A crevasse, dammit. Those stripes. Though the ice appeared flat, there were deep cracks in it, hidden by newly deposited ice and snow. Where there was one, there’d be more, so he needed to watch his own footing—but faced with the prospect of losing her, stupid and fast was the best he could do.
“Angel!” he yelled as he ran, burning with fear and adrenaline.
Jesus. Please. Please. Please don’t. Please don’t.
He leapt over a small, wavelike sastrugi and landed, grunting when his foot smashed through a layer of ice to dangle somewhere beneath. He grabbed ahold of the hard ridge in front of him and pulled himself out, losing valuable seconds. He shouldn’t be plowing into a crevasse field like a goddamn PistenBully. He should slowly, cautiously test every single inch between him and Angel.
Fuck that.Momentum pushed him forward, jarring his brain and shoving every ounce of air from his lungs.
He was up and running again before he could breathe or see straight or think long enough to let caution take over. Then, with shocking suddenness, his sprint ended, leaving him teetering on the edge of the hole that had taken her. In the split second it took to analyze what he saw—Angel alive, hanging from one bowed ski pole—he experienced countless thoughts and emotions. Lives, deaths, everything in between.
Intestine-loosening relief.
But there was no visible bottom to the crevasse. If she fell…
She’s slipping.Her gloves weren’t meant to grip anything—they were for warmth. To hang like that as long as she had was a miracle.
It couldn’t last.
He dropped to his knees, too numb or buzzed on adrenaline to feel the impact. His body was nothing but a tool, like one of his drills, with one purpose: to save her. Beyond that, it didn’t matter. He could pop joints, rip tendons, tear himself open for all he cared, as long as he pulled her up in the process.
Her ski pole, though it looked flimsy as a toothpick, was the lone item standing between her and death. It had somehow been wedged into the side of the gaping fissure, while the handle sat on top. Angel’s right wrist was still caught in the strap and all of it—pole, strap, swinging body, the ice around it—created a precarious sculpture that could crumble in the blink of an eye.
One wrong move and she would be gone.
He stilled, dared to breathe, and reached.
He couldn’t think about how far the hole went. He’d seen crevasses as shallow as a few feet, while others were bottomless pits. Bottomless being relative, of course, when you studied glaciers. There’d be a bottom, it’d just be—
He ripped off his bulky mitten and extended his arm.
Too damn far. A shift to the side brought him closer to her hands, but also to the ice that held one side of that pole. Stretching hard gave him an inch. Still not enough.
“Ford.” His name was a whimper. It tied his chest in knots and would have paralyzed him if his body had been human. But it wasn’t. It was machinery, doing its job. Stretch, reach, tighten, flex. Focused, strong. Single-minded.
“I’m here, Angel. I’m with you.”
“I can’t…”
Don’t look at her. Don’t look. Don’t feel or think, just move. Do.
“I can’t…can’t move my hands. Can’t…”
“I know. Hold on. Just hold on. I’m coming to you.”
And how the hell was he supposed to do that?
Eyes moving lightning-fast, he took in details—some pointless, like the clear, glowing blue of the ice beneath the surface, others essential, like the harness still strapped to Angel’s middle. The sled was attached to her. Pulling her down.
He didn’t have to see her eyes to know they were pleading through her dark goggles.
“I’m sorry, Ford,” she sobbed. “So so so sorry.”
His chest. Christ.Breathe.
Another scan of the fissure showed a ledge on this side, maybe two inches wide. Without another second’s hesitation, he threw a leg over, found it, and shoved his foot onto the too-small surface. If he could jam his other leg on the opposite side… There it was, a crack in the wall. Worth the risk.
A religious man would have prayed before extending his left leg and straddling the abyss. There wasn’t time for God. Coop just did it, letting out a harsh little breath when it stuck.
