Page 99 of Mountain Security

He pushed them both up to a sitting position.

“You sure you’re okay?” Despite the running, Yvette’s hands were cold. The cashmere sweater she was wearing was nowhere near warm enough to spend time outside now that the sun was setting.

“This way,” Alex said, leading her away at a fast jog.

They couldn’t outrun a bullet, but the old man wouldn’t be able to climb that wall. He’d need to go around to the gate if he wanted to give chase.

But they needed to use that time. They couldn’t stop. They ran on past the trees onto a snowy field. Alex ran on, mindful of the ragged terrain, and of Yvette behind him.

Eventually, they reached a new line of trees.

He felt Yvette flag and stopped, pulling her behind a large tree. She leaned against it gratefully, her breath coming in hard, fast pants.

Alex took off his jacket. She read his intent and stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

“No. I can’t take your jacket.”

“I have a technical layer to keep me warm, Yvette, and my body generates a lot more heat than yours. Please.”

Eventually, she nodded, and he bundled her into the jacket. Her body leaned into its warmth. He zipped her up with frozen fingers.

“The road’s right that way. We’ll get to the road and find help.” He didn’t hold much hope that anybody would be driving up the road at this time, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, either.

Yvette didn’t utter a single complaint, though her breaths were coming out as pained gasps by the time the road came into sight.

The sun was already half-way behind the mountains, and dropping fast.

Just like the temperature.

Alex's thoughts flew to the flashlight and extra clothes in the back of his car.

Shit.

They couldn’t spend too long out here.

And then he heard it. Seconds later, Yvette stilled as she heard it as well.

A car.

Coming up the mountain, from Argentière.

* * *

Yvette

Yvette’s thoughts were dark. She was still moving forward, propelled partly by Alex’s momentum and partly by the urge tonot let him down.

I won’t let him down.

She knew he would stop if she stopped.

He wouldn’t leave her here alone, no matter what.

And she couldn’t be responsible for his death.

Death.

It was still hard for her brain to grasp the implications. Arnaud Gaultier, a man she’d shared meals with, was the one behind everything. He’d been behind Pierre’s affair. He’d been the one to leak it to the press. The one stealing from them. The one who set the fire …

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