Cold as Hell (Haven’s Rock #3)

Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

My heart stops. A contraction hits, and I grit my teeth through it. Then I squint at that foot.

It’s not moving. There’s a bare foot just visible through a cluster of bushes, and it isn’t moving.

I look each way across the open landscape. I can see one large bush to my left and a small cluster to my right. Is either big enough to conceal Jerome? That cluster is too low to the ground—if he’s there, he’d be on his stomach, unable to leap up quickly. The single bush to my left is a possibility, though.

But if this were a trap, would he set it up so I can just barely make out Yolanda’s foot?

I don’t know. I just know that I can’t stay here and hope Dalton gets back before Yolanda…

Before she what? Freezes to death?

I look at that bare foot, completely still, and my chest clenches and my eyes fill and I want to scream.

If Jerome left her there, it’s already too late. He chose a spot on these rocks, where he could pick his way across without leaving a trail, and he dumped her naked body in a cluster of bushes, where we won’t find her until we return with Storm to sniff out whatever remains after—

Another contraction, and I embrace this one. It snaps the doom spiral and forces me to focus on nothing but breathing for a few moments. Then I peer at that single bush, adjust my gun, and move out into the open. I walk with Storm at my side, and all my attention is on that bush. After a few steps, I can see through the snow-laden branches. There’s nothing on the other side.

I break into a waddling run, and I practically fall beside the cluster of bushes. I dive in, shoving aside barren branches, snow tumbling down onto…

Onto Yolanda. She’s barefooted, her jeans and parka gone, panties and button-down shirt still on. And she isn’t moving. She’s curled up fetal-position on her side, her arms wrapped around her bare legs, and she isn’t moving.

When I move around her, I can see cuts on her feet and smears of blood on the rocks. She’d been partially undressed when she escaped Jerome, and she ran here, out on the rocks where he couldn’t track her prints, and then she curled up under the biggest cluster of bushes she could find and…

I push the rest aside. I’m not just sitting there, crying over her still form. I’m checking for a pulse, for breathing, for anything, and I’m not finding it. She’s cold. She’s so cold, and there’s no pulse, no heartbeat, no sign of life.

There! Her throat fluttered. I put my face right up to hers and feel the faint stream of warm breath on my cold face. Tears prickle my eyes. She’s alive.

After Lynn died, I read April’s reference entries on hypothermia to refresh my memory. In stage one, the victim is conscious and shivering uncontrollably. Stage two, they stop shivering and become mentally impaired. Stage three? Loss of consciousness, during which it may be difficult to detect vital signs as their body slows down.

Warm her up. That’s the treatment for all of the early stages. Here, I remember reading something about cardiac danger, but I can’t recall exactly what the book said. Probably to warm her gently and not move her.

I’m stripping off my coat when I remember Anders is out there, along with Dalton and Jacob, all of whom will know how to handle hypothermia.

And all of whom need to know I found Yolanda.

I open my mouth to shout. Then I pause. What if Jerome is nearby, searching for Yolanda?

Too bad. I have my gun, and if he comes first, I’ll handle that. I’m not letting Yolanda die for fear I’ll accidentally summon her would-be killer.

“Eric!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I have Yolanda!”

I stretch my coat over her legs. I need Storm to help warm her with body heat. The problem is the damn bush. We can’t get to Yolanda properly and I don’t dare pull her out.

I shout again as I rip at the bush, snapping branches so Storm can get in there and lie against her bare legs. Then I hear footfalls, and I swing my gun up to see Dalton running full out in my direction, Anders and Jacob behind him.

“She’s here!” I say. “She’s unconscious but alive.”

Dalton goes to lift her, but I quickly tell him my fear. By then, Anders has caught up, and he says it’s fine—warming her up is the main thing, and we need to gently get her away from the bush to do that.

All three men work to move her as carefully as they can. Then coats and scarves and sweaters come off, everything they can spare and more. I stay back. When Dalton tries to return my parka, I shake my head and try to hide my chattering teeth, but Anders says, “Take it. We have enough.”

I put on my coat and watch. Two more contractions hit in the time it takes Dalton and Jacob to grab armfuls of dried bush branches and set them ablaze while Anders tends to Yolanda. Not wanting to interfere, I refrain from asking for details, but he tells me she seems stable. She’s cold, but there are only two toes he’s worried are frostbitten.

“There was no sign of Jerome,” I say, when Dalton finally crouches beside me. “I think Yolanda got away and hid in the bushes.”

He nods.

“The smoke is probably going to tip him off,” I say. “Nothing we can do about that, except keep watch.”

He grunts. “He’s not taking on all of us. Not when we already have Yolanda. Yeah, we need to watch the tree line, but he’s still got both the other sat phones.”

“Meaning, if he’s smart, he’ll cut his losses and call for help.”

“Which he’s not getting,” Dalton says. “émilie should have her pilot here soon. They’ll have a phone, and I already let émilie know to monitor any emergency pickups.”

I nod. It’s an unsatisfying resolution, and I really don’t want to think of us spending the next few months worrying about a sadistic serial killer in the woods.

How many times has something happened in the forest here or in Rockton and someone—resident or staff—brings up the old stories of serial killers hiding in the wilderness? It does happen. There are cases of it in Alaska. But mostly, it’s an urban legend. Unless you’re running a hidden town in the forest and you import the serial killers, who then run off into the forest.

“Jacob and I should stay on his trail,” Dalton says. “We had it, up there. Only one set of tracks, which we were worried about, but now it makes sense. Jerome was searching for Yolanda. Looks like he headed farther inland.”

“As long as you have a trail, you should keep on it. Otherwise, once the snow flies again, it disappears.”

“And it will snow.” He squints at the sky. “Probably tomorrow.”

“You’d take Storm, right?” I say.

He nods. “You and Will can get Yolanda back to town. It’s a straight shot over the ice.” He points. “Stick close to shore, and the ice will be thick enough.”

He really means that Anders will take Yolanda and me to town. I don’t argue. I’m in no shape to keep going, and each new contraction screams that I need to get back to Haven’s Rock.

“How’re you doing?” he asks.

I make a face. “Tired. I should get back to town, and I can help Will by keeping watch and clearing the way. You guys can… Wait, Jacob doesn’t have a gun.”

“He can take mine,” Anders calls over, obviously listening in.

I shake my head. “I’ll give him mine. Your big-ass forty-five isn’t for beginners.”

“Hey, I know guns,” Jacob says.

“Rifles and shotguns, not handguns,” I say. “You’ll take mine. I’m tired enough that I’m not sure I’d shoot straight anyway.”

Dalton peers at me, gaze piercing. “We don’t need to head straight out. Why don’t we walk you two back to town—”

“I’m fine, and conditions are perfect right now. Once Yolanda’s warmed up a little, we’ll head out. Like you said, it’s a straight shot to town.”

Yolanda is still unconscious, but Anders deems her warmed up enough to travel, especially since her continued lack of consciousness means we really need to get her shelter and proper medical attention. I manage to disguise my contractions long enough to see Dalton and Jacob off. I could be impressed with my acting ability, but really, it’s just that everyone’s so distracted that it’s easy for me to turn away and hide my grimaces.

I’m in labor. There’s no more kidding myself. When I’d had Dr. Kapoor on the line earlier this week, I’d asked about future contractions. She said that if they weren’t “progressing”—getting longer in duration and shorter in frequency—it would just be the baby repositioning. But they’ve gone from once every fifteen minutes to once every eight, and from fifteen seconds long to forty. Yes, I’m timing, as surreptitiously as I can.

My biggest concern is that Dalton might miss the birth of his child. It’d be an impossible choice for Dalton—to protect our town, he must catch a killer, but he also wants to see his baby born and he doesn’t want, in later years, for our child to feel as if he chose his job over their birth. So I’m removing that choice, and I can only pray he’ll understand.

I’m almost certainly worrying about nothing anyway. Active labor—where you need to get to a hospital—doesn’t start until contractions are less than five minutes apart and last more than forty-five seconds.

I still have time.

Plenty of time, right?

I’m overreacting because I’m tramping across a frozen lake, escorting an unconscious woman in medical distress—a friend who nearly died. My body is just freaking out because this is the point where I should be packing a hospital bag while Dalton paces and asks me how I feel and I snap at him that I’m in labor, damn it, how do you think I feel?

Haven’s Rock is only a kilometer away. Once I’m there, I’ll have my sister and all her medical equipment and a top-notch obstetrician on speed dial—I have the sat phone we took with us to Dawson.

April will tend to Yolanda while periodically checking my dilation and telling me there’s plenty of time, and then Dalton will come home with Jerome, hear where I am, and run to the clinic just in time to see his child enter the world.

On the bright side, while Dalton was fully prepared to be my birthing coach, is it wrong of me to admit this might be easier if he really does sail in at the last possible moment, once mother and baby seem certain to survive the delivery?

I’m leading Anders across the ice as I fantasize about this perfect birth, where all this will be a story for our baby book.

Well, when I went into labor, I was actually hunting a serial killer and I’ll admit, I started to panic about having you out there on the ice, but everything went fine.

When it comes to “where were you when you went into labor” stories, I’ll win every time.

Then ice cracks underfoot and I’m catapulted from my thoughts as I leap backward… and nearly fall on my ass.

“Case?” Anders says behind me.

I bend—as well as I can—to peer at the ice. There’s a deep crack, but it’s well below the surface, no need for concern.

I tell Anders but also suggest we veer a little farther out. We’re close to the shore here, in a sunny section that’s going to melt before the rest. And while I may be carrying a baby, Anders is carrying a full-grown woman. Best not to test the ice.

Once I’ve picked a new direction, we continue on. Ahead, I can just make out the smoke rising over—

Another crack.

“I don’t like that,” Anders mutters.

“It’s fine,” I say, “but yes, we’re close enough to head to shore.”

“That’d make me a whole lot happier.”

We do that, and I take the lead, slowly, testing the ice as we walk. Soon we’re on shore, and we’ve barely gone five paces when Anders says, “Whoa.”

I spin and stumble when a contraction hits, but all his attention is on Yolanda.

“She’s stirring,” he says as I grit through the contraction. “I’m going to set her down for a second. I don’t want her startling—not with the cardiac concerns.”

“Good idea.”

Anders is bending when Yolanda wakes with an “Oh!” She spasms, limbs flying out, fist narrowly missing Anders’s jaw. Then she goes still. “Will?”

“I gotcha,” he says with a smile.

She stares at him. Then she bursts into tears, the sound ripping through the silence, jagged sobs that are painful to listen to.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs as he lowers her to the ground.

“No!” She claws at him, scrambling to get back up. “Don’t leave me. Please. I-I can walk. I’m fine.”

“Yolanda,” I say, moving up to her. She startles again, and I squeeze her arm as Anders rearranges her in his arms.

“No one’s leaving you anywhere,” I say. “Will only wants to take a look at you before we keep going.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “I just want to get home. Please. I can walk if that helps.”

Anders adjusts her. “No need, and it’s not safe. We need to check your heart before you walk. I won’t set you down.”

She nods. Then she looks over at me, her eyes welling. “I was wrong.”

“About…?”

“Lynn. I wondered why she didn’t fight. Why she undressed. You explained, but I still didn’t understand. I thought I wouldn’t have done that. I’d have fought, but then he had me, and he’s so much bigger than I am, and he’d taken my gun. I still tried to fight and…” She touches her jaw, where there’s a gash already bruising. A pistol whip. “After that, I did as he said and looked for my chance.”

I smile. “Which you got.”

Her eyes fill again, but this time, her face suffuses with anger. “And what did I do with it? I got cold. So cold, and all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep.”

“That’s the hypothermia. It impairs your thinking.” I squeeze her hand. “But you found a safe spot first, and we found you, and you’re fine.”

“Let’s get you to April,” Anders says.

Yolanda nods, and his arms tighten around her as he continues walking.