Melting The Ice

“The pathologist figures that her body heat melted her into the glacier. Then the rain that fell the first two nights froze and sealed her under a sheet of ice.”

So that’s why the dogs couldn’t find her, why there was no telltale hump in the snow that came after the rain. Amy had slept in a tomb of frozen glass all winter while a million skiers had played over her.

“It’s final, Hannah. I’ve given up the lease on her apartment. I have to get her stuff packed and out by the end of next week.”

Hannah knew how Al had struggled the last time he had gone into Amy’s home, touched her things. “Would you like me to help?”

“I can’t ask you that.”

“Of course you can. I want to help.”

“I really shouldn’t let you do this—”

“Al, at least let me get started. I’ll get her things into boxes. If you want, you can take it from there.”

“Hannah…I can’t thank you enough.”

“No worries. Really. I can start going through the apartment this weekend. I still have a key.”

Hannah hung up and began to pace in front of her living room windows. They yawned up from floor to ceiling and looked out over the water. On the opposite shores of the lake, lights were beginning to twinkle in White River village. The town was nestled between the feet of Powder and Moonstone Mountains which were themselves cleft apart by the icy river that gushed between them.

Chairlifts reached out from the village and stretched up the flanks of Powder. Moonstone, however, fell outside the ski area boundary and was untouched by lift lines. The only development on Moonstone was on a large swath of land at the base, to the south of the village. It was home to the exclusive White River Spa.

The sky was clear tonight. Calm. A world away from how Hannah felt inside. A moon was rising, the light of it already glinting off mica in the rocks on the peak of Moonstone.

It was up in those mountains that Amy had slept in her ice tomb.

Hannah stopped pacing to stare up at the peaks. An accident. It was all there in the official report. But it still didn’t explain why Amy had gone up there in the first place, why she had left the roped-off trail and fallen to her death, why her apartment was ransacked. There was no way Hannah would be able to sleep tonight. As exhausted as she felt, she was strung tight as a wire.

She may as well go and take a look at the apartment now. She could start sorting Amy’s things. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find some answers.

The moon threw a trail of glimmering gold sovereigns onto black water as Hannah drove the deserted road around the lake and headed toward the lights of the village. She parked her Subaru in the underground and climbed the stairs to the pedestrian-only stroll.

Groups of people clustered around doorways that led down to nightclubs pulsating with primal beats below street level. Some were smoking. Couples strode by, arm in arm, laughing. Restaurants were still busy.

It was quieter down the cobbled path that led to Amy’s apartment on the edge of town. There weren’t as many decorative streetlamps in this less-touristy area.

Hannah felt in her fleece pocket for the key and looked up at the second-story window.

She stopped in her tracks.

She could have sworn she saw light flicker briefly in the window. She waited to see if it would come again. Nothing.

Just jumpy, she told herself. Been a weird day.

She sucked in the cool night air, calming her jittery nerves, and entered the apartment building. She climbed the stairs up to number 204, the place Amy had called home since she’d moved to White River.

The hall light was out.

Damn. Bulb must have blown. Hannah fumbled in the dark trying to get the key into the lock. She swung the door open and stepped blindly into the black apartment, groping for the light switch.

It was instantaneous.

White pain spliced through her shoulder as her arm was wrenched behind her back.

Panic punched her in the stomach. A scream surged through her body and erupted into her throat. It got no further. It was suffocated by leather.

A glove.

She fought to gasp in air. She could see nothing through the blur of blackness.

The door slammed shut behind her, cutting her off from the outside world.

She flailed behind her with her free hand and tore at a handful of hair. An expletive. Male. More pain as he increased the pressure on her arm.

“Shut the hell up or you get hurt.” He spat the words into the dark. Harsh, hoarse. Her lungs screamed for gulps of air. But each time she struggled to move, the pain tore at her shoulder.

Stay calm, Hannah. Stay calm. She forced herself to hold still.

The iron grip eased slightly, as if her attacker was testing. She could feel hot breath at her ear.

He swore and immediately let go of her mouth.

“Hannah?”

A thin beam from a flashlight cut through the dark. Slowly he turned her head and body round to face him, still pinning her arm behind her back. She blinked blindly against the sudden brightness as he looked down into her face.

“Sweet Jesus.” He let the light fall so she could see him. It caught the hard ice of his eyes.

She felt faint.

“Rex?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, McGuire? You could have gotten yourself hurt.” He kept his voice a low whisper. His mouth was so close she felt his breath on her lips.

She wrenched free and lunged for the light switch. Light flooded the small apartment.

She whirled round to confront him. “Damn you, Rex Logan! What in hell are you doing in Amy Barnes’s apartment?”

“Lord, woman.” He pushed past her, drew the blinds in a deft movement. “Keep your voice down.”

Uneasiness prickled up the nape of her neck. He looked lethal, dressed in black from head to foot. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was black gloss, and he’d let it grow. It gave him a wild look. The only light thing about him was the glacial ice in his stare. A devil with Arctic eyes. The contrast was startling, unnerving. Almost inhuman.

“You shouldn’t be here, Hannah.” His words were low, threatening.

“You’re the one with no right to be here.” Anger started to boil up, displacing her fear. She could feel the heat of color spilling back into her cheeks. “Give me one good reason not to call the cops and have your sorry ass kicked behind bars, Rex Logan.” She realized she was shaking.

“You do that and you won’t find out what really happened to Amy Barnes.”