“I’ve got enough footage to put something together,” Bram said.
“Well, you definitely got enough to get Fin that cover,” Traci said. “Dude, you were on fire.”
Fin’s fingers flexed in his gloves. He probably shouldn’t have told them about it—not until it was confirmed—but his manager had texted him at the airport just before they’d taken off. He had a shot at National Adventurer’s “Athlete of the Year.” Hard to keep a nomination like that to himself.
“I’ve been gone a month,” Bram said. “So I’ve got some catching up to do before I put the movie together, but I’ll get some footage up on your website pretty quick.”
Fin didn’t give a damn about any of the website crap, but as a backcountry snowboarder, he made his living off endorsements, and the more popular his films, the more money he made. Hosting a site was a small price to pay if it meant he could make his living freeriding.
“And I can’t believe you fixed my drop-in.” Traci reached behind her for a fist bump, and Fin tapped her glove. “I’ve been with my coach seven years, and he couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. How did you see that I was taking it too fast?”
“That’s what he does,” one of the guys said.
“See?” Traci said. “You deserve that cover. I’m gonna frame it and send it to you with a case of Cristal.”
“Ha.” Bram chuckled. “Don’t waste champagne on Mr. My-Body-Is-My-Temple.”
Everyone liked to make fun of the Bowies for their clean living, but how did they think his three older brothers had crammed the shelves of their dad’s trophy room? The oldest, Will, had won the Men’s World Freestyle Games an unprecedented seven times.
And if you get the cover, you’ll finally have something in there.
Fin glanced ahead, relieved to see the spine had given way to broader mountain. He breathed easier knowing they were that much closer to a safe return.
“When do they decide?” Bram asked.
“The issue comes out in November,” another guy said.
“And it’s only June,” Traci said. “So the timing for this trip’s perfect. Just get that footage up.”
He didn’t do these trips to make the cover of a magazine, but he still wanted it. He wanted to see his brothers’ faces when he dropped the magazine in their laps. Winning “Athlete of the Year” would impress the hell out of them.
“Hey, so when’re we going out again?” his friend asked.
A lot went into planning a trip. Not only did Fin have to deal with everyone’s schedules, but he had to organize insurance and supplies and work with foreign governments. Given his requirement that all his teammates be certified in avalanche rescue and wilderness first responder classes, Fin tended to travel with the same crew. It just made it easier. Although, of course, this time Traci had been an exception.
“I’m hanging out with my godson while Ryder’s on his honeymoon,” Fin said. “But I’ll start planning right after that.” He kept a wish list of remote mountains no one had ever visited.
“Don’t even talk about it,” Traci said. “There’s no way I can go back out with you. It was hard enough getting my coach to let me go on this trip. He’ll never let me go a second time.” She grumbled. “Oh, my God, you guys, I want off this mountain so bad. You can have your burgers and showers. All I want’s a pedicure. My feet are freaking gnarly.”
No matter how broken-in the boots, the steep descent on a mountain summit meant bloody, numb toes.
“Swear to God, that’s the first—” Traci’s voice cut off with a grunt. One moment the sun glanced off her blonde, shiny hair, and the next she was gone.
Fin’s harness jerked hard. Shit. “Trace?” Heart pounding, he dropped to the ground, rolled onto his belly, and jammed his axe into the crusty snow. The third guy on his rope team mimicked his actions, and they both kicked the tips of their boots into the snow until they got a solid grip. “Traci?” Still no answer. Dammit.
Once secured, he pulled out his axe and jabbed it into a new spot, digging deep until it hit harder packed snow. He twisted until it could hold several hundred pounds of weight.
The other three-man team had already leapt into action. Bram dropped his pack and pulled out his satellite phone.
“Traci,” one of the guys called. “Talk to me.”
The world went silent as Fin waited for her response. When it didn’t immediately come, Fin called, “You see her?” No matter how deep the crevasse she’d fallen in, the rope would ensure she didn’t drop more than fifteen feet. He just hoped she didn’t crack her head on the ice or break her back in the fall.
“I see her. She’s wedged in pretty tight. Gonna need a Z-pulley.”
“On it.” Boots crunched in the snow as the other two guys on the team got to work.
“Let me see if I can get her.” On his knees, Bram reached into the narrow drop.
A moment later, Traci let out a terrible cry of anguish.
Fuck, she’s hurt.
“Okay, okay.” Bram turned to them with a concerned expression.
“My leg.” Traci’s voice sounded strained.
Fin had to get to her—now—but he couldn’t move until they’d set up the anchor. “Come on, man.”
“Hang on, Trace,” someone said. “We’re on it.”
“Can’t…breathe,” she said.
Fin shot a look to the guys setting up the pulley. Ready? One of them gave a curt nod.
The moment Fin transferred his rope to the anchor, he jumped to his feet. Dumping his backpack, he peered over the edge of the narrow crevasse to see her suspended between the icy walls. Pure blackness beneath her let him know the hole ran deep.
“I got you, okay?” He kept his voice calm, but blood roared in his ears. “Give me two minutes.” He dropped to his knees beside his pack.
“Fin,” Traci called.
It sucked to hear the fear in her voice. “I’m right here.” He needed to keep her calm, so he went with distraction. “Which leg, Trace?”
“Um...” The word game out breathy, laced in pain. “Right?”
“What do you think you did to it?” He pulled rope from his backpack and tossed it to one of his teammates. Together, they set up an anchor.
“Hurts. So bad.”
“Here I come.” With the rope tied to his harness, Fin dropped into the crevasse, kicking his crampons into the ice to get a foothold. “Right here.”
She let out a ragged breath. “My knee.”
“Bram already called the heli. It’s on its way. We’ll get you all fixed up, promise.” Knees bent, weight carried on his thighs, Fin got close enough to make a quick assessment. Tipping his head back, he called, “Gotta cut the pack off her. Toss me a rope.” With his teeth he tugged off his glove and shoved it under the harness. Touching her chin, he made it seem like he was giving her comfort, but his thumb flicked over her neck until he found her pulse. Thready.
Dammit. Pulling his knife from his pocket, his painfully cold and stiff fingers unsheathed it, and he sliced through the straps of her pack. Then, thighs burning, he tied the rope to the loop and yanked on it. “Go.”