Chapter 5 - THE FROZEN TRAP
NO ESCAPE: The Chilling Betrayal That Changes Everything!
With James leaning heavily on her, Catherine fought her way up the slippery bank. Every step was an agony of physical exertion. James was a tall man, and his dead weight dragged her down. Her boots slipped on the ice; her hands were numb and bleeding.
They reached the top of the ridge just as the beam of a flashlight swept over the edge behind them.
“Hey! We’ve got footprints! Someone dragged him out!”
“Run,” James gasped, his face gray. “Leave me, Catherine. Take Melody and run. If they catch you—”
“Shut up,” Catherine snapped, her boardroom authority taking over. “I don't lose negotiations, and I don't leave people behind. Move!”
They stumbled through the blinding snow. The storm had reached peak intensity, a howling whiteout that made it impossible to see more than five feet ahead. It was a curse, but also their only salvation. It hid them from the mercenaries, but it also meant Catherine was losing her sense of direction.
Where was the trail? Where was the log where she had hidden Melody?
Suddenly, the silhouette of a small, dilapidated structure loomed out of the swirling white.
An old, abandoned state park ranger cabin. The windows were boarded up, the door hanging off its rusty hinges.
“In there,” Catherine whispered.
She dragged James inside, pulling him onto the dusty, frozen floorboards. The air inside was slightly warmer, shielded from the biting wind, but it was pitch black.
She collapsed beside him, panting heavily, her chest heaving. Her muscles screamed in protest.
“Melody...” James whispered, his eyes rolling back. “We have to get to Melody.”
“I know. She’s only a few hundred yards from here. But we can't go out there while they are hunting. We have to wait for them to pass.”
Through the gaps in the boarded-up window, Catherine saw a flash of light.
A figure was approaching the cabin.
It was one of the gunmen. He was moving slowly, his rifle raised, scanning the snow for fresh tracks. The blizzard was quickly filling in their footprints, but the trail of James’s blood was still visible in the pale light.
Catherine looked around the cabin desperately. There was no back exit. They were trapped in a wooden box.
If the gunman walked through that door, they were dead.
She looked at James, who was slipping into unconsciousness from blood loss. She looked at the blood trail leading straight to the door.
Think, Catherine, think, she told herself. In every bad contract, there is a loophole. In every hostile takeover, there is a weak point. Find the leverage.
The gunman reached the porch. The floorboards creaked under his heavy combat boots.
Catherine stood up, stepped into the center of the cabin, and raised her hands.
“Don't shoot!” she called out, her voice loud, clear, and perfectly calm. “I am unarmed! I am Catherine Walsh, CEO of Walsh Consulting!”
The door was kicked open. The blinding beam of a tactical flashlight hit her directly in the eyes. Behind it, the dark barrel of a rifle pointed straight at her chest.
“Where is James Hartley?” the gunman growled.
“He’s dead,” Catherine lied smoothly, her voice dropping into her signature, persuasive boardroom tone. “He bled out in the ravine. I tried to drag him, but he died ten minutes ago. I left him out there.”
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The gunman lowered the rifle slightly, but his grip remained tight. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m surviving,” Catherine said, taking a slow step forward, projecting absolute confidence. “And I’m about to make you a much better offer than Marcus Hartley ever could.”
