Black Ice

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  Dex's eyes gave me a full-body rake. The way he grinned at me made me feel slimy. "Thought you didn't have a girlfriend, Versteeg."

  I knew we'd agreed to keep our relationship quiet for now, but wasn't this the perfect opportunity to finally be open about it? Why did Calvin feel the need to lie to his best friend? Why was he asking me to lie to my best friend? Calvin had a reputation as a player who couldn't commit, and he'd never had a serious girlfriend, but this was different. I was different. He cared about me.

  I was certain of it. I only wished I didn't sound like I was trying hard to convince myself.

  "I don't," Cal said.

  They laughed, slugged each other affably, then exchanged a tricky handshake.

  "Dude, your hair is sticking up everywhere," Dex said.

  Dex was right. I'd been mussing Calvin's thick brown hair, and the tips were pointing to the sky.

  I thought Calvin would laugh it off, but he bent to look in the side mirror and said, "Damn, Britt, I have dinner with my parents after this." He tried ineffectively to smooth his hair down.

  "So? You're going to shower before dinner, aren't you?" I said, growing tired of sitting quiet while Calvin and Dex made me feel invisible.

  "You sound like my dad, always telling me what I should be doing next," he complained. "Stick to kissing, will you? It's what you're good at."

  Dex snorted his amusement and sauntered off.

  When Calvin and I were alone again, I said accusingly, "Why did you let Dex think we've had sex?"

  "Because, babe," he said, slinging his arm over my shoulder, "any day now we will."

  "Oh, yeah? That's funny, because I want to wait. So when were you going to tell me?"

  He laughed off my question, but I wasn't joking. I really did want to hear his answer.

  "Tell Mr. Bagshawe he should cut me some slack on our next unit test if he doesn't want me to dish on your secret fornication," Korbie snickered, pulling me out of the memory.

  When I didn't answer, she added, "You're not offended, are you? You know I'm only kidding. I know you're not with Mr. Bagshawe. You'd never go out with a guy and not tell me."

  Well, that did it. I made up my mind. No swimming tonight, I texted Calvin, hoping he didn't assume I was having my period. We'd been together for weeks, and I knew him in a way I'd never known another guy, but we weren't to the point where I wanted him bringing me ibuprofen and a heating pad for my cramps.

  When am I gonna see you in a bikini? he texted back. One with strings I can undo . . .

  When you come clean about us, I texted. My thumb hovered over the send button.

  In the end, I deleted the text. I wasn't going to manipulate my boyfriend. I was seventeen now, above games.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I did not know how long Mason walked with his arm under my shoulders, propping me up, urging me forward. As we plodded heavily downhill, looking for any refuge from the weather, I shook myself awake, realizing I must have been falling in and out of sleep for some time. Under other circumstances I would have recoiled from Mason, the idea of touching him repellent, but I was too exhausted to care.

  He spoke in my ear. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was excited. I lifted my drooping eyelids, taking in the endless, swirling white landscape. He pointed toward something ahead. When I saw it too, my heart surged with joy.

  We hobbled over to the fallen tree with its intricate network of roots now exposed aboveground. Clumps of frozen mud filled in the gaps, and the effect was something of a cave, a secret hideaway from the weather. Mason helped me crawl under the canopy of gnarled, twisted roots, then came in after me. Protected from the snow and wind, I felt the weight of hopelessness roll away. The tree smelled of dirt and decay, but the place was dry. And compared to the buffeting winds outside, almost balmy.

  Mason pulled off his gloves to blow on his hands and rub them briskly together. "How are your feet?"

  "Wet." It was the lengthiest response I could manage. My teeth hurt from knocking together, and my lips had hardened into painful strips of ice.

  He frowned. "I'm worried you could have frostbite. You should have--" He caught himself in mid-sentence, but I knew what he had meant to say. I should have taken the dry wool socks he'd offered when I'd had the chance.

  I'd lost feeling in my feet. Even the uncomfortable tingling had gone away. It was hard to muster up concern over frostbite when I couldn't feel pain . . . and when I was so bone-weary that my brain couldn't grasp a single thought.

  "Here, drink some water before you fall asleep," Mason instructed, passing me a canteen.

  I took a few sips, but my eyelids were already drifting downward. In that half-conscious moment, I felt my dad and Ian praying for me. They knew I was in trouble, and they were on their knees, asking God to strengthen me. A calm warmth spread through me and I exhaled softly.

  Don't give up on me, I thought across the vast distance that separated us.

  It was my last groggy thought before falling asleep.

  When I woke, milky light streamed through the twisted mesh of roots above. Morning sunlight. I'd slept for hours. I felt Mason stir beside me, and realized with a start that I'd slept curled against his body. I scooted backward, and immediately regretted it as cold air swarmed to fill the void where our bodies had touched.

  "You awake?" he asked, his voice husky with sleep.

  I sat up, my head brushing the roots. It was then that I noticed Mason had spread waterproof ground mats beneath us and covered us with blankets and the sleeping bag. I was also surprised to find Mason's boots on my feet. They were large, but he'd tied the laces tight, and my toes felt toasty warm. His own feet were covered in a thick, woolly pair of high-quality hiking socks, but I doubted even they were keeping out the biting air.

  "Your socks were soaked through," he explained.

  "You didn't have to give me your boots," I said, feeling very grateful he had.

  "I hung your boots and socks to dry." He pointed to the drying rack he'd jury-rigged from one of the lower protected roots. "But until we get a fire started, they're going to do more hanging than drying."

  "Fire," I said slowly, savoring the word. Delicious longing crept through me at the thought of real heat.

  "It's not snowing right now. Good time to find wood." He reached across me and started unlacing his boots from my feet. Of course he would need his boots if he was going out to collect firewood, but the easy, familiar way that he touched me took me off guard. The only boy who'd ever touched me so intimately was Calvin.

  Mason slipped the boots off my heels and put them onto his own feet. Somewhat shyly, I gave him back his fleece hat.

  "How much snow did we get?" I asked.

  "Several inches. Any roads up the mountain that were open are definitely closed now. We're on our own for a couple more days, until they can plow. Don't worry," he said, looking at me suddenly, as if realizing this news might alarm me. "As long as we keep our heads, we'll be fine. I've survived worse."

  I felt strangely reassured by his company. But I couldn't help wondering if Mason's confidence stemmed from knowing that the roads were clogged and the police couldn't come after him. He had time to plan his next move. This seemed to boost his spirits, but made mine shred further. No one was coming to rescue me. I knew Calvin wouldn't stop looking for me--he'd find Korbie and come back for me as soon as he could--but I couldn't count on him. I couldn't count on my dad. I couldn't rely on the police. One by one, I felt rocks begin to drop on my chest.

  "You're not going far, are you?" I asked Mason as he crawled out of our hideaway.

  He studied me curiously for a moment; then a look of amusement flickered in his eyes. "Worried I won't come back?"

  "No, it's just . . ."

  Yes, that summed it up.

  Oddly, only hours before, I had tried to run away from him. I hadn't trusted him then, and I wasn't sure I could trust him now. He still needed me to help him off the mountain, which was probably the on
ly reason I was alive. Or was it? Did I really think Mason could--would--kill me? If he'd killed the girl whose body I'd found at the cabin, then he was capable of killing again. But I wasn't sure who to pin her death on. And I wasn't about to ask Mason again--it wasn't in my best interest to provoke him.

  "I'm going to dig for dry twigs around the base of the trees," Mason said. "I should be back in a half hour."

  "See if you can find pine pitch, too," I said.

  "Pine pitch?"

  "Sap. It's sticky but easy to pull off, and it burns like gasoline when ignited." Calvin had taught me the trick years ago.

  A little smile of approval rose in Mason's eyes. Just for a moment, it seemed to soften his serious, closed-off expression. "Pine pitch it is."

  I slept until Mason returned. I heard him crawl under the awning of roots, and even though I was stiff with cold, I scooted over to watch him light the fire. I didn't want to be a nuisance or a show-off, but maybe I could offer him a few other pointers. I hadn't expected to put my training to use in such dire circumstances, but I was suddenly immensely grateful I'd mastered at least some basic survival skills.

  Mason set four smaller logs side by side, forming a platform. He wiped the sticky globs of pine pitch onto the platform, pausing only to wink at me. Then he used twigs to construct a ventilated tepee. This took time, and so did getting the twigs to ignite with the fire starter. Finally, a spark took and the twigs began to smoke, then burn.

  "We'll be warm soon," he promised.

  Warm. I'd almost forgotten the feeling.

  "Why are you helping me, Mason?" I asked him.

  He shifted uneasily, then settled into thoughtful silence. At last he said, "I know you don't believe me, but I never meant to hurt you. I want to help you. I wanted to help you from the beginning, but things got--out of hand," he said remotely.

  "Were you scared of Shaun? Scared of going against him?" I'd thought Shaun was scared of Mason, but maybe I'd gotten it wrong.

  Mason didn't answer.

  "I'm not sorry he's dead, but I am sorry you lost him. I'm sorry you had to see him die."

  Mason gave a bitter laugh, wagging his head between his knees. "Me too," he said heavily. "You have no idea."

  "I didn't think he would die like--that," I added quietly, still unnerved by Calvin's heedless decision to kill Shaun.

  "Forget about Shaun," Mason said, his eyes momentarily darkening with regret. He blinked, seemingly clearing away any lingering reluctance to accept that Shaun was really gone. "Just you and me from now on. A team, right?" He extended his hand.

  I eyed it, but didn't clasp it. "Why should I trust you?"

  "This feels like a job interview. 'Why should I hire you?' 'Why are you the best person for the job?'"

  "I'm serious."

  A shrug. "I'm all you've got."

  "That's not a reason to trust you. If I were stuck in this tree-cave with Shaun, I wouldn't trust him, even if he were the only other human for a hundred miles."

  "It's more of a burrow, really."

  I resisted the urge to sigh. "Why do you need me? You know how to start a fire. You've clearly spent time in the woods--you're good at tracking. Why not leave me here and fend for yourself?"

  "Is that what you want?"

  "Of course not," I said quickly, shuddering at the thought of facing the immense reach and brutality of the mountains alone. "I mean, our chances of survival increase if we stick together."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  "So you're using me."

  "No more than you're using me."

  I fell silent. There was a certain relief in finally being able to ask Mason questions, but our exchange wasn't as satisfying as it should have been. I got the distinct impression he wasn't giving me straightforward answers. He gave me just enough, a nibble of bait, nothing more.

  "You want a reason to trust me?" he finally said, uncannily sensing my frustration. "My name isn't Mason. It's Jude."

  I flinched. "What?"

  He reached into his back pocket and opened his wallet. His driver's license was tucked behind a plastic see-through inset, and he dug it out, passing it to me.

  I looked at the Wyoming driver's license issued to Mason K. Goertzen.

  "Looks real, doesn't it?" Mason said. "It's not." He then passed me a second driver's license, which had been carefully hidden behind the first. Only this time, he slid his thumb to hide his last name and address.

  The second driver's license had the same photo as the first, but was issued in California.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "I didn't want Shaun to know my real name."

  "Why not?"

  "I didn't want him to have anything on me, in case we had a falling-out. I didn't trust him. And while I'm not sure I can trust you, either, I'm putting myself out there. I'm hoping you'll meet me halfway. If I open up to you, maybe I can convince you to share your secrets."

  "I don't have a secret identity. I don't have any secrets," I argued, wondering what kind of ploy this was, what information he wanted to lure from me now.

  "That's not true. You told me that you and Korbie came up to the mountains alone."

  I frowned. "We did."

  "Then what's your ex doing here? Calvin, that's his name, right? The roads are closed. He must have come up before the first storm hit, two days ago. Did you know he'd be up here?"

  "What if I did?" I said defensively.

  "Why didn't you mention him? Back at the cabin, before you knew Shaun was dangerous, why didn't you tell us the truth?"

  Because I was interested in Shaun, and didn't want to ruin my chances by bringing up my ex. It was too shameful a truth to confess, so I gave him an answer that let me live with myself.

  "Maybe I didn't fully trust Shaun or you, and wanted an ace up my sleeve, just in case. Turns out I was smart--Calvin took Shaun completely by surprise." It now struck me that if I hadn't tried to escape from the ranger patrol cabin, Calvin would have taken all of us by surprise, and I'd be with him now. The realization seemed to knock me breathless, like a punch to the stomach.

  "Do you think Calvin is at Idlewilde?" asked Mason.

  "I don't know." But I did think Calvin was there. If he'd found Korbie, he would take her to Idlewilde.

  "Can you find Idlewilde from here?"

  I stared at Mason, trying to figure out what he was planning. I had Calvin's map and I could lead us to Idlewilde. But why would Mason want to help me get to Idlewilde?

  "I think so," I said at last, not sure I should commit to anything until I had untangled his endgame.

  "Is Idlewilde closer than the ranger station?"

  "About a mile closer."

  "Then I think we should go there. What kind of guy is Calvin?"

  "You have to ask?" I scoffed. "He doesn't let anyone mess with him. You saw that. When you took us hostage, you had no idea what you were getting into. Calvin won't give up until he finds me. He's gone to look for Korbie, but he'll be back. You have every reason to be scared, Mason," I warned.

  "Jude," he corrected.

  "Is that really what you want me to call you?" I asked, with a touch of exasperation. "I've been calling you Mason this whole time. I'm not sure I can see you as anyone else."

  His eyes jumped to mine, and a strange, unfathomable look passed over his face. "Try."

  "Jude," I said, with even more aggravation. "Jude," I repeated, softer this time, experimenting with the sound of it. I actually believed I preferred it, though I'd never confess that to him. "It's short; I always preferred boys' names with two syllables. And it reminds me of that Beatles song. Or Jude Law, who you look nothing like," I added quickly.

  He stroked his jawline in mock consideration. "True, he's got nothing on me."

  In spite of myself, I laughed out loud. And immediately regretted it, when Mason--Jude--grinned back, clearly pleased with his joke. The grin seemed to open his entire face, softening the steely angles and warming his hooded, aloof eyes. For a mome
nt, I found the picture both sexy and alluring--but I immediately resented my attraction. It wasn't real. If Stockholm syndrome existed, I was sure my attraction was an early symptom of it.

  Even so. Maybe I would call him Jude after all. If we were going to work together to stay alive, it might be helpful to think of him as someone different. Not the guy who'd abducted me, but someone with a dark past. Someone who hadn't stood up to Shaun, but had wanted to. Someone who would help me, if I helped him.

  "I was named after Jude the Apostle, also known as Jude, patron saint of lost causes."

  I eyed him doubtfully. "Patron saint of lost causes? Is that even true?"

  "Of course it's true. I'm here with you, aren't I?"

  I tilted my chin up. "Are you suggesting I'm a lost cause?"

  "Actually," he said, his face growing serious, "the opposite. I think you're more capable than people give you credit for. Sometimes I wonder what kind of girl you were before you came on this trip."

  He wondered about me? What other things did he think about me?

  He eyed me in a way that made me feel increasingly transparent--and uncomfortable--and continued, "I watched how you and Korbie interacted, and it made me wonder if, back home, in front of your friends and family, you offer a slightly different version of the real Britt. A less capable version. You're not that girl here in the mountains. I like that you face your fears. And while it's not normally something people consider as a virtue, you're a very gifted liar. How many times did you coax Shaun's hand with a convincing lie?"

  I did not like the long, cool stare of his brown eyes on me, and quickly exclaimed, "If kidnapping and abduction don't pan out for you, I'm sure you could give psychic reading a try!"

  He rubbed his thumb and index finger together, as if expecting money. "The least you can do is give me my first tip."

  "Here's a tip: Next time, try sticking to a story that isn't so outlandish and off base; your victim might actually believe it."

  This time, it was my turn to feel smugly pleased when his eyes glittered with amusement. I might be stuck in the wilderness, but hey, at least I hadn't lost my sense of humor.

  "Do you think it's strange Calvin shot an unarmed man?" Jude asked, reverting back to our earlier topic.

  I hesitated. I wanted to defend Calvin. I'd worked out in my head every possible way to justify his actions. He'd been frantic with worry. He'd believed Shaun had hurt Korbie and me. He had made the best move under the circumstances. I told myself these things, but I was deeply troubled by Calvin's decision.