Outcast (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 2) (12 page)

“Are you insane? If anyone should risk his or her life, it’s me.”

Ignoring her comment, he walked thirty feet ahead. “It’s narrow enough here for me to jump. There’s rope in the cat. Once across, I could tie it off and throw it to you. If you miss the jump, I’ll pull you up.”

“No. And what about Dane? And Yeti?”

She’d caught up to Jasper. Judging by the stern set of his jaw, he wasn’t feeling warm and fuzzy for their new pet or her father’s friend. “How far is it to the cave?”

“We have to be close. But this snow is making it impossible to judge landmarks. I remember crossing this ice field with Mom and Dad, but back then, there’d been no hazards.”

“God bless global warming . . .” He shook his head.

“Yeah . . .” She couldn’t believe their lousy luck.

“Can you think of any other possible way around?”

“I guess we could try, but the terrain would be too steep or uneven for our ride.”

Jasper shivered. “It’s cold as balls out here. When this is behind us, we’re going straight to the Bahamas.”

Forcing a smile, she nodded.

It would be just as easy to die there as in Denver.

She refused to give the dark thought light. With treatment, her mother lived a couple years beyond her diagnosis. Without treatment? Eden hadn’t stuck around her oncologist’s office long enough to find out. Her body was her greatest enemy. A ticking time bomb designed to annihilate her every hope for happiness.

“Let’s get back.” He grabbed her elbow, guiding her through the heavier snow and wind. “We’ll look at the topo maps and decide.”

An hour later, nearing whiteout conditions, they were no closer to reaching a decision.

All three of them huddled in back, pouring over the maps with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The GPS and sat phone were both offline.

Yeti sat on the bench seat back, reigning over the proceedings while giving himself a tongue bath.

“The way I see it,” Dane pointed to the meteor-strewn valley where she’d first seen the cave. “The only option we have for avoiding the crevasse is to backtrack eighty miles to this area.” He traced his finger along his proposed route. “From there, if we turn due east, we should be able hug the edge of this mountain, then find Eden’s cave from the backside.”

“That’s a very big
if
.” Eden finished her cocoa. “Look at the terrain levels. What if we get over there to find it impassable?”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

“Or,” Jasper said. “We pack a minimum amount of gear to get us through, say, forty-eight hours. We jump the crevasse, then hike the rest of the way.”

“What about Yeti?” Eden asked. “We can’t leave him.”

“Sweetheart . . .” Dane shot the feline a not-so-kind look. “Your father’s life is at stake. Leave the creature here. If he makes it—great. If he freezes . . .”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Since when had her kindly almost-uncle adopted this selfish streak? “Absolutely not. If we’re doing this, I’ll carry him with me inside my parka. He’ll be like my own personal heating pad.”

It was midnight. Because of the storm, the sunlight had faded to gray. Wind howled with enough force to rock the vehicle with each gust.

“Should we rest up until this weather clears?” Jasper asked.

“No.” Dane smacked the heel of his hand against the nearest window. “If Carl is in that cave. We must reach him. Time is of the essence.”

“So is our strength,” Jasper reasoned. “Visibility’s about two-feet. If we can barely see our hands in front of our faces, how the hell are we supposed to find a cave Eden hasn’t been to since she was a little girl?”

Dane bowed his head. “I see your point.”

“We’re in agreement?” he looked from Eden to Dane. “We’ll start hiking as soon as the weather clears?”

“Agreed,” Eden said.

Dane nodded, but didn’t meet either of their stares.

Though exhausted, Eden struggled to sleep.

She and Jasper bedded down in the cargo area. Dane took the backseat.

Hours later, the wind turned violent, scaring Yeti to the point that he squirmed into Eden’s bag.

“Are you awake?” she whispered to Jasper.

“Sort of. My brain’s too cold to sleep.”

She rolled over to face him. Yeti repositioned to curl against her tummy. “Do you think my dad could really be all the way out here?”

“Tough to say. It is feasible—especially if he took one of the snowmobiles. But you think the cave doesn’t go much further back than ten feet?”

“Not the way I remember. But who knows?”

“Not to change the subject . . .” He wormed and wriggled his bag closer to hers. “But I heard we could generate major body heat if we zipped our bags together and got naked.” His toothy grin shone in the unnerving gloom.

“Mmm . . .” The thought of pressing herself to him, skin-to-skin, instantly had her humming between her legs. “Tempting offer. But in order to get to you, I’d have to leave my cozy nest. Plus, Yeti would be pissed.”

“Damned cat.” He leaned closer for a kiss.

With them both wrapped like mummies, the simple brush of his lips to hers by most would have been considered chaste, but the fog of his warm, familiar breath on her upper lip made her feel as if she were falling into a bed of cotton candy. Soft and dizzyingly sweet.

“I really do want to go to the Bahamas with you,” she whispered after he deepened their latest kiss, thrilling her with the sweep of his tongue.

“Then we’ll make it happen.”

“Promise?” Her pulse quickened while awaiting his response.

“Absolutely.” He kissed her lips once more, then the tip of her nose. “Now, go to sleep.”

With him holding her hand, she finally did.

Eden woke to bright sun.

The wind had died, and Jasper was already at work, making oatmeal and coffee.

Yeti hunkered over a tuna-filled metal bowl.

“Thanks for feeding him,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Good morning—only it’s three in the afternoon.”

She groaned. “Where’s Dane?”

“Checking out the crevasse. While you slept, we walked further down and found a sweet snow bridge that’s about ten feet wide. It seems sturdy enough to walk across, but we’ve reinforced it by making a bridge of sorts out of the supply tub lids.” He handed her a steaming foil oatmeal packet.

“Thanks. So how did you make a bridge out of lids?”

“We melted about eight holes at each end, then wove rope through to lace them together. Once we had four connected, we put two holes in the end of each of those, then roped them to tent stakes. I anchored them good on either side, so even if the snow gives out beneath us, our bridge should hold long enough to get us safely across.”

“I hate that you risked your life by crossing before you even knew it was safe.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

Yes, it could have. If they abandoned this search that more than likely would end in failure. “I probably don’t want to know the answer, but when we’re done at the cave, if the bridge does break, how do we get back?”

“How about we cross that bridge when we get to it?
Da da dum
.” He performed a playful drumbeat on the side of the metal stove. “Even under pressure, I’ve got superstar appeal.”

“You’re a mess.” She dug into her hearty meal.

“But you love me.”

Yes
. More and more she did. But was that a good thing?

Dane returned to eat.

By the time they’d all finished, then packed enough gear and food to cover most any contingency, they set out into brilliant sunlight. The glare was so bright that Eden winced even behind dark, tinted glasses. Cold air seared her lungs.

They reached the bridge ten minutes later.

Just looking at the thing made Eden’s oatmeal ride back up.

The bottom of the crevasse was fathomless. A fall would mean not only instant death, but that her body wouldn’t be found until the next greenhouse era. She liked to think she had this cancer thing under control—that she was at peace with it being close to her time to go. But in that moment, nothing could be further from the truth.

Her palms were sweating inside of her gloves and the more Yeti fidgeted in the bib of her overall-style snow pants, the more panicked she grew.

Dane had already crossed, and now Jasper made his third trek over with supplies.

He made it look easy, so why did Eden’s limbs feel leaden with dread?

Finished with the gear, Jasper crossed to her side, holding out his hands. “Hand me Yeti. I don’t want him panicking on you midway through your trip.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.” She held out the cat.

Yeti hissed at the cold, and was all too happy when Jasper settled him beneath his coat.

“Of course you can.” Jasper led her to the edge. “One foot at a time. No big deal. It’s surprisingly sturdy.”

“You can do it,” Dane coached from the other side. “Just don’t look down.”

As if on cue, a frosty updraft chafed her cheeks. Never had Jasper’s proposed trip to the Bahamas sounded better.

Knowing if they were to stand a chance at finding the cave where her father might be hiding, she had to go across. She was the only one who could lead them to its exact location. She forced a deep breath. Sharp wind brought tears to her eyes.

“You’ve got this, babe.”

Eden’s heart thundered loud enough to hear it in her ears. She took one step onto the hard plastic lids, then another. Midway through, she made the mistake of looking down at the icy blue. A wave of vertigo swirled her off balance, but she fought her way through. By the time she reached Dane, he had to hold her upright, because her legs were too rubbery to stand.

“Great job!” Jasper shouted from where she’d come. “I see rappelling in our futures.”

“No way!” She laughed in relief.

“We’ll start off at a nice, safe indoor climbing gym.” He removed his gloves. Shoved them in his pockets so he could give her pet a rub. Had there ever been a sweeter man?

He stepped onto the bridge. One more step took him to the middle.

Yeti poked his head out of Jasper’s partially unzipped jacket, caught sight of his surroundings and bolted.

Jasper lunged for the cat, but missed. In the process, throwing himself off balance, and falling.

Eden screamed.

10

JASPER DREW HIS upper lip into his mouth and clamped down. Hard.

With his legs swinging, his arms screamed from the effort of holding his bodyweight with only the thin plastic lid for support.

He glanced up to see the damned cat leap safely across, but he wasn’t sure how to rescue himself.

“Hold on.” Dane tossed a rope onto the bridge. “Let me tie this off to a rock, and I’ll help drag you up.”

Now was hardly the time to admit he still didn’t fully trust Dane. But he didn’t. He had one shot to grab the rope. If he missed, he died. If Dane had failed to tie-off the rope properly, he died. If he tried hauling himself over the snow bridge’s side and his weight caused it to collapse . . .