The rapid-fire pinging of automatic weapons got louder. The team had engaged, he noted. And since they had no idea he or Alexia were here, they’d be taken as the enemy if spotted.
“Let’s go.”
Taking her at her word, he set off at a low, crouching sprint. Moving through the snow, both the thick ground cover and the flurries buffeting them backward, was hardly fast. But—he checked his GPS to make sure they were on track—they were making progress.
“Hold,” he ordered. He stopped, still hunkered down, and scanned the area for signs of body heat. Nothing.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Go? Where? How?”
“Vehicle,” he said, gesturing to what looked like one of the many snowdrifts in the blurry white landscape. When she shook her head in confusion, he pushed through the snow—hip deep here—and unerringly found the loose end of the white tarp. With a tug, he uncovered the snowmobile he’d stashed.
“This is a vehicle?” She gaped. “Are you sure?”
He grinned, swinging one leg over the seat. “Climb on.”
Giving him, then the snowmobile, a doubtful look, she shook her head before climbing on behind him. There wasn’t much sexy about the half foot of fabric between their bodies, but Blake’s blood still hummed when her thighs clamped tight against his hips. Her arms wrapped around his waist, holding tight to his jacket. As soon as she felt settled, he pressed the ignition and, with one last glance at the flaming sky to the west of the trees, took off.
They flew across the snow, flurries pounding against them as if protesting their escape. He watched his GPS, double-checking the few landmarks along the way to make sure they were on track.
Twenty minutes later, after taking a couple side trips and doubling back to make sure they weren’t followed, they reached the side of a mountain. He cut the snowmobile’s engine and, muscles trembling from the exertion of holding the vehicle steady in the intense winds, looked around. The helicopter would pick them up on top. At the base, camouflaged by icy brush and snow, was a domed tent. He didn’t see any new tracks in or out, but wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’m going to make sure it’s secure. You move forward and take the controls.”
He dismounted, waiting for her to grip the handlebars. As soon as she did, he pulled out his infrared binoculars again and checked the perimeter. Five minutes later, but never losing her from sight, he returned to the snowmobile. Alexia hadn’t moved. He could tell because she had at least three inches of snow on her now.
“All clear,” he told her.
Her eyes were huge behind the plastic lenses, swimming with exhaustion, fear and relief. She didn’t move, though.
“Ready to get out of the snow?”
Her nod was more along the lines of a shiver.
Knowing he needed to get her to warmth quickly, Blake opted for the fastest route. He reached out and lifted her into his arms. She didn’t make a sound. She did, however, wrap her hands around him and hold tight.
He liked how it felt, even through the miles of insulated fabric between them.
When he reached the tent, he shifted her, but didn’t let go. He tugged open the Velcro closure, then unzipped the canvas. It wasn’t until they were inside, lamp on and flap secured again, that he put her gently on her feet.
He waited until she’d stopped swaying, then unhooked the scarf from his hood and grinned.
“Welcome to your temporary home sweet home.”
ALEXIA’S HEAD WAS SPINNING. She wasn’t so sure her body wasn’t, too.
The last five days had been surreal. Like something out of a horrible nightmare that not even her own subconscious would torture her with. And now it was over?
Or, she blinked and looked around the tent, almost over?
The tent was awfully well equipped for a temporary stop. Two cots, a cookstove, an array of equipment that looked as if it could control rocket ships. A small arsenal in one corner and a table and chairs in the other. And Blake in the center. Boxes were piled at the back wall and, she squinted, there was a stack of books on one of the cots.
As always, her gaze landed on Blake.
Nerves that’d gone numb on the bone-bruising flight over the snow started coming to life again with big, snapping bites.
He wasn’t paying any attention, though. He’d pushed back his hood and now set his goggles aside so he could pull on a radio headset.
She watched carefully, noting what buttons he pushed, which switches he flipped.
“Base, this is Boy Scout. Hostage secured. Will await your go. Boy Scout out.”
“That’s it?” she asked, frowning as he turned everything off with a push of his finger. She wanted to grab the radio and yell into it. To insist someone hurry the hell up and come to get them. She wanted to go home, dammit.
“That’s it,” he said.
No, she wanted to moan. She wanted a shower and warm clothes. A bowlful of hot fudge. Her own bed, popcorn, to hug her brother.
“Where are we?” she whispered, more than ready to hear him say the icy bowels of hell.
“Alaska. North Slope,” he told her as he moved around the perimeter of the tent, turning on small heaters so the space was soon a warm cocoon. Then he flipped on a series of tiny monitors. At first they all looked white, as though they weren’t tuned in. Alexia stepped closer, her eyes narrowed as she realized the white was snow. Then she saw the angled rock he’d parked the snowmobile behind.
Security cameras.
Did he really think someone might follow them? That, and a million more questions chased through her mind. But the first ones to tumble out were, “How long are we waiting here? Is someone picking us up? Who sent you to get me?”
“We’re here until we’re told otherwise,” was the only answer he gave.
“Is that going to be hours? A day? Two? What’s that mean?” Alexia realized her voice had hit a pitch high enough to trigger an avalanche, but she couldn’t help herself. Feeling trapped, barely able to breathe, she yanked the kerchief from her face and ripped at the strings tying her hood closed. Her fingers, clumsy and fat in the thick gloves, couldn’t undo it.
Her breath was coming in gasps now. Black spots sped across her vision, racing one another from side to side. Before she could give in to the scream building in her throat, Blake was there.
His knuckles were warm as they brushed her frozen face, fingers making swift work of the ties, before he gently pushed the hood back and pulled the goggles off.
“Breathe,” he instructed quietly. “Pull the air into your belly. Attagirl. Hold it, then let it out.”
Her eyes locked on his, she followed his breath, listened to his instructions, and slowly, painfully reeled in the fragile threads of her control.
“Sorry,” she murmured as she started to feel like herself again. The heat warming her cheeks should have been welcome in this bitter cold, but shame was never comfortable.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he told her as he continued to gently release her from the coat’s bindings, then slipped the gloves off her hands. If he tried to take her boots and socks, she just might have to smack him. It’d be a long time