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Chapter 1

I remember waking cold, wet, shaking all over. And pain. Confusion. Something horrible lurked just beneath the surface of my mind, looming toward realization. Something so horrible that I wouldn’t be able to...

It hit me suddenly. Pendergast, intent on freeing me, trying to accomplish that and watch all the doors and corners at the same time. Me, seeing the approaching danger but able to make only unintelligible sounds through the gag. But it was enough to alert him, and I saw him hesitate for a split second, making the choice to cut my last binding before whirling to save himself. A fatal sacrifice. Not at all surprising, given what I had come to know about him.

I saw the gun being raised, saw Pendergast, rushing low in desperation, toward the point-blank powder burn that would surround the wound that would kill him. I do not remember thinking anything at that point, but I lurched from the chair, watching my right hand snatch a brick from the ramshackle fireplace and hail Mary it toward the assailant. My legs were numb and I started to fall. I heard the gun go off and a hoarse cry. A body thumped to the floor, echoing my own fall. I tried to raise my head enough to see him, tried to call out, but could manage only a whispered, “Pen...Penny...” Then nothing.

That’s all I remembered. Where I was and who had brought me there, I did not know. Just cold, shaking, and pain, but the physical pain paled before the horrible memory and the smothering realization that I had loved him. Numb again, in a different way, and not caring. I made myself a fleeting promise that was also a prayer, feeling myself going. Huge gray flowers suddenly bloomed before my eyes and I lost consciousness.

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Writing this is like returning to that room, to that pain. I do not wish to, and do so only because I know I must, as I must return also to each of the fourteen days that preceeded waking in that room; days of cruelty and captivity that I have mostly blacked out. I must try to remember it all if I am to know the secret. I shall write more each day, as much as I can bear. That’s it for today.

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Hands, busy at me, at my buttons and snaps and the zipper of my jeans. The tickle of wet clothing, pulled across my skin and away. Even colder now. The frigid air settles onto my exposed body like an eager, long-dead lover. My nipples tingle with rigidity. My teeth chatter in my head. I feel my jeans start sliding down and try to grab them, my hands too numb to know, for a moment, if I succeeded or not. Then I feel the jeans leave my feet, stripped away, and a pang of loss and helplessness tears a sob from my throat. I begin to thrash.

Someone is saying my name. “Cat...Cat!” Hoarse whispers.

Just like before. Busy hands, taking, helplessness. I swing my own hand and connect with flesh, hear a soft grunt. I swing again and my hand is caught in midair in a steel trap that quickly loosens to just enough pressure to contain me. The hoarse whisper resumes. “Cat, open your eyes. You are all right. Cat...you’re all right. Open your eyes and see.”

I have never been so afraid. I knew I’d taken all I could take, that if I opened my eyes and found myself back there, with him, I would die or go mad. A quick prayer for death skimmed across my mind. Better to die than to open my eyes, see the horror, and then die. I had thought myself ready for death before, but this was true longing. Total surrender. I stopped struggling and squeezed my eyes as tightly shut as I could.

An exasperated sigh. “No time for this. I’m truly sorry, but you’re freezing. And so am I.”

Something familiar about the voice, but not in its current hoarse, whispery state. I had no time to consider it because both my hands were suddenly caught together in a strong grip and I felt something happening to my legs. Something seemed to drape first one foot and calf, then the other. I began to squirm. Some lightweight material worked its way up first one thigh, then the other. Covered flesh warmed minutely and still-bare flesh seemed to crawl in anticipation. I was being redressed!

My eyes flew open to behold a white-blond head, turned away from me, hair raised in spiky icicles that glimmered in the dimness. More ice adorned the broad black shoulders, some cracking and sliding off with the hurried arm movements. A frigid hand slid under my ass and raised my hips roughly and I stiffened, a yell blossoming into and almost out of my mouth before the material was yanked up my hips and I was lowered. An icicle glance, and I recognized Pendergast looming over my nearly naked body.

I yelped. I think it was joy. Maybe just shock. Maybe fear that I really had lost my mind. It came out sounding like, “Oh!”

Laser stare of the pale blue eyes. “Help me. Longjohns have to be the worst possible clothing for trying to dress an unconscious and/or flailing person by oneself.”

A frigid arm slid around my back and lifted me again. “Put your arm in here.”

I remember being so frozen with shock and joy that I couldn’t breathe, let alone put my arm anywhere. But then his brisk manner and obvious confidence gave me strength, as it always had, and I managed to slip my fist into the stretchy sleeve. I was still shaking almost hard enough to make it impossible. My other arm was harder to control and I watched, fascinated, as Pendergast’s hand chased my own momentarily before capturing it and poking it into the other sleeve. A low but heartfelt “whew.” Then his hands were at my stomach, fumbling, and I realized that he, too, was shaking so hard he couldn’t find the zipper or whatever closed the red, clingy garment in front.

I forced my frozen jaw to move. “Let me. Take care of yourself.”

He saw that I really was back and maybe capable of finding the zipper as quickly as he could. He nodded curtly and was gone so suddenly that he seemed to wink out like a light. I fumbled now, feeling a hard ring but unable to grasp it, finally hooking a finger into it and pulling toward my face. The zipper slid up almost to my throat. I tried to force it higher for a little more warmth and couldn’t. My eyes began exploring my surroundings, and I saw Pendergast across the room, kneeling. A poof as though a ghost gasped, and meager light danced. He moved and I saw it was a fireplace, but the fire was very small. He fanned it for a moment, glanced at me, and began stripping off his own frozen garments, quickly baring a body that shone like his hair shone in the filtered light, like a white marble statue, well-defined musculature working and trembling in the cold. He stepped into his own red garment, quickly pulled it up, and zipped it. He used a discarded white garment to rub briskly and fleetingly at the ice in his hair. Then he turned, grabbed a worn horse blanket from a corner, and strode toward me. I realized that I was on some sort of small cot covered with the thinnest suggestion of a mattress. I started to speak but was too startled when he rolled onto the bed, spread the horse blanket over both of us, and took me in his arms.

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