She’d been staring. Taking a step back, she tried to gain control of her expression and the rush of emotions flooding through her. “I didn’t realize you’d been injured.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He turned away from her, dark hair falling over powerful shoulder and back muscles. “Or my team.”
She had to give him that.
“Can I...” She swiped her tongue between her lips. His heated gaze snapped to her mouth, and a rush of awareness chased back the tremors rocking through her. Her fingers tingled, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the sensation returning to her hands or something more. Something that had nothing to do with hypothermia and everything to do with the man standing a few feet ahead of her. “Can I touch them?”
“What?” He lowered his hands to his sides, shock evident in the way he narrowed his eyes on her, in the way his voice dropped into dangerous territory.
Oh no.
“I’m sorry. I...” Shea blinked to clear her head, the spell broken. Her mouth parted. Had she really asked him if she could touch his scars? What the hell was wrong with her? “I didn’t mean—”
“Nobody’s ever asked me that before,” he said. “Most people avoid them.”
Most people? As in previous lovers? The fire crackled beside them. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as sympathy pushed through her. She’d understood the feeling of rejection all too well toward the end of her marriage, and the sudden urge to connect with Vincent reared its head. Or maybe she’d ignored her own needs for too long. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. Nothing would happen between them. Not even if they were the last two people on earth. Swiping her suddenly damp palms on her jeans, she shook her head and stared into the fire. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Vincent unzipped his duffel bag and dumped the contents onto the cave’s floor. “We need to inventory our supplies and rest up.”
Right. Because they were trapped inside a mountain with no tools to get them out, no rescue on the way and no communication to the outside world. She tugged her phone from her jacket pocket, chilled by the damp fabric. Still no bars, and the battery had already lost half its life with the dropping temperatures. Damn it. Her long curls slid over her shoulder as she settled on a large rock within the flames’ glowing perimeter. Guessing from the size of the fire, it wouldn’t last through the night, and she closed her eyes in defeat. Shea locked her back teeth against the truth. Without Vincent, she wasn’t getting to New York. Hell, she wasn’t even getting out of this cave. “We’re going to have to cuddle, aren’t we?”
“Only if you want to survive the night.” He separated his supplies into piles, then handed her one of the clear plastic containers with a red lid from his pack. Food? “Look at it this way, at least I’m not a bear.”
Not the kind that would put her in immediate danger, anyway. The container emitted a slight warmth through to her numb fingers. Out here, clean water wouldn’t be a problem with the dozens of feet of white snow, but food? They’d be lucky to find an animal who hadn’t gone down for the winter. Even then, the only weapons they had were their sidearms. Not overly effective against larger prey, and too many risks involved using them. They might miss, wasting their ammunition, or the sound could trigger another avalanche. But this... “You brought food with you on the plane?”
“My mom makes sure I don’t go anywhere without a couple containers of her homemade meals. Makes me lunch every day.” A wistful smile tugged at his mouth as he pried the lid from his own container. Using his fingers, he scooped up a bite of rice and tilted his head back as he dropped it into his mouth. “Blackhawk requires all of its operatives to carry supplies, but we don’t know how long we’re going to be out here. We’ll need to ration out our food and collect some water in the morning.”
Aromas of raw fish, mangoes, cucumber and soy sauce tickled the back of her throat, and her stomach growled in response. Poke. One of her favorites. Shea couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. As soon as she’d gotten Wells’s location from the same former partner at the NYPD whom she’d asked for Vincent’s service record, she’d packed a couple days’ worth of clothes and toiletries and jumped on the first flight out of Merrill Field. Vincent was right. They didn’t know how long they were going to be stranded out here without help, and she wasn’t stupid enough to turn away a filling meal when the opportunity presented itself.
She unsealed the container, crusted blood staining her knuckles from the crash, and shifted the fleshy muscles in the backs of her legs to get comfortable on the rock beneath her. Tears burned in her lower lash line at the offering, but she wouldn’t let her weakness show. She’d survived the lowest point in her life by clawing her way out, fought to prove she could be the mother Wells deserved by seeing doctors, therapists, committing herself to the job. She wouldn’t break in front of Blackhawk’s operatives, least of all this one. But damn it, why wouldn’t he fit inside the box she’d created for him at the back of her mind? Why couldn’t he just be the lawbreaking investigator she’d made him out to be instead of a fellow survivor offering her half of his provisions? He had no reason to help her. “You don’t have to share your supplies with me.”
“Like I said, we survive together or we die alone.” Dark eyes studied her as he withdrew a fresh long-sleeved shirt from his bag and threaded his arms through the sleeves, but Shea knew he wouldn’t find anything in her expression. She’d mastered locking down her feelings months ago, learned from her mistakes. The minute she’d lost Wells to her ex-husband in the custody battle, she had nothing left inside, and old habits died hard. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on dying out here.”
Neither did she. Splitting the amount of food he’d given her in half, Shea ate as much as she dared and saved the rest for their next meal. There was nothing more for them to do tonight. Maybe in the morning, with the sun higher in the sky, they’d be able to navigate their way through the rest of the cave. Until then, they’d have to save their energy. Because this nightmare was far from over.
Vincent unpackaged a silver space blanket with his teeth, tearing through the plastic before smoothing out the fold lines. The material reflected the fire’s brightest flames. “Put your jacket close to the fire so it can dry while we still have enough kindling. Do you have any other clothes in that bag?”
“A couple days’ worth.” But nothing that would hold up against temperatures hitting twenty below. Unlike him, she hadn’t prepared for their plane to crash in the middle of nowhere. “Do you always carry around an entire arsenal of gear, or were you on your way to a survival expo?”
“No. It’s part of my contract with Blackhawk.” His laugh echoed through the cave, deep, rumbling, warming her in places she’d forgotten existed. Could be she’d ignored her own needs for too long, or the fear of dying alone without ever seeing her son again had hiked her body’s systems into overdrive. Whatever the case, she’d hold on to it as long as she could. To prove she could still feel something. Vincent maneuvered around the fire, space blanket in hand, before taking position on the ground with his back to the nearest wall. A defensive habit she recognized in soldiers and cops who’d been on the job for too long. “Every operator has to be prepared to protect and assist our clients, no matter the situation. Sometimes that includes plane crashes in the middle of the damn mountains.”
“I guess that makes me lucky you were on that plane, too.” He’d saved her life. And no matter how much it pained her to admit it, she’d never forget it. Shrugging out of her coat, she laid it flat at the base of the rock she’d taken up, her arms suddenly exposed to the frigid cold. She’d lived in Anchorage most of her life, her parents moving her and her twin brother to the last frontier when they were only toddlers after her father’s career in engineering took a sharp dive. She knew how deadly the cold could be. Wrapping her arms around herself, she settled into the thin layer of dirt
coating the cave floor in front of him, lying on her side to face the fire. Exhaustion, muscle soreness and his close proximity triggered tension down her back. Then increased as he shifted closer, but she couldn’t ignore the heat he provided. “I still have my gun, Kalani. Don’t think I won’t use it if you get handsy.”
Another deep laugh reverberated through him, fighting to break apart the knots down her back from behind. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Officer Ramsey.”
Chapter Three
She was asleep in his arms.
They’d survived the night despite losing their main source of heat, their bodies keeping each other warm. Her curls caught in his beard, and Vincent pulled his head back. His right arm had fallen asleep with the weight of her head on him, but he reveled in the feel of her body pressed against his. When had he wrapped his free arm around her waist? Sweat built at the base of his spine, but he didn’t dare move. Not when the woman in his arms fit against him so perfectly, a woman who hadn’t turned away from his scars in shock and disgust as so many others had.
They couldn’t stay here. Someone out there had possibly brought their plane down, and there was a chance whoever had would scour these mountains to ensure they’d finished the job. Whether it was Shea’s ex-husband as she believed or someone from his past, he had no idea. But he’d find out. The fact that his flight had taken a nosedive in the middle of the Chugach mountain range right after he’d had a break in the case couldn’t be a coincidence. Maybe, after everything she’d already been through, Shea Ramsey had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe his past had finally caught up with him. No way to confirm unless they found the plane. And to do that, they had to get out of this damn cave.
“Please tell me it was all just a dream. I’m going to open my eyes, and none of this will be real.” Her sleep-frogged voice caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, and it didn’t take much to imagine waking to that voice anywhere else but on the floor of a snowed-in cave. Dangerous territory. He had a job to do—a case to solve—and no matter how driven, pragmatic and sexy as hell she was, he couldn’t afford to lose his focus. There were too many lives at risk. She lifted her head, untangling herself from the circle of his arms, and pinned beautiful jade-green eyes on him. Swiping her hair out of her face, she sat up, clothing mostly dry, and shoved away from him. “Ugh. No such luck.”
“Good morning to you, too, Freckles.” Cool air rushed over his exposed skin without her added body heat. Vincent straightened, locking back the groan working up his throat at the pain in his leg, and reached for the jacket he’d laid out the night before. Dressing, he stood, stretching the soreness out of his back as Shea grabbed the single roll of toilet paper from their pile of supplies and wandered farther into the cave, out of sight. He grabbed one of the food containers they’d rationed last night, downed a handful of rice and fish, and started packing. This early in the year sunlight only lasted six hours at most. They had to get moving if they were going to prove the plane had been sabotaged and try to contact rescue. Footsteps registered off to his left, and he nodded toward the food he’d saved for her. “Eat up. We don’t have much time to find the plane.”
“10-4.” Shea finished off the container, handed it back to him, and shrugged into her coat and pack. Ready in less time than it took most of his team to prep for tactical support. For a woman who’d woken up with a piece of debris crushing her chest in the middle of the wilderness, she’d taken their situation better than he’d expected. No questions. No complaints. Impressive. Then again, Shea had been trained in all kinds of high-level circumstances just as he had with the NYPD. Hostage negotiation, standoffs with gunmen, dangerous pursuits, interrogations and more. Everything about her was impressive. But last night, he’d seen a different version of her from the cop he’d gotten to know over the past few months, the cop he’d gotten to admire for her sheer professionalism. She’d given him a glimpse beyond the emotionless mask she’d secured during their joint investigations, and, with her guard seemingly back in place, Vincent found himself wanting more.
“Have you ever patched a pair of jeans before?” He shifted his injured leg toward her, barely enough light coming through the opening above them to make it visible. The pain had dulled overnight, but blood was still oozing into his pant leg. If he didn’t get the wound taken care of before they trekked through the snow, it’d become infected.
“What?” Those mesmerizing eyes of hers caught sight of blood. In an instant, she closed the distance between them, crouching in front of him. Down on one knee, she framed the wound in the side of his thigh with both hands, and every cell in his body sang with a rush of electricity. “How long were you planning on keeping that to yourself?”
“I need you to remove the shrapnel and stitch the wound, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I’d do it myself, but it’s at an odd angle. There’s a needle, thread and some rubbing alcohol inside the first aid kit in the bag.”
She pulled the kit from his duffel and located the medical supplies. Washing her hands with the alcohol, she handed the bottle to him to do the same to his leg. Stinging pain raced down his leg a split second before Shea came back into focus. Hesitation flared in her expression as she turned back to him, the box of sewing thread and needles in her hand. “Any color preference?”
“Black is fine.” The breath rushed out of him as she tore the hole in his pants wider, her fingers icy against his skin. Metal on rock resounded through the cave as she tugged the piece of shrapnel from his muscle. In minutes, Shea had cleaned and stitched the wound and secured a fresh piece of gauze over the injury. Couldn’t say she wasn’t efficient. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” Cleaning her hands once again, she packed the supplies and handed him a roll of duct tape to patch the hole in his jeans. Out here, exposure would kill them faster than anything else, especially if the wind had picked up overnight. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
They moved farther into the cave, systematically following piercing rays of sunlight to find an opening big enough for them to escape. So far, nothing. A combination of cold humidity and staleness dived into his lungs as they moved, but not enough to choke out Shea’s familiar scent, and he couldn’t help but breathe a bit deeper. Columns of stalactites and stalagmites were closing in on both sides of the path ahead. They’d already spent too long trying to find an opening, but if they couldn’t venture any farther, there was no way they were getting out of here before they starved.
“I think there’s an opening up ahead.” Her words vibrated through him with the help of the bare rock walls narrowing in around them, pushing him harder. The stitches in his leg stretched as Shea half jogged toward the largest pool of sunlight they’d come across so far. Her bright smile flashed wide as she turned back toward him, and his heart jerked in his chest. From the sight of her happy or from their discovery, he didn’t know—didn’t care. They’d found an escape.
Melting ice dripped onto his shoulders from above as they passed into the outside world, exposed skin tightening at the sudden change in temperature. Vincent pulled his T-shirt over his mouth and nose as his lungs ached from dropping temperatures. The plane had gone down on the north side of the peak, and this entrance to the cave sat on the west. They’d have to navigate to the other side in several feet of snow and treacherous heights to get to the crash site. Climbing and hiking had been one of his passions over the years, but it’d been a long time since he’d been in the mountains, and he sure as hell hadn’t climbed in this much snow. They’d have to take this one step at a time. A gust of wind blew snowflakes in front of them, whiting out his vision for a moment. Hell. Without getting to the plane, they couldn’t contact his team or confirm his suspicions. They’d die out here. Which meant they didn’t have a choice. Not if they wanted to survive. “I need you to take my hand. Follow in my footsteps, got it? It’s the only way we’re going to be able to do this.”
“Okay.�
�� Nodding, she interlocked her fingers with his, gripping him tight as he took the first step. His boots disappeared into the sea of white, but he hit solid ground. Slowly he led them alongside the peak, his back to the mountain, Shea close on his heels. Each step brought them closer to the curve of the rock. The wind threatened to unbalance them, but right now, they had all the time in the world. Nothing existed outside of the small pocket of reality they’d created between the two of them. Nothing but the next step. She’d expressed her distrust with the Blackhawk Security team—more than once—but in this moment, she was relying on him to keep her alive, to get her back to her son. He wouldn’t fail her.
“Almost there!” The howling wind whipped his words away. The sudden pain in his leg buckled his knee, and his foot slid beneath the snow. Her short-lived scream echoed in his head as she clenched his hand tighter. He righted himself before he slid down the mountain and pulled her in close. Sweat built between their palms. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he reevaluated their plan. They were in this—100 percent—and they couldn’t give up now. They followed the curve around the northwest corner of the mountain, and the wind immediately died. Crystalized puffs of air formed in front of his mouth as he took in the sun glittering off the tumble of snow that’d buried them beneath the rock. Without thought, he brought her into the circle of his arms as relief coursed through him. Neither of them would’ve survived the night without the other. He might’ve helped save her life during the avalanche, but without her, he wouldn’t have made it this far.
The Line of Duty Page 3
