Page 45 of Cold and Bitter Snow

“There’s a helicopter on the way,” he said. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“A helicopter? How …?”

Luc’s expression went grim. “I was at the garage, getting my snowmobile checked out, when Laurent Lagarde called. He was worried about sending you out here alone. We both called in a favor to get the helicopter to come up here.”

Luc pressed a piece of fabric to Conor’s side, pushing even harder than she’d dared to. His large hands quickly turned crimson.

How much blood does Conor have left?

“What happened?” he asked, staring at the two prone bodies and at the gun in her hand. Siena realized he must recognize one of the men—the one Conor had referred to as Raoul.

She remembered her promise to Conor and pointed the gun at Raoul, but the man was still unconscious. Her hands were shaking badly now, so she kept her finger far from the trigger. The thought of shooting the gun again made her want to throw up.

Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up.

“The train … the chairlift accident … Raoul … it was all a distraction to kidnap Alma. Conor stopped them.”

“You both did,” Alma interrupted. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You saved my life.”

Conor’s eyes opened for a moment. They were unfocused, as if he were staring at something only he could see.

“Conor?” Luc said.

“Logan …” Conor whispered. An instant later his eyes regained their focus. “Luc … what are you doing here? Is Siena okay?”

“I’m right here, Conor. Please stay with us. Help is on its way,” she cried, gripping his hand. His skin felt cold—too cold. She looked up at Luc in anguish.

“Hurry. You need to be here now. He’s slipping away,” Luc said, speaking into the radio again.

Siena closed her eyes for a moment and prayed.

Chapter 14

Conor

Pain simmered around Conor’s consciousness. He knew from experience that opening his eyes would bring the pain to a boiling point.

It would be easy to go back into the darkness and for a moment he was tempted—but he needed to know whether Siena was okay.

His memories of the trip off the mountain were clouded by pain. He’d known he was dying. The only thing that had made it bearable was Siena’s constant presence. He couldn’t remember much of what she’d said as she held his hand in the helicopter but she might as well have been reading the phonebook to him—it was her voice that held the power.

He pulled his courage together and opened his eyes. He was alone. He shook his head.

She got you to a hospital. What did you expect, that she’d sit by your bedside, too?

As he looked around the room, Conor noticed two things: that the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been the last time he’d woken up and that for some unknown reason his hospital room looked like a jungle. There were plants and flower vases on every available surface, and some lining the floor.

His eyes roamed along the bed rail looking for the button to call the nurse. It was nowhere to be found.

Maybe Swiss hospitals don’t have those.

The movement made pain flare along the left side of his body. He looked down to find his left arm in a brace, strapped against his body. Steeling himself against the pain he wriggled his fingers, relieved to see them move.

The door opened silently. Conor was tempted to feign sleep—until he realized he recognized the person walking in.

Siena.

She didn’t realize he was awake. While she closed the door softly behind her, he had the chance to look at her. The right side of her head was bandaged but she seemed healthy. She’d gotten changed into jeans and a long-sleeved black top. She looked exhausted, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.