Page 1 of Cold and Bitter Snow

Chapter 1

Conor

At precisely eleven forty-five p.m. Conor Hudson opened the door to the north sector maintenance garage. He had a solid ten minutes before any of the other drivers arrived, which was exactly the way he liked it. He hadn’t taken the job of snow groomer so he could socialize with others.

Conor moved towards the first snowcat, the one he always thought of as his. With a price tag close to three hundred thousand Swiss francs, the red PistenBully 600 Polar was nowhere near the most expensive vehicle Conor had driven. In his previous life as a captain in the US Army, he’d been in charge of vehicles easily worth ten times as much. He shook his head. He couldn’t start thinking about that time now.

His mind flew instead to an encounter he’d had in this very place just one week earlier. He’d been checking the snowcat for any unexpected damage before taking her out, when suddenly he’d heard the soft sound of the large garage door sliding open. He’d looked up, expecting to see Luc or Raoul, two of the other drivers in this sector, and stared straight into the eyes of a beautiful woman.

Conor had come close to smacking himself on the head with one of the rearview mirrors in his haste to stand up. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he’d felt an immediate connection to the woman. He wished the garage was better lit—he needed to know what color her eyes were.

She walked briskly towards him, her purple ski suit swishing gently as she moved.

“Bonsoir,” she said, speaking in heavily accented French. She sounded British, but her looks were more Mediterranean, with her long dark hair, heart-shaped face and light golden skin.

“Hi,” he answered in English, looking to help her out.

“You’re American,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m Siena Blake.”

Conor suddenly realized he knew who she was; all of Le Miroir was talking of the IT security expert who’d been hired by the Board of Directors to assess the ski resort’s security. Even Conor, who made a point of keeping to himself, knew about her.

“I know who you are,” he said. “You’re a bit of a celebrity around town.”

“I don’t know you,” she replied crisply.

He stifled a laugh. “I’m Conor Hudson. I’m one of the night snow groomers.”

When she got close enough, he saw she wasn’t as tall as she’d seemed from afar. Five six at most, a full head shorter than his own six two. Her eyes were the color of honey.

“Is this door always open?” she asked.

He looked at her like she’d just sprouted two heads. Was she serious? They were standing twenty-five hundred feet up a mountain, in one of the safest countries in the world, and she was worried about locks.

Her lips pursed as she waited for him to answer the question.

“Yeah, it’s usually open.”

She nodded and he could see her filing that fact away in her mind.

“Your shift starts now, doesn’t it?”

He nodded.

“I won’t keep you, then.”

“Are you out here on your own? Do you need help to get back—” The words were out before he could stop himself.

“I have a snowmobile outside.” Her eyes became hard. “I can take care of myself, Mr. Hudson.”

Conor tipped his head in her direction. She didn’t look like much scared her.

That had been a week ago. And though he’d seen her several times around the town, they hadn’t spoken again.

Conor finished inspecting the PistenBully and walked up to open the larger garage door. Cold night air flew into the space. It was going to be windy tonight. He pulled up his uniform jacket so it covered the nape of his neck and climbed up onto the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life.

Conor guided the snowcat gently to the door, noting the time—three minutes to midnight.

Two men appeared at the smaller door, the one he’d used himself earlier, waving at him enthusiastically. Conor waved back at Luc and Raoul.