And then I saw it—a piece of the hotel’s thick cream-colored stationery, folded in half on his pillow.Tesswas scrawled on the front in his handwriting.
I picked it up, smiling. Probably went to get us coffee. Or those croissants from the café downstairs he’d been talking about.
Couldn’t resist one quick run before breakfast—just the resort slopes, I promise! Be back by 9. Love you. M
I checked the clock: 8:40 AM.
A flicker of annoyance went through me. He could have woken me, could have asked if I wanted to come.
I was reaching for my robe when I glanced at the window. Heavy dark clouds had rolled in overnight. I frowned. We were supposed to fly home soon.
I padded out to the sitting area and turned on the television, looking for the weather channel. The screen flickered to life on the local news station.
A reporter stood on the mountain, the resort visible behind her, her expression dark.
“—avalanche occurred approximately forty minutes ago on the upper slopes of Aspen Mountain. Resort officials say the slide caught a couple of early morning skiers. Search and rescue teams are currently?—”
The world tilted.
No!
My legs went weak. I grabbed the back of the sofa to steady myself; my eyes locked on the screen.
The reporter’s voice faded to white noise. All I could see was that piece of paper in my hand.One quick run.Just the resort slopes. Safe.
I heard a knock on the door—heavy, official. Not housekeeping’s light tap.
My blood turned to ice.
Another knock. Harder this time. More insistent.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The note crumpled in my fist.
The knock came again.
I walked to the door on numb legs. I pressed my eye against the peephole.
Distorted by the fisheye lens, I saw three figures.
Two men in red jackets with white crosses on the chest. Ski patrol. Their faces were grim, set in lines of professional sorrow.
And a woman in a dark suit. Jennifer Mills, the hotel manager. I recognized her from check-in. She was holding a clipboard against her chest like a shield.
My heart stopped. It literally, physically stopped beating for a second.
I unlocked the door. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else.
I opened it.
The hallway air was warmer than the room, smelling of carpet cleaner. The three of them stood there, a wall of grim.
Jennifer Mills stepped forward. She looked terrified. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
“Mrs. Carideo?”
“Where is he?” My voice was small, a child’s voice.
“I’m so very sorry. There’s been an accident.”
