Grey wiped the rain from his face with his glove. More than four hours had passed since Grace had been taken. It had taken only minutes for Ian to stagger to the hotel and explain what had happened, but it had taken John Bigelow nearly two hours to travel the six miles from TarStone Resort into Pine Creek to give Grey the news. More trees had fallen across the road, and John had somehow managed to walk the last mile without breaking his neck, to tell Grey that Grace and Jonathan had been kidnapped.

Grey turned his gaze back to TarStone Mountain. The only reason he wasn’t out of his mind with worry was the fact that these men needed Grace for her knowledge.

They wouldn’t harm her. Not intentionally. But all manner of problems could arise, this accursed storm being the greatest threat. If the snowcat broke down or became damaged or was unable to continue through the trail, Grace would find herself walking the mountain again, this time with men who would care little for her welfare if their own survival came into question.

“I’m going with ya,” Ian hollered over the sound of the engine.

Grey shook his head. “You’ll slow us down.”

“I can drive the snowcat,” Ian insisted, determined not to be left behind. “I failed in my duty to protect your woman,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I ran like a worried child because Grace started talking about lightning. I’m sorry to ya, Laird MacKeage, that my cowardice caused our Grace to be in danger. And I’

m wanting to right my mistake.”

He stepped closer to the snowmobile, his hands clasped at his waist to cover their trembling. “The lass feels I’m mad at her for asking us to help MacBain,” he continued, his voice shaking. “It’s…it’s important that she knows I’m not. Let me go with Callum and Morgan. I promise not to get in the way. If I do, ya can leave me up on the mountain.”

Grey wiped at his face again and slowly took a settling breath. He could not leave his man behind. He looked at Ian and nodded, then turned his gaze to encompass Morgan and Callum.

“The four of us and Grace need only return,” he growled, tension lacing his words with anger. “The others, including Stanhope, can rot on the mountain for all I care. No mercy,” he finished, nodding curtly and then punching the throttle on the snowmobile.

Grey moved quickly up the mountain, turning the nimble machine onto the steeply rising ski slope to follow the tracks his stolen snowcat had made.

The men who had taken Grace had a four-hour lead over him, but that was their only advantage. Grey knew the mountain, and his snowmobile was quicker and easier to maneuver than the snowcat. He could travel around fallen trees, over stumps, and up steeper inclines.

Grey turned the snowmobile into the forest toward North Finger Ridge and the crash site, ducking low-hanging branches and ignoring the ice slapping his face. For the third time in only four days, Grey found himself repeating his litany of prayers that asked for God’s intervention.

Grace was surprised at how the sight of the plane crash affected her. Memories rose unbidden—the screeching sound of ripping metal, the smell of fuel stinging her nose, the terror of tumbling through chaos, the sudden silence.

And the strange blue glow that had lingered in the air.

She remembered Grey’s arms of steel holding her securely. His gentle breath bringing Baby back to life.

And his passionate kiss.

Grace wiped the moisture away from the window of the snowcat to see better and stared at the silent, abandoned remains of the airplane. It was barely recognizable, completely entombed in ice. She watched as Frank and Tom walked around the wreckage, beams from their flashlights reflecting like gemstones over the ground.

It was completely dark now, late into the bleak and drizzling February night. It had taken them hours of rugged and haphazard travel to make it this far, and Grace was worried that getting over West Shoulder Pass was going to be impossible.

Frank had foolishly endangered them all. And if Grey didn’t come after her soon, it looked as if she’d come full circle to die. She was back on the mountain, and for the second time in just four days, Greylen MacKeage was her only hope for survival.

Apparently unsuccessful in his hunt for the disks, Frank came striding back to the snowcat, opened the driver’s door, and grabbed her roughly by the chin.

“Where are they?” he growled. “Where are the disks?”

Grace pulled her chin free and gave him a negligent shrug. “I don’t know exactly,” she said, too tired to enter a battle of wills. “I remember taking them out of my bag when I was sitting just outside the plane.

They may have slipped under the fuselage.”

Frank plodded back to the plane without bothering to close the door, which caused the interior light of the snowcat to stay on, making it impossible for Grace to see outside anymore. Grace looked over at Wayne sitting beside a defeated and possibly concussed Jonathan. Wayne lifted his gun slightly and gave her a warning glare.

Tom and Frank suddenly came striding back. Tom climbed into the driver’s seat and reached down to connect two exposed wires, which he must have stripped earlier to hot-wire the snowcat.

“Wait,” Frank said, still standing outside, his head turned away. “Listen,” he commanded, waving a hand at Tom.

Tom opened his door and stood on the track, straining his head above the roof of the snowcat. Grace listened, too. All she could hear was the sound of the forest cracking under the strain of the ice.

“That’s a snowmobile,” Tom said. He ducked down and looked through the cab at Frank. “It’s coming this way.”

Frank climbed inside and slammed his door shut. Tom took his seat again and grabbed the wires, but he looked at Frank before he started the engine. Frank stared silently out the windshield.

“We keep going,” Frank said finally. “We just need to get up on West Shoulder. I should be able to get a signal from there to call Greenville. I’ll have our men come in by snowmobile and meet us on the trail.”

Grace lifted her bound hands to her chest, attempting to keep her suddenly racing heart from exploding.

Grey was coming after her on a snowmobile, and he was closing in on them.

“It sounded like only one sled,” Tom said as he touched the wires together and started the engine. “And it was still far away. Sound travels funny in these mountains.” He put the snowcat into gear and sent it rumbling away from the crash site. “If it’s carrying two men, it will be traveling slow,” he added.

Grace saw Frank’s head turn toward Tom. “We’re leaving a trail a blind man could follow,” he growled.

He reached inside his jacket and held up a small black case under the beam of his flashlight. “These your disks?” he asked, turning to see her answer.

Grace nodded. Frank tucked the case back in his jacket, then reached into another pocket and pulled out a small, strange-looking radio. He turned it on and scanned the face for a signal, holding it up and extending the antenna.

The red light suddenly turned green, and Frank immediately depressed the talk button. He spoke into the transmitter and was quickly rewarded with a faint but distinct voice from Greenville.

Frank and the mystery voice conversed for several minutes before Frank shut off the radio and picked up his map again.

“What about the snowmobile?” Tom asked. “You want to drop Wayne off and let him take care of the problem?”

Grace held her breath waiting for Frank’s answer. Grey would be an easy target for Wayne.

“Not yet,” Frank said. “We’re almost there. We’ll make our stand at the trail while we wait for the others.”

Grace started breathing again.

Frank suddenly chuckled. “Not that anyone from this boondock town will be much of a challenge.” He twisted in his seat to look back at her, his face an abstract of sinister lines and shadows in the beam of his light. “You got a local sheriff in Pine Creek, sweet buns?” he asked. “One with more brawn than brains?”