Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (41 page)

What?

I don’t remember.

That’s because it was in a dream. Wishful thinking.

No, it’s not. Focus.

Snow pelted me in the face. I shook my head to clear the fuzzy thoughts. Was this a mind trick? A reason to give me false hope?

No. Think, Julie. When was the last time you had them?

With Dad on the ranch when we were calving? No.

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Those were chains and clamps.

With Jimmer?
No.

Don and Dale had used their rusted-out, old-fashioned pair of bolt cutters to hack through the barbed-wire fence at the ranch, not mine.

That wasn’t it.

Think. Come on. Picture your bolt cutters in your mind.

Big wooden handles. Rusty spot near the spring.

It clicked.

I’d used my bolt cutters to sever the chain to Nyla’s motel room.

I stood so fast I nearly tore my arm from the socket.

My feet lost traction on the ice and I crashed, smacking my tailbone into the ground, jerking my arm again.

Unless someone stole them out of my truck bed, they should be there. Right there up near the passenger’s side door.

I stretched my left arm out as far as I could reach.

My frozen fingers frantically pawed through the snow.

I wasn’t even fucking close to the other side of the truck bed.

Maybe I could reach it with my feet. I swung around and crawled into the back of the pickup. Lying on my back, my body stayed at a funky angle since my right wrist was attached to the ball hitch outside the truck bed. But I was goddamn glad I’d opted for a cargo net instead of the traditional tailgate.

My breath came hard and fast. Forcing myself to go slow, I swept my legs from side to side to clear away 430

the crusted snow.
Clunk
. I made the same movement again.
Clunk
. Metal striking metal.

Bingo. I’d found it.

I felt the lump beneath the toe of my right boot.

I slid up and dropped my boot heel down, using it to drag the long wooden handle close enough to grasp it. My fingers were stiff and practically useless, but somehow I managed to wrap them around the handle.

I dragged it closer only to realize I’d grabbed the shovel. I tried again. Three attempts later and I had the smooth handles in my icy hand. Immediately I burst into a mix of laughter and tears.

Don’t get cocky. Your hand is still cuffed and you’ve
lost fine motor skills.

I forced three more deep breaths into my lungs, never letting go of my precious tool as I stared up at the white sky. Then I scooted back to the tailgate. Snow went down my pants and up my shirt but I didn’t care.

Putting the sharp tip of the bolt cutters around the chain links one-handed was like threading a needle.

My strength was totally zapped. I’d already used every drop of adrenaline.

Wind stung my cheeks. I licked my lips, tasting salt and blood but feeling nothing because my face was encased in ice.

After two misses, I decided to use my upper body for balance and momentum. I braced the handle against the bottom of the tailgate and rocked into it.

Nothing.

431

I didn’t have voice enough to swear.

Deep breaths. In. Out. Patience.

Seemed a hundred pushes before the link gave way, separating me from the hitch. Half of the set of handcuffs circled my wrist like the world’s ugliest bracelet.

Weird. Even though the silver ring hadn’t been tight, I couldn’t feel my hand. I tried to squeeze the fingers of my right hand into a fist. Even weirder. The bolt cutters in my left hand crashed to the ground.

Everything swirled in slow, dense fog. Snow eddied around me and I was mesmerized by the shifting and floating white forms. Shapes like ghostly fingers beckoned, sibilant whispers taunted, a hiss of temptation—no words—existing only as pure sound.

The high tinkling tones of
The Dance of the Sugar
Plum Fairy
trilled on the wind.

Ooh. Pretty. I loved that song. I swayed back and forth, humming along.

Get out of the fucking cold, you idiot.

The voice of reason snapped me to attention.

I backed up and fell right on top of Trina. Her rib cage cracked beneath my weight and blood or something wet and sticky soaked into the seat of my pants.

Eww. A hoarse squeak burst from my mouth. I attempted to scramble away, but the grommet on my boot hooked Trina’s coat, dragging her bloody bag of skin and bones along as I literally tried to escape her deadweight.

Reach down and unhook it.

432

I shook my head.

Don’t be stupid. Unhook it.

No. Shut up. I’ll do it my own way.

My heart rate remained sluggish as I kicked, flailing my leg without touching Trina. Finally the metal tab ripped free on its own. I crawled the last few feet to the driver’s side door, opened it, and climbed inside.

Needed to get warm. Needed keys.

Where were my keys? Not in the ignition where I’d left them because I’d left my truck running when I’d initially jumped out. Had Jackal stolen them when he’d turned it off?

Frustrated, I whimpered. So close. So goddamn close, just to fail at the final buzzer. I was so tired. So fucking cold. So tired of being so fucking cold all the time. Maybe if I lay down I’d warm up. Body shaking, I flopped sideways on the bench seat.

Something sharp jabbed me in the cheek.

Slowly I turned my head. My keys. Lodged in the seat crack.

An illusion.

I moved and they jangled. Hah. Not an illusion.

Somehow I made my fingers bend. Somehow I hooked the key ring on my index finger. After dropping the keys to the floor mat four times, I started my truck, cranked the heat, and passed out to the strains of
It Won’t Hurt
.

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The aroma of leather roused me.

My voice scratched out, “Tony?”

“I’m here.”

“I know. I smelled you.”

“You saying I smell bad? No. Don’t answer that, blondie, just hang on.”

The music faded as my body was lifted from the bench seat. Icy wind swept over me. I was so cold. I shivered. The arms around me tightened. Doors slammed.

Then softness and heat. Leather. Sweat. Him.

Spanish gibberish filled my ear.

Everything went dark again. I didn’t mind. Better than being lost in the white void.

434

I was hot. Too hot. I attempted to sit up but couldn’t with a thousand blankets piled on top of me.

I focused on the male voices by my feet.

“Frostbite. Dehydration. Exhaustion.”

“Which means?”

“She oughta go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“No fucking way. I can’t protect her there.”

“Thought you might say that.” A sigh. “Truth is, she should be fine if you keep her warm. Keep her hydrated. Make her rest. And, for Christsake, feed her. She’s goddamn lucky you saved her.”

“I didn’t save her,” Martinez snapped. “She saved herself.”

Ooh, and didn’t he just sound plumb tickled about that?

I tried to roll my shoulders and couldn’t. Had I been mummified? Jesus. Was I wearing a fucking
hat
? I wanted to scream but I couldn’t breathe. I settled for kicking my feet, which were trapped in four hundred pairs of wool socks.

“She’s awake. Call me if you need anything.”

I heard the door click as the Hombres’ doctor left.

Then the cotton sheet was removed from my face. I stared into Tony’s eyes.

He said, “Don’t talk.”

“Bet you’d like that.” Whispering was as close as I’d get to talking after screaming like a banshee in the snowstorm. “Take off this goddamn hat. I’m thirsty.

Help me up.”

435

“Hang on, blondie. One thing at a time.”

The layers of covers were peeled back. Once my hands were freed I realized I was wearing gloves. Two pairs. I whipped them off and saw I had on my favorite flannel pajamas. No wonder I’d been so toasty. I scooted into the pillows piled on my side of the bed.

Martinez opened the bottled water before hand-ing it to me. I drank the whole thing.

“You want another?”

I shook my head, letting it fall back, hoping I wouldn’t barf up the liquid sloshing in my stomach.

He didn’t speak. Even though I’d closed my eyes, I felt him watching me. Worrying. Feeling guilty.

Feeling relieved. Probably feeling déjà vu.

I didn’t know what to say to offer him solace. So I merely held out my hand to where he’d perched on a folding chair. The second that warm, rough palm covered mine, I sighed.

All the encouragement he needed. He crawled next to me, pulled me into his arms, and became my comfort, my pillow, my blanket, my heat, my light . . .

my everything. And I wouldn’t be scared to admit it to him or anyone else. Not ever again.

He whispered, “Jesus, Julie. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” I repositioned my sore cheek so I could hear his heart beating. “How did you find me?”

No answer.

“Divine intervention?”

“No. GPS.”

436

“What?”

“I put a tracker on your truck.”

I lifted my head. “When?”

“Right after the blizzard when you were missing for two days. Drove me insane. Jackal was on the loose and I figured it’d piss you off if you knew I knew where you were at all times so I didn’t tell you.”

“That’s how you knew I was at Dusty’s? And at the Road Kill Café? And out in the middle of nowhere?” I couldn’t exactly be indignant about it so I didn’t pretend to be.

“Yeah. You made it clear you hated my security team following you. I had to do something.”

“But you still had your goons following me after that.”

“Better safe than sorry. You have no idea how fucking sorry I am.”

I wondered if he knew . . .

“If you hadn’t convinced Big Mike to call off your tail without my permission, I would’ve been there sooner. Might’ve gotten to Jackal before he got to you.” Martinez’s angry breath pulsed across the top of my head. “When he sent those pictures from that phone . . .”

“Tony—”

“And then I heard the gunshots. Christ. If Bucket would’ve had a tranq gun, he would’ve used it on me.

I fucking lost it, Julie, like I’ve never lost it . . . I didn’t know what I’d find when I got to you . . . how I’d ever 437

. . . if you weren’t . . .”

I cried. Mostly to keep him from breaking down.

It worked. He used his fears to calm mine. “Ssh.

Baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Don’t go. Promise you won’t leave? Even if I fall back asleep?”

“I promise.”

“I thought I was a goner.”

He said nothing, just kept soothing me with long sweeping caresses down my spine.

“What happened to the handcuff around my

wrist?”

“I cut it off.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Good.”

“I do remember Trina admitting she shot you.

Did you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Jackal said he killed her because the Hombres would’ve done worse, torturing her and raping her before letting her die.”

Tony didn’t deny it; I hadn’t expected him to.

“I know that’s what the Hombres do to keep order.

I don’t understand. I sure as hell don’t wanna know the details—ever—but at the same time, I’m not sorry Trina is dead. Just sorry I had to see it.” I waited a beat. “Does that make me callous?”

“No.”

Does that make me like you?

438

My dad’s voice chimed in.
Gets easier to kill, don’t
it?

If I had to choose, I’d rather be like Tony Martinez than Doug Collins.

And again, I did my ostrich imitation and yanked the covers over my head when I realized the truth of how far removed I was.

Tony gently peeled them back. “Don’t hide, especially not from me, blondie. I couldn’t stand it.”

“I’m not. I’m just cold.” I burrowed into him.

After a while I said, “And Jackal?”

“Is a fucking dead man soon as we find him.”

Martinez twirled a hank of hair around his finger.

“After I discovered my Wonder Woman had escaped on her own again, and she was sacked out in her truck listening to that goat-yodeling shit—”

“Watch what you say about my boy Dwight.”

“I wanted to hide you at my place. Throw you in the hot tub, prop you by the fireplace, wrap you up, hell,
tie
you up, but it was too far, so I had to settle for putting you in the shower here.”

“I don’t remember that either. How long has it been since you . . .”

“Eight hours.”

“Were you in there with me?”

“Someone needed to hold you up.”

“Getting tired of that yet, Martinez?”

“Never.” He brought his mouth to mine and kissed me with all the seductive sweetness I craved.

439