Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 35

35

Isla

R y’s coat smelled of him—it smelled of fresh air and sun and freedom, of everything she’d been missing over the last … how long had it been since they were taken? How long had she and Laura been stuck in this room? An eternity, it seemed.

She pulled the winter jacket tighter around her body, delighting in its warmth, and leaned into Ry’s body beside her. She’d insisted she wanted to walk—it’d felt important to walk out on her own two feet, somehow—but even climbing those stairs had exhausted her, and now she wondered if she was going to make it.

You have no choice. Laura needs a hospital.

Isla put one foot in front of the other, following Ry’s lead, taking courage in the knowledge that he wouldn’t let her fall. But the closer the front door loomed, the more her fear grew, until it was larger than her, larger than life.

She looked up and immediately regretted doing so. Bones . There were bones everywhere up here, eerie trophies from hunts long past. Where other people might have family photos, the mantelpiece was lined with skulls instead, all of them stripped clean and polished. On top of the front door hung an enormous rack of antlers. Isla could almost feel the animal spirits all around them. She needed to draw strength from them. Please help us .

Ry propelled her towards the front door. Outside, the storm raged, and as much as she hated this house, the thought of going outside—who was she kidding—the thought that he might be waiting outside for them … filled her with dread. She could still feel his hands on her breasts, still hear that deep, raspy voice as he’d told her in horrifying detail everything he wanted to do to her. In her panic, she tripped, and only Ry’s arms around her kept her from hitting the rug made of animal hide.

“You can’t walk barefoot onto the snow, Isla,” Ry whispered, lifting her in his strong arms. Hugo and Ry exchanged a quick glance. It took her a moment to understand they were listening to something on their ear piece. “Beau made it,” Ry said. “He got a message out to the team. They’re on their way.”

Relief made her weak. Isla allowed herself that moment of weakness and nestled in against Ry. Maybe everything’s going to be okay . Except the men weren’t saying that. Why aren't they saying that? Something was wrong, and Isla was done being kept in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

Again, another long look passed between the two men. It was Ry who finally replied. “Beau hasn’t found any trace of Getty. We should stay indoors until Tristan gets here.”

Isla shivered, trying not to let her apprehension show, but Ry read it in her eyes, anyway. “We’re safe here, Isla. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” Something dark swirled in his eyes—something that looked like pain and guilt. What is that about?

Something dark dripped down his shoulder. “I hurt you,” Isla said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“With the back of a spoon.” He smiled, looking inordinately pleased. “I’m okay.”

Still huddling inside Ry’s jacket, she sat down on an armchair. Hugo brought Laura to the couch and gently lay her flat. Laura struggled briefly as he let her go, her expression pained, before settling into unconsciousness again.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Impaired consciousness. She needs a hospital and a CT scan. There’s nothing we can do for her here, except keep her hydrated and warm,” he said, placing a ratty couch blanket over her. At least it’s not made of animal hide .

Warm . Isla had never considered the wonder of the word. It had been so cold down in the room—cold enough she’d wondered if she and Laura would simply freeze to death. Though freezing might have been a preferable alternative to what the man had planned for her.

“I’ll get some water,” Hugo said, turning away.

Ry kneeled between the couch and the armchair Isla was sitting on. He took her hands in his, in silent reassurance. She squeezed back, needing him to know how much it meant to her. That he’d come for her. That he understood so much about what she was feeling.

“Isla, there’s something I need to?—“

Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed through the air. At first, she thought it was just the wind picking up. But it was too loud. Her heart soared. The helicopter . Then her heart simply stopped, as the sound grew louder and more distinct, transforming into the roar of an engine. Isla stared—transfixed—as the sound beyond the cabin wall moved closer.

“Isla!” Ry shouted. He was on his feet, pushing backwards onto the couch that Laura was lying on, turning it on his side so its feet poked up. Laura’s body rolled with it, so she was now lying on the back cushions instead. Then Ry was back by Isla’s side, grabbing her bodily against him and diving for the couch. They didn’t make it.

The wall to the living room exploded inwards in a thunderous crash, old timber and stone bursting apart at the seams as the powerful force slammed through. Splinters and shard of bone trophies flew across the room towards them. Ry threw his arms around Isla, pulling her down to the ground and covering her with his own body.

His weight on top of her made it hard to breathe. Isla turned her head—the only part of her she could still move—because she had to see. For a moment, couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. The storm was inside with them now, what used to be the wall now a gaping hole into the night, a monstrous vehicle where the wall used to be. A snow blower , her mind corrected. She almost laughed at the precision. Is killed by a snow blower better than killed by a monstrous vehicle?

The snow blower’s engine growled. Steam and snow billowed from the vents and all around them. And on top of it sat Getty—looking bigger than ever, his face twisted in a snarl of satisfied rage. His cold blue eyes scanned the room, searching. For us .

“Stay down,” Ry whispered, and Isla realized Miles couldn’t see them for the rubble.

And then he saw them. His face lit up like a child’s at Christmas. “You thought you could hide from me?” he shouted. “I’ll tear this place apart with you in it.” He revved the engine and moved forward, the huge machine tearing through old wood like paper, heading straight towards them. He’s going to crush us .

She looked up into Ry’s eyes, and saw the desperation there as he looked towards the couch where Laura lay. He couldn’t get to both of them, and it was killing him. Isla pushed at his chest, but it was futile, he was an unmovable rock.

Then everything happened at once, too fast for her to comprehend. Hugo raced towards them from the kitchen, shouting something. And then she was up in Ry’s arms, and he was running at breakneck speed towards the back of the house, Hugo right behind them, rushing to the couch to pick Laura up.

Ry pulled up behind the kitchen wall and looked back, still holding tightly onto her. Isla held her breath as Hugo sprinted towards them with Laura in his arms. Behind them—too close and getting closer—the machine surged, splintering wood and shattering furniture as it went. They’re not going to make it .

“He’s got a gun!” Ry shouted at Hugo. The first shot was deafening—louder than the machine, louder than the storm. Hugo looked back— no, don’t look back —and threw himself onto the ground, curling his body around Laura. The second shot was just as loud and thumped into something fleshy. Hugo groaned.

Ry set Isla on her feet on the cold kitchen tile. “I need you to run towards the back door, Isla. Beau will find you.” He gave her a small shove, and then he was gone, without waiting for her to agree. Isla stood there, frozen, knowing the next few seconds would determine everything.

Ry

Leaving Isla alone in the kitchen went against every instinct he had, but he had to get to Hugo and Laura. She’s safe for now . Ry couldn’t say the same for Hugo. His friend hadn’t moved since the last shot was fired, and Ry knew him well enough to know what that meant. He also knew there was nothing he could do for them while Getty was in here shooting at them.

Ry ran, his boots slamming against the wooden floor. A third shot flew past his ear and rattled the window. This time, Ry got a better glimpse of the gun. It looked like a .44 caliber, large enough to hunt large targets. Large enough to hunt people . It was a six-shot, and Ry thought back to the number of shots they’d already heard. Two, for sure. Maybe three. There should be three or four bullets left before he’d have to reload.

Ry’s breath came in heavy gasps, his heart thundering in his chest, but his mind was clear: he had to stop Getty. He had to end this. He swerved to make himself a harder target to hit, willing Getty to shoot. There . He leaped over the overturned couch just in time to avoid getting hit, then, without giving Getty time to reload, jumped forward again, darting between what remained of the living room’s wreckage to get to the snow blower.

The gun roared again, but Ry was too close now, and this shot missed Ry by a mile, the recoil jolting Miles’s entire frame. Without giving the man the chance to aim again, Ry launched himself at the side of the huge snowblower. He was close enough now that he could see the crazed rage in Miles’s eyes—this wasn’t a man hoping to get away with it. This was a man who knew this was his last stand.

But so did Ry.

No second chances . No do overs .

Ry pulled himself up onto the roof of the vehicle. His shoulder twinged with the effort, but he ignored the pain. His right hand found the barrel of the large gun and he yanked hard. Getty pulled back, but this wasn’t a fight Ry was willing to lose. He pulled sideways until the weapon slid from Getty’s grip. He tossed it aside, the weapon clattering to the ground, lost among the snow and debris.

Getty snarled, reaching up to catch Ry’s arm, but Ry was faster. He reached down into the cabin and pulled himself inside, upside down at first, then taking an instant to right himself. Getty threw a wild punch, aiming for Ry’s ribs, which Ry blocked with his elbow before swinging back, hitting Getty’s neck and making him roar with pain. Ry took the chance to grab the keys from the ignition and toss them out of the vehicle.

Getty growled, grabbing Ry by the collar and pulling him off balance, sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Before Ry could pull himself up, Getty was on him, straddling him. Ry was strong, his body honed from the daily demands of his job, but Getty was a bear of a man, and had the strength of the crazed.

“If you’d just shut up,” Getty panted, throwing a punch to Ry’s jaw that reverberated through all his teeth. “The government would have paid. I would have had money to rebuild this house, and you wouldn’t ever have heard from him again. But no, you had to fight it. You have to be a hero.” Another punch, this one slamming Ry’s head sideways. Ry knew he had to get out from under the man, or he was done for. He shifted his hips, but Getty leaned in the other direction. Fuck, but the man was strong.

Out of the corner of one eye, Ry saw movement. Hugo. No. Not Hugo . It was Isla, staggering in the dust and snow towards Hugo and Laura. Ry looked back at Getty above him, hoping the man hadn’t noticed—glad to see he still had the man’s full attention.

“Now you’re going to die,” Getty snarled, putting his thick hands around Ry’s neck. It was the moment Ry had been waiting for. Ry raised his arms, slamming them on the man’s ears—heard the answering roar that told him he’d ruptured at least one ear drum. The pressure around his neck eased, and Ry surged up, dislodging Getty’s body and turning around until he was the one doing the straddling. He pinned the big man down with one knee to the chest. Getty struggled, but he was still dazed from the hit to his ears. Ry grabbed the man’s collar, pulling him up just enough to land a solid punch to his nose. He welcomed the shockwave of pain going through his hand and punched again, thinking of Isla, thinking of Laura, thinking of what had been and what could have been. Thinking that he would never, ever, let Getty hurt them again. He hit again and again until the man went limp beneath him, head lolling to the side, blood trickling from his mouth and nose and his left ear.

Ry stood up, breathing hard, his muscles trembling from the cold and the adrenaline. He stared down at the unconscious man, resisting the urge to hit him again. From the pocket of his jeans, he took a couple of zip ties and pulled them tight around Miles’s wrists, behind his back, then around his ankles. He thought of Isla and Laura, and of the body they’d seen out on the snow. He’s going to pay for what he’s done .

Ry stood up, wiping blood from his split knuckles on his jeans, feeling the aches in his body. He was pretty sure he’d cracked a couple of ribs. He turned and ran back to Hugo, sliding down next to him. Isla was beside him, her fingers on Hugo’s neck.

“He’s breathing, but there’s so much blood. I don’t want to move him, but he’s going to crush Laura. He went down protecting her,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

At that exact moment, Hugo’s eyes opened. He stared at them with no confusion. “Getty?” he rasped.

“He’s taken care of,” Ry said, sneaking a quick look behind them. Getty hadn’t moved a muscle.

Hugo nodded, his eyes dark with pain. His elbows dug into the ground beside Laura. “Is she okay? Help me. I can’t move my legs,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He was already trying to crawl off Laura, using his elbows.

Ry’s insides got cold. He’d seen the stain on Hugo’s T-shirt, down in his lumbar area. He took a deep breath and helped Hugo off the woman, careful to jostle him as little as possible. Free of Hugo’s weight, Laura moaned and jostled around before going quiet again.

“You take care of him. I’ll stay with Laura,” Isla said, tucking Hugo’s coat tighter around her friend. Despite the urgency of the situation, Ry was glad to see Isla had recovered some of the color in her cheeks.

“Ry. Hugo. Status report.” Beau’s voice was loud in Ry’s ear. It sounded like he was running hard.

“We need the helicopter here now. We have the women. Getty is down, but Hugo’s been shot in the back.”

A long pause from his boss. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Isla is with Laura. She’s still unconscious. We’re going to need a neurologist waiting for us.” He turned back towards Hugo. “And a surgeon.”

“I spoke with Vincent. The whole fucking hospital is going to be waiting for us,” Beau panted, cutting the communication.

Ry turned back towards Hugo. “I’m going to check the wound,” he said, raising Hugo’s shirt. Isla was right, there was a lot of blood, but not as much as Ry would have expected. The cold was slowing the bleeding. Ry checked for an exit wound, already knowing he wouldn’t find it. And Hugo couldn’t feel his legs. Fuck .

Hugo winced. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. “I can hear your thoughts, Ry,” Hugo said, his voice still deadly calm. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“You saved Laura’s life. That’s what I was thinking,” Ry said, lowering the shirt again. Since the bleeding had slowed down on its own, he didn’t want to touch or put any pressure on the wound. “And we’re going to take care of you.”

Beau ran through the open front door, though he could just as easily have stepped in through the hole in the wall. Ry wondered how stable the hut was at this point. Beau stopped to look at Getty’s unconscious form, his jaw clenched tight. “The helicopters are here,” Beau informed them. “The storm is dying down. Let’s get everyone ready.” And then Ry heard it, loud and clear, the sound of the whirling rotors. From her position beside Laura, Isla raised her eyes. Their gazes met and held, and in her gaze Ry read the trauma she’d been through … but also something else, something that looked a lot like hope.