Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 28

28

Isla

C old. Freezing. Glacial. She couldn’t think of any more words. She’d once read that Eskimos had twenty words for snow. An Eskimo might be able to help her, here.

Isla searched deep inside her mind, but couldn’t remember ever being this cold before. She’d been hungrier, she was sure. Thirstier, maybe. But never colder.

Or more afraid .

It was almost easier to focus on the cold, as it kept her from thinking about her fear. Because the cold was a physical discomfort, and as such, she could rationalize it. She was cold because she was sitting half-naked in a damp, unheated basement in the middle of the mountains. If someone were to give her a blanket—and damn, what she wouldn’t do for a blanket—the cold would disappear. The fear was different. This fear was a damp, sticky feeling that had seeped into her bones, making it hard to breathe and impossible to think. And Isla needed to think, because she was sitting here, in her bra and panties, and she’d read enough books and seen enough movies to know nothing good was going to happen to her.

To make matters worse, she wasn’t alone. Laura was lying unconscious next to her, also half-naked. Isla had no idea what had happened, or how she and Laura had ended up here, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. If she was going to find a way out for them, she had to stay alert and thinking. She couldn’t let the fear win.

She looked down at her unconscious friend, needing to confirm—as she’d been doing every few minutes since she’d woken up—that Laura’s chest was still rising and falling. Isla breathed a sigh of relief, followed quickly by a shiny burst of panic, because dammit, Laura wasn’t waking up. She leaned her head back against the icy stone wall and repositioned Laura’s head on her lap.

She’s breathing.

Focus on that.

Just … focus.

Isla’s throat hurt. When she’d first woken up, she’d tried screaming. She’d screamed until her throat was raw, but nobody had come to the door. Now that she’d had some time to think, Isla thought perhaps that was a good thing. She wasn’t ready to meet whoever had locked them in here.

Interestingly enough, Isla remembered everything, up to the time she’d been struck on the back of the head. Whoever had taken them must have attacked Laura as she got home with the groceries. Then they’d hidden behind the door and waited for Isla to fall right into their hands.

Idiot.

She should have called the police. When she’d seen the door ajar, she should have?—

Stop. Should haves aren’t going to get you and Laura out of here.

Above, the single dim lightbulb flickered, like it did every few minutes. Isla wanted to close her eyes—pretend she’d had a bad fall while snowboarding and was on her way to the hospital, pretend this was just a nightmare. Just … pretend.

But there was no pretending. Whoever had brought them here had undressed them while they were unconscious. Isla’s skin crawled at the thought. Had they done anything else? Isla didn’t feel any pain or discomfort, and she couldn’t see any bruises on Laura’s body beyond the goose egg on the side of her head, but that didn’t mean …

No. Don’t think about that. Think good thoughts. Happy thoughts.

She thought of Ry. Ry was coming to her place for dinner. Had dinner time come and gone already? If so, Ry would know something was wrong. He’d sound the alarm. And then … then what? How would he find her? What if nobody ever found them? What if?—

A sob ripped out of her throat. Isla closed her mouth and forced it back. Because if she started wailing, she might never stop, and already her grasp on reality felt tenuous. She had to hold on to it as tightly as she could.

The room was empty except for the cookie-thin mattress they were sitting on. Isla looked down at her hip and thigh, tracing the edge of the wolf, praying for strength. It worked … a bit. She hadn’t tattooed it on herself. The design was too intricate for that. But the wolf was all hers—a symbol of the things that mattered most to her. Courage. Loyalty. Passion. She’d sketched it on paper hundreds of times before coming up with the final design—one that would look alive on her skin. Then she’d gotten one of her mentors to commit it to ink.

Courage. Loyalty. Passion .

She had almost convinced herself things were going to be okay when the door opened with a loud groan and a man stepped inside.

“You’re awake,” he said softly. The English accent was unexpected, as was the man’s normal—absolutely normal —appearance. Young, slim and seemingly harmless. Isla was a woman. She’d grown up with that sixth sense that makes women cross the street when anything makes them uncomfortable. She wouldn’t have crossed the street upon seeing this man. She wouldn’t even have looked twice at him.

Isla placed Laura’s head on the mattress as gently as she could, then stood up, looking at the open doorway behind him. What if she could?—

Then a second man walked inside—tall, with wide shoulders and a barrel-shaped body—and this man, Isla recognized, even if he’d taken off the neck brace and let his facial hair grow. Miles Getty. Her insides clenched, and she felt her strength leech out of her—because she knew who he was, and he clearly knew that, and there was no way this man was letting her or Laura go.

Her body shook so hard, she had to hold on to the wall behind her so as not to fall.

“Who are you?” she asked, hating the way her voice shook. “What are we doing here?”

“You know exactly who I am,” the bigger man said, his thin lips stretching into an eerie smile on his round face.

“She knows who you are?” the first man screeched.

“Of course she knows. Close the door, Richard. We don’t want our friend here to get any ideas.”

“Don’t tell her my name!” Another screech.

“Relax, Richard. She will not be telling anyone anything.”

“Let us go,” Isla begged, looking at the younger man. “Please. We won’t say anything.”

“Shut up. Or I’ll gag you.” Isla recoiled at the hatred in Getty’s voice.

The slimmer man started. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this ...”

“Not comfortable ?” Miles mocked. “She’s not here to make you comfortable. She’s here to make him pay.”

Make him pay … It took a moment for Isla to parse the words, but when they did, she finally understood. This had nothing to do with her. This was about Ry, and what had happened on that mountain.

“Don’t look so serious, kitten,” the man mocked. “We’re going to have some fun together.”