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Rosalie touched his gloved hand. “Last one to the bottom buys the other hot chocolate?”
“How about the winner gets to shoot Malgor?”
She leveled him with a hard stare. “Not your job, Ford.”
No, it wasn’t. The shot was hers, but he wasn’t leaving her side until the bastard was in cuffs or bleeding out in the snow.
Cannon stroked the gun tucked at his side as he turned to Clark and White. “Follow the path I carve.” He cut Rosalie a stare harder than the one she’d shot at him. “Stay close.”
He slapped the face shield down on his helmet and adjusted his bulletproof vest. The gear Paul had outfitted him with might protect him from a sniper bullet on the way down, but it wouldn’t save him from a crash into a tree or a boulder. He didn’t fear getting hurt, though. Bloody wounds and broken bones healed. It was the other kind of trauma that scared the hell out of him.
Rosalie slid next to him, her slim body wavering in the wind. “Ready?”
Was he ready to deliver his snow angel into the hands of a monster? He had no choice, just like everything else in his life. The only choice was survival for them all. With a nod and a prayer, he slid over the precipice and into the unknown.
On the way down, Cannon kept his head on a swivel, assessing the terrain and keeping a close eye on Rosalie, Clark, and White. Each foot of snow they sliced through brought him one step closer to his sister.
And to Rosalie’s potential demise.
Shutting down those thoughts, he cleared his head until he skidded to a halt. They took their boards off, checked in with Paul and the team back at the hospital, and trudged through the snow. After about twenty feet, they reached the tree line behind the dining hall. Clark and White peeled off to their positions. He and Rosalie took cover behind a crop of rocks.
He peered at the rear of the building through binoculars. The weathered gray stone and the darkened interior matched the sky. Squinting, he tried to make out something, anything, inside. All his vision could conjure was him and Julia sitting at the wooden tables across from Grady and Easton, betting on who would kill the most flies.
Rosalie crouched next to him and scanned the perimeter. Clark and White held the same position fifty feet to their left. The thick pines and stormy sky reduced the day to twilight, limiting visibility and decreasing their chances of being a sniper’s easy target.
“I don’t like this quiet.” Rosalie raised the face shield on her helmet and motioned for Cannon to do the same. “When we extracted Devon, Malgor had a dozen men with sniper rifles patrolling the area. The lack of activity makes me feel like I’m in someone’s crosshairs.”
“Agreed.” He blinked through the drifting snow and scanned the area. The only signs of life, other than the owl in a nearby tree, were heat signatures Jimmy had reported in the dining hall. The crumbling buildings in the compound were reportedly clear. It didn’t mean there weren’t hostiles around, though. “I don’t think our positions have been discovered.” He glanced at the thick pines above them. “The only way to this spot is from the summit, and we’re the only ones insane enough to make that drop today.”
Jimmy’s voice came through his earpiece. “Check in.”
One by one, the team reported their positions. Rosalie checked in last as she adjusted the sight on her rifle. Clark's weapon had been outfitted with pellets that would make a scratching noise when they hit the window. Hopefully, the sound would be disconcerting enough to entice Malgor to peek out and investigate so Rosalie could take him out with a real bullet.
Rosalie fiddled with the sight one more time, then side-eyed him. “You stay put no matter?—”
An explosion shook the ground. The terrified shrieks of the forest creatures gripped Cannon’s insides like fire-tipped talons. He tackled Rosalie. Twisting, he bore the impact and rolled to shield her from the debris. Their helmets clunked together as they turned their heads to the dining hall. The flames shootingfrom the center of the ceiling blasted a bolt of heat toward them. Before he could blink, another blast from inside the building ruptured the old windows. More stone, wood, and glass shot into the sky and penetrated the trees. A cluster of pines went up in flames near Clark and White’s position.
Cannon’s scream crackled through the air as he lunged into the pines toward the dining hall, mindless of the burning debris raining down.
Rosalie grabbed his arm. He fell to his knees and shook off her grip as he crawled toward the inferno. Flames poured from the ceiling, but the dining hall still stood.
Maybe Julia was still alive, tucked in the supply closet or that little alcove by the fireplace. What if she was tied up and couldn’t flee or gagged and couldn’t breathe the little air left inside?
Rosalie grabbed his ankle. He plunged ahead with another guttural scream. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—take cover and watch Julia burn.
“No.” His sister still breathed inside that building. She hadn’t come back from the dead twice to go down like this.
He charged another two steps. Rosalie tackled him from behind. The force barreled him into a tree and dropped him to the snow.
“Julia.” He gripped a snow-laden bough to stand as desperation curbed the dizzying nausea. “Got to get her.”
Rosalie gripped his helmet and pulled him to the ground. “She’s not in there.” She screeched louder over the snapping flames. “Do you hear me?”
Panic buzzed in his ears, along with Jimmy’s command for Clark and White to check in.
No response.
Rosalie wrapped her legs around Cannon’s and squeezed her thighs. “Stop and listen.” With both hands, she gripped hishelmet and forced his gaze to hers. “He’s trying to draw us out; I’m sure of it. Trust me. She’s not in there.”
