1

Kaitlyn

"Shimmy yourself out the window and then panic," I snap at Holly. Less than a minute before those thugs break through the flimsy aluminum doors. A double-wide trailer on the edge of the Arctic Circle isn't where I plan to die. Today is not the day either. Once I hoist my skinny coworker out, I can plot my escape. My bootylicious self won't fit through the narrow window, which is why Holly must leave first.

"What about you? I can't just leave you here," she whines. We've gone round and round since I shook her awake. Light sleeper me heard vehicles approach and was up like a shot. Nobody has business in the Arctic Circle in the middle of the night unless they are criminals—like poachers—or bat-shit crazy anthropologists studying artifacts in the melting permafrost.

With an eye roll, I sit on the floor before her and shove her foot into her boot. I guess twisting her hair into a ponytail is a step up from the hand-flapping panic she displayed a moment ago. How someone can go from a dead sleep to full-on panic so fast is a mystery to me.

"You will leave me here. Do you understand?" I say sternly while staring her down with my oldest-sister-glare. It always worked on my rowdy little brothers. "You will crawl out the window while I create a diversion. You will run to your jeep. Do you have your keys handy? You will drive to the nearest ranger station. You will bring law enforcement. You aren't abandoning me, got it? Get help."

She nods her head, tears rolling down her face.

I yank her laces extra tight as I double-knot her boot. I wish she could fit through the window with a coat, but it's a tight squeeze for her size zero frame without one. I should count my blessings she sleeps with the window open. If we were stuck in the office I use as a bedroom, we'd be trapped. Once her boots hit the snow, she can sneak behind the wooden ramp to the front door of the Anthropology Satellite Laboratory, or the dumpy tin can, as I call it. She parked her rust bucket at the opposite end of the giant wooden sign. She can crouch behind the barrier if they start shooting.

Kneeling on the bed, I act as a stepstool for her to lift her leg through the window. Ugh, I hate hugs, but I allow her top half to cling to me as if saying goodbye forever. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Holly. In any other circumstance, she'd probably flip the bird behind my back.

I'm not popular in my department, but what's a bean counter to do? I'm only in this dumpy tin can because our most popular lecturer likes to hide from his teaching commitments. Holly is his accomplice. That damn Dr. Adam skipped town last semester and left me with a hole in my budget the size of six figures. I had to travel to no-man's-land—again—to haul his ass back to class. When Holly didn't admit to knowing his whereabouts, I decided to camp here until he appeared. It's been three months since he showed his face.

"I'm letting you go," I say, so I don't accidentally smash her against the wall by stepping out of her grip. "When you hear a big noise, run. Don't stop. Don't look around. Just go. We can meet up in Yellowknife when we're safe and laughing about this adventure. Got it?"

"How will you follow? You don't even have your keys."

"My keys are in my SUV, under a floormat—"

"You just left your vehicle unlocked and the key under the mat? Do you live in the 1950s?"

"I didn't expect a carjacking on the edge of civilization." Nor did I expect a convoy of black SUVs with New York plates to surround the building. My sleek, black SUV sits outside of their ring. She looks like one of the gang beside the outdoor shower—but with Alberta plates. I always take one last potty break before the multi-hour journey to civilization. No roadside pit stops for me!

"I'll cover you as you run to your car," she whispers with a wiggle.

"No! I want you out the window and on your way to a police station!" I run to the opposite end of the trailer, shutting her room's door behind me. Her kicking legs are more likely to be discovered by the threat outside than her head inside, but old habits die hard. Fire? Close doors behind you. Tornado? Close doors behind you. Surrounded by mobsters? Who knows, maybe I watch too many movies.

"Noisemaker…something loud," I whisper to myself, scowling at every sound the messy shelves make in protest at my rifling through their contents. "Loud noise. What can I do to get their attention?" If I can convince their group to assemble on this side of the doublewide, Holly will have a clear escape route. There's a window over Adam's desk. I could chuck stuff out…hoping none of my projectiles are priceless artifacts.

"Oh please, don't hurt me," I wail out Adam's window in my damsel in distress voice. With a swift punch, the window screen and Adam's plant fall to the snow. The ceramic flowerpot smashes into a million pieces. Sorry, mint plant, but someone must sacrifice themself, so Holly lives…and it's not going to be me. The crash echoes into the silent night, followed by a chorus of men's voices. Boots thunder over the snow like a train heading in my direction. "I'm alone and unarmed. Will you please go away?"

Not likely, but never hurts to ask.

This metal prison has two windows—both too small for me—and two doors. The main door rests beside Holly's window, so I can't use it to escape without sabotaging hers. Once she starts a car, the men will shoot at anything that moves. Four stacks of boxes, eight boxes high, obscure the second door. So that's why the campus archives are empty. Each box contains the records of study that I told them to log into the computer system on days too snowy to excavate the frozen ground. Holly and Adam were supposed to request the studies two boxes at a time and return them to the main campus once logged. Their irresponsibility got me into this mess and could be my ultimate downfall!

Why am I surrounded by idiots?

"We aren't going to hurt you, little lady. We just want to talk," says a male voice with a heavy New York accent.

"Yeah, we're looking for a dangerous man—a real piece of work. We're the good guys," says a deeper voice. A pair of bright white eyes with brown centers peers through the window.

Good guys, my ass.I huddle under Holly's desk, trying to make myself smaller. Please don't let them see my plaid pajamas in the shadows! My heart pounds. Tears drip down my cheeks. Fear threatens to strangle me. If I topple over the box towers, the thugs will reach the other side of the door before me. I'll fall into the arms of some ax murderer. How will I get out?

"We're on your side," says the first voice.

"Unless she's hiding that jeweler's kid—Adam," whispers a new voice. "Then she's a means to gutting that slippery fish once and for all."

Oh, they're after Adam? They can get in line. I won't let them gut him until he's taught his summer classes…now fall semester because the summer registration window opens for students tomorrow. If they weren't scary men sneaking up on me in the wilderness, I may have joined forces with them. One email. That's how desperate the department is to find Adam.

Our employment depends on him showing up on campus. I love my job, except the performance review has a section on the number of classes and workshops taught by irresponsible professors! None of them seems to give a shit whether they're jobless, homeless, or dead. It's up to me to hold the department together—and alive—while staying under budget.

The backfire of Holly's truck is music to my ears. Go, Holly, go! The tires squeal and the engine roars. Gravel crackles as she tears off toward civilization. Lights shine through the windows as our security lights kick on—awesome. I should write this in a review on their website. ‘Bright lights ruin any escape by turning on after bad guys stampede the building. Five stars.'

"Where'd she go?"

"How'd she get over there?"

"Was she alone?" Questions swirl into the night, punctuated by curses. "If that asshole got away again—When I find him, I'll kill him! You hear that, kid! You're dead!"

Are they serious? I thought they might be bill collectors or other people who need Adam's attention. Yeah, I may curse Adam to heaven and back…but…are these guys out for blood? Would they torture me for clues to Adam's location? I have no idea where he is, but would they believe me? Holly may know where he is, and I let her go.

I'm screwed if they find me.

The door behind the boxes squeaks and groans as they force their way in. I have seconds to decide if I'm going to run or hide. The boxes jump and rock. The cardboard creaks and grates as the boxes rub together.

Gunfire? Did they shoot the door? A bang, followed by a blast of arctic air, echoes behind the boxes. They glow with the security lighting streaming through the open doorway. I cover my face, so the light won't reflect off my facial piercings and give away my hiding place. The door forces the boxes out of the way with thunderous pounding. My eyes water as the room brightens from something behind the boxes, but I don't dare to blink. The window of my escape closes by the second.

What am I to do?

Run.

Like the cowardly little rabbit I am, I leap from my hiding place and hightail it to the front door. Barefoot, in flannel pajamas, and armed with nothing but my pointy manicure, I launch myself into the Arctic night. My pedicure is ruined as my painted-black toenail catches on the knotted rug at the threshold. Pain rips up my leg as the nail tears. I twist to survey the damage, knocking into the wooden railing. The air is stolen from my lungs as I flip over the banister.

I land on my back with an ‘oomph' on the slushy ground at the base of the doublewide. The door swings back and forth like a hand waving above me. I only fell three feet, but it felt like thirty. I roll my aching body under the wooden walkway. My lips press together, so I don't cry out in pain. Toes wiggle. Neck twists. I haven't broken anything more than my bleeding toenail. My nostrils burn as I huff and puff with fear. I curl my body into the fetal position to pray.

Please don't let them find me.

The icy air scores my skin through my cotton pajamas. Steam lingers in front of me as I breathe. My teeth chatter. I'm grateful my fingers hurt…instead of frostbite stealing them. In the four hours until morning, they will fall off. Things could be worse—I could be in a négligée or nude. My SUV is on the opposite end of the trailer. So much for saving myself. I need another plan, or better yet, a miracle.

I need a hero.

Knights in shining armor don't live in the Arctic Circle, so I need the next best thing. Calculations. Math always centers my focus because numbers don't lie. I need the soothing symmetry of a well-organized spreadsheet, the balance of a long equation, or the hope of a timetable. Will the police make it in time? We are about a four-hour drive from civilization…maybe more from an actual police station.

That's more than an eight-hour drive—round trip! My timetable sends my blood pressure through the roof instead of bringing me peace. The intruders will tear this trailer to the ground and pulverize it to smithereens before Holly reaches help…let alone them traveling back here. Hopefully, she has her phone to call them. Yes, once she travels south where there's a reliable signal, she will cut the rescue time in half.

See, numbers don't lie, and I will live through this! I must hide for about three hours…in the frigid Arctic…without shoes…

Eek!

Gravel scratches my arms and legs as I'm pulled from beneath the stairs. Strong hands clutch my ankles. My eyelashes threaten to freeze my eyes shut as I cry. A muscular arm around my waist hauls me three feet off the ground as if I'm light as a feather. My back hits the warm chest of a much bigger person. A hand with a furry sleeve wraps over my mouth as my captor drowns me in the scent of vanilla.

"Don't make a sound. I've come to rescue you," he says in a growly inhuman voice. The hair on the back of my arms stands on end. I nod vigorously. With any luck, there's one of him versus a dozen of the mobsters. Friend or foe, I like these odds better. "I'm a friend of Adam's."

Oh great, not another person after Adam! I twist my torso and kick my legs for him to release me. My teeth sink into his palm. I drag my toes to make myself heavier. My fingers tug at the fur on his coat.

…until he growls.

"I also know Holly," he whispers, dragging me toward the forest. "She has hair the color of sunshine and drives the brown beast. You, my chernyrozd, drive the black beast, right?"

"She's bringing the police. You will go to jail for kidnapping me," I whisper as he pulls me behind the closest pine tree.

"Don't worry, chernyrozd. We will be deep underground before more humans arrive. I have you now," the bastard whispers with an evil chuckle. He transfers his hold to cradle me against his furry coat. His arm loops under my knees while the other supports my back.

My icy hands burrow into his coat to shock him. When he doesn't flinch, I frown at his face. A mouth full of crooked, pointed teeth smiles down at me. A massive tongue licks canines as glowing blue eyes scorch me. I'm in the arms of the abominable snow monster. The scream on my lips dies as I pass out in fright.