Holding in a sob—for her dog, for herself, for Peter—Alanna shifted again, sliding closer to Peter. She tried calling for Chance again, but she couldn’t hear him anymore. She yelled louder, even as she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Maybe Chance could get free of the snow and save himself, at least.
Now, she had to try to do the same for her and Peter. As she scooted backward toward him through the heavy snow, his hand moved again, this time sliding down to grab her arm. Relief made more tears fill her eyes, but she blinked them back fast, not wanting them to freeze on her face.
She wasn’t shivering so much anymore. Either she was adjusting to the cold or—more likely—she was starting to face hypothermia.
“We have to get out of here,” she told Peter, even as the tiny pocket of air in front of her collapsed and more snow crashed down on her.
The weight felt crushing, the sudden lack of oxygen making her panic. She swung her arms out, trying to find a new pocket of air.
Then something scratched against her leg, a frantic pawing that got faster as she instinctively jerked away. Chance! He was trying to save her.
He was behind her now. Did that mean he’d somehow dug free of the avalanche? Alanna moved her legs, trying to help him free her. She grabbed Peter’s hand as Chance suddenly took her ankle in his mouth and tugged.
She slid backward about a foot, snow crushing her even more, making her lungs and chest hurt. Then Chance’s paws were up near her head and the snow in front of her face suddenly broke away, giving her precious air as the weight on her eased. She scooted toward him, trying to pull Peter with her, but Chance had already turned away from her.
He had started digging frantically beside her and soon Peter’s torso and head emerged from the snow. Peter dropped her hand, somehow pulling himself forward, and then he and Chance were digging her the rest of the way out, dragging her free of the snow.
Struggling to her knees, Alanna threw shaky arms around Chance’s back as she stared at the huge pile of snow. It was as tall as a house in the middle. Somehow, she, Peter and Chance had been at the edge of the avalanche, where it wasn’t as high, where it hadn’t smashed down hard enough to crush their bones or suffocate them. Her truck was gone, either buried under it or tossed over the side of the mountain, crashed somewhere below.
But she was alive. Chance was alive. And Peter was alive. That was all that mattered.
She stumbled to her feet and the bitter wind sliced through her wet clothes. Her teeth started chattering as Peter grabbed her hand.
“Come on. My truck’s around the corner. We have to warm up.”
As she stumbled after him, Chance at her side, Alanna realized his truck was far enough away that he could have avoided the avalanche altogether. He’d run toward it to save her, even though he didn’t like her, even though he seemed to think she might be in cahoots with a kidnapper.
He didn’t trust her. She didn’t trust him, either. But he’d risked his life for her, which meant he was a good person. They might not agree on how to go about it, but they had the same ultimate goal: to save the kids Darcy had kidnapped.
They rounded the bend and Peter held open the door to his truck, waiting for her and Chance, his face a bright, unnatural red from the cold.
She slowed and he urged, “Come on, Alanna. Hurry.”
“I want to work together,” she blurted.
“What?”
It didn’t matter what they thought of each other. She’d figure out a way to convince Peter that he needed to bring Darcy in carefully, peacefully. He had resources she didn’t, like access to whatever the Desparre police learned from other law enforcement. But she had resources he needed, too, and an insight into Darcy’s mindset that he’d never figure out without her.
They’d be stronger together.
“Let’s work together to find Darcy and save those kids.”
He stared at her a minute, something pensive in his brilliant blue eyes, then he nodded. “Deal. Now get in the truck.”
Chapter Six
It was amazing they’d lived through the avalanche.
He wasn’t sure he could handle another minute out in this cold. Instead of running around to the driver’s side and trying to wedge the door open so close to the upward slant of the mountain, Peter clambered into his truck behind Alanna and Chance. His limbs were clumsy from the cold. He slammed the door shut behind him, pressing awkwardly against the dog until Chance leaped into the back to get out of the way. Then, Alanna scooted into the driver’s seat, giving him a little space.
He’d left the truck running with the heat blasting, but he could barely feel it now. He turned it up all the way, then yanked off his sopping wet gloves. He reached up to take off his hat and discovered it was gone. His short hair was iced over and when he ran his hand through it, ice and water flew across the seat. Thrusting his hands in front of the heater, he glanced at Alanna, who’d slumped against the seat and closed her eyes.
“Come on,” he told her and started unzipping her thick coat, which was definitely made for an Alaskan winter but not for getting buried in an avalanche. His fingers felt too big, swollen beyond their normal size and clumsy. But at least he could feel them, the stinging pain assuring him the nerves still worked.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, but the question had no heat. Her eyes opened, then drifted closed again.
“We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” he muttered, running his tongue over his lip, which was way past chapped and split open as he spoke. “Come on,” he said again, and this time, Chance pitched in.
The St. Bernard pressed his big head through the space between the seats and grabbed Alanna’s sleeve with his mouth, tugging on it until she opened her eyes again.
She turned toward him sluggishly. “You okay, Chance?”
“He saved us,” Peter said, giving the dog a quick pat on the head. “I guess he knows St. Bernards are snow rescue dogs.”
Chance let go of Alanna’s coat long enough to give a brief bark, which made Peter laugh and startled Alanna, finally seeming to focus her.
“It’s so cold,” she said, trying to tug the zipper back up on her coat.
“Nope.” Peter ignored the squelch of his own uncomfortable, freezing clothes as he shifted to get closer to her. He yanked her gloves off and tossed them on the floor behind them, then awkwardly pulled off her coat. At least she could feel the cold. Her hands were bright red, which was definitely better than being unnaturally white, but they both needed to warm up fast.
Grunting at the uncomfortable angle and his aching body, he leaned over her and unlaced her boots, tugging them off her feet. Then came her thick socks. Her toes were too white and he rubbed them for a minute, then shoved her feet underneath the floor heaters.
When he came back up, she was shivering. A good sign.
“Get the rest of your clothes off,” he said, slipping out of his own coat and dumping it on the floor behind him, careful not to drop it on Chance.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, leaning over the dog as he grabbed the stack of blankets he always kept in the vehicle in case of an emergency. Getting stalled out in Desparre could mean death if you weren’t prepared.
He set most of the stack between him and Alanna, then tossed one over Chance, rubbing down the dog’s back to dry some of the dampness.
Realizing Alanna was just staring at him, he yanked off his sweater and snapped, “Hurry up.”
She flushed, a different shade of red flooding along her cheeks and neck, and quickly averted her gaze.
She was only five years younger than him, but he suddenly felt much older. He’d been inside war zones for years, lost most of the hearing in one ear and experienced huge change to his professional and personal life as a result. And her?
He realized he was still staring at her as she tried to cover herself with one
of the blankets and shimmy out of her soaking jeans at the same time, so he turned the other way. Then he yanked off his boots and socks, sighing as the blast of heat hit his bare toes.
She’d been kidnapped at five years old and, if news reports could be believed, she’d lived a pretty sheltered life with the Altiers. What had her life been like since she’d returned home to Chicago? Had her real family smothered her, too, afraid to let her out of their sight again? Had she ever ventured out on her own before this?
Resisting the urge to glance at her again, he yanked off the rest of his clothes, shivering as the hot air hit his wet skin. There wasn’t much space in the passenger seat, but he managed to get the itchy wool blanket wrapped all the way around him. Then he closed his eyes and let the warmth inside the truck seep into him.
Alanna was on his bad ear’s side, but in the close confines of the truck, it didn’t matter. All too easily, he could hear her moving around, presumably still in the process of undressing. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, suddenly picturing the paleness of her skin, the long, lean legs that had been encased in jeans earlier. Things he had no business imagining.
When the noise finally stopped, he asked tightly, “You covered?”
“Yes.”
He opened his eyes, trying not to actually glance at her. But he couldn’t help himself.
She was wrapped tightly in the dark wool blanket, covered up to her chin with her drenched hair draped over the front of the blanket and sticking to the seat behind her. Her cheeks were still a patchy red, but it was the bright red of standing outside in Alaska too long, not from embarrassment or shyness.
“You okay?” he asked, staring into her deep brown eyes. It suddenly hit him how beautiful she was.
He hadn’t noticed it before, not really. He’d been far too busy trying to figure out how she’d gone from kidnap victim to accomplice, enabler and defender of criminals.
But she wasn’t out here, risking her life, just for Darcy. She was here for those kids, too, kids she probably identified with because she’d once been in exactly their position. She had to be.
One of her hands slipped free from the mounds of wool and squeezed his arm. “Thank you for coming after me.”
“It’s lucky I happened to be following you around.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but she laughed.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you mean what you said earlier? About working together to find those kids?”
Tiny lines appeared between her graceful eyebrows. “Of course.”
He leaned closer to her, glancing at the gas gauge, and relaxed when he saw that they still had plenty in the tank. They could sit here and warm up a little bit longer. Then again...
He leaned over her, angling so he was looking upward out the window. Being parked around the bend from where the avalanche had hit was a safer spot. The mountain above didn’t come down at quite the same sharp angle. It was less prone to avalanches. Still, if the snow above was unstable, he didn’t want to sit here and discover he was wrong.
Alanna had squeezed against the back of her seat and he could practically feel her holding her breath until he sat back and put some distance between them.
“We should probably move.”
She twisted in her seat, giving him a glance of bare shoulder as she smiled at Chance, who’d shaken free of the blanket and lay down on the back seat, looking far more relaxed than he should have after digging them out of an avalanche.
“You okay, Chance?”
Her dog lifted his big head, strained forward and licked her cheek.
“Guess so,” she said, laughing as she turned forward again. She squirmed inside the blanket until she had it wrapped around her more like a towel, her arms and shoulders bare. Then she twisted and tucked it around her knees and gripped the wheel. “I’m not running around the truck to change seats and I think climbing over each other will be a disaster. So, how about I drive?”
He blinked back at her, suddenly conjuring an image of the two of them tangled together, wool blankets awkwardly between them and nothing else. “You drive and I’ll direct. Let’s go to my house and figure out a plan.”
She stared at him a long minute, the air suddenly tense between them, until finally she gave a short nod and shifted the truck into Drive. She made a careful turn and they headed back up the mountain, past the Altiers’ old home, and then downward again, back to Desparre’s downtown.
With every mile, he snuck glances at her, her hands tense on the wheel, her hair slowly drying and curling slightly against the wool blanket. She seemed more serious in profile, older somehow, and Peter wondered which Alanna was the real one.
The woman who’d held tight to her dog, even at the risk of being tossed over the edge of the mountain by the avalanche? Who’d offered to help the police catch someone she obviously still cared about? Who’d blushed when he stripped his sweater off, even when she should have been more concerned about her own physical well-being?
Or was she the person who’d defended the couple who’d kidnapped her? Still the child who’d been molded by two kidnappers, who’d had her emotions manipulated for so long that her loyalty would always lie in the wrong place?
By keeping her close, he could keep her safe. But would he just be putting himself back in the same position he had two years ago, risking his own safety for someone who was beyond saving?
* * *
ALANNA MORGAN LOOKED good in his house, looked good in his clothes.
Peter scowled at the ridiculous thought as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee and settled on the chair across from her, Chance on the floor between them. He’d started a fire as soon as they’d walked through the door. Now it was blazing, almost too hot, but it felt good after being buried in the snow. He took a long sip of his coffee, making a mental note to grab their clothes from his truck soon and toss them all in the dryer. The sooner she was back in her own clothes, the better it would be for his focus.
He still had his suspicions about Alanna, still wondered how much he could trust her, but now sympathy was mixed in with those other emotions. She had to be carrying so many conflicting feelings about her past, about Darcy, about her future. He knew that territory well, and he wanted to reassure her that she could make it through just as he had done.
The drive to his house had been quiet. All of Alanna’s attention had been on navigating the Alaskan roads and she’d handled them better than most of the locals. It reminded him of something else he’d heard through the rumor mill: the Altiers had taught the kids they’d kidnapped all kinds of survival skills. He knew she could lose a tail better than most police officers. Still, when it came to searching for Darcy, she’d acted with emotion rather than intellect. Both he and Alanna should have known those back mountain roads could be dangerous, and still, they’d persisted.
Was it a mistake to bring her here? A mistake to let her get too close? Because even though she might help him find Darcy and those kids, Alanna was still a threat, too. Maybe not intentionally, but when it came right down to it, who would she choose to help? Those kids and a police officer she’d just met, or a woman who’d raised her for most of her life?
Right now she was glancing around his home with open curiosity. It was cozy in a definably Alaskan way, with big windows that showcased the wilderness outside, exposed wooden beams and huge, open living spaces. She took in the long row of black-and-white photographs on one wall. They were images from his time overseas, mostly inside war zones. Images his family always complained about when they came over, images they’d pushed him to take down as his nieces and nephews started asking about them. Images he still kept up so he’d never forget. There was only one photo he’d never hung, one that had appeared in newspapers across the country. He touched his bad ear, scowled when he realized what he was doing and refocused on Alanna.
She frowned slightly at the photos, then turned her gaze out the window as he studied her.
Five years ago, he’d been too caught up in his own life to pay a lot of attention to a group of kids, ages six to twenty-three, rescued from kidnappers so near his hometown. But when he’d first come home, feeling totally adrift and with no idea what he’d do with the rest of his life, he’d read a lot about the story. He’d scoffed at statements made by the victims saying they’d been loved and well-treated. But admittedly, he’d been biased by his own experiences. He still was.
“Tell me about life with the Altiers.”
She shifted to face him, her suspicion of his motives all over her face. Still, she answered softly, earnestly, “I don’t know why she’s doing this, but Darcy would never hurt those kids.”
“She already has,” Peter snapped, regretting the words as he spoke them but unable to call them back. “She kidnapped them. Don’t you remember how that felt?” Way to get beyond his own biases. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, not wanting to tell her about his own past but wondering if that was the best way to reach her.
Before he could, she set down her coffee and leaned toward him. Chance’s head popped up, glancing between them, obviously sensing the tension. “I do remember. I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I know you don’t understand how I can—” she took an audible breath, then stared him straight in the eyes as she finished “—love them.”
“I do understand that.” Or at least, he understood that she thought what she felt was love, instead of a complicated mix of fear and dependency, multiplied over fourteen years. “The attachment you can develop for someone who holds you against your will is real. It can be necessary for survival and then it gets ingrained. It’s—”
Her snort of disbelief cut him off. She looked offended when she replied, “I got a psychology degree after I left Alaska. I understand why you think that’s what’s happening here, but don’t forget—I’m the one who turned them in. They both went to jail because I left that note. My... Julian died because of me.”
Alaska Mountain Rescue Page 6
