Steady. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now. The stakes were too high.
She nodded, looking a little goofy wearing the cut-off sleeves of his yellow rain jacket as gaiters to keep the snow out of her boots. The snow pants he’d presciently shoved into his bag at the last minute now protected him. The cold was bad enough. Getting wet would be worse.
Lindsey nodded and they tromped toward the trail.
Todd had been right about the difficulty of walking through the snow long distance. Unlike sand—which was hard on the calves, shifting under the feet with each step—the snow required Lindsey to lift her knee with each step. Thirty minutes in, her hip flexors starting protesting, but she stretched a bit and kept going.
The tree boughs lining the path hung low, laden with their frosty bounty, dripping under the sun’s increasing glare. Small animal tracks, branches, and leaves marred the otherwise pristine white ground.
Their shoes squeaked through the snow, almost obliterating the sounds of their harsh breaths. How were they going to sneak up on the compound? Between the noise and full daylight, they had little chance of a stealth approach.
Todd had located a different path on his map to avoid the section of trail that had disintegrated. By the time they could see the cluster of trees surrounding the small cabins, they’d been walking for nearly ninety minutes. Sweat trickled down her sides and snaked along her spine, her body finally warm from their exertion. And nerves.
Lindsey’s blood surged in her ears as they slowed and crept toward the collection of small cabins, carefully lifting their feet with each step to keep their noise level below that of the wind in the trees. She winced with every crunch.
Was Megan still here? Still alive?
Todd led her through the forest, somehow sleek and silent as a leopard. Next to him, she felt about as covert as a hippo.
When they reached the fence at the edge of the open space that had been cleared around the cabins, he crouched behind a tangle of bushes. She followed suit, her breath loud in her ears, and they watched the main cabin unable to see into the high windows.
Two oversized pickup trucks sat on a gravel drive out front, sunlight glinting off their chrome grills.
Footsteps sounded from their left and Lindsey gripped Todd’s arm, freezing like a startled deer.
A man appeared out of the trees, a large rifle held close to his chest in that universal way of military and law enforcement that always made her worry about carpal tunnel syndrome. He wore black from head to toe, like some kind of commando, his pale face a harsh contrast.
He passed slowly, eyes alert, expression bored as he trod a circular path that had been dug out of the snow.
Time ticked by at glacial speeds as she and Todd held position. Quiet. Unmoving.
Brave birds resumed their chirping.
Lindsey tried to become one with the forest, and it was almost peaceful.
Her legs tingled from lack of circulation, limbs shaky as her adrenaline levels returned to the elevated baseline she’d established since being taken hostage on Friday.
Another guard wearing a green watch cap with his black pseudo-uniform passed by about fifteen minutes after the first one, moving in the same direction.
Still, she and Todd waited.
Another fifteen minutes or so and the man in the black cap came around again.
Once the guard had passed out of range, Todd whispered, “Let’s go.”
Todd pushed his way through a gap in the bushes and grabbed Lindsey’s hand as she emerged on the other side. He helped her climb the chain-link fence and then quickly scaled it behind her, hoping the trees provided adequate concealment.
Intertwining her gloved fingers with his, he carefully jogged along a mostly cleared path toward the side of the main cabin, keeping an eye out for tripwires and booby traps as he tugged her along beside him.
They weren’t exactly quiet, but the wind rustling the trees and rattling the window shutters was enough to cover the sound of their advance. He halted beneath a window on the west end of the small house and encouraged her to crouch beside him between two red-leafed bushes, releasing her hand so he could focus.
The muffled murmur of male voices in conversation filtered through the glass. He waited and listened. Next to him, Lindsey stroked the peeling siding, flaking off a chip of white paint with her fingertip.
She seemed drawn to touching things. More than once, he’d caught her running her fingertips over a bush, a blade of tall grass, or her clothing. The memory of her fingers on his bare skin just about drove him wild.
Dragging his gaze away from her beautiful glove-wrapped hands—yep, he was that far gone—he scanned the surrounding area. Either everyone else was indoors, or they’d left.
If he and Lindsey were quiet enough, it shouldn’t matter either way.
