On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

6: Call Me

Barren woods flashed by, endless branches glistening in ice frozen from the day's melt, all still, all dead despite the life strong headlights supplied. For those first ten minutes the monotonous tangle of twisted limbs and glittering vines eased hurried thoughts and panic over Becky's situation- where she was and if she'd be okay. What she'd do on her own scared me more than thoughts of her mother returning. She'd picked that drug-addled, sad excuse of a person off the pavement enough times to learn the usual haunts and gaunt faces of her addiction.

I would've given up on her mother years ago, but not Becky. No.

She'd spent her life chasing the love countless foster families couldn't provide, cut her teeth on schoolyard fights and abrasive relationships, and understood behavior and habit better than anyone I knew. Mom had sat her through at least half a dozen tirades trying to convince her to abandon biological anthropology and become a psychiatrist.

Becky genuinely believed she could bring her mom around. My heart bled for her and the pain she felt tonight.

She had a million acquaintances but only a handful of real friends. She'd stopped letting people in a long time ago. The girl who'd made more connections with horses than humans finally knew a love worthwhile in Darcy and Emma.

Heaven help the people standing in her way.

Orange eyes ducked behind a distant trunk, too fast and low to be anything other than a fox or hare. Hopes of seeing Amy gone in an icy flash, I relaxed shoulders I didn't realize had tightened and let the rear window cool my neck.

Tough and capable and inspiring as Becky was, in the end she had a purer heart than mine, and I feared she'd listen to it instead of her head and wind up a casualty.

Mentally gathering the details of a tentative plan, I asked Einar to book tickets for the earliest flight to Boston.

"Tickets?" His attention never drifted from the dark forest, even as he pulled out a phone. "You've got private jets."

I leaned between the front seats, surprise subdued by the night's mood. "Seriously?"

"The former queen has many luxuries you haven't utilized."

My arms dropped into my lap. What I would've given for a handful of crickets to muffle the ensuing silence.

Joronn's mention stirred waves of unease in my stomach. Her rise to fame and fortune hadn't come without a body count, and neither did mine. As much as I tried to distance myself from that vile woman, I had willingly taken her life.

But what kept me awake some nights, when the cold sweat of nightmares had faded and I was left staring at the recessed tile ceiling in the bed she once slept in, was the fact that I wasn't sorry, not about her or Kasper.

I massaged the lump in my throat, touching along the way the scars from the wolf's claws. No, not sorry one bit. "Can any cross the Atlantic?" I croaked.

"Two."

Excessive, if not useful. I wouldn't give Joronn much credit, but tonight her extravagance got me quicker to Becky. "Send one to the closest airport that can sustain a plane that size and we'll meet them there."

"Yes, ma'am."

I rolled my eyes but didn't bother with the name correction. Instead, I dug my phone out of the coat I'd draped over my legs rather than put on since the heater warmed the air to a toasty seventy degrees. I dialed Mom's number; if I called Dad, she'd wind up on the line anyway.

Even with the phone pressed to my ear Mom's annoyed voice blasted loudly enough for the guys to hear. "Where are you?"

"Hey, Mom." Truly, she was more patient than she used to be, but Mom's sharp tone was a scalpel proudly honed, especially considering I'd called out of the blue and not at our regularly scheduled time.