Page 33

Sheila's fingers were bloody from trying to climb the shaft walls. She'd tried everything—using her belt as a makeshift grip, stacking debris to gain height, looking for maintenance rungs. Nothing worked. The walls were too slick with ice, the shaft too deep.

Her flashlight beam was growing weaker. She'd tried conserving the batteries, using it in short bursts, but the cold was draining it faster than normal. Soon, she'd be in complete darkness.

Wells still hadn't moved. His breathing was steady but shallow, a thin trail of blood frozen to his temple where he'd struck it during the fall. The temperature kept dropping—she could feel it in her bones, in the way her thoughts seemed to move more slowly with each passing minute.

Think, she told herself. There has to be a way out.

She studied the shaft again. The opening above seemed impossibly distant, snow still drifting lazily through it like falling stars.

The concrete walls disappeared into darkness below—some kind of drainage system, maybe.

But exploring flooded tunnels in the dark seemed like an even faster way to die than staying put.

A sound echoed from above—voices carrying through the facility's empty corridors. Sheila's heart leaped.

"Hello?" she shouted. "Down here! We're down here!"

The voices grew closer. She recognized Diana's distinctive cadence, then Michael's deeper tones. They were searching the facility systematically, calling out as they went.

"Diana!" Sheila's voice was hoarse from the cold. "Michael! We're in the shaft!"

A beam of light swept across the opening far above. "Did you hear that?" Diana's voice.

"Sounded like it came from below," Michael replied.

"Here!" Sheila waved her failing flashlight. "In the drainage shaft!"

The light found her. "Sheriff?" Diana's face appeared at the opening. "My God, are you alright?"

"Trapped," Sheila called back. "Wells is down here too, unconscious. We need rope, something to climb with."

"I've got climbing gear in my truck," Michael said. "If I hurry—" He stopped. "Officer Forster, we found the sheriff! She's—"

Two gunshots shattered the quiet, deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. Sheila's heart stopped. More shots followed, then the sound of running feet and something heavy falling.

"Diana!" Sheila screamed. "Michael!"

No response. Only the echo of footsteps fading into silence, and the soft whisper of falling snow.

Beside her, Wells groaned and stirred. His eyes flickered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as he took in their situation.

"What..." he began.

"Shut up," Sheila snapped, still straining to hear any sound from above. Had Tommy killed them? Were Diana and Michael lying dead up there while their murderer made his escape?

Either way, she had to get out of this hole. But how?

Wells pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing. "Where are we?"

"Drainage shaft under the facility. We fell." Sheila turned to him, desperation overriding caution. "You know this place. You've photographed every inch of it. Is there another way out?"

Wells stared at her for a long moment, clearly assessing the situation. "You want my help? After everything?"

"We don't have a choice. We'll freeze to death down here."

He touched his head gingerly, fingers coming away bloody. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because the person who trapped us down here just shot at two members of the resort staff.

He's not letting either of us out of here alive.

" Sheila crouched beside him. "Tommy isn't working alone.

This is bigger than your murders, bigger than my investigation.

You want to live, don't you? Right now, that means getting out of this hole. "

Wells sat quietly for several heartbeats, his photographer's eyes studying her face in the dim light.

Finally, he nodded toward the darkness below them.

"The drainage system connects to old maintenance tunnels.

They lead to an outlet on the mountain's east face.

" He grimaced. "But they'll be flooded this time of year. Ice-cold water in pitch darkness."

"Better than freezing to death here."

"Maybe." He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. "But if the tunnels are completely flooded, or if we get turned around in the dark..."

"Then we drown instead of freeze. I'll take my chances." And what if Wells tries to get the drop on me in the darkness? she wondered. It was just a risk she'd have to take.

Can you walk?" she asked, studying him.

"I think so." He squinted upward at the distant opening. "Why did your deputy give you up for dead?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Sheila swept her weakening flashlight beam down the shaft.

Dark ice reflected the light perhaps thirty feet below.

"The important thing is that right now, he probably thinks we're either dead or dying.

We need to move before he comes back to check, because if he finds us alive, he's going to finish the job. "

Wells grunted. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any more interesting…"

They made their way carefully down a series of old maintenance rungs set into the wall. The metal was rusted and slick with ice, threatening to crumble under their weight. The ice below looked black as oil in the failing flashlight beam.

When they reached the bottom, Wells pointed to a side tunnel that had been partially submerged. "That one leads east. The others are dead ends."

"You're sure?"

"I've mapped this whole system. Spent weeks down here getting the perfect shots of rust patterns, mineral formations." He laughed bitterly. "My father would have appreciated the irony—his obsession with photographing decay might end up saving a life."

"Two lives," Sheila said. "You mean it might end up saving two lives."

Wells gave her a long look. "Yes," he said slowly. "Of course, that's what I meant."

He trudged ahead. Sheila stared after him for a few moments, uneasy. Then, seeing no alternatives, she followed.