Where there is much light, the shadows are deepest.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ROCKY MOUNTAINS
NORTHWEST WYOMING
Had we never met, you and I, then you never would have loved me. I never would have returned your love.
And now look at us. I’ve caused you trouble. Brought you pain. All I wanted to do was protect you. Please forgive me.
Please know that I love you.
Loved you.
Her identification stripped from her, she signed her full name and added her address for good measure. She tucked the note into her jeans, her last words—if it came to that—meant to give him closure.
Her abductor thought that by hiding her here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by this frozen world, she would be trapped.
For the average person, that was true.
With no television or internet or communication, she couldn’t cause more trouble. In this rustic getaway cabin meant for the privileged, she’d been left with only what was required to sustain her life until he arrived. He knew from experience her capabilities and vowed he wouldn’t underestimate her again.
But all the same, he’d miscalculated.
Glancing through the small window, she took in the deep snow surrounding her and made her own calculations. He didn’t understand that she would rather face certain death—woman versus nature, as it were—than face him. She wouldn’t come out of that meeting alive, so her chances were better out there on the frozen lake surrounded by millions of acres of pristine snow-blanketed mountain wilderness.
Considering how the cabin had been richly furnished, she was surprised work from local artists didn’t also grace the walls. Maybe the décor had been removed for her stay. Still, some things remained or had been overlooked. Like the vintage snowshoes used for the wall sconces, and that had given her hope.
All I need is an ounce.
After removing the snowshoes from the wall, she layered old newspapers underneath her clothes for added warmth. Then she grabbed some wool blankets from the closet and the Nordic-style comforter from the bed. Travel would be cumbersome and slow. The longer she could last out there, the better. Nonetheless, she’d probably die from exposure.
But at least her death would be on her own terms.
She clenched her jaw. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him win.
Blowing out a long breath, she forced the tension from her muscles. Unfortunately, she’d had to wait until the two men who’d been tasked with guarding her had left on the snowmobiles—the only way to get in or out of the winter getaway. That meant darkness would drop on her world within the hour.
Her watchers had considered her a “no flight risk,” as they called it. After all, without adequate protection, who would trek into the frozen mountain wilderness during the day, much less at night?
That had been the minions’ first mistake. All she’d needed was one.
She drew in a quick breath and opened the door. Bitter cold whipped around her, sending snow into the small dwelling and stinging her cheeks.
Her throat constricted.
For a moment, she reconsidered her decision. But life had given her no real options. She repositioned the wool blanket to cover her face, all except for her eyes, and pulled the comforter tighter around the other blankets. The layers would keep her warm but slow her down.
At least the men had shoveled the snow away from the door so they could venture to their snowmobiles to fetch the man behind her abduction. Now she would use the cleared path for her escape, though no snow machine waited to carry her away to safety. She’d have to depend on her own two legs.
She took a step. Then another. And another. The snowshoes held and, leaving the shoveled path, she hopped on top of the white crust and kept walking. The tears streaming from her eyes could be tears of joy or pure fear, she wasn’t sure.
The wind pushed against her forward movement as if telling her to go back, whispering certain death in her ear.
Was she making a mistake?
No. Death waited for her at the cabin if she didn’t leave. She eyed the frozen lake topped with many layers of white frosting. It was much quicker to cross here than to go all the way around. Nothing but mountain ranges were at her back. She wasn’t going over those.
She wouldn’t make it around the lake before dark, maybe not even across it. If she made it across at all, then she would face miles of wilderness.
The thought almost paralyzed her. Maybe she should go back.
She glanced over her shoulder at the cabin.
No—her only hope was out there. Another dwelling. A hunter. A snowmobiler. A forest ranger. Even a forest road.
Another ounce of hope.
Someone else was out there. Earlier in the day, she’d heard rifle fire. A snow machine.
Her kidnapper didn’t realize her drive to live.
She took one step after another, willing herself to keep moving. Willing herself to survive. Unfortunately, with the deep snow she couldn’t be sure what she was stepping on. March could warm the ice beneath the snow cover, creating treacherous breaks.
She plodded on, gasping for breath with each lumbering step. A half hour. An hour. Her movements kept her warm. If she stopped, she would die. She had to keep moving until she found shelter or help. The temperature dropped as night fell, but at least the moon lit her path so she could see the far shore that stretched before her.
There is still hope . . .
A crack resounded and she stopped, feeling it to her bones.
The white powder covering the sheet of ice beneath her shifted.
And she knew how this would end a split second before the ground beneath her fell away.