Page 72 of Mountain Impact

“You were behind the crash,” Drake said.

“I’m good with machinery. I bribed Lepont to step out for a twenty-minute break and took care of things up here. It was meant to be a quick and painless death.”

“But your brothers didn’t die,” Drake said calmly.

“Because of you, you bastard.” There was real hatred in Blanchard’s tone.

“Drop the gun, Blanchard. I’m a police officer. You’re only making things worse for yourself,” Drake said calmly.

“You underestimate me. I’m going to close this little episode tonight. It’s going to be kind of prophetic, actually. The press will have a field day with it.”

“If you shoot me―”

“I’m not going to shoot you. You’re going to jump.”

“I won’t jump,” Drake said, his voice deadly.

They were the same words Amélie had spoken―and they filled Isolde with fear the likes of which she’d never felt before. Her limbs shook so badly, she was glad she was already on the ground.

“If you don’t jump,” Blanchard’s voice was almost pleasant at this point, “I’ll take out both your kneecaps and push you off the ledge.”

“You think that will help people believe I jumped?” Drake said, his voice dripping in irony. “You’re insane, Blanchard.”

Isolde forced more air into her lungs, trying to calm herself. Drake’s team wouldn’t get here fast enough. She had to come up with some way to help Drake. Her hand closed around a small, flat rock next to her left knee. Before she could second-guess herself, she threw it as hard as she could, towards the darkest corner of the cable car hut.

Blanchard’s response was instantaneous. “What the hell is that?”

#

Drake

Drake’s heart froze at the sound. He didn’t dare look down at his watch, but knew there were still a few minutes to go from the original fifteen―which meant that noise could only have been made by one person.

She didn’t wait in the car.

“What the hell is that?” Blanchard snarled, waving the gun in Drake’s direction.

“That’s my team,” Drake bluffed, keeping his voice steady. “You didn’t think I’d come alone, right? Now drop your weapon, Blanchard.”

Blanchard laughed, a high-pitched, mirthless sound. “I have a genius IQ, Jacobs―and you, you’re just a glorified lifeguard.”

“Better that than a murderer,” Drake deadpanned. Anything he could do to keep Blanchard’s attention on himself, rather than on the origin of the sound, was effort well spent.

Please hide, Isolde.

“That’s not your team. But you didn’t come alone, didn’t you? You brought that woman with you, the one you’ve been hanging out with.”

He’s been following us.

Blanchard sighed theatrically. “I can’t have her running around talking about me. Get her to come out here.”

Drake clamped his lips together. Nothing in the world could get him to call out to Isolde. Blanchard saw this and shrugged.

“Come out, dear, or I’ll shoot out your boyfriend’s kneecap. He won’t be needing it soon, anyway. On three. One …”

Breathe.

Isolde’s smart.