Page 3 of Cold and Bitter Snow

He’d realized his very presence at home was toxic—for his mother, for his brother and his family. Removing himself from the equation was the only way to protect his family. But he also didn’t want to worry them unduly, so Switzerland—the safest place on the European continent—seemed like a good place to come to. Ending up at Le Miroir had been a coincidence, but it worked for him. At least here he could be morose on his own terms.

Before the sweat had a chance to freeze on his skin, Conor started running back down the mountain. The snowshoe crampons gripped the ice and snow, letting him run almost at full speed.

Halfway down the slope, Conor saw an unexpected flash of color. He stopped so suddenly he almost tipped forward. Lifting his goggles he looked again in case his mind was playing tricks on him. But there she was: a small shape, dressed in bright purple. He recognized Siena Blake immediately, even at a distance. He looked at the watch on his wrist in case he’d lost track of time. It was still a quarter to eight—the resort hadn’t even opened yet.

The figure was on skis, standing on a small bump and looking out towards the edge of the run. She was the only person on the slope.

What the hell is she doing? She’d better not be thinking of going off-piste on her own.

He didn’t stop to think where the protective instinct came from—something told him she wouldn’t appreciate it if she found out.

He pushed his tired legs for an additional burst of speed. As he ran, careful to lift his snowshoes high enough so as not to faceplant in the snow, he kept his eyes on her. She’d slowed down and now seemed to be looking at something beyond the lip—something Conor couldn’t see. She leaned back and pressed her pole to the right binding, releasing that ski. Then she stepped into the left binding with her free boot. Her hands went up to her chin as she undid her helmet strap. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back.

What is she doing?

When he was close enough, he called out so as not to scare her.

“Ms. Blake? Siena?”

He watched her turn around. Her mouth opened in a small surprised “O”. Distracted for a moment by her red lips, Conor forgot what he was going to say.

Then he heard another noise, a noise that froze his heart because he knew exactly what it was. Three gunshots fired in rapid succession.

It sounded like the shots were being fired further up the mountain. He scanned the area but saw nothing. He turned back to look at Siena, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore—her gaze was fixed on something behind him, her expression frozen in horror.

He heard a deep, muffled thunk and turned his head, already knowing what he was going to see. As he watched, a large icy plate tore from the mountain as if in slow motion.

Shit.

Conor knew it would gain speed in a matter of seconds, dragging half the mountain down with it. He also knew there was no outrunning an avalanche. The only way to survive an avalanche was to get out of its way. For him, that would mean running sideways across the slope. He gauged the distance—he could make it.

Then he looked back down at Siena, who stood frozen in the middle of the path about to be ravaged by the avalanche.

Conor didn’t hesitate—he ran down the slope, all aches and pains forgotten as he commanded more power from his muscles than he ever had before.

You’ll never make it.

He shut down that small voice inside him and ran harder. He was under no illusion that he could outrun the avalanche, but it would take time for it to reach its top speed of sixty or seventy miles per hour, and he was going to make the most of each of those seconds.

He lifted his knees high, the roaring in his ears almost as loud as the roaring from the mountain behind him.

Finally, he reached his target. Siena hadn’t moved an inch—she stood frozen like a deer in headlights. He lifted her bodily off the ground, hoisting her unceremoniously over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She made no noise save a soft oomph as her stomach landed on his shoulder.

He sneaked a look up the slope and his heart froze at the sheer power rushing towards them.

Then he was off again, this time running perpendicular to the slope, aiming for a rocky overhang near the edge of the piste which he knew would provide some cover.

The overhang was getting closer and closer.

We’re going to make it.

The thought had only just crossed his mind when the first chunks of snow, the size of his fist, hit him in the legs. He brought Siena down against his chest and tightened his hold on her, knowing the bulk of the snow was upon them.

Instants later they were flying through snow. Conor felt his goggles fly off, but it made no difference, as the world around them had turned white. He struggled to tell up from down.

Something green flew by them.

Finally, a piece of good luck.