Page 44 of Snowed In with Three Mountain Men

“That’s where you come in,” I confess with a small smile. “Because I don’t know the first thing about tactics…”

The three of them lean forward, their brows furrowed, matching expressions of determination written on their faces. And as I look between them, I feel a flood of relief.

James has no idea what he’s up against here. And I can’t wait for him to find out.

Preferably the hard way.

21

CALLUM

“Is she in position?”

Chuck’s voice comes down the line, almost making me jump. I’m so focused on Charli, I’ve almost forgotten about the other guys. Lifting the walkie-talkie to my lips, I hold down the button.

“Nearly. Should be in the next thirty seconds or so.”

“Noted.”

He doesn’t exactly sound glad, even though our plan is unfolding exactly as it should be. I don’t blame him. After all, not one of us likes the idea of sending her into the middle of a trap—no matter the reason or how sure she is that she can handle herself. I would do anything to be in her place instead of her.

But she insisted. And, in the day since we captured one of James’s men, she made it clear that she’s not going to be left out of anything we do to take him down. I thought we were sparing her the stress of having to worry about it, but the way she talks about it, it’s clear she sees it differently.

And as much as I wish she would sit back and let us do what needs to be done, there’s a part of me that knows she’s right about this. James is only going to show his scumbag face when he thinks he has her under lock and key. That’s why he’s sent his men out to find her so far—because he doesn’t want to put himself at risk of being caught or hurt in the process.

If I get my hands on him…fuck, even thinking about it is enough to make my jaw clench, my fists tighten. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes he’s walked straight into our trap. I’m going to take great fucking pleasure in making sure he knows exactly what I think of him, what we think of him, before we destroy him once and for all.

I want him dead, of course. So does Dax, so does Chuck—but Charli argued against it.

“Killing him is just going to bring scrutiny onto you guys,” she pointed out yesterday, when we were fleshing out this plan. “And it lets his dad use him as a martyr. I can’t stand the thought of that, of people thinking of him as some innocent victim…”

She trailed off, shaking her head.

“No, I want to destroy him in the public eye. I want to make sure nobody can even look at him again without thinking about all the shit he’s done and all the harm he’s caused.”

So that’s what we began work on—capturing the truth of who James is, and letting the world see it. After spending most of the day, over coffees, plotting out exactly how we were going to do this, we put the plan into motion last night, when Dax went to drop off some food and water with our captive in our storage shed.

But he deliberately left the knots loose when he went to tie him up again, and the door ajar so he could make a break for it. We needed someone to get out there and tell James where we are, so he can send more of his men to find Charli and eventually follow them up here himself. We’ve given them a good six hours to get their shit together, and now, midmorning, Charli is out gathering firewood by herself.

Or at least, that’s what it’s going to look like, to anyone paying attention. The truth is, she has a tracker pressed into the sole of her boot, a microphone slipped beneath her shirt, and a knife hidden in a hairpin that holds her locks in a ponytail. Like she told us, she’s the bait in the trap for him, and all we can do is stand back and watch as she puts the pieces into place and waits for him to take her.

Chuck, Dax, and I are all watching from a distance—we’ve triangulated along the route she’s going to take so we’ll know exactly when she’s been taken, by whom, and where they’re going to bring her to. It’s the closest thing we’ve got to holding on to any control in the midst of all of this, but it’s still not enough.

I get it, there’s no reward without risk, but it doesn’t feel fair that she’s the one who has to put herself on the line to make this happen. Hasn’t he done enough to her? Hasn’t he taken enough? The thought of him even getting to lay a hand on her again, after the shit he’s put her through, spikes my blood pressure…

As I watch her follow the path into the woods, I try to calm myself. She knows what she’s doing. We’ve discussed it to death, and she’s assured us all a million times that she’s not going to deviate from the plan for an instant.

“I’m going to be okay,” she promised me, as I pinned the microphone into her shirt and tested that it was working. She must have been able to tell how tense I was—I hoped I was doing a good job hiding it, but the way she looked at me, it must have been obvious.

“I don’t like this,” I muttered to her. “Letting him get this close to you…”

“Trust me, he’s not going to do anything before he’s had a chance to tell me what a bitch I am first,” she replied with a smirk, rolling her eyes. “He’s always been a big talker. Wants everyone to know exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing. And that’s what we’re going to get on this…”

She tapped the microphone slightly, and Chuck let out a groan from the other side of the room.

“Hey, not so much pressure on that thing,” he protested, pulling the headphones from his ears. “It’s really sensitive, remember?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she replied, pulling a face, and he grinned at her before he went back to fiddling with the settings once more. I secured the microphone in place, and she buttoned up my shirt over the top of it.

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