Black Ice

  From there, I'd call the police. And tell them Lauren Huntsman hadn't drowned in a lake. She'd been brutally murdered, and I had a pretty good idea where they could find her remains.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The mountains had never felt more hostile or inhabitable. A freezing cloud pressed down through the trees, painting the landscape in a strange casing of ice. The dense forest blocked out the sunlight, creating a dank darkness where twisted silhouettes of winter-bare trees played tricks. I saw skeletons with reaching arms and flashes of scowling faces in their marred gray trunks. A bitterly cold wind shrieked over the ground, kicking up snow like a frenzied herd of ghostly horses. The evergreens swayed uneasily, as if they knew something I didn't.

  A hand snatched at my coat and I whirled around with a gasp, only to find a gnarled bush with thorny, untamed branches hooked in the fabric. Untangling myself, I swallowed nervously. I hurried forward, blindly beating away the cold, wet branches. With every step, I felt eyes on my back. The fog licked my skin, and I gave a convulsive shudder.

  Bears and wolves. I thought of them as I slogged over the snow that last night's wind had swept into steep, formidable drifts. Each peak reminded me of a wave, frozen in icy whiteness a moment before it crested. The endless drifts and gloomy vapor made visibility difficult, so I kept my compass at my hip, consulting it constantly. Every now and then, the chilling wail of wind caused me to stop and glance over my shoulder, the hairs on my body raised.

  Soon my muscles cried out in exhaustion. My last meal had been yesterday, and I felt weak and disoriented with hunger. It was too easy to imagine shutting my eyes against the lashing wind. But I knew if I rested, my thoughts would slide into a dangerous dream. One I'd never wake from.

  My gloves were wet. My boots and socks too, the ice making my toes and fingers feel brittle enough to snap off. I flexed my hands, pumping blood to warm them. I rubbed them together, but I didn't know why I bothered. Eventually the pain would dull to an itchy numbness, and then I wouldn't feel anything. . . .

  No. I was grateful for the sharp, stinging pain. It meant I was awake. Alive.

  The snow and rocks slipped out from under my feet. When I failed to catch my balance, it was my backside that ended up wet. Each time, it took longer to drag myself upright. I dusted the snow off my clothes, but this too seemed pointless. I was already damp and shivering.

  As I crested one wooded slope, another rose up behind it. And another. Behind the dense gray clouds, a bleak orb of sunlight made a slow trail across the sky. It reached the height of its journey, then began to sink toward the west. I'd been walking all day. Where was Idlewilde? Had I missed it? I didn't know whether to press on or circle back.

  Degree by degree, my hope whittled down to despair. I wasn't sure the mountain would ever end. I dreamed of stumbling across a cabin, any cabin. I dreamed of thick walls and a hot fire. I dreamed of escaping the gale-force winds that ripped and chafed.

  Out here, there was so much to escape. Wind and cold. Snow. Starvation.

  Death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The night Calvin taught Korbie and me how to play the Ouija board was the first night I ever remember being completely alone with him. There may have been other times, but that night I remember feeling like we were the only two people in the world. I loved Calvin Versteeg. He was my world. Every look he gave me, every word he spoke in my direction, felt forever etched on my heart.

  "I have to pee! It's coming ouuuut!" Korbie giggled, yanking up the tent zipper. "I'm not gonna make it to the bathroom. I might have to pee on your shoes, Calvin!"

  Calvin rolled his eyes as Korbie hopped dramatically from one foot to the other, cupping her crotch. He had left his tennis shoes outside the tent entrance, right next to my flip-flops. Mr. Versteeg never let us wear shoes inside the house. I doubted he cared about the tent getting dirty, but by now it was habit: no shoes inside.

  "Why do you put up with her?" Calvin said to me, after Korbie stumbled out. We could hear her shrieking hysterically as she raced across the yard toward the cabin.

  "She's not so bad."

  "She's seriously short on brain cells."

  I didn't want to talk about Korbie. Calvin and I were finally alone. I could have touched him; he was that close. I would have given anything to know if he had a girlfriend. How could he not? Any girl would be lucky to go out with him.

  I cleared my throat. "You don't really believe ghosts use the Ouija to communicate with us, do you? Because I don't," I added with an eye roll, hoping I sounded sophisticated.

  Calvin picked up a blade of grass one of us had tracked in, and began peeling it lengthwise into curling green ribbons. Without looking at me, he said, "When I think about ghosts, I think about Beau, and where he is now."

  Beau had been the Versteegs' chocolate lab. He had died the previous summer. I didn't know how--Korbie wouldn't say. She cried for a whole week after he was gone, but refused to talk about him. When I asked my brother, Ian, how dogs died, he said, "They get hit by a car. Or they get cancer and after a while you have to put them down."

  Since Beau died suddenly, it wasn't cancer.

  "He's buried in my backyard at home," Calvin told me. "Under the peach tree."

  "Under a peach tree is a good place to bury a dog." I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but I was scared he'd push me away. My greatest fear was that he'd walk out and I'd lose my chance to really connect with him.

  I scooted closer. "I know you really loved Beau."

  "He was a good bird dog."

  I placed my shaking hand on Calvin's knee. I waited, but he didn't jerk free or shove me away. He looked directly at me, his green eyes glassy and hurting.

  "My dad shot him."

  I hadn't expected that. It didn't fit with the picture in my head. I'd always imagined squealing tires and Beau's crumpled, broken body in the road. "Are you sure?"

  Calvin gave me a cold look.

  "Why would your dad shoot Beau? He was the best dog." It was true. I'd begged my dad for a dog. I wanted a chocolate lab like Beau.

  "He was barking one night and the Larsens called to complain. I was asleep, but I remember the phone ringing. My dad hung up and shouted for me to put Beau in the garage. It was after midnight. I heard my dad, but I fell right back asleep. Then I heard the shots. Two of them. For a minute, I thought my dad had fired his rifle in my bedroom, the noise was that loud. I ran to the window. My dad kicked Beau to make sure he was really dead, then left him there. He didn't even lift him into a box."

  I put my hand over my mouth. It was hot and stuffy in the tent, but I started shivering. Mr. Versteeg had always intimidated me, but now he seemed to transform into a frightening monster in my eyes.

  "I buried Beau," Calvin said. "I waited until my dad went to bed, then I got a shovel. I spent the whole night digging. I had to lift Beau into a wagon, that's how heavy he was. I couldn't carry him by myself."

  Knowing Calvin had to bury his own dog made me want to cry.

  "I hate my dad," Calvin said in a low voice that gave me goose bumps.

  "He's the worst dad ever," I agreed. My dad would never shoot a dog. Especially not for barking. Especially if I loved it.

  "Sometimes I wonder if Beau's ghost is around," Calvin said. "I wonder if he's forgiven me for not putting him in the garage that night."

  "Of course he's around," I said, trying to give him hope. "I bet Beau's in heaven right now, waiting for you. He's probably got a tennis ball in his mouth so the two of you can play fetch. Just 'cause you die doesn't mean you stop existing."

  "I hope you're right about that, Britt," he murmured in a quiet, vengeful tone. "I hope when my dad dies, he goes to hell and suffers there for eternity."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  At dusk, I saw chimney smoke rising above the treetops. I had walked the whole day without food or water and, delirious, I plodded heavily toward it. When the cabin loomed out of the swirling snow ahead, I thought it must be a mirag
e. It was too beautiful to be real, with its gold-burning windows and a puff of gray smoke twining up from the chimney.

  Staggering to keep my balance as the winds toyed with me, I trudged toward it, mesmerized by the idea of warmth and rest. As I came up the slope of the snowed-under driveway, I gasped at how expertly my mind deceived me. Idlewilde towered before me in grand detail.

  Icicles as thick as my arms hung from the gables, which were pitched one after another, replicating the glacial mountain peaks in the backdrop. Snow, inches deep, frosted the roof. I stared at the cabin hungrily.

  A man's shadowy form crossed the expansive bank of windows. He gazed absently out at the yard, tipping a mug to his lips.

  Calvin.

  I heard myself say his name, a frozen, strangled sound. And then I was stumbling toward the cabin. I slipped and scrambled through the snow, never pulling my eyes from the door. I was terrified that if I looked away for even a moment, Idlewilde and Calvin would vanish into the growing dusk.

  I pounded on the door, my frozen hands feeling like they would shatter. Wincing and crying, I scratched ineffectually at the thick wood door. I drove my boots against it, sobbing Calvin's name.

  The door opened and Calvin stared at me. For a long moment, there was no recognition on his face, only confusion. All at once, his eyes sprang open in shock. "Britt!" He tugged me into the cabin, wasting no time taking off my pack and stripping off my wet coat and gloves.

  I was too exhausted to speak. The next thing I knew, he'd carried me into the living room and stretched me out on the sofa next to the fire. I was dully aware of him searching my pockets, possibly looking for some clue to where I'd been. Finding nothing, he pried off my boots and massaged my feet. He bundled me in warm, dry blankets, and fit a hat snugly over my head. Then came a litany of questions that jumbled in my frozen brain.

  Can you hear me? How many fingers? How long outside? Alone?

  I tilted my chin up, gazing into his green eyes, reassured by their competence. I wanted to climb into his arms and weep while he held me, but I didn't know how to make my body move. A tear dripped down my cheek, and I hoped Calvin understood the words I was too tired to say. We were together. Everything was going to be okay. He'd take care of me.

  Calvin slapped my cheeks. "Can't fall asleep."

  I nodded obediently, but sleep dragged at me. He didn't understand. I'd used all my energy getting here. I didn't have any left. I had to sleep. I'd been outside, walking and freezing, while he was here at the cabin. Why hadn't he come looking for me?

  While I faded in and out of awareness, Calvin left the room several times, always returning swiftly to poke and prod at me. I faintly noted him sticking a thermometer under my tongue. On the next trip, he nestled warm water bottles near my armpits and tucked what felt like a heating pad around my lap. He ordered me to drink a mug of herbal tea and even offered me some candy, but I shook my head. They could wait. I wished he'd leave me alone long enough to let me sleep soundly.

  ". . . stay with me, Britt."

  I can't, I thought back, but the words dissolved inside me.

  He grasped my head, forcing me to look directly in his eyes. "No sleep. Not . . . leave alone. Focus . . . me." His words sounded muffled, like they traveled down a long tunnel before reaching me.

  Oh, Cal.

  I sighed, trying to squirm out of his grip. He slapped my cheeks again. With a deeper pang of annoyance, I wished he would stop bothering me. If I'd had the strength, I would have shoved him away.

  "Let go," I slurred irritably, batting weakly at his hands.

  "Keep . . . fight. Stay . . . me. Warm you up."

  He grasped my shoulders, shaking me incessantly, until what little patience was left inside me snapped and I lashed out in anger. "Stop, Cal, leave alone!" After the words exploded out of me, I sagged back on the sofa, breathless and exhausted. But fully awake.

  Bent over me, Calvin relaxed. He smiled, stroking my cheek affectionately. "That's more like it. Get as angry as you want, if that's what it takes to keep you conscious. I'm not letting you sleep until your temperature climbs above ninety-six."

  "Says who?" I sniffed weakly.

  "Really? You're going to argue with me now?" Cal's eyes softened, and he smoothed my damp hair off my face. Reaching under the blankets, he clasped my hand, squeezing hard, like he was terrified he's lose me if he let go. "I was so worried about you, Britt. Korbie told me everything. I know about Shaun and Ace."

  I blinked a few times, thinking I must have misheard. My brain muddled through this new information at a lagging pace. "Korbie?"

  "She's here. Upstairs, sleeping. I found her at the cabin. They left her to die, Britt. I found her just in time. She had no food. She's going to make a full recovery, but this isn't over. They tried to kill my sister and my--my girl," he finished, his voice cracking slightly. "If anything had happened to either of you--" He broke off, turning his face away, but not before I saw his eyes burning with rage.

  Calvin had found Korbie. Of course he had. Cal was Cal. He loved Korbie, and he loved me. He would do anything to keep us safe.

  But if I was his girl, and he loved me, why hadn't he gone back out to look for me?

  I pushed myself upright against the pillow. My limbs were uncoordinated from the cold, but that didn't stop me from fighting to free myself from the blankets. "I have to see Korbie."

  "In the morning," Calvin assured me. "I only found her today. She was bad off, panicked and delusional, and she hurt herself--she tripped on the stairs and bruised her back and elbow. She wouldn't let me touch her, kept screaming at me and calling me Shaun. I gave her a sleeping pill to help her relax. She needs a good night's rest. Same goes for you--can I get you a pill? My mom left her prescription up here last summer, and it hasn't expired yet."

  "No, I just want to see Korbie."

  Calvin tried to lower me back onto the sofa, but I struggled against him. I had to see Korbie. I needed to see for myself that she was okay.

  "All right, you can see her," he relented, "but let me bring her to you. You should rest. I'll make you some dinner and then go get her." He dragged his hands down his face, but not before I saw his eyes moisten. "I thought the worst, Britt. I thought it was a miracle I'd found her, and I'd never be lucky enough to find you too. I thought-- My life-- Without you--"

  Tears streamed down my face, and a knot swelled in my throat. Calvin loved me. Nothing had changed. At that moment, it was so easy to forget the pain and heartache of the past. I forgave him completely. This was it--our fresh start.

  "I'm scared, Cal." I scooted closer to him. "He--Ace--is out there." I didn't bother calling him Jude; explaining the name change would only complicate things.

  Calvin nodded curtly. "I know. But I won't let him hurt you. As soon as the roads clear, I'm getting you and Korbie out of here. We'll go to the police and tell them everything."

  I shook my head, indicating there was more. "Ace killed . . ." I licked my lips. I hadn't expected the words would be so difficult to say. It was hard to admit Jude had killed Lauren Huntsman, because it pointed glaringly to my utter lack in judgment. I'd trusted Jude. I'd kissed him. I'd let his hands explore my body, the same hands that had ruthlessly slayed an innocent girl. It was appalling and humiliating. If there was one event in my past I wished I held the power to go back and change, that was it. Failing to see Jude's revolting true character.

  "Shh," Calvin murmured, gently pressing his finger to my lips. "You're safe with me. You lived through a nightmare, but it's over. I won't let him hurt you. He's going to pay for taking you hostage. He'll go to prison, Britt. You'll never have to see him again."

  I tried to let Calvin's confidence console me, and forced myself to push aside the memory of Jude's searing, rousing kiss. Whatever had happened between us, it was a lie. He had deceived me; I had to remember that. Any lingering feelings I might have for him were based on the lie, and I had to cut them out, like a cancer.

  "Ace murdered a girl up he
re in the mountains and I have evidence." There. I'd said it. And while it hurt, it was the right thing to do. I wasn't going to protect Jude. "He killed Lauren Huntsman. Look in my backpack--the evidence is there."

  Calvin stared at me, his expression clouded with disbelief. "He killed--Lauren?" he stammered, clearly as startled as I'd originally been.

  "She disappeared from Jackson Hole last year. Do you remember? It was all over the news." I felt relieved to pass the weight of Jude's secret to someone else.

  "I remember," Calvin answered, still looking shocked. "Are you sure?"

  I shut my eyes, feeling light-headed and weary again. "Look in the backpack. Everything needed to prove his guilt is there. Lauren's locket, her diary, and a photograph confirming he stalked her before he killed her."

  Calvin nodded, obviously shaken. "Okay, I'll do it; just lie back and take it easy, you hear?"

  Calvin went to the window and gazed out on the snowy woods surrounding Idlewilde. He cupped one hand behind his neck, squeezing methodically. I could tell he was uneasy, and that made the knot return to my chest. Calvin had not known we were going up against a killer.

  "Do you have my map?" he asked without turning around. "Korbie told me you took it. I'm not mad, but I need it back."

  "No, Ace has it. He's out there looking for me, Cal. I took the evidence that proves he killed Lauren Huntsman. He isn't going to let me get away. Idlewilde is marked on the map. I think he's going to come here."

  "If he does, he's not getting in," he answered grimly.

  "With the map, he'll be able to cover a lot of ground quickly without worrying about getting lost." I could have kicked myself for giving Jude the map. What a careless mistake. What had I been thinking, to trust him so easily?

  "What weapons does he have?"

  "He's unarmed. But he's strong, Cal. And smart. Almost as smart as you."

  Calvin strode to the desk across the room and opened the top drawer. He took out a handgun and inserted a loaded magazine before shoving it into his belt. I knew the Versteegs kept guns at Idlewilde; Mr. Versteeg had a permit to carry concealed weapons, and Calvin had grown up hunting.