Chapter 18
SLOANE
The world is nothing but cold darkness and the roar of the snowmobile engine beneath us.
My arms are locked around Dane's waist, face pressed against his back, trying to shield myself from the wind that cuts through every layer of clothing.
We've been riding forever, settling lower into the valley, putting distance between us and his cabin, and my heart is still racing.
The tears I've shed are ice on my eyelashes and the wind whisking them away from my cheeks has left frostbite.
I'm the foolish one who went to town and made a scene.
From what I could tell, the sheriff was already going to come at Dane over those packages, but there's no doubt in my mind the men came to Dane's place following my snowmobile tracks, not the sheriff. I should’ve stayed home like he told me to. This is all my fault.
Then the engine coughs and sputters and the snowmobile momentum dies slowly, until we glide to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
"No." Dane's voice is tight with frustration as he slams a hand onto the handlebar. He tries the ignition, but it sputters for a few seconds before dying. "We're out of gas," he grunts, and I sit back, giving my aching arms a bit of a break.
"You have a spare, right?" My teeth are chattering so hard I can barely form words. I back up on the seat and give him space because it's obvious he's upset about it.
"Under the seat." He climbs off stiffly, and his clunky movements show how exhausted he is. "The Jerry can should be enough to get us another twenty miles or so."
I get up, and he offers me a hand when my legs wobble a little. Between the adrenaline and being exhausted, I'm feeling weak enough to collapse. I don't know how Dane is still going so strong. He's powering through while I'm nearly falling apart.
He retrieves the can from the under-seat storage and begins refueling while I hug my arms over my belly and try to stay warm in the breeze.
It's beautiful up here, even in the valley between the twin peaks.
The snow stretches out, blanketing everything for miles undisturbed other than our single track through the snow, and I feel like I'm in a postcard or snow globe.
Moments like these should be treasured, but we're running for our lives.
There's no time to sit and marvel at the beauty of creation right now.
"I'm sorry for going into town after you told me to stay put. I should've listened to you." Dane glances up at me and sighs a puff of air that floats away in the wind like a cloud.
Then he finishes pouring and sets down the can, turning to face me. "Maddox was always going to find us. Maybe your trip to town sped up the timeline, but he had professionals tracking us. This was inevitable."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He crosses to me, cupping my face with hands that smell of gasoline now. "Cal's been planning this for months, maybe years. Alright? He's a madman."
Tears freeze on my cheeks. "Your cabin—"
"Was just a building made of wood and stone. I'll build a new one." His thumb brushes my cheek, swiping away a tear before it can turn to ice. "What I can't replace is you. And I got you out safe. Okay?"
He kisses me then, and I lean into it, needing the warmth and connection. When he pulls back, his eyes are serious.
"We should keep moving. Put more distance between us and them before we stop."
"Where are we even going?" I gesture out at the expanse of forest stretching on endlessly toward the north and Canada. "You can't go back to the cabin. The town is crawling with Cal's people. You don't have your phone to call for help. So, where do we go from here?"
He's quiet as he stares down at the snowmobile.
I already know what he's thinking. Once that thing runs out of gas, we're stranded wherever we are.
We have no phones because we had to leave so hastily and there was no service at the cabin, which means we didn't carry them around with us.
And without a map or any way to navigate, we have no clue where we're at outside of climbing to a peak to hope we can get a glimpse of a town somewhere.
So traveling in the dark is dangerous. We could get lost, go through the frozen waters of a lake or river, or worse, barrel right into Maddox's men.
"We need to think this through," I say. "And we can't do that while we're exhausted and running on adrenaline. We need rest."
"Rest?" He looks at me incredulously. "We don't have time to rest. Cal's people could be tracking us right now."
"With what? We're miles into the mountains on a snowmobile.
They'd need aircraft to follow us, and they can't fly in this weather.
" I gesture at the sky, where clouds are gathering to hopefully drop more snow and cover our tracks.
"Even if they could, it's dark. They can't see us without infrared tech.
We're safe enough here for a few hours. And if we keep pushing without sleep, we're going to make mistakes. Fatal ones."
"You want to camp. In November. In the mountains.
" His tone makes it clear what he thinks of this idea.
The moon overhead is so dark, it's hard to really make out his expression. If not for the snow reflecting what little light is illuminating us, I wouldn’t even know where he's standing.
But I know by his tone that he thinks I'm stupid.
"I'm a survivalist, Dane. I go hiking and camping year-round.
I know how to build shelter, how to stay warm, how to survive in conditions worse than this.
" I cross my arms, refusing to back down.
"You're good at a lot of things. But right now, this is my area of expertise.
And I'm telling you that we need to stop. "
He wants to argue. I can tell by the hostile pause and the way he shifts his weight. He's used to being in charge, making decisions, controlling situations. But up here, in this environment, I'm the one with the knowledge.
"Fine." The word comes out grudgingly. "But we're up at first light, and we're moving fast."
"Deal."
I survey the area, looking for the best spot to build shelter. There's a cluster of pines on the leeward side of a small rise—good protection from the wind. The snow is deep but manageable, and the trees will provide both camouflage and insulation.
"Help me build a snow shield," I instruct. "We're going to create a basic shelter, get the snowmobile hidden, and hunker down until morning."
We work together, using branches and packed snow to create a windbreak.
I show him how to hollow out a space in a drift, how to reinforce it with packed snow, how to create an entrance that blocks wind but allows ventilation.
He follows my instructions without complaint, and I can feel his surprise as the structure takes shape.
And I'm thankful for his strength because if I had to do this myself, I'd burn too many calories and fall into hypothermic conditions too quickly.
We work less than thirty minutes and have a manageable shelter.
It's small, and we'll have to snuggle close to really stay warm, but it's one of the better makeshift shelters I've ever seen.
For a survival situation, it's more than adequate.
"This is actually going to work," he mutters, packing more snow around the entrance.
"I told you I know what I'm doing." I gather pine boughs to line the floor, creating insulation from the frozen ground, then turn back to him. "Now help me camouflage the snowmobile."
We drag it closer to the trees and cover it with branches until it's nearly invisible.
Anyone searching from the air would have trouble spotting it, and ground pursuit would have to be on foot moving too slowly to catch us, or on snowmobile, which means we'd hear them miles away.
Plenty of time to be gone and hidden before they got to us.
By the time we finish, I'm sweating inside my layers and I know that's dangerous. The shelter's small, barely big enough for both of us, but it'll keep us alive. I crawl inside first, testing the space, then motion for Dane to follow.
He has to duck low to fit, and when he's inside he stops, surprised. "It's warm in here."
"Snow is an excellent insulator. Body heat gets trapped, and as long as we're out of the wind, we'll maintain a decent temperature.
" I pull out the emergency blanket from the go bag—thin mylar that reflects body heat.
"But we need to sleep close together and share warmth.
It's the only way this works." I'm not complaining about that part at all.
Having Dane's arms around me is one thing that makes me feel safe, and I suspect it will be no different here on the mountain.
So when he settles in beside me and I drape the blanket over both of us, I finally breathe a sigh of relief.
We're pressed together shoulder to hip to knee, no space between us,, and in the confined darkness, I can hear his breathing, feel his heart beating against my shoulder.
"This is insane," he says and his voice sounds thoughtful, not upset like I suspect. "We're in an igloo on the side of a mountain, hiding from a crime family, and somehow, I'm not freezing to death."
"Told you I knew what I was doing." I shift closer, tucking myself against his side.
His arm comes around me automatically, pulling me in.
"My dad taught me all this when I was a kid.
Survival skills, outdoor camping, how to read terrain and weather.
He said you never know when you might need to save your own life. "
"Your dad sounds like a smart man," Dane says softly. His mouth is right by my ear, and his hot breath dusts my cheek.
"He was." My father died six years ago of a heart attack at fifty-three. Sometimes, I still reach for my phone to call him before remembering he's gone. Dane's comment makes me feel the familiar grief that always comes when I think of my father.
Dane must hear something in my voice because he tightens his hold. "Tell me about him."
So I do. I tell him about my first camping trip in southeastern Ohio in Wayne National Forest with my dad and my half-brother, Toney.
How Daddy dragged us out with nothing but a sleeping bag and a few bottles of water.
He taught us to forage and find mushrooms and berries, then he taught us to make fishing hooks with regular items and fish.
We cleaned our own game, cooked it on a fire, and slept outdoors in one of the worst storms I'd ever seen, all while staying warm and dry.
I'm alive in this mess because my dad taught me to survive.
The words flow easier in the darkness, and Dane listens without interrupting.
"He'd probably hate me," Dane says when I finish. "His daughter mixed up with an ex-assassin on the run from a Mob hit—almost old enough to be your dad too…"
"He'd probably try to shoot you first and ask questions later." I chuckle. "But if he got to know you and saw how you protected me, he'd come around. He was a good man, Dane. And so are you."
"That's generous considering I got you into this mess."
"You also got me out of it." I tilt my head to look at him, though I can barely make out his features in the dark. "We're a team now. For better or worse."
"That sounds suspiciously like marriage."
"It does, doesn't it?" I smile despite everything. "Guess we're doing this backwards. Surviving attempted murder before we even go on a proper date."
He shifts, and suddenly, his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is slow, thorough, heating me from the inside out.
My neck is turned so much that it strains and I can hardly breathe, but I won’t pull away because in a moment like this, the only thing helping us hold it together is morale, and if he needs this kiss to keep his motivation, who am I to deny him?
"When this is over, I'm taking you on a proper date. Dinner, conversation, the whole thing."
"I'd go for that." My hand finds his chest, resting over his heart. "But right now, as good as you are at this, I can't fathom sex in a snow shelter. It's too damn cold."
He laughs such a hearty sound, I'm afraid he'll draw in the predators. "Fair enough. Sleep it is."
We settle in together, the emergency blanket crackling softly as we shift. And outside, the wind picks up, but inside our shelter, it's almost peaceful.
"Sloane?" His voice is drowsy as exhaustion catches up with him.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for keeping me alive out here. I'd have been stubborn and frozen to death."
"We keep each other alive. That's how this works." I close my eyes, letting exhaustion pull me under. "Now sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."
He doesn't argue. Within minutes, his breathing deepens and evens out. I stay awake a while longer, listening to the storm building outside knowing somewhere down the mountain, Cal's men are probably searching.
I really hope Mr. Carver's backup showed up and that he's getting help, because I can't imagine how Dane will get out of a murder charge if they show up and think Dane's the one who shot the sheriff.
And finally, when sleep tugs my soul under into its blackness, I have a dream, of all things, about Ellie Hooper.
She saves us from an avalanche.
And I know that's where we have to go when we wake up.