He looked.
Stina walked in with Jolie wearing fresh clothes, probably scavenged from the ski resort’s lost and found or one of the abandoned suitcases left behind upstairs.
The friends’ styles couldn’t have been more different. Jolie once fished out a pair of bellbottom jeans that she wore on repeat, but Stina had chosen a pair of men’s track pants and a thick sweatshirt. Her curls were pulled off her face, and tiny sprigs sprouted from the knot.
Before he could recover from the way the pants hugged her hips, she caught him looking, and her chin tipped up in that imperious little way he’d seen over and over again.
He didn’t know any longer if the gesture irritated him or made him want to see more of it.
Without a word, she and Jolie crossed the kitchen. They poured bowls of cereal and chose a spot at the table, far away from him.
That should have helped break his fixation on the woman.
It didn’t.
He noticed how she held her spoon. How she took small bites of food to make it stretch, just like the pizza. She obviously couldn’t afford what she needed to live, and that fucking bugged him more than the flat look she sent his way.
She didn’t make a scene about the way he’d walked out on her the day before. But she wasn’t speaking to Jolie either.
She was quiet, which seemed more out of character.
Jolie pushed a plate of toast toward her, and Stina picked up a slice, breaking off tiny pieces and eating as if every bite needed rationed.
A tingle along his neck made him turn his head to see O watching him watching Stina.
Thankfully, before O could run his mouth, Cannon walked in.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Rome pushed back from the table. “I volunteer.”
Cannon stared at him. “You don’t even know what you’re volunteering for yet.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Cannon turned to the rest of the table. “Since last night, I’ve been watching some extreme skiers on the upper east slope.”
He cut off as his gaze hit the whiteboard. “The only twins you guys can count on are these.” He raised his fists, and the group laughed. All but Stina.
Then Cannon sobered and went on, “The trespassers drove to the base of the mountain and made camp. Now they’re getting ready to hike to the top and try not to die skiing down Devil’s Switchback.”
Rome leaped up. “I’ll handle the unwanted visitors.”
Without meaning to, he looked at Stina. She narrowed her eyes at him and her lips twisted in a scowl.
Rome couldn’t escape the base faster. He grabbed his cold weather gear and hurried out. When he walked out of the tunnel, the cold air hit him in the face, sharp enough to clear his head and erase the heat still lingering on his skin from the things on his mind.
Out here, he had a task. A problem to solve that didn’t have a thing to do with why Stina hadn’t spoken a word during breakfast. And the cold air still felt warmer than the glare she’d given him.
He located the hikers’ camp. Judging by the expensive gear rated for extreme temperatures, they’d planned this adventure, but Rome was about to put an end to their fun.
If he was having a bad day, they were going to have a worse one.
He packed up all their gear and carried it to the place where their SUV was parked on a service road with a locked gate. When he saw they’d cut the padlock, his temper shot up another notch.
He circled the SUV, checking for passengers, but saw no one inside. No visible weapons either. He dropped all their gear into the snow and checked the doors. They were all locked, but he ran a hand under the frame and his fingers hit cold metal.
He peeled the hidden spare key box free and stared at it for a second.
