They drove for what seemed like forever, and the snow began falling heavier, the wind picking up as if in tune. The stream widened into a river that appeared fathomless beneath a crust of ice. Her eyelids started to get heavy, and her body settled against his.
She yawned in the helmet, stopping halfway at seeing a patch of black in the snow. Stiffening, she tapped his leg and pointed farther ahead.
He twisted his head and then lowered it, speeding up.
Her heart beat faster, and she stiffened as more black came into view, right near the rushing river. A black coat, lightly covered with snow. They reached a couple of feet away, and Brock cut the engine, jumping off before the sound dissipated. He shoved through snow up beyond his knees.
Ophelia pushed off the sled, sinking into the powder and following Brock’s tracks.
He bent and wiped off what appeared to be jeans. It was a man, face down. Brock shoved more snow off the guy, and red mixed with the ice. A lot of frozen red. Blood? It had to be.Ophelia tugged off her helmet and set it on the crusty snow, leaning around Brock. Grunting, he grabbed the man’s hips and flipped him over.
Ophelia caught sight of the guy’s neck before Brock turned, blocking her view. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to her. “Take these back to the sled.”
She accepted his helmet out of instinct and then placed it by hers before pulling off her gloves to take her phone out of her pocket. “I know he’s dead, Brock.” The body definitely appeared frozen.
Brock swallowed, his darker skin pale, his green eyes blazing. “You don’t need to see him.”
The kindness of his move caught her before she touched his arm. “It’s sweet, but I’m an FBI agent. This isn’t my first body. Do you always protect women from bad things?”
His chin lifted. “Women? No, just you.” He sighed. “I served with plenty of strong and impressive women in the service. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to see this.”
She paused, oddly touched. Just her? “I can do my job.” With that, she strode around him, her phone ready to take pictures. Her instant gasp echoed through the trees. “What in the world?” A Caucasian male of about fifty years old lay face up, half his face clawed off. His neck hung from several tendons, and both eyes had been gouged out. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down. “Wh-what could have done this?” She took several pictures.
Brock remained silent.
“This isn’t Wyatt,” she whispered. The guy appeared to be in his fifties. Maybe sixties.
“I know,” Brock said, reaching for his radio. “I don’t know his identity.”
Something caught her eye, and she reached down, brushing more snow off the jacket.EVEstood out, neatly embroidered across the right chest.
“Ah, crap,” Brock muttered. “Give me a second.” He walked back to the snowmobile, grabbing the helmets and gloves on his way.
She stood and took several more pictures before shoving the phone into her pocket. While cell service didn’t exist out here, the camera worked perfectly. “We should?—”
A crack echoed before the snow billowed up next to her. Then another one.
“Shots fired!” Brock bellowed.
Awareness hit her the second before she ducked.
Brock leaped for her, but she fell back, her butt hitting ice. It cracked, and she fell through into the river, plummeting. Her jacket snagged on a rock, dragging her farther down.
Ice-cold glacier water swallowed her whole, covering her scream.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brock dove for Ophelia, landing on his stomach and sliding across the icy ground. He reached the river just as she tried to shove up and then went down again, yelping and swallowing freezing water. If the current caught her and dragged her under the ice, he’d never get her. “Damn it.” He rolled his legs around and went in feet first, plunging down and grabbing her. The freezing cold caught him, stealing his breath. He snagged her shoulder and yanked her toward the bank, but her jacket twisted on a branch trapped beneath a rock under an overhang of ice. The combined force twisted her around and pulled down.
He dove beneath the ice and ripped the coat apart, splitting the zipper as he held his breath. Something fell against his foot. Her gun?
He shoved the coat away and freed her, kicking off a rock, his foot sliding off. His radio dropped, smacking his ankle. Damn it.
Keeping his eyes closed, he propelled them up and broke the surface, his lungs screaming in pain. He struggled against the current and caught sight of an icy overhang. Wincing, he tried to grab it with his glove, curving his fingers beneath the sharp edge. Grunting and fighting the cold, he yanked his body out with onehand, keeping hold of Ophelia even when the ice gave away. He scooted out of the water, trying to stay low.
Wind chilled him, and snow blasted into his eyes. He twisted around, grabbed her shoulder, and forced her out and onto the ground, fighting the heaviness of his water-logged snow clothes.
She lay on her back, struggling, gasping, and coughing out water, her lips already turning blue.
