Chapter 1 #2
Archer cut the snowmobile engine and climbed off. The sounds of the team followed him in one ear and the rush of the wind filled the other. He placed a boot on the bottom rung and began to climb.
First solo mission. First real test.
Seventy feet up, a woman with more nerve than sense was hanging off a tower in the middle of a mountain storm and she was about to make his day a hell of a lot more interesting.
Rome’s voice filtered into his ear. “This is already better than movie night.”
* * * * *
“You’ve really done it now, Jolie. You got lost in the moment and now you’re screwed.”
The words came under her breath and were instantly swallowed by the wind tearing across the top of the tower.
She tightened her grip on the freezing metal railing, fingers already starting to ache through her gloves as another gust slammed into her hard enough to make the structure shudder under her boots.
This had been a good idea twenty minutes ago.
When she started climbing, the snow was a gentle fluff floating to earth in fat flakes. She just wanted a picture to send to her siblings, proof that she was out here having adventures.
By the time she made it halfway up the tower, the snow was falling faster. But she didn’t stop because no way could it get bad before she reached the top, snapped a photo and climbed back down.
Boy, was she wrong.
The wind howled again, rocking her whole body and making her boots slip on the frozen metal. She stuffed the camera hanging around her neck inside the neck of her coat, where it hung like a bulky reminder of her mistake.
Blinking through the thickly falling snow, she tried to make out anything but white. She couldn’t make out the trees she’d hiked through to reach the spot—just snow driving sideways so heavily she could barely see the section of railing three feet away.
“You absolute idiot,” she muttered, pressing her shoulder into the steel beam to steady herself. “This is exactly how people die doing something stupid.”
Jolie might not have gotten the chance to finish high school, but she thought she was smarter than this.
After her parents were killed in a tragic accident when she was sixteen, Jolie had stood in front of a family court judge and refused to let her younger siblings disappear into foster care, and somehow—with school records, part-time jobs, and sheer stubborn determination—she’d convinced the system to give her a chance.
making sure they ate, got to school, had clothes that fit and lights that stayed on.
She’d quit school without a second thought and lied about her age on the employment application in order to take a night job so she could be there to keep her siblings in school. She’d worked her ass off.
Back then, sleep had been optional. Responsibility hadn’t. She made it work because she had to.
Later, when they were old enough to get themselves to school, she’d pivoted again. Finding a waitress job during the day had restored some of her hope that they could actually make it.
They’d made it through. The four of them.
Now they weren’t kids anymore. They were all standing on their own, working jobs or in college. Their lives didn’t revolve around her anymore. They checked in every day anyway—an old rule she’d put in place after she took over the family.
And right now? She was out of contact with them. She couldn’t check in. She’d broken her own damn rule.
If she could just make her fingers work, she could get out her phone and let her “kids” know she was okay.
Or call for help.
She adjusted her grip on the railing, forcing her numb fingers to tighten.
When the wind rocked her again, her stomach dropped.
Fumbling in her pocket, she forced her fingers to clamp around her phone.
Her stomach plummeted lower when she saw she had no signal.
Zero bars. No way to send a quick message or answer the texts that were probably already stacking up.
“They’re going to lose it.” The wind ripped the words out of her mouth and stole her breath too.
Before she could suck in a gasp, another gust hit, stronger this time, shoving her hard enough that her boot slipped on the platform. Her heart slammed into her throat as she grabbed the support and wrapped both arms around it.
She had to make it to the stairs. It was only a mere seven flights of steep, treacherous metal coated in ice and snow. Getting down would be perilous but not impossible.
She inched a foot forward. Hand over hand, she drew herself along the rail until she reached the stairs.
Looking down, she could only make out the first flight—the other six were lost in a blur of white.
But she knew they were open metal with no backs on them, so if she slipped, it was entirely possible that she’d just shoot out between them.
“One step at a time.” Her fingers ached from clutching the metal like her only lifeline. Pain was a good sign, right? If she could feel her fingers, they weren’t frostbitten.
Slowly, she edged toward the first step and settled her foot on the metal. A sudden sound cut through the wind. A faint whine at first, then louder.
Her head snapped toward it, and she strained to see through the whiteout. Wind didn’t sound like that.
“Hello?” she called even though she knew it wouldn’t carry.
The sound grew, and her heart jerked hard at the realization it was an engine. Relief slammed her, and so did a wave of dizziness at looking down.
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement and turned her head to see a cloud of churning snow rolling toward the tower.
“Oh my god! Hey!” Jolie peeled her fingers off the railing and waved, even as she realized it was useless. Unless the person was looking up at her, they’d never see her.
She waved more frantically. The motion threw her off balance enough that her foot skidded again.
Using her upper body strength—thank god she was used to carrying heavy trays of food—she pulled herself up and into the beam, locking her arms around it. As she clung on, breath coming in hard pants, the cloud of snow stopped.
The wind cut off any chance to hear the engine, but a minute later a shape appeared through the snow. Her heart jolted higher into her throat when she realized it was a snowmobile climbing the ridge fast, the engine roaring as it angled toward the base of the tower.
“They see me!” Only her mouth moved on the words, her throat clotted with relief and fear.
The machine closed the distance and stopped. She waited what felt like an eternity before she made out a form through the shifting whiteout. Judging by the height and build, it was a man.
He moved like the wind didn’t touch him the way it hit her. He didn’t call up, just started climbing. She lost him in the snow once or twice, but the wind blasted the other direction, giving her a clear view of him.
Four flights up now, he stopped and tipped his head back to look at her. Her heart rolled over.
“Hey! I’m here!”
“Stay where you are.” His voice sliced through the wind.
Watching him climb at a steady pace as if he’d done it a hundred times before, she forgot to hold on so tight and her feet slipped out from under her. She scrambled to right herself.
She lost him again, and the noise of his footsteps on metal was stolen by the shrieking gale. By the time she caught sight of him again, he was one flight below her. He stopped on the small platform and looked up at her.
She let out a low wail.
“You’re fine. Just hold on.”
“I am holding on!”
His mouth twitched but he didn’t speak again as he climbed the final flight with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat, which existed on these very mountains for all she knew.
He reached the top, dressed in white snow gear, a black beanie pulled down to his brows. He shifted closer. She let go of the support with one hand and immediately slanted to the side.
She whipped her arm around the post again and held on, shaking with fear and cold.
“Don’t reach. Let me come to you.”
She nodded frantically. He moved toward her.
“Slippery up here.”
“Little bit.”
His lips twitched again. When he was two steps away, he held out a hand to her. “Slowly let go and grab my hand.”
Forcing her muscles to unlock and obey took an act of will, but if she could raise three kids, she could do this.
She extended an arm, relief slapping her when his hand clamped on hers. She lurched forward, and he stopped her. “Don’t rush. We’re going to do this nice and slow.”
His reassuring tone pierced her panic. She nodded. “Okay.”
He adjusted her grip on the railing, moving it into a better position. “Keep contact here at all times. Stay close.”
He moved first, then paused for her to mirror him. Every step she took, she waited for her feet to slip out from under her. The wind shoved at them, but he seemed to anticipate it and adjust faster than she could think.
Every time her balance wavered, his hand was there, steadying her and keeping her from tipping too far.
Every step down they took, the weight on her shoulders began to lift. They reached the bottom, and she issued a hard puff of relief.
“You all right?” A set of dark blue eyes penetrated her, and she got the feeling that even if she lied, he would know.
She gave a swift nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”
He led her to the snowmobile, and she followed on shaky legs.
He reached into a pocket on the front of his jacket and pulled out a black object. “Put this on.”
She looked down at the black fabric in his hand and back up at him. “I’m sorry—what?”
“The hood.”
Panic flooded her system in a sharp rush. “What? No. No, I’m not putting a hood on. That’s—no!”
“It’s required for me to get you out of here.”
She threw a wild look around at acres and acres of nothing but white snow. No one to see where she’d been taken.
“Is this a rescue or a kidnapping?”
He gave a light shake of his head. “You want to get out of here, you put it on.”