Vivian Arend - High Passion

Lana spoke softly, answering Vincent’s question. “Ten minutes to the trailhead.”

“Park to one side when we get there,” Vincent ordered.

“There shouldn’t be anyone around. It’s too late in the season for many people to want to hike the trail and too early for ice climbers.” Her voice shook, her uncertainty and fear clear.

Yeah, just because she worked for Vincent didn’t mean she could afford to let down her guard.

Devon tugged at his bonds, but they were seriously well fastened. Damn climbers and their knots.

All his earlier frustrations returned, only now twisted toward himself. He’d made a huge mistake in judgment, and now he was out of his league. Kidnapping had never entered his mind when he’d stormed over to the hotel. Did he tease for details? Stay silent and wait for a break?

They hadn’t covered this one in SAR training.

Except . . .

They had been taught how to deal with irrational victims. Vincent might not be a victim, but he wasn’t thinking straight, or not what the average person on the street would consider normal.

Don’t antagonize—stay alert. Look for opportunities when they come, then act.

Devon rolled his shoulders and tested the ropes again. Tightened and relaxed his legs muscles to keep them from falling asleep. When the moment came he had to be ready to take it.

He had no idea what the hell Vincent had planned, but Devon knew one thing. He had to get out of this alive. Needed to be there for Alisha, for a future spent together discovering how much they could drive each other crazy.

Years of it.

A lifetime.

As long as he lived through the next couple hours.

The car rocked to a stop under the overhang of an ancient pine, the lowest branches high above the car roof. Gravel crunched underfoot as Vincent and Lana left the car, the shelter of the tree preventing the snow from piling up.

The trunk opened and closed. Lana appeared outside his door carrying two backpacks. One she lowered to the ground at Vincent’s feet; the other she settled over her shoulders.

“Give me the keys.” Vincent held out his hand. She dug in her pocket, pulled them out, and dropped them into his palm.

She stepped back quickly to face Devon’s door, swinging it open.

“Get him out and ready to walk,” Vincent ordered.

She swallowed hard and pulled out a switchblade, opening it to a serrated blade. “Turn and put your feet on the ground.” Her words barely whispered out.

Devon took in her big eyes, the fear shaking her hands. She didn’t say anything else. He took his time, careful not to scare her into anything rash, twisting uncomfortably until he’d done as she asked.

Lana knelt and put the blade against the thick fibers, sawing with large, exaggerated motions that made her right elbow swing in and out of the doorway.

Devon frowned. The knot was right there. She’d tied him tightly, but there was no reason to cut the ropes. Climbers hated to cut ropes, always preferring to loosen off and save the lengths for another time.

He glanced up at Vincent, but the man was pulling on a jacket, watching Lana from a few steps away. Her body was between Devon’s feet and Vincent—all the other man would see was her back and her supposedly working like crazy to cut the rope.

Only she wasn’t cutting anything. Her right hand was empty even as she continued to swing her arm. Faint hope rose as her left hand snuck around Devon’s hip, and he schooled himself to not move as she slipped the closed switchblade into his back pocket.

One more moment passed before she replaced her left hand on the knot, twisting it apart and pulling the rope from him in two sections. She glanced at Devon once, begging in her eyes, before looking firmly at the ground. “He’s free,” she announced.

She stepped back, cautiously placing herself far enough to one side that he couldn’t bump into her while trying to escape.

Vincent slipped on the second backpack. That was when Devon knew he was in worse danger than he’d first imagined. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” he asked.

The other man knelt and retied the laces of his hiking boots, and Devon eyed him carefully. The formal suit was gone. In its place was an expensive outfit, but totally appropriate for the outdoors, complete with gloves and a toque. Vincent stood and smiled, the thin line of his lips barely separating as he spoke.

“I am on the plane. Records will show I caught the flight as scheduled, and after arriving in Toronto I spent the remainder of the evening quietly at home. Tomorrow morning I catch another flight, this time to Vancouver. Oh, my whereabouts are very nicely established, thank you.” Vincent pointed down the trail. “If you don’t mind.”

Devon stood his ground. “What do you plan to do? Tie me to a tree? Abandon me in the bush to die of exposure?”

Vincent frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’re too good at surviving in the wilderness for anyone to believe you simply got lost. No. You need to have a more thorough accident. Something that might take a while before anyone recovers your body.”

The casual way Vincent talked about killing him made Devon’s skin crawl, but he didn’t move. He didn’t take his gaze off the man and crossed everything he had, hoping that what he was about to suggest would not be taken at face value. “Why exactly would I go anywhere with you, since you plan on killing me anyway? Kill me here and drag my body to where you want to hide it. I’m not making things easy on you.”

Devon wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see Vincent pull out a gun. It was pretty well established by now that Vincent didn’t care if his actions were illegal. Devon swallowed his fear and judged whether he could close the distance between them quickly enough to knock Vincent off his feet.

Only Vincent grabbed Lana by the arm, and the gun was now pressed to her temple. “You will walk, or she dies.”

They’d been waiting more than an hour for Devon to show up. To call. To do something.

Alisha jiggled on the spot, bouncing on her heels before checking her phone again. She peered out the window, turning only when Erin pressed a glass of juice into her hands.

“Drink. You need to keep your energy up.” The other woman wrapped her fingers around the glass and held it until Alisha finally closed her grasp. Erin crossed her arms over her chest. “If nothing else, it will help you do a few more laps in your attempt to wear a hole in my carpet.”

“Where the hell is he?” Alisha growled. She made a face at Erin, who stood blocking her progress from completing yet another traverse of Erin’s living room. “Fine. Drinking.”

She tilted the orange juice and consumed the entire thing at one go, more to put the glass down than to cooperate with Erin.

“He’s gone to burn off his frustrations. He’ll be back.” Erin leaned on the door frame. “You know, we could go to the RCMP station without him.”

Alisha nodded. “We will if we have to. But, dammit, now I’m worried.” Devon’s ring tone burst from her phone, and she snatched it out in a panic, speaking before Devon could get a word in edgewise. “What kind of stupid-ass move are you pulling? I get it, I pissed you off by taking my time this morning, but now I need you and—”

A combination of crying and heavy gasps interrupted her. “Alisha, is that you? Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

What the hell? That definitely wasn’t Devon. “This is Alisha, who is this?”

“It’s Lana. You’ve got to come. You’ve got to come now before it’s too late.”

Alisha froze. Across the room Erin watched with concern in her dark eyes.