Lifting her arms overhead, she braced herself. The bulkiness of her jacket would be in the way, making the movement less efficient. She’d need to put more force, more punch, into it.
Giving herself enough time to picture her movements, but not enough to let the doubts creep in, she jerked her arms down sharply, keeping her elbows at her sides and drawing her wrists toward her belly.
Electric pain shot up her arms as the ties cut even further into her flesh. Pushing through it, she pressed her palms together, forcing her forearms wide. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to focus on anything but the movement.
Snap!
No longer constrained by the ties, her hands flew apart, and she rocked back at the sudden change in balance. Letting them fall to her sides, she took three full breaths as the worst of the pain subsided, then got back to work.
Reaching into the coin pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a tiny metal nail file. Her friends constantly made fun of how many she had around her house or on her person at any given time. Until, of course, they needed one. Because no woman in her right mind liked having rough nails when one broke, and theyalwaysbroke. Usually at the worst time.
No more than an inch and a half long, the file wasn’t strong enough to cut through the tie at her ankle. She didn’t need it to, though. Its tip was the perfect size to depress the releasebar most people didn’t even know zip ties had. She’d have to remember to send her friend, a former MI6 agent, a thank-you card. When he consulted for one of her books years ago, he probably never imagined he’d play a part in saving her life.
In the shadowed darkness, it took her a few tries to find the release mechanism, but no more than a handful of minutes later, she was prowling around the room, getting her blood flowing, as she checked the three windows. They were all nailed shut, as Weeks said, but one of them only had two, rather than four, holding it in place. She debated breaking the glass—no one would hear her now—but when the duo returned and checked on her, they’d immediately know she’d escaped. Even without a broken window, they might still figure it out quickly. But she’d laid the groundwork for a ruse that she hoped would keep them off her trail, and a shattered pane would put paid to that plan.
Fingering her trusty file again, she began working on the first nail. It took longer than she hoped, but eventually, she maneuvered it enough to grip it with her fingers and wiggle it the rest of the way out.
She went through the same process with the second, tucking both of the three-inch nails into her jacket pocket when she finished. She didn’t have a plan for what she’d do with them, but having sharp objects on hand seemed like a good idea.
Before opening the window, she returned to the bed and pulled the comforter off. Eyeing the wool blanket underneath, she made a snap decision and pulled that off, too. Then rearranging the pillows and comforter back on the bed, she stepped back and assessed the last part of her escape plan. It didn’t quite look like a person was tucked underneath, but between the darkness and people’s natural inclination to see what they expect to see, she hoped it would fool Weeks and Beeks enough that they wouldn’t realize she’d slipped away.
Folding the wool blanket, she tucked it under her coat, up against her body. The wide elastic waistband would hold it in place. Another layer between her and the brutal elements.
With another deep breath, she placed her palms on the windowsill and shoved. The window slid up so quickly and so smoothly she lost her balance and stumbled back a step. Frigid air swirled around her, stealing her breath, as she regained her feet.
Blinking against the icy assault, she shrank into her coat. Damn, it was nasty out. She had her jacket, and a wool blanket, but no scarf, no gloves, no hat. This escape was going to suck. Maybe it was a shallow thought, but while she’d be happy to make it through this night with her life, she hoped she didn’t lose any fingers or ears to frostbite in the process.
Not giving herself any more time to question her sanity, she pushed the screen out, swung a leg over the ledge, then dropped out the window. Into a foot and a half of snow. At least she had her tall boots on. She’d prefer snowshoes, but unless she could fashion them out of something, she was shit outta luck on that score. As long as the trail she blazed didn’t get any deeper, though, her jeans would stay mostly dry, a critical aspect of avoiding hypothermia.
After shutting the window and replacing the screen, she hunkered down into her jacket and began moving. Circling to the back of the house, she kept to the woods as she walked parallel to the road. Or as best she could tell, she walked parallel to the road. She only caught occasional glimpses of it between the thick snowfall and the mini-squalls the wind whipped up.
Silver lining, she reminded herself. There had to be one. Or more than one. And as she trudged through the sea of ice and snow, she focused on those. The storm would hide her tracks, so even if Weeks and Beeks discovered her missing, they wouldn’t easily find her. Thanks to her weird penchant and talent formemorizing street maps, she knew where she was. It wouldn’t be easy getting where she wanted to go, but she wasn’t lost. Bears, it was too cold for bears. It was probably too cold for most animals, so she likely wouldn’t encounter anything more dangerous than Weeks and Beeks. Silver lining.
A gust of wind whipped through the trees, sending a pile of snow cascading down from a branch. The bulk of it missed her by a foot, but she hissed, jerking her shoulders up, then thrusting them back, as several clumps managed to slip down her back beneath her jacket.
Yanking her zipper down, she opened her coat, the wool blanket falling out as she flapped the sides, desperate to dislodge the sticky, icy snow from her back. The square of dark gray wool landed on the ground, a stark contrast to the pristine white.Another silver lining, she thought as the last of the snow slid off her skin. She had a blanket. No hat, gloves, or scarf, but she didn’t need them if she had a blanket. And fashion sense. She could style a wrap like no one’s business, and really, what was a blanket if not just a big wrap?
Snapping it open, she worked her magic. In short order, it draped snugly around her body, forming two perfect little pockets for her hands, while also covering her head and ears, and shielding the gap of her coat from any more wayward avalanches. Not as weather-proof as leather or her ski gear, but a damn sight better than before.
Now all she had to do was forge her way through a blizzard to the Falcons’ clubhouse. Easy peasy. Again.
CHAPTER TEN
Lovell stared at the coffee mug on the table. Hours. She’d been gone for hours. And the picture. The fucking picture. The message had pinged on his phone two hours and thirty-two minutes ago. Along with a message telling him he’d receive instructions the next morning on what he needed to do to get her back.
He’d forwarded the information to HICC, and they were working their magic to find her, but they weren’t working fast enough.
Shoving back from the table, he began pacing the lodge room. The storm had forced him off the road an hour earlier, and now he felt like a caged lion. And he didn’t like it. He had a reputation for being levelheaded and the opposite of hyperbolic—hell, that’s how he’d earned his nickname. Jim Lovell and the famous “Houston, we have a problem” quote. Those weren’t his actual words, but the sentiment held—not many people would calmly refer to an explosion onboard a spacecraft as a simple “problem.”
But the understated calm everyone took for granted was something he fought tooth and nail for. He had a quick temper, and his mind constantly roiled with thoughts. Everything boiledand bubbled below the surface, and he worked damn hard to keep it from exploding. No good would come of it if that happened. But more to the point, if he let go, he’d be no better than the string of useless, violent men his mother had invited into her life, into the lives of her kids. And that would destroy him.
More than anything had before, though, this waiting, thislimbo, was wearing away his control. He needed to keep calm, he needed to have his head—not his emotions—fully in the game, but with every minute that ticked by, that grew harder and harder.
“I’m stepping out,” he said to the room.
“The storm is still going strong,” Mantis said.
He hadn’t considered getting back in his car; he just needed air. And space. But maybe he should. He glanced around the room. Twenty pairs of eyes watched him—all fourteen of his brothers, plus Charley, Juliana, Lina, Amber, Kendall, and Dottie. Every one of them was shadowed with concern. The only personnoteyeing him was Callie. She’d fallen asleep with her head on Philly’s lap.
