His lips twitched into a smile. “I wouldn’t let you leave me.”
She exhaled and nodded. As soon as her gaze went distant, he knew what was coming next, so he jumped in front of it. “Right now, I’ll bet Sam has Jamison dancing in the back seat, singing karaoke.
She laughed at the absurd image.
“I’m only half kidding,” he told her. “The kid is probably having the time of his life.”
She nodded. “Sorry I keep asking. It’s not like you have a direct line into the Jeep or anything. I just…”
He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You’re worried because you’re an incredible mom.”
She sighed and looked down at the gun. “Can you help me load this? I’ve never used this model before, and I’d really rather not shoot myself trying to load it.”
“My pleasure.” He took the Glock, filled the magazine, and primed the chamber. Now that he was awake, his head throbbed. “There’s one in the chamber, and this weapon has a trigger safety, so just squeeze the trigger.”
“No safety. Got it.”
Ian forced himself to sit up, but he couldn’t keep the groan from spilling out. He wasn’t sure how much of the pain was the drop in body temp and how much was injury, but he was having a damn difficult time moving. And that would be problematic if the cops were nearby.
“Let me take a trial run at it,” he told her. “See how I do.”
Savannah climbed into the back to give him room to get up, over the console, and maneuver—painfully—out the window.
When he looked up the length of the tunnel, he swore. They’d ended up far deeper than he’d thought. More like ten or twelve feet than two or three. But that dusky early evening sky was compelling. He could see why she’d gotten so excited. But they still had a lot to worry about.
Ian worked himself up the tunnel, realizing that Savannah had carved out enough room for her small frame, but Ian’s was another story. He had to use his shoulders like a snowplow to get through the space. He also realized his left knee had gotten pretty banged up in the accident.
It took what felt like forever to reach the top. Ian had to stop twice to keep from blacking out. The last time he’d done that, he’d fallen back down the tunnel and into the car.
Not fun. Definitely not something he wanted to repeat.
When he finally poked his head above the surface, he was light-headed. His brain and knee battled for the most-messed-up award. He drew a deep lungful of frozen but fresh air. And he thanked God for Savannah. If she wasn’t so damn strong, they probably would have succumbed to the cold by now.
The first thing to catch Ian’s attention was voices. He peered left, where just a couple of hours ago, there had been a road. The new mound of snow was dotted with a couple of dozen people, methodically sticking metal poles into the snow to search for vehicles and people. Between the dimming light, the distance, and the backdrop of complex mountain terrain, he couldn’t see who was working, but he’d bet it was the same band of cops and dimwits Bishop had released with a kill order.
He closed his eyes to improve his hearing and listened. If there were Manhunters in that search party, he didn’t hear their voices. Ian couldn’t envision anyone but Everly infiltrating a search party. Roman, Liam, and Sam would be strangers and immediately suspect. But no female voices floated on the air.
No matter. They were all nearby; that, Ian knew for a fact. They just needed to find each other. Until that could happen, he and Savannah needed warmth and rest.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for a signal. As expected, he got nothing. He laid both his phone and his watch on the snow, but he didn’t hold out a lot of hope for catching a signal. Not in these
mountains.
Ian scanned the terrain. It would be dark soon. The search party would be called off any time now. Everyone under the snow would be written off as dead. The rescue would be reclassified as a recovery effort. And that was good. Because as long as Bishop thought he and Savannah were dead, he’d refocus the bulk of his resources on recovering Jamison.
He and Savannah weren’t home free by any means. Tomorrow, at some point, this hole in the snow would be found, the SUV would be recovered, and their tracks leading away from the site would be followed.
At least that would give them a good head start. But a head start to where?
A gust of wind blew through the pass, and Ian backed down the tunnel. In the Suburban, Savannah sat in the second row of seats, huddled beneath the blanket. She opened it in invitation, and after Ian shucked all the ice clinging to his pants and jacket, he sat beside her, pulled her into him, and dragged the blanket closed.
“What do you think?” she asked, her voice nervous. “It’s starting to get dark.”
He shared his thoughts on their next move: getting out of here, finding shelter, and, hopefully, a GPS signal.
Savannah sat back and met his gaze. Her expression was a mix of stark fear and raw fury. She scraped her lips between her teeth and covered her face for a moment.
Just when Ian thought she’d burst into tears, she lifted her head with an expression of renewed strength and asked, “Have we got an AK-47 back there? ’Cause I’m just about ready to mow those assholes down and steal their vehicles.”