Maverick by Karina Halle
Maverick
A North Ridge Novel
Karina Halle
Metal Blonde Books
Copyright © 2017 by Karina Halle
First edition published by Metal Blonde Books October 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by: Hang Le Designs
Photo by: Wander Aguiar
Edited by: Laura Helseth and Roxane Leblanc
For all the first responders - thank you
Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light
Norman B. Rice
Contents
Note to the reader
Prologue
1. CHAPTER ONE
2. CHAPTER TWO
3. CHAPTER THREE
4. CHAPTER FOUR
5. CHAPTER FIVE
6. CHAPTER SIX
7. CHAPTER SEVEN
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
9. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
PREVIEW OF WILD CARD
About the Author
Also by Karina Halle
Note to the reader
Warning: This is not a Christian romance. This book contains graphic (but fun!) scenes of a sexual nature and enough profanity to make a sailor blush. Please do not read if you are sensitive to sex or swearing. Fucking eh!
Prologue
Riley
Two years ago—Aspen, Colorado
Fuck.
Such a simple word, one-syllable, with harsh intonation, yet it can be used for a multitude of meanings. In fact, I think it might be my favorite word (right behind Scrumtrulescent, which, spoiler alert, isn’t actually a word).
I love to fuck, I love to get fucked, I love using it instead of the word really (I like to get fucking fucked), I like how it can capture every element of surprise, and I really love it when people get creative with it (who can forget “fuck me gently with a chainsaw” from Heathers?).
But right now, hovering beside a pine tree with the wind, howling and angry, pushing scratchy snow across my face and obliterating my vision, my limbs dangerously numb, fuck seems like the only word possible.
As in I’m fucked, we’re all fucked.
We might fucking die up here.
And here is a place I shouldn’t even be. It was supposed to be my day off, Levi’s too. We were going to drive to Denver, hope to score tickets to a Bronco’s game. Instead, there was a call this morning. One of our team members called in sick, which didn’t help, and then the alert was sounded.
Two heli-skiers were dropped off yesterday afternoon on one of the more challenging peaks (though, yes, all heli-skiing is challenging, I mean you’re being dropped on a wild mountain face by a helicopter). They never returned to the ski lodge and the helicopter company only reported them missing this morning.
It doesn’t help that a wicked front whipped up overnight, causing white-out conditions that cancelled all the runs. Right now, all the skiers and snowboarders are holed up in their fancy châteaux, drinking hot buttered rum and complaining about how they can’t hit the slopes. I really hate that part of my job, the fact that I live in Aspen, and while I’m living with my best friend and two of our colleagues in a damp, shitty house on the outskirts of town, the people I’m usually rescuing are living it up in the lavish chalets and lodges, spending money like it’s worth nothing at all.
Not only that, but Levi and I are the ones risking our neck every single time we head out on a call, to rescue the ignorant, spoiled tourists who blatantly ignore the rules and trail markers. Yes, sometimes the unthinkable happens out of the blue and tragedies can strike anyone and everyone, but most of the time, it’s because of pure carelessness.
Today, though, I don’t think it’s the case. When skiers are heading down the side of a mountain without ski runs and basically creating their own path, it’s not unheard of for them to get lost, which is bad news. But when the fucking company doesn’t report them missing for almost a whole day, that’s when things go from bad to worse. It doesn’t matter how well someone is equipped and dressed for something like heli-skiing, a night out in the elements has the ability to rob even the most experienced souls.
Like me. Right now, I’m holding onto this tree and waiting for Levi, my eyes trying to scan the endless white in hopes of finding him, finding anyone. My cell has no service but our radios work and, despite my constant communication with Brett, our team leader back at the base, no one can seem to pull up Levi. And I’m not going anywhere without him.
“Riley, come in,” my radio crackles as if on cue.
I fumble for it and bring it up to my mouth, my voice shaking as I push the button and say, “Riley here. Over.”
“How is the visibility? Over,” Brett says.
“Complete shit,” I tell him. “And I’m not sure how fast the temperature is dropping, but it’s dropping. I can’t see Levi, can’t reach him, can’t see anyone, can’t hear anything. His transceiver isn’t even coming through. Over.” I’m trying not to sound panicked, but just relaying my situation out loud has it hitting home for me.
“Don’t worry about, Levi. You know better than anyone that he can take care of himself. Give me your coordinates and stay exactly where you are. Once there’s a break in the weather, we’ll send the chopper out to get you and find Levi.” He pauses. “Then we continue the search for the skiers. But you’re our priority. Over.”
I sigh and slip the device back in the front pocket of my parka which is crusted over with snow. He’s right in that I shouldn’t worry. We’ve been in worse situations before. There was the time I fell down a crevice and had to wait for several hours before they found me. Once, Levi struck a tree while skiing and suffered a concussion that affected his ability to find his way off the mountain. This is just a storm and it’s not the first time we’ve been separated while out on the job.
Still, something in my heart squeezes, a vice of unease. Levi and I have been friends since high school, bonding together over the love of snow and the Washington outdoors. Since I was dirt poor and practically trailer trash back then and couldn’t afford a snowboard, let alone lift tickets, Levi, who worked part-time as a lift-operator at Mount Baker, pretty much supported my habit. He gave me his old board, would get me on the lifts for free, and taught me everything about the mountains.
After we graduated, I wanted to get as far away from my family as possible and start a new life somewhere else. When Levi said he wanted to join a search and rescue team, I decided I wanted that too. When he went to Utah to train, I went to Utah. Wherever he got a job, I would follow. That’s how we both ended up in Aspen.
I love working for SAR. It gives me a sense of purpose, combined with a love for nature and a great respect for the elements. I’m at once powerless and at the mountain’s mercy, and yet I’m able to battle against it in order to save lives.
But the truth is, sometimes I wish I didn’t work with someone I love. Because that’s the fucking truth. Levi might be my best friend, but I love him more than I’ll ever be able to tell him. And in moments just like this one, when his own life is at stake, I’m almost paralyzed by the fear of losing him. It’s moments like this that I kno
I need to find him.
I let go of the tree I’ve been cowering beside and decide to keep going. My boots sink into the snow, all the way to my knee, as I leave the relative shelter of the pines behind and trudge out across the open slope. Though I can barely see more than a few yards in front of me, I’m somewhat familiar with this terrain. Earlier, the chopper had dropped us just to the northeast of here. Levi and I were together for only twenty minutes before we split up. By the time I reached a dead-end against a cliff face and the storm started to worsen, I lost communication with him.
But knowing Levi, he probably kept going, determined to find the skiers. He probably crossed this section of the mountain that I’m crossing right now, a steep open part of the slope devoid of trees and piled high with snow drifts. With the spring, the snow loosens, making this area an avalanche hazard, not to mention the fact that this faux run breaks off into crevasses and drop-offs at the lower elevation.
When I’m halfway across the slope and can make out the shapes of the trees on the other side—shifting shadows that flicker in and out through the ongoing white—a noise makes me stop in my tracks.
It’s not a loud noise, kind of a soft poof that is barely heard above the roar of the wind and snow, but then I see it. The sky glows a faint pink with a red-hot ember in the middle of it.
A flare!
Shot from where I just came from, but further to the north, though even as I stand here looking at it, it’s already moving over, pushed by the wind. But mentally I’m calculating it, tracking exactly where it could have come from.
I bring up the walkie and speak into it. “Brett, come in. A flare just went up, about a mile northeast of where I am. Permission to investigate? Over.”
“Permission granted. Be careful, Riley. Over.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, a tiny bit of hope. Whoever sent it was capable of shooting a flare. That means they’re alive. Most skiers, especially ones who go “off-piste” or beyond the avalanche-controlled boundaries of the mountain resorts, should always have transceivers on them, as well as an emergency kit. This group didn’t have the transceivers, but at least they have a flare. It’s possible they even saw the helicopter come by earlier and they’re too cold or injured to move. That’s actually the smartest thing to do—stay exactly where you are and let us find you.
I start back across the open slope, noting that the wind is starting to die down a bit and the visibility is getting better. I glance up at the sky and see faint light patches amongst the whirling snow, meaning the storm is starting to break apart, at least for the time being. I’m just a few feet from the trees again and I can already see how much calmer it is under the canopies.
“Riley!”
My name sounds like a fragment from a dream but even so, it roots me in place. I turn around to see a shadow behind me, emerging from the trees, looking larger than life with his gear on his back.
Levi!
I want to yell back but I can’t do anything but smile. I wave at him, frantically, and point toward where the flare went up, the sky just a faint pink in that spot now.
“Stay there! I’m coming,” he says, voice faint, and starts making his way over.
He’s moving fairly fast, even with his gear, and he’s nearly at the middle of the slope when a loud whumpf rings through the air.
He stops and looks at me, wide-eyed.
That noise, that whumpf, like someone dropping a sack of potatoes from fifty feet high onto the snow, is all too familiar.
It’s the sound of fear.
Of death.
To be more specific, it’s the sound of fresh powder that’s been sitting on top of a frozen layer compressing, shifting, or sliding downhill.
An avalanche.
“Levi!” I scream. “Hurry!”
There’s a roar building now, a haunting, ghostly rumble from high up the mountain where I know the snow is now coming down like a freight train, barreling toward us, sending tremors up my legs.
One thing I know about avalanches, is that you never have time.
I look over to Levi who is hurrying through the snow, the powder flying out behind him as he runs. He’s so focused on getting to me that he doesn’t look to his left, up the slope, where a wall of snow is building, rushing, ready to consume us.
In my panic and the whirling storm, it’s hard to tell how big of an avalanche it is, what kind. It could be powder or wet or a deadly slab. It could level trees and knock us unconscious, or be a soft cloud, just enough to dust us like icing sugar. There’s no time to wonder because in seconds it will be here and I only have two thoughts ringing in my head:
I hope the trees will protect us.
I hope Levi gets here in time.
And then it’s here.
Time is ripped away.
I stare across at Levi’s face, his eyes locked on mine, caught in fear and horror and then everything is white.
Somehow, in that split second before the blast of air hits me, followed by the snow moving at fifty miles an hour, I wrap my arms around the pine’s rough trunk and hold on for dear life. It feels like an eternity and my world is just ice, the air knocked out of me.
Everything is a roar.
Everything is white.
Everything is sharp and cold and relentless.
I’m drowning and I’m holding on and I don’t know if it will ever stop, if it will ever stop pummeling me, if I’ll ever be free of this torment.
Cold.
So, so cold.
So monstrous.
So real.
This is fucking it.
This is how I’m going to die.
Entombed in ice, lungs full of snow.
And I never got a chance to tell Levi how I really felt.
All those years of pushing the feelings down, of swallowing them whole.
He never knew.
And then, then, it…
Stops.
The world is reduced to a muffle. Everything comes to a still, a hushed calm, with powder hanging in the air. I’m caked head to toe in ice and snow.
My mouth opens, gasping for air, and I cough out white.
I feel like I could stay here forever, stuck to this tree, buried to my waist in snow. I could freeze, a statue, frozen in time.
But then…
Levi.
LEVI!
I manage to bring my arms off the tree, frantically dusting away the snow from my limbs, my face, my eyes.
The snow is still whirling from the storm, lighter now, though the world around me glows a deeper white.
Levi is nowhere to be found.
“Levi!” I scream, spinning around to find him, but all I see is a rough blanket of snow. “Levi!”
I know that standing here and screaming isn’t going to do me much good. The avalanche wasn’t strong enough to flatten the trees, but it would have knocked him off his feet. He’s not swept down the mountain, he hasn’t made it to safety.
He’s buried.
And he only has minutes to live.
I have no time to think.
I go on auto-pilot, all the years of training rising out of me.
I move through the snow, walking as quickly as I can, even though I’m stumbling, falling, my footing loose and unstable.
I don’t give up. I keep going, practically wading, swimming, until I’m at the point where Levi was last standing.
Panic claws up my throat but I ignore it. I have to.
The walkie-talkie crackles, Brett is calling in.
He sounds like a dream.
“Riley! Riley, they’re reporting seismic activity on the slope, an avalanche. Can you confirm? Riley, come in. Over.”
But I have a job to do.
I bring out the shovel from my pack and start digging, frantically at first, then sl
I don’t even think I’m breathing. My heart is bursting from my ribs.
My eyes sting, my fingers in my gloves burn, my face feels raw and stiff as I realize tears have been running down my cheeks and sticking to my skin.
I keep going.
“Riley. Please come in. Are you okay? Have you found Levi? Over.”
I keep shoveling.
And then I see a slice of orange-colored fabric.
His jacket.
“Levi!” I scream and throw the shovel aside, start digging him out with my hands like a dog after a bone.
I touch his shoulder, his arm, his torso, his neck.
His face.
Eyes closed, skin blue.
Not breathing.
I immediately clear the snow from his mouth and try to clear as much of his body free as possible. He might have broken bones, but I can’t be too slow, too gentle. I have to be quick and I have to save him now.
Summoning all the strength I have left, I bring his upper body out of the snow and feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
Through tears and blubbering words, I start CPR.
I’ve done it many times before on dummies.
I’ve seen it performed on near misses and close calls.
I’ve never had to perform it myself on a real person before.
I’ve never had to perform it on someone I know.
I’ve never had to perform it on my best friend.
The man I love.
And now I am, I’m pumping and breathing into him and counting and crying and my world is falling apart around me. Everything is falling apart, I’m falling apart, how is this world still here?