Escape from Ice Mountain
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Cassie Miles
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21
Chapter One
Timing was everything. In the next fifty-five minutes, Jordan Reese-Waltham would be on her way to freedom with her twin sons. Her countdown began when she was in the kitchen of the stucco, tile and flagstone mansion in the forested hills outside Flagstaff, Arizona. For almost five years, she’d shared this palatial home with her ex-husband, Hugh Waltham, and she’d learned everything about the property—details that were vital to the success of her mission.
At 7:34 p.m., Jordan stepped away from the chopping block, wiped her eight-inch stainless steel knife and slipped the razor-edged blade into a leather sheath. On the opposite side of her belt, she carried another holstered weapon: an expandable, titanium baton that opened to twenty-six inches and could be lethal when used properly in martial arts, which was one of her most well-practiced skills. Also, she was a decent chef—good enough to pose as a caterer.
Exiting the kitchen, she carried a platter of savory hors d’oeuvres into the ballroom. Her uniform—white shirt and black slacks—included a puffy chef toque over her curly brown hair, a gray pin-striped apron and the black surgical mask required for the catering staff. A decent disguise. Not that she’d be recognized at this posh event. The guests in attendance seldom paid attention to the help.
It was 7:36 p.m., which meant she had ten minutes to scan the ballroom, entryway and staircases to assess potential threats. She set her platter on a linen-covered buffet table, adjusted her thick woven leather bracelets and began fussing with other bits of food. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed in the lavish decor. All of it—the crystal chandeliers, gold-filigreed sconces and marble floors—still made her uncomfortable with its over-the-top display of wealth.
Tonight’s event was a fundraiser to kick off Hugh’s campaign for the US Senate. The ostentatious setting was appropriate for men in tailored suits carrying cash-heavy wallets and bejeweled women draped in designer gowns. Once, she’d been one of them.
Jordan positioned herself to see the entry foyer where Hugh stood beside his fiancée, Helena. His security chief, Ray Gruber, observed those who were entering. Gorilla Gruber had long arms, heavy shoulders and a sloping forehead like a Neanderthal. He looked relatively civilized in his three-piece suit, but she knew he was a monster. Three months and six days ago, he’d nearly killed her. His assault was called a suicide attempt and landed her in a mental health institute under lock and key. Someday, she’d get even with Gruber. But not tonight.
For the sake of her children, she needed to stay on schedule. It was 7:39 p.m. As she expected, the gracious, curving staircase to the left of the doorway was guarded and cordoned off with a velvet rope. More security guards were stationed throughout the ballroom.
At the end of a serving table, three stunning, classy ladies had gathered. Their smiles were uncomfortable. Their glances, furtive. Jordan suspected they were talking about her. After adjusting her mask, she edged closer to eavesdrop on her former associates—political wives.
The tallest was a former, one-named supermodel, Sierra, who would never admit to being over thirty. She flipped her long, auburn hair and said, “I guess none of us have heard from Jordan. She’s been in the Gateway Institute for over three months. Does that sound about right?”
“I just don’t understand why a woman who seems to have everything—a handsome husband, beautiful house, tons of money and healthy twin boys—would attempt suicide.”
“I never thought she was suicidal. My friend was brave and strong,” Abigail said, quick to defend Jordan. “When she was working full-time before the kids were born, she was a respected journalist, embedded with the troops in combat zones in the Middle East. She covered politics in the US House of Representatives.”
“Which was where she met Hugh,” Sierra added.
“But he’s not a congressman,” said the trophy wife. “Not like my hubby.”
“Wake up, sweetie.” The model sneered. “Hugh is a consultant for several of our husbands. He gets our boys elected, and he’s more powerful and connected than any of them.”
“Is that why he dumped Jordan? Trading her in for a newer model?”
“She did the dumping,” Abigail said. “Jordan moved out over a year ago with the kids. I always thought she should have married a guy she got close to a long time ago when she reported on the troops. A far better man than Hugh Waltham. A marine with chiseled abs and the sweetest dimples.”
Standing by a basket of fresh-baked breads, Jordan stiffened. Stop talking, Abigail. She didn’t want her friend to mention Blake Delaney. He was essential to her escape plans, and she needed to downplay the connection between them.
Abigail continued, “I only met him once and never forgot the way he looked at her. If he knew Jordan was in the hospital, he’d be here at her side.”
Nervous, she fidgeted. Am I going to have to shove a baguette down Abigail’s throat to make her be quiet?
Sierra interrupted. “I never cared for Jordan’s hard news. I liked it better when she did those cute undercover assignments, like when she pretended to be a chef or a stuntwoman or a fashion designer.”
“Fluff pieces.” Abigail scoffed. “Not worthy of her talent.”
Jordan appreciated the compliment. Though they came from different generations, Abigail counted as one of her best friends.
“She’s been in the Institute for months,” said the trophy wife. “What’s really wrong with her?”
“I heard she had other mental problems,” said Sierra.
Jordan looked away from the conversation. Absently, she twisted her bracelets. Hugh was a master manipulator. He’d turned everything to his advantage, building a platform for his candidacy as a mental health advocate and using Jordan as an example of how the current system had failed.
His buddy, Dr. Stephen Merchant, ran the Institute where she’d been incarcerated, drugged and misdiagnosed. As soon as she got her kids safely away from Hugh, she’d find a way to expose Hugh, Dr. Merchant and all their cronies.
After one last scan of the ballroom, she returned to the kitchen and glanced down at the wristwatch above her bracelet. Her time was 7:46 p.m., right on schedule for the next phase of her plan. Since the front staircase was cordoned off and guarded, she needed a different access to the second-floor bedroom shared by her twins. The back stairway from the kitchen was locked. Picking it would arouse suspicion, but Jordan knew another route.
With a wave to the guy who had hired her to work for him as a caterer, she signaled that she was slipping out for a smoke. Once outside, she removed the mask. The October temperature was in the low fifties with a crisp, piñon pine–scented breeze. During the years she’d lived here, she’d explored every inch of the mansion and surrounding grounds. The place held no secrets from her, and she doubted that her ex-husband had changed anything. Why should he? This was his house. Everything suited him.
She circled the glass-enclosed turquoise swimming pool and ran to a gardener’s shed hidden in the trees at the edge of the forest where she peeled off her caterer’s outfit that was too white and bright for stealth. Underneath, she wore black leggings and a fitted, black, nylon hoodie. She stuffed the apron, toque and shirt into a backpack that she’d take with her so her friend in the catering business wouldn’t get in trouble. Wearing a second backpack she’d stashed here earlier, she put on black gloves and darted through the night like a fleeting shadow.
At the far end of the house, she climbed a rose trellis as she’d done many times before. Several feet off the ground, she reached toward the window to the bathroom that adjoined the twins’ bedroom and prayed that security hadn’t noticed the window lock that had never fastened properly. She was in luck. The lock twisted and the window opened. After getting her balance on the ledge, she lowered herself inside.
Her watch read 7:58 p.m. Perfect timing. Whenever she and Hugh entertained, they made a point of coming to the twins’ bedroom at exactly eight o’clock to tuck them in. Even though she wasn’t here to remind him, he’d probably follow that routine.
Silently, she opened the bathroom door a crack so she could hear what was happening in the bedroom. The boys were talking about superheroes. The last time she’d seen them—when their father brought them to the Institute to show them that it was a lovely place with marble sculptures and a garden—Jordan had been drugged into a near stupor. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing.
Now, she was a different person, alert and revitalized. The sweet sound of her children’s voices echoed in her ears with perfect harmony, even though they were arguing.
“It’s way better to be super strong,” said Alex. “If anybody gets in your way, you can punch them in the nose.”
“I’d rather turn invisible,” said Cooper, who had been a Harry Potter fan since birth. “And cast magic spells.”
“You’re a butthead.”
“If I had a magic wand, I’d make you into a frog.”
“Frogman,” Alex said. “I’d swim faster than a shark.”
Jordan’s chest swelled with pride. Her sons were not only smart, but they were funny. She could hardly wait to wrap her arms around them. Their bedroom door opened with a click, and she stiffened, preparing herself to hear Hugh’s voice.
Instead, the sound was high-pitched and feminine. “How are my two favorite guys?”
“I’m fine, Helena.” Alex was only five years old but managed to sound gruff. “You’re wearing my mom’s necklace.”
“Gosh, I don’t think so.” Hugh’s fiancée gave a twittering laugh. “Does it look good with my dress?”
“How should I know?” Alex muttered.
“Will you help me?” Cooper sounded friendlier. “Will you deliver a letter? In person.”
“Sure thing, cutie-pie.”
“This is important,” Cooper said. “It’s for Mom. I’ve sent her about a million letters, and she never answers. I don’t think she’s getting her mail.”
Jordan hadn’t seen a single note from either of the twins, and it was safe to assume that the letters she’d sent to them hadn’t been delivered. No doubt, Dr. Merchant had cut off that possible communication. She had had no visitors, no telephone privileges and no access to a computer. They had wanted to keep her isolated. But she’d figured out how to get around the restrictions and tap into the Institute’s internet system, where she connected to the underground network used in her reporting.
“I’ll give her the letter,” said Helena. “Did you boys take your pills?”
“Why doesn’t Mommy write back?” Jordan heard the pain in her son’s voice. He continued, “Did she forget about us?”
“Your mother,” said Helena, “is very sick. Don’t think about her, okay?”
“Where’s Dad?” Alex demanded.
“He’s very busy, but he sends a hug and a kiss. Get into bed.”
“I want a story,” Cooper said. “Read to us.”
“Sorry, boys. I’ve got to go.”
Another voice joined the conversation. “I’d be happy to read something.”
Abigail! What on earth was she doing here? Jordan held her breath. She hadn’t planned for this interruption. There wasn’t time. The clock was ticking, and she had to be out of the house with the boys before half past eight when the security team would make their hourly sweep of the grounds. At 8:09 p.m., there were only twenty-one minutes left.
“Thanks, Abigail,” Helena snapped. “But I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not here for you.” When she tried, she could put the authority of age into her voice. Helena didn’t stand a chance against her. Abigail said, “Come here, boys.”
Jordan heard her sons jumping out of bed and rushing to Abigail. There were happy sounds of laughter, babbling and snuggles. Desperately, Jordan wanted to be in that room, wanted to hug them, kiss them and rub her cheek against their soft brown hair.
“That’s enough,” Helena said. “I need to get back to the fundraiser.”
“Sorry if I disturbed you,” Abigail said. “I remembered that Hugh and Jordan always came upstairs at eight o’clock to tuck the boys in, and I wanted to see them.”
“Now you have. Let’s go.”
“Sure thing. But first I need to go to the bathroom.”
Jordan heard Abigail’s voice coming closer and ducked behind the shower curtain before her friend stepped inside, flicked on the light and closed the door. “Jordan, are you in here?”
She pulled aside the curtain. “How did you know?”
“Did you really think I couldn’t see through your disguise?”
She pulled Abigail into a hug. “No time to talk.”
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
“I don’t want you involved,” Jordan said firmly. “Hugh and Gruber are dangerous. The best thing you can do is walk away.”
Abigail ran water in the sink and flushed the toilet. “I’ve been in touch with Blake. He’s back from the Middle East.”
Stunned, Jordan couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “Why?”
“When you were eavesdropping, you must have heard what I said about Blake. He was worried when he couldn’t get ahold of you. Finally, he contacted me.”
“Go. Read to the boys. I’ll join you in a minute.”
When Abigail closed the bathroom door, Jordan sank onto the closed toilet seat. Blake was worried about her. Over the years, she’d thought of him so many times. If she had believed in soul mates, he would be hers. But their relationship hadn’t worked seven years ago. They’d both been too dedicated to their careers.
Listening to the voices from the bedroom, she heard Helena leaving as Abigail settled down to read The Hobbit. The time was 8:13 p.m. Jordan had to go now, right now. But she hesitated.
Blake was back in the States. His unexpected arrival could ruin everything. Her plan had been to take the twins to Blake’s cabin in Colorado where she’d once spent five amazing days with him. Since he was supposed to be stationed overseas, his house ought to be vacant. No one would think to look for her there. But now...
Fear surged through her veins. For the first time tonight, she doubted her ability to pull off this escape. So many things could go wrong. An orderly at the Institute could notice she was gone from her bedroom. The car she’d hidden at the edge of the property might be found and towed. Hugh’s security staff, led by Gorilla Gruber, could catch them.
But she couldn’t leave her boys here. Couldn’t stop now.
She slipped through the door from the bathroom into the dimly lit bedroom where both of her sons were in their beds. Jordan placed a finger across her lips, signaling silence as Abigail stopped reading. Keeping her voice low and calm, Jordan said, “You have to be very quiet. Nobody can know what we’re doing.”
Kneeling, she held out her arms. Alex threw off his covers and bounded toward her. His skinny arms clamped around her with surprising strength. Cooper was less aggressive. He nestled close and whispered, “I knew you didn’t forget us. I knew you’d come back.”
After a handful of kisses, she issued orders to the boys. “Don’t bother changing clothes. Put on your shoes and jackets. Throw some jeans and T-shirts in your backpacks. Do it fast.”
Like little energy balls, they burst into action.
She turned to Abigail. “Are there guards posted outside the bedroom?”
“Only one. I’ll distract him.”
“And then, you’ll forget you ever saw me. I mean it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“How are you getting out?”
“I’ll take the boys across the landing to the back stairway.”
“If I wasn’t here, what would you have done?”
“I’m armed.” Jordan patted her expandable, martial arts baton. “But I’d rather not use violence in front of the kids.”
Abigail slipped out the bedroom door and went directly to the security guard. Though Jordan couldn’t hear her conversation, she could tell that her friend was apparently claiming that she felt sick and needed help. The guard escorted her down the hallway to the staircase.
The time was 8:21 p.m. Nine minutes until the security sweep at the half hour. She drew the boys close to her. “We’re going downstairs into the basement, then outside. Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Cooper said, rubbing his eyes.
“Did you take the pills Helena gave you?”
Cooper nodded while Alex said, “No way. I don’t like being sleepy.”
“Try to keep up, boys. Be quiet, like ninjas.”
After crossing the landing, they reached the stairway that descended to the kitchen level and then below it. In the basement, a single bulb lit the corridor. Years ago, she’d explored down here and remembered the layout. The wine cellar was in a room to the right.
Jordan went left through darkened rooms used for storage. Though tired, Cooper gamely followed, stumbling with every other step. Alex was bright-eyed and energetic, darting beside her like a small, nocturnal creature.
When she pushed open the door leading to the backyard, she used moonlight to check her wristwatch. It was 8:27 p.m. In three minutes, it would be too late.
She lifted Cooper into her arms. “Stick with me, Alex.”
Together, they ran to the gardener’s shed. When they ducked inside, the lights in the backyard burst into full illumination displaying the well-tended landscaping. Had they made it?
From the corner of her eye, she saw a man leaving the forest, coming out of nowhere. A tall, handsome marine wearing his dress blues. Blake Delaney.
He joined her in the shed and shut the door. Darkness surrounded them. For the first time in three months, she felt safe.
