Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)
“Oh God, I don’t know.”
Sure you do. Think about Mike Cavaletti and Noel Fedderson and Brent Elders…
The boys she’d secretly thought were cool in Southern California. Tanned, smart, privileged, going places…
“Snobs,” she said under her breath.
Like you. Deep down, aren’t you one of them? How would you like your friends in L.A. to see you with Josh, up in the snow at a crime scene…thrown in the back of a sheriff’s car and dragged back to face your mother like a criminal…
“Crap, crap, crap!” she said, suddenly angry with her situation, her family, and the whole damned world. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and let the hot spray tumble over her face and down her body. She was tired of her mother telling her what to do, her sister being such a dork, her father avoiding them altogether, and Josh pressuring her into doing things she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“So do something about it,” she growled. What was that corny expression—Today is the first day of the rest of your life—or something like that? Close enough. Tonight, she planned to adopt it. It was time she took care of herself. The hell with everyone else. Because when it came right down to it, no one knew her, understood her, or really cared. Even Josh. Especially Josh!
From now on, it was time to look after Numero Uno.
Carefully he trained his binoculars on the compound. From his blind hidden high in the ice-encrusted branches, he focused. The gates were closed, the lights of the house blazing. Jenna and her children had been huddled in the kitchen area. She was worried. She’d stolen glances outside, snapping the shutters closed and cutting off his view.
Don’t, he thought, but could do nothing from here.
Open them, he silently commanded, moving his gaze frantically from room to darkened room, but she didn’t pass by a clear window, wasn’t visible to him.
Anger surged through his blood.
Don’t close me out. Please…
His mind wound backward, tripping over memories of cold winters and slammed doors. Even after “the incident,” as it was later called, the doors had been locked to him.
“Mama, no!” he said out loud, startling himself.
He was shivering, remembering the slow, ugly sound of ice cracking. He and Nina had been walking across the frozen lake that shimmered silver in the moonlight, oblivious to anything but each other as a canopy of stars winked high in the heavens. He felt the warmth of her bare hand through his glove, noticed the flounce of her nightgown as it floated around her small, white ankles. Her black hair was mussed and tangled and her eyes promised delights he could only imagine. They’d kissed. A lot. He glimpsed her breast through the placket of her nightgown, small…round…with a beguiling, dark tip that was hard with the cold.
“Come with me,” he’d said earlier, after tapping on her bedroom window. She’d opened the latch quickly and slipped through the window, leaving her baby sister snoring softly in the top bunk. Silently hushing him, she’d placed a finger to his lips, and he’d grinned, waited for her to pull on her fur-lined slippers, then took hold of her hand and led her swiftly into the woods.
Together they’d run through the snow…free from the fierce glares, angry words, and bone-crushing hands that slapped fast and quick, without provocation.
The night air was fresh and cold, unmarred by the smells of stale breath, cigarette smoke, and not-quite-empty whiskey bottles. Stars and moonlight were their guides.
They were free.
If only until dawn.
He didn’t care how little time they had, as long as they were together. Young. Strong. “Come on, Nina,” he urged, tugging on her arm. They ran to the lake and she laughed. It was the purest sound he’d ever heard, tinkling through the midnight forest as they reached the shore and stepped onto the steady ice. She nearly slipped right then and he caught her, tangled with her, felt his heart beat a primal tattoo that was as exhilarating as it was frightening.
Aside from the soft hush of a breeze, the night was silent, a few lights shining from cabins tucked into the woods, docks jutting out into the ice, a forgotten canoe now frozen solid at the nearest pier. He touched her hair, stared into the wonder of her face.
Tossing her head back, she teased, “Bet you can’t catch me.”
He gave her a squeeze. “I’ve already got you.”
“Not for long.” As slippery as an eel, she wiggled away from him and began running, feet slipping wildly, black hair caught in the wind.
“Wait!” he cried, but she ignored him and he had to give chase, farther and farther from the snow-drifted banks, across the frozen water. He knew it could be dangerous. How often had his mother warned him to avoid the lake as she’d closed the door? But tonight the lake was magic. Black magic.
Of course, he caught her and she, laughing, chilled to the bone, twirled in his arms. His heart was pounding frantically, his breath cold and shallow as he held her close and stared down into eyes that mirrored the night. “Kiss me,” she ordered, her hands in his hair, pulling his head down insistently. Cold lips touched his and his blood stirred. Her tongue pushed against his teeth, slipping between them, touching his.
He groaned. Lost. His hands bunched up her nightgown, the hardness between his legs sudden and demanding.
At first he thought the unfamiliar sound was