Chapter One
Zoey
“It’s magical here,” I breathe as the little Toyota I rented chugs up the snowy mountainside to Big Bear Lodge in Lake Tahoe. I’m meeting my friends for a Galentine’s Getaway this week. Like me, the girls are all romance writers, and we plan to spend Galentine’s Day together celebrating our friendship and working on our books.
We’ve been friends since we met in a chat room for aspiring romance authors. Now, the six of us are as close as sisters. Well, closer than sisters if you look at me and my twin sister. Our writing group gets together for retreats as often as possible, and we always end up having hours of fun.
Woofer, my little one-eyed Chihuahua, whines from the backseat. He’s probably wishing he were at home in Charleston, South Carolina. The weather there is a lot warmer in February.
Reaching for the vents, I aim it at the backseat in the hopes my little doggy will stay warm. I adopted him from the shelter last year, and we’ve become fast friends. It broke my heart when I was volunteering at the day-long adoption event. Family after family overlooked the little guy just because he lost an eye to glaucoma. It sucks when no one wants you just because you’re a little bit different.
I glance at the odometer, and my heart sinks. We still have another ten miles up the road before I arrive at the lodge. The miles are crawling by since I’m inching up the mountain. Even with the promised snow tires, I don’t feel comfortable driving in this winter wonderland.
When he whines again, I look in the rearview mirror. “Do you have to go as bad as I do?”
It’s not like the mountain has rest stops or gas stations on it. No, the beautiful remote location means we’re on our own until we make it up to our cabin. Except I don’t think I can wait that long. The extra-large hot chocolate was too much for me.
“Alright, if you promise that we won’t fall off the mountain, we can stop,” I tell him.
Woofer sighs in relief as I navigate the car to a spot on the side of the road. If we walk into the clearing a little bit, no one should be able to see us even if they do happen to drive along. Not that I expect another car to come through here. There isn’t a lot of traffic on the mountain.
I let my little dog do his business before I wrap his leash around the branch of one of the barren trees. That’s when I realize my predicament. The snowy landscape means there are no leaves or brush visible. There’s nothing to dry off with afterwards.
Glancing at the tree, I see a fine covering of a brown vine over the trunk and branches. Little white berries are clumped together on the hairy plant. The vine isn’t the ideal solution, but it’s going to have to do.
The wind howls as I do my business, and I have to work to stay balanced despite my wide hips and curvy figure. I went camping when I was younger, but I always had access to a working toilet. Now, I’m exposed to the elements. My ass actually stings from the cold, and every breath comes out as a small puff in the frigid air.
“This feels like the opening to one of those urban legends where the girl disappears mysteriously,” I tell Woofer, trying to concentrate on something other than my numb fingers. Whose idea was it for us to go to a snowy lodge again?
He cocks his head, the way he does when I’m telling him the details of one of my romance books. He’s a great listener. I’ve often joked with my friends that Woofer is the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. He’s loyal, patient, and always listens to me.
He lets out a bark and stares intently into a patch of nearby trees.
“Don’t you spook me like this,” I hiss at my dog, all thoughts of the cold forgotten.
I squint at the same trees, desperately hoping we’re alone. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as every creepy horror movie I’ve ever seen goes through my head. The call was coming from inside the house.
“You know what? We’re going to sing a song,” I say. It’s what my Nana who raised me taught me to do any time I became scared or overwhelmed. By the time I’m halfway through the chorus, I’m starting to feel less frightened. There’s nothing in the trees. Woofer and I just have overactive imaginations.
I reach for the hairy vine, still singing. I’ve just grazed it with my mitten when a loud, masculine voice yells, “Freeze.”
I stop, my ass in the air and my heart pounding. Serial killers aren’t supposed to announce themselves, are they? Is that against the rules in a horror movie? I can’t remember.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch that vine again,” he commands in a gritty tone.
I’m supposed to say something sassy and brave. I should show the viewers that I’m a plucky heroine they can root for, not the dumb redhead that goes down into the creepy basement and deserves to be bludgeoned. “Stop spying on me, you pervert!”
Gathering my courage, I glance over my shoulder. I should look him in the eye and assert dominance. Does that work on mountain perverts?
Suddenly, I’m staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the exact shade of the Atlantic right after a storm has rolled in. His dark hair is tousled, and his thick beard has me remembering the way that Hugh Jackman in Wolverine makes my panties wet.
He’s wearing a uniform that identifies him as the local sheriff. He’s easily the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life, and I’m squatting here with my pants around my ankles.
***
Brock
The Toyota on the side of the mountain has me sighing. Every so often, I get a couple of tourists that get lost here in South Tahoe. Usually, they’re found safe and sound within a few hours. Though, sometimes, they aren’t. Those are the hard days.
I make a call to dispatch. My sister, Piper, is on duty. She’s been working at the local police department since the day she graduated high school.
I don’t bother waiting for her to run the plates. I’m already guessing that it’s a rental. We can get the name, but it’ll take some time. Since I hate sitting around, I get out of my cruiser.
The driver’s side door is open, making me wonder briefly about foul play. Then I remember where I am. South Tahoe is a little tourist town. Bad stuff usually doesn’t happen here. But it’s hard to keep that in mind after years spent in a big city with a high crime rate.
Pressing my hand to the hood of the car, relief goes through me when I realize it’s still warm. It means our missing tourist should be close by.
Tracks through the snow lead into the forest. They’re small steps, a woman maybe and definitely some kind of four-legged animal with her. I’m about to relay this new information to dispatch when I hear the noise of someone in pain. It’s a haunting noise, and I quickly untap my holster. There was no blood back at the car, but that doesn’t mean much to me.
I’ve just grabbed my radio when I realize no one is being hurt. The sound is a woman making a dreadful warble. It’s the worst rendition of “We Will Rock You” that I’ve heard in my life.
Two more steps and I spot her through the clearing. She’s hunched in the snow, her perfect heart-shaped ass on display. I can die a happy man now because I’ve seen the eighth wonder of the world, and it is spectacular.
She continues her seventies cover. There’s something about that messy red hair and the off-key voice that instantly make my cock go hard.
I start to clear my throat, but I don’t want to frighten her or the little dog that’s tied to a tree a few feet away from her. He yips in time to the beat as if they’ve been practicing together for years. Unfortunately, practice hasn’t made perfect for either one of them.
She straightens and shuffles to the nearest tree with her dark wash blue jeans around her ankles. Instantly, I recognize she’s reaching for the hairy vine that covers the trunk.
There aren’t a lot of potential tissue substitutes around in the winter wonderland. But that’s the wrong thing to choose. “Freeze!”
She instantly freezes, holding her hands up like I have a weapon raised. Then her shoulders tighten, and I can practically feel her trying to gather her courage. Still, her voice shakes just the tiniest bit when she says, “Stop spying on me, you pervert!”
Then as if in slow motion, she glances over her shoulder.
Attraction punches me in the gut. Her eyes are the prettiest shade of green I’ve ever seen. They’re gemstone green, the color of a perfect emerald. But they’re wide with a mix of fear and anger.
I hate that I startled her and made her afraid. Clearing my throat, I say, “Whatever you do, don’t touch that vine again. It’s poison ivy.”
She mutters something about it looking different in the winter while I keep standing there like an idiot. You’d think I was fourteen again and had forgotten how to talk to a girl. “Napkins. I got napkins.”
But she’s already pulling up her pants, her face a deep shade of red. She unties her dog from a nearby tree with short, jerky movements. “Do you always walk through the woods quiet as a ghost, Sheriff?”