Page 6 of Hard Pursuit
Rome’s voice filtered into his ear. “This is already better than movie night.”
* * * * *
“You’ve really done it now, Jolie. You got lost in the moment and now you’re screwed.”
The words came under her breath and were instantly swallowed by the wind tearing across the top of the tower. Shetightened her grip on the freezing metal railing, fingers already starting to ache through her gloves as another gust slammed into her hard enough to make the structure shudder under her boots.
This had been a good idea twenty minutes ago.
When she started climbing, the snow was a gentle fluff floating to earth in fat flakes. She just wanted a picture to send to her siblings, proof that she was out here having adventures.
By the time she made it halfway up the tower, the snow was falling faster. But she didn’t stop because no way could it get bad before she reached the top, snapped a photo and climbed back down.
Boy, was she wrong.
The wind howled again, rocking her whole body and making her boots slip on the frozen metal. She stuffed the camera hanging around her neck inside the neck of her coat, where it hung like a bulky reminder of her mistake.
Blinking through the thickly falling snow, she tried to make out anything but white. She couldn’t make out the trees she’d hiked through to reach the spot—just snow driving sideways so heavily she could barely see the section of railing three feet away.
“You absolute idiot,” she muttered, pressing her shoulder into the steel beam to steady herself. “This is exactly how people die doing something stupid.”
Jolie might not have gotten the chance to finish high school, but she thought she was smarter than this.
After her parents were killed in a tragic accident when she was sixteen, Jolie had stood in front of a family court judge and refused to let her younger siblings disappear into foster care, and somehow—with school records, part-time jobs, and sheer stubborn determination—she’d convinced the system to give her a chance. making sure they ate, got to school, had clothes that fit and lights that stayed on.
She’d quit school without a second thought and lied about her age on the employment application in order to take a night job so she could be there to keep her siblings in school. She’d worked herassoff.
Back then, sleep had been optional. Responsibility hadn’t. She made it work because she had to.
Later, when they were old enough to get themselves to school, she’d pivoted again. Finding a waitress job during the day had restored some of her hope that they could actually make it.
They’d made it through. The four of them.
Now they weren’t kids anymore. They were all standing on their own, working jobs or in college. Their lives didn’t revolve around her anymore. They checked in every day anyway—an old rule she’d put in place after she took over the family.
And right now? She was out of contact withthem.She couldn’t check in. She’d broken her own damn rule.
If she could just make her fingers work, she could get out her phone and let her “kids” know she was okay.
Or call for help.
She adjusted her grip on the railing, forcing her numb fingers to tighten. When the wind rocked her again, her stomach dropped. Fumbling in her pocket, she forced her fingers to clamp around her phone. Her stomach plummeted lower when she saw she had no signal. Zero bars. No way to send a quick message or answer the texts that were probably already stacking up.
“They’re going to lose it.” The wind ripped the words out of her mouth and stole her breath too.
Before she could suck in a gasp, another gust hit, stronger this time, shoving her hard enough that her boot slipped on theplatform. Her heart slammed into her throat as she grabbed the support and wrapped both arms around it.
She had to make it to the stairs. It was only a mere seven flights of steep, treacherous metal coated in ice and snow. Getting down would be perilous but not impossible.
She inched a foot forward. Hand over hand, she drew herself along the rail until she reached the stairs. Looking down, she could only make out the first flight—the other six were lost in a blur of white. But she knew they were open metal with no backs on them, so if she slipped, it was entirely possible that she’d just shoot out between them.
“One step at a time.” Her fingers ached from clutching the metal like her only lifeline. Pain was a good sign, right? If she could feel her fingers, they weren’t frostbitten.
Slowly, she edged toward the first step and settled her foot on the metal. A sudden sound cut through the wind. A faint whine at first, then louder.
Her head snapped toward it, and she strained to see through the whiteout. Wind didn’t sound like that.
“Hello?” she called even though she knew it wouldn’t carry.
