while, Aimee’s breathing grew more even, and she relaxed.
Matt lay there, listening to the wind and silently thanking whoever had built the shelter for taking the weather patterns up here into consideration. The shelter’s solid back wall was turned against the predominant wind direction, which was easterly.
Aimee sighed in her sleep, and half turned, so that her cheek was no more than an inch from his nose. In the firelight he could see the faint dusting of freckles on her smooth skin. The scent of lemon and the delicate curve of her cheek made his mouth water.
He slid his hand down her arm, doing his best to avoid touching any other part of her. When he reached her wrist, he pressed his fingertips against the silky skin and counted her pulse. It was faint but steady. Then he took her hand in his.
At least her fingers weren’t icy cold anymore. He sighed in relief. She was warming up. He was pretty sure she was out of danger. But he knew that if it had taken them any longer to get here, and if he hadn’t been able to get a fire started, she could have died.
He breathed deeply and tried to relax. For the moment, they were safe. He needed to get as much rest as he could while he had the chance.
Because tomorrow wasn’t going to be easy. Tomorrow, he was going to have to explain to her why they were pressed up against each other and practically naked, why it made sense that he’d brought her up the mountain instead of down, and why he hadn’t kept his promise to her—his promise to place William Matthew safely into her arms before the day was out.
Chapter Seven
SATURDAY 0400 HOURS
Aimee came awake slowly. She was hot. And thirsty. She stirred, trying to push the covers back, but they wouldn’t move. Someone was lying very close to her—too close. Someone with a very large, very warm body.
Her eyes flew open, and she saw the crackling fire.
Fire?
Where was she? Her pulse thrummed in her throat and she suddenly felt claustrophobic. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, kicking at the covers and gasping for breath.
“Aimee?”
“Who—?” She dug her heels in and propelled her body backward, away from whoever was pressing so close against her. She sucked in a huge breath, preparing to scream.
“Aimee, it’s Matt.”
A hand touched her shoulder.
She gasped and coughed.
“Shh. You’re okay.”
“Matt?” She blinked and looked at the figure that sat up next to her. “Matt? What are you doing—?”
She pushed at him.
“Aimee, whoa! You’re going to fall off the cot.”
He reached out toward her, but she recoiled instinctively. She was in bed—in bed! What kind of crazy dream was she having about Matt, of all people?
“I was just trying to warm you up. You were cold—too cold. I had to get your body temperature up. Do you remember?”
She stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. She couldn’t, any more than she could figure out why she was here in this strange room next to him.
He was bare-chested, his skin glowing like gold in the firelight. His dark hair was tousled and wavy, as if he’d just toweled it dry.
She lifted the edge of the covers and looked down at herself. All she had on was a little tank top and panties.
“What’s going on? Why—?” Had Matt undressed her? She ra
ised her shocked gaze to his and absently registered a look of apology in his expression.
“I had to,” he said. “You were freezing.”
She stared at him as bits of memories flashed across her brain.
Matt wrapping an arm around her and telling her she was going to be okay.
Snow blowing in her face, her eyes and lips stinging with cold—the smell of gasoline—the sounds of gunfire—
And the awful, menacing words crackling down the phone wire. “If you want to see your baby again, you will deliver the money.”
If you want to see your baby again—
“William!” she cried, his name ripping from her throat. Suddenly they were all there. All the memories. All the terror. All the anguish. “My baby! Where is he?”
“Aimee, shh. Try to stay calm.”
She heard the words, but hardly registered where they came from. All she knew was that they cut like a razor through her heart.
“Calm? My baby is gone. They stole him, out of his bed.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “I was asleep. I was asleep and they took him.”
Her eyes burned, and her mouth was dry. So dry. She licked her lips.
“You’re thirsty. I’ll get you some water.”
It was Matt, she realized. Bill’s best friend.
Safe as houses.
But he wasn’t. He’d taken Bill away from her and let him die. He’d shown up like a knight in shining armor at the very moment when she needed a hero, but he’d let William’s kidnapper get away, and he didn’t save her baby. Pain lanced through her and she clutched at her middle.
When Matt rose, she saw that his lower body was almost as bare as his upper. He was dressed in nothing but snug-fitting boxers.
They both were nearly naked. She rubbed her temple, wishing she could put all this information together and come up with a reasonable understanding of what was happening.
She knew who he was now. And she knew they hadn’t rescued William. But where were they? And how had they gotten there?
“I melted some snow, once the fire got going,” he said conversationally. He picked up a metal cup and filled it from a pan that sat near the fireplace.
