Page 101 of Cold as Hell

Would I have suspected him if Yolanda died? Yes. My attention would always turn to a rebuffed suitor, however gentle his pursuit.

He’s looking at me. Waiting for a response.

“What did you do to Martin?”

Something flickers over his face. Actual regret? It vanishes as he finds his sneer.

“Martin was a fool,” he says. “All that time in the army, and he was still too much of a coward to deal with that Nazi. He couldn’t even bring himself to kill the guys who kidnapped him.” He shakes his head. “Weak.”

“He told you he was coming to Haven’s Rock, didn’t he? He wanted someone to know, and he trusted you.”

The smallest flinch.

I push on. “But you were in trouble yourself. You messed up and the police were closing in, so you snagged his ticket.”

It’s a guess, but a flicker on his face shows I’m right.

I have a moment here, where he’s distracted, but it’s not enough. I can’t fight him in my condition, and a momentary distraction won’t keep him from shooting me as I lumber away across the ice.

I resist the urge to shift my weight on this log. I’m uncomfortable, something deep in my brain screaming at me to move, to get into position, to be ready, but if I fidget, even a little, he’ll mistake it for nerves. I will myself to stay calm and still.

“Sweating a little there, Casey,” he says.

“Because I’m having a damn baby,” I snap. He’s right, though. I’m trying to cover up the signs of my discomfort and growing panic, but I can’t hide the physiological tells—myface reddening and sweat dripping under the hem of my wool hat.

“Well, then, let’s get on with it.” He turns to that wide divot in the ice. “Lie down there.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I bite my tongue against saying the ice is too thin for me to lie down safely. As he said, that’s the point.

“You’re clever enough,” he says. “You can figure out how to lie so you don’t fall through. Spread your weight. Even distribution, that’s the key. Except… Well, I guess you can’t fix that huge center of gravity, can you? But you’ll do your best. You’ll want to be on your back, obviously.”

He moves toward the hole. “Once you’re out there, I’m going to shoot holes in the ice. That will bring Will—and hopefully your husband—running. By the time they get here, I’ll have taken cover to watch the show. I don’t need to go far, though. They’ll be too focused on your predicament. If you get up, you’ll crash through the ice. If they step close enough to grab you, you’ll both go through the ice. And if you really are having that baby?” He grins. “That adds a whole new layer of fun, doesn’t it? Because there’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to do that and stay still. One false move and… Crash.”

I snort.

He startles. Then his eyes narrow. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

His jaw works. He has just outlined a horrifying scenario that should have me begging for mercy. And my reaction? A derisive snort.

Finally, my body’s exceptionally bad timing works in my favor, because it lets me hide what I’m really feeling. I can act calm, as if my sweaty red face and quick breathing are entirely due to the fact that I’m in active labor.

He peers at me, and I think I’ve overplayed. Then he laughs. “Oh, you really are a confident bitch, aren’t you? You think you’ll get out of this. That I’ll make a mistake, and between you and your hubby and Will Anders, you’ll figure out a way to get off that ice.”

He waves. “Fine. You just keep thinking that. Now get undressed.”

“You’re going to need to take off my boots.”

He laughs again, louder now. “Oh, am I? I need to get down on the ice and pull off your boots, using both my hands, which means setting the gun aside.”

“I don’t care how you do it. But I can’t reach my boots.” I demonstrate, stretching over, and my body shouts for joy. I’m moving. I’m getting into some kind of position that will help birth this baby and—

I straighten. “I haven’t been able to take them off myself for the past month. You know that. You’ve seen Eric do it for me.”

His mouth tightens. “Fine,” he snaps. “Start with your coat.”

---