Day of Fire by Kathleen Nance

Author:Kathleen Nance
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-02-22T08:25:13+00:00

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Chapter Twelve

The bush plane let them off in a meadow five kiloms from Trafalgar's mysterious compound. Unfortunately, those kilometers were straight up. Even sleds couldn't go there.

The mountain loomed above them, a giant crag of the Rockies tempered at the lower levels only by stunted trees poking out of its coat of snow and a trail cut two centuries before. At the top were treacherous glaciers. It was beautiful, majestic, and dangerous.

Feeling the thrill of challenge, Lian settled his gear on his back and adjusted the pack straps. Each moment in the wilderness soaked into him, like rain on parched ground.

Beside him, Day made a small, resigned sound. Making love to her had not cut his acute awareness of her, nor had it made him want her any less. If anything, the feel of her wrapped around him and the taste of her had made the need keener.

He glanced over at her. She stared up the mountain, gripping the straps of her pack. Falling snow coated her in a layer of white. "What's the matter?"

"I don't like mountain climbing. It's too—" She shook her head, as though unable to explain, and sighed again.

The sound scraped through another layer of his isolation. If he could have spared her this he would have, but this was a possible criminal investigation, so Day was in charge.

"I can do it," she concluded. "I just don't like it."

"You could send another team up."

"No, I'm in charge of finding Robichaux's killer. Trafalgar thought this camp was connected, so this is my responsibility."

Day had opted for a low-key, two-man approach since there was no evidence—beyond Trafalgar's claim—linking a legal cult to the No-Borders. Still no sign of the ex-Mountie, either. A worrisome fact if the compound turned out to be a front for a hostile camp.

While Day contacted the nearest Mountie depot, Lian tuned his coram to her frequency—a precaution in case he had to call in the backup.

"We're heading up," she reported. "Have you got our position?"

"You're on our screens," the depot replied.

"I'll keep the GPS beacon blipping, but I'm turning off coram. If this snow continues, the Graetzel cells may not recharge. We'll check in every four hours."

"Backup's on its way if you're a minute late, Inspector."

"Understood," she replied and flipped off the comm.

She and Lian donned their goggles, the front shields tempered to keep cleared of snow, and strapped phosphorescent algae lights to their ankles. When dusk fell, the glow would light their footpath without spreading warning of their approach. Last, they each locked one end of a single microline around their waists, connecting them with a thin filament of carbon tubes and spider silk. The micro-line, flexible, nearly invisible and virtually unbreakable, would be a lifeline in the event of a fall.

Or it could tether them together in death if they both failed to anchor.

"Ready?" Day asked, preparing to lift her face protection into place.

"Almost." Lian bent forward, cupped her cheek with his glove, and kissed her lips—bare skin to bare skin for the last time until they finished this trek.

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