Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 26

26

Isla

I sla finished drying her hands and lobbed the paper towel in the bin. Three points. “I’m off, Alain. You sure you’re going to be okay this afternoon?”

Alain nodded. “I’ve got a star at three.” He paused, and she knew he was reading off the chart. “Right hand. Knuckles. Other than that, I’ll just man the phones.”

Isla’s nose wrinkled. That was probably one of her least favorite types of tattoo. The area around the knuckles was sensitive enough that it was hard for most people to stay still for the whole thing. And stars were made of straight lines that had to meet in exactly the right place, which meant there was little margin for error.

“How large?” Isla hesitated. She wouldn’t take the afternoon off and leave Alain with a huge brownie of a problem.

“Small. As small as I can make it.”

Isla relaxed. Small was good.

“I’ll be fine, Isla. Relax. Go spend time with your friend, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Isla nodded. “And you’ll call me if you need anything?”

“You know I will. Now get out of here.”

Thinking again how lucky she’d been to find Alain, Isla rushed up the stairs to her apartment. Laura had messaged her half an hour earlier to say she was back from the grocery store—apparently Isla’s idea of cooking something simple hadn’t sat well with Laura, so she’d planned a full Belgian meal for tonight. Moules frites , cooked in cream and white wine, with Belgian beer. Isla had to admit she was looking forward to it.

“Laura, I’m back, and ready to start peeling potatoes,” Isla said as she reached the top step. The door to her apartment was ajar, which was a surprise, but she figured Laura was still in the process of bringing things upstairs. Just how much stuff had she bought? It was just like Laura to go overboard with the shopping. Isla pushed the door open with one hand and went inside. “Hey. I’m home. Do you need help?—“

Laura wasn’t there, but the fridge lay wide open, beeping loudly. A paper bag lay sideways on the floor, next to several apples that Isla knew were meant for the apple crumble.

Her mouth opened to call out for Laura again, but she didn’t get the chance. Because there was something peeking out from behind the kitchen island—Laura’s sports shoes. Isla inched forward. Soon, Laura’s body became visible, propped against the counter, chin down against her chest, a curtain of hair covering her face. Unconscious. Or worse.

“Laura!” Isla fell to her knees beside her friend. She forced herself to focus on Laura’s chest, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the way it rose and fell gently. She’s breathing . Whatever else was going on, Laura was breathing. Panic seized her. In all the time she’d known Laura, she’d never known her friend to faint. Not once. She pushed the hair back, touching Laura’s face gently—and pulled back a bloody hand.

There was blood on the side of Laura’s head. Laura leaned forward, looking for the origin of the blood. There it was—a thick gash on the side of her head, half-hidden behind her hair.

“I’m going to call for help, Laura. I’m going to?—“

Isla started at the noise behind her. She started to turn, but didn’t get very far before something hit her hard on the side of her head. Isla struggled to hold on to consciousness. She had to turn, she had to fight, she had to?—

The thought disappeared as a second blow made everything go dark.