Vivian Arend - High Passion

She snorted, then ignored him and followed Anders’s instructions.

The noise increased as the main door slid open, not only the sound of the props, but the wind rushing around them as Erin hovered the chopper over one of the wider bands of solid ice. Alisha turned and leaned back, easing over the bay lip and into midair, where the cable supported her slow descent to the ground.

“She’s spinning like a top,” Tripp warned.

“Winds are bad. She can handle it,” Anders insisted. “Damn, she’s good. Look at that, right on target.” He clicked on the speaker. “Lovely landing, girl. Now, set your bolts.”

“On task. There’s one of the men directly to the west of me. You want me to rappel down to check him while you’re lowering the gear?”

“Wait for Devon,” Anders ordered. He glanced over his shoulder at Devon, and Devon caught the warning. After this much time exposed, the chances any of the victims were still alive were slim.

Lowering out the door was like walking into a freezer. The wind tore through his clothing, curling around the edges of his helmet and scratching his cheeks raw in the short time he hung in midair. The new rope Alisha was tying off below him shone brilliant blue against the grey-white of the snow.

His feet touched down and she grabbed his harness to anchor him, her strong grip pulling him toward her, and he smiled. “Thank you.”

She wrinkled her nose as she glanced up, undoing the cable from his belt and returning it to the chopper. “Anders thinks they’re DOA, doesn’t he?”

Devon nodded slowly. “It’s been two days.”

She sighed sadly. “I’m ready for it. You want to belay me?”

“I can go first if you want,” he offered.

She shook her head, glancing upward toward where the chopper hovered above them, Xavier at the door readying to be lowered. “I said I’m prepared. You can’t guard me from the awful parts, Devon.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t try.” Like he always did.

She touched his face with her gloved hand, then reached for the ropes and tied in. Xavier joined them. Then Tripp. The four of them worked smoothly to get into the cracks and bring up the three men who’d slid in too far to get themselves out. One after another, the near-silent task continued. Recovering bodies was always the worst part of the job, even though Devon knew it gave closure to the families who’d lost loved ones.

It was so senseless. The staring eyes filled with terror even after death, or the ones who looked as if they’d fallen asleep, the cold and fatigue silently taking them to a place where they didn’t hurt anymore.

He lowered Xavier to the final of the victims, carefully manning the ropes. Waiting in hope for a loud shout that never came. Xavier’s quiet, “He’s gone as well,” was all they got.

Alisha and Tripp glanced up from where they were securing the wrapped bodies they’d pulled from below, strapping them to boards. Devon caught their sorrow, the hope for a miracle fading from their eyes. “You want a hand?” he asked Xavier.

“Nope, I’ll be fine.”

Alisha and Tripp finished their grim task, one at a time attaching the cable to allow Anders to winch the bodies onto the chopper. Xavier hooked on the final board and it rose straight from the depths like a somber flag against the sky.

Xavier climbed up, and they gathered gear. All of it normal and precise, pretty much like any other rescue except there was a sadness hovering over them all. The usual quips and energy were muted in a kind of respect and heartfelt sorrow.

They waited to be lifted, still tied into the safety anchors Alisha had attached at their feet to the icy surface of the glacier. The never-ending wind rushed them, stealing their breath and chilling their extremities. Alisha turned her face aside, and Devon pulled her closer, guarding her from the worst of the gale. Silence reigned—it wasn’t a time for joking or fooling around.

The cable was lowered again, and Tripp gestured Alisha forward.

A brittle crack sounded, and all four of them froze. Devon held his breath, praying it wasn’t ice anywhere beneath them.

“Hurry it up.” Tripp motioned to Alisha again. “The sooner we get out of here, the happier—”

A sudden gasp escaped Xavier as his feet slipped on the bare ice surface. Underfoot the ice tilted, sending Xavier flying to one side. Devon lunged for him, but it was too late. Xavier slipped off the edge and into the crevasse beneath them.

Tripp swore, diving for the ropes to halt Xavier’s slide. “Goddamn. Everyone, brace yourselves.”

Devon eyed the safety ropes still in clear view of the surface—Alisha’s, Tripp’s, his own. Everything looked fine, and as shitty as it was that Xavier had fallen, his backup rope should stop him before he fell more than—

Xavier’s shout of dismay changed to a shriek of fear that carried on for far too long before cutting off abruptly.

Oh God.

Tripp was on his knees, leaning over the edge. “What the hell happened?”

Devon feared the worst. Clinging to Alisha to hold her back from the edge, they cautiously peered over.

Laughing, teasing Xavier lay far beneath them, his body twisted. Utterly still.

Alisha had never tied herself in so quickly in her life. On autopilot she adjusted ropes and got herself into position to be lowered to Xavier’s side. “On belay,” she snapped.

Devon nodded once, his face tight with worry as he braced himself and lowered her.

It was one of her worst nightmares—one of the team being injured, and her little drug-induced trip to the hospital didn’t count. This was in the field, uncertainty and confusion wanting to rush in. The only thing that would have made it worse would be if it were Devon she was climbing toward, not knowing if he was dead or alive.

“Talk to us,” Anders’s voice carried over the speakers. “Come on, Xavier, hang in there and give us a sign.”

Nothing. Silence on the airwaves.

Anders tried again. “Answer, Xav. We’re going to get you out of there. We’ve sent a pretty girl to come hold your hand and make you fly.”

“Will she kiss me?” Xavier’s words were a whisper, but everyone on the team exhaled at the same time.

Alisha gripped her rope tighter as Devon controlled her descent. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat to speak. “Well, I suppose I could kiss you, but only once we’re somewhere nice and warm. I’m ready for a hot tub, what do you think?”

A groan rose from Xavier as she got close enough to brace herself on the narrowing walls of ice. “Naked hot-tubbing sounds fun, but I bet Devon would kick my ass.”

“I’m there, Devon. Take.” She reached for Xavier, brushing his cheek carefully. “Well, we won’t invite him, then.”

A couple of quick movements later she had him locked to her, safety ropes ensuring that he wouldn’t slip anywhere else. She checked him quickly. His climbing belt was a mess, twisted and loose instead of snugly wrapped around his thighs and waist.

She leaned over to check his vitals, working desperately not to shake him, but in the tight space it was nearly impossible. “Xav, how you feel?’

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I don’t feel much, which kind of worries me.”

Oh God. No feeling meant a spinal injury. She tried to keep her face blank even as terror raced through her. She pressed her lips quickly to his. “We’ll get you out of here, okay? Just hang on, and we’ll get you out of here.”

The next fifteen minutes were hell. Devon sent Tripp down, and he helped her get Xavier on a backboard. By the time they had him ready to transport, Xavier was passing in and out of consciousness. The board rose into the air, and a cold, icy sensation settled in her stomach.

Only once Anders had safely pulled him into the chopper did she breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced to the side at Tripp to make sure he was ready to climb out so they could get Xavier to the hospital as soon as possible.

Tripp clutched the remains of Xavier’s climbing belt in his hands, the frayed webbing untwining farther as he held it in the air.

The subdued mood in the room was morbidly funereal, and Devon hated it with every fiber of his being. This wasn’t what post-rescue was supposed to be like. They’d never had one of their own injured before. Well, bruises and bumps occasionally, but nothing so serious.

Erin had dropped the team off at Lifeline HQ before bugging out to take Xavier straight to one of the bigger hospitals in Calgary. Anders had gone along to keep everyone updated.

So far the news was skimpy and not very positive.

The RCMP had been and gone, taking their statements, asking questions that in many cases didn’t make sense. Devon fumed when the authorities didn’t seem to understand what the rescue had involved, and he had to repeat again and again what had happened.

By the time the last of the officers had left, Devon wasn’t the only one ready to bite someone’s head off. They gathered in the main room, Alisha curled up on one couch, Tripp on the other, with Marcus sprawled in the chair at the end of the coffee table.

Darkness marred Marcus’s expression. “There will be further inquiries, but I want you all to know I think you’re the best in the business. Accidents happen—I fucking hate that, but it’s true.”

Alisha wiped her eyes. “I keep going through procedure, and I swear I didn’t see anything that we did wrong. He was roped in. We were all going by the book, Marcus. We—”

She broke off, and Devon couldn’t stand it anymore. He left his place by the sidewall and crowded Alisha, pulling her to him as she buried her face against his neck. “I agree with Alisha. There was no reason for Xavier’s accident. He was tied in, he had backup.”