Chapter 3
Declan
The reinforced steel door of the avalanche explosives bunker clanged open at
four-fifty-five in the morning, letting in a blast of nine-degree air that
smelled of kerosene heaters and dry snow. Declan stood at the zinc-topped
workbench, systematically logging serial numbers on fifty two-pound cast
Pentolite booster charges. Each cylindrical high-density explosive had the power
to shear an eight-foot snow slab clean off a mountain ridge. Declan handled the
orange boosters with the quiet, mechanical focus born from a decade of alpine
combat engineering.
The bay door creaked. Heavy work boots scraped across the concrete floor.
Sawyer Brand walked into the bunker at four-fifty-eight. He wore heavy brown
duck-canvas bibs over a black waffle thermal, insulated work gloves, and a wool
watch cap pulled low over his messy blond hair. His left shoulder was bound
under his jacket in Jude’s rigid athletic tape wrap, but his posture was
upright, his chin raised in blatant defiance.
"Two minutes early, Ross," Sawyer said, his voice scratchy from the dry morning
cold. "Where do you want me?"
Declan turned from the bench, his eyes tracking over Sawyer from his boots to
his face. "I expected you to call the sheriff with a medical excuse about your
dislocated shoulder."
"I don't break contracts," Sawyer said, stepping up to the heavy steel table.
"You wanted labor. Give me the tasks."
Declan pointed to a stack of three heavy Pelican transport cases resting on the
floor against the wall, each loaded with sixty pounds of remote shock-tube
firing reels and brass avalanche probes.
"Those three cases go into the rear cargo rack of the lead Polaris Titan
snowmobile in bay two," Declan said, crossing his thick arms over his chest.
"Then you haul two ten-gallon fuel drums from the storage shed to the fueling
pad. Lift with your knees and use your right arm to take the torque. If you tear
Jude’s tape job, you will sit on the concrete and re-wrap it yourself."
Sawyer did not roll his eyes or complain. He walked to the first transport case,
bent his knees, planted his boots wide, and hauled the sixty-pound container off
the floor in a clean, explosive deadlift. He stabilized the bulk against his
right hip, keeping his injured left arm tucked close to his ribs, and carried
the case out into the vehicle bay with a steady, athletic stride.
Declan followed him out, leaning against the doorframe of bay two, watching
Sawyer load the heavy gear. The kid had immense core strength and balance,
moving with the fluid, calculated leverage of an elite skier who spent eight
months a year training in high-altitude gyms. He hoisted the third case into the
snowmobile’s steel basket, wiped a drop of sweat from the tip of his nose with
the back of his glove, and headed straight for the exterior fuel shed without
pausing for breath.
Declan stepped over to the Polaris snowmobile as Sawyer returned, dragging the
heavy fuel drum with his uninjured right hand. Declan reached out, his massive
gloved hand clamping down over Sawyer’s right forearm, stopping him in place.
The heat between them was immediate through their thick gloves. Sawyer looked
up, his hazel eyes wide and direct, his breath coming in steady clouds of white
vapor three inches from Declan’s chest.
"You have twenty seconds to admit you are in pain, Brand," Declan said, his
voice a low, rough rumble.
"Pain is just nerve feedback, Ross," Sawyer shot back, his jaw setting hard,
refusing to yield an inch of ground. "I came here to clear my debt, not to be
your pet project. Are we going up the mountain to test the snowpack or are we
going to stand here staring at each other in the cold?"
Declan held Sawyer’s arm for three long seconds, feeling the dense muscle
beneath the canvas sleeve and the raw, stubborn fire vibrating through the
younger man’s frame. A dark, possessive surge tightened in Declan’s gut, sharp
and demanding.
"We leave in ten minutes," Declan said, releasing Sawyer’s arm with a firm,
deliberate shove toward the fuel pump. "Top the tank and get your helmet. You
are riding behind me."