And why not? Because only here did she survive a plane crash and an attempt on her life—attempts—only to be chased down by a blizzard?
The wind roared around them, through the forest, shaking the trees, whipping against her bare neck. Icy droplets of snow pinged against her jacket, the world around them turning fuzzy and white.
She couldn’t feel her toes, her fingers, her nose. Even her ankle had ceased its throbbing.
So this was what it felt like to freeze to death. If she escaped this, she would never leave her Manhattan penthouse again, thank you. She’d do her concerts via Zoom.
“You doing okay?” This from Dawson. “You’re breathing funny.”
She nodded, her throat brittle and scratchy.
He glanced down at her and she offered a tight smile. Dark eyes, deep blue, and they focused on her a moment, as if trying to read her.
She looked away, blew out a breath. Probably she owed himsome kind of explanation, but her throat hurt, and she needed her energy.
Of course she had to be rescued by a cop.
Acop.
God clearly had a sense of humor, or maybe it was her mother up there, nudging the Almighty, refusing to let well enough alone.
Although, so far, the cop wasn’t arrogant and bossy, just focused. Determined.
And strong. That part hadn’t escaped her as he’d tightened his hold around her waist, helping her over downed logs, steadying her as they fought snow layers and drifts.
Behind them, his friend Sully—and wasn’tthata small world, really?—scanned for Thornwood.
She’d landed in a bizarreNorth Woodsaction thriller.
Not much farther turned into an hour of trudging through snow and ice and wind and—
Please, someone, save her from Alaska.
They emerged from the woods to a lake, not large, with a rocky shoreline, a layer of snow across the icy surface. In the distance,hallelujah, she made out a clearing, with the lodge she’d seen earlier maybe, a spiral of welcoming smoke emitting from a chimney. It seemed they were coming in from the north side, her memory laying out fields to the south and east.
“You think the ice is strong enough?”
Oh, Dawson had addressed his friend, Sully, aka Daniel Boone. Sorry, but the guy did radiate a sort of wilderness warrior vibe. Especially with her bloody scarf knotted around his leg. Hermès cashmere, she’d picked it up in London during her last tour. It’d cost nearly as much as Sully’s fancy Overland coat.
She hated Alaska.
The dog—she didn’t know what to think about him. One second scary, the next pushing up against her or Dawson, like hemight need a hug—now bounded out in front of them through the snow, onto the ice.
“I dunno. We had a warm spell recently, but I don’t think it’s enough to weaken the ice.” Sully glanced back. “Let’s go.”
Really, if she took a step back and out of this tragedy, the view could be called breathtaking. The wind swept snow off the white, pristine surface of the lake like fairy dust. Snow coated the pine trees that edged the lake with frosting, and whitened mountains rose in the distance, majestic against the darkening sky, now streaked with the lingering colors of the day—oranges and mottled purple—fighting the advance of darkness. The colors splayed upon the glistening surface of the lake as they ventured out.
Here, the snow turned solid, with a caked layer that they crashed through with every step. Slow going. Next to her, Dawson seemed to struggle with his left leg.
Sully crunched in the snow behind them, and a glance over her shoulder confirmed a sort of military alertness as he scanned the woods around them. He still limped badly, clearly in pain.
“Will we be able to call for help from the community?” She shouldn’t have spoken, maybe, because her voice rasped out.
“I don’t know.”
“They have a ham radio,” Sully said, so maybe her question had carried. “Although I’m not sure it can get a signal out with the blizzard. You may need to sit tight for a day or so.”
“We could take the snow machines out to your place,” Dawson said.
