Page 7 of Mountain Summons

Tristan’s heart sped up in his chest at the mention of the word. The first time they’d met, in the grocery store, Lena had been carrying a camera bag across her chest. She was a photographer. That had been one of the few personal things she’d been happy to talk about, and Tristan had loved the passion with which she discussed her work.

He forced a slow breath through, forcing himself to relax.It doesn’t have to be Lena.There were probably dozens of photographers in town.

“Her father gave the alert when he came home and she still wasn’t back.”

“She went out alone?”

“Yes,” a new voice said, startling them.

“Colonel Pelegrin,” Tristan said, standing up. He wasn’t surprised to learn the colonel was still in the office. The man worked harder than anybody else in thegendarmerie. What surprised Tristan was his pale countenance and disheveled look, so unlike his usual cool, fresh-pressed appearance.

In his hand, the colonel carried a small stack of photographs. He spread them out on the table in front of them.

Tristan’s heart did a double-take. Because there might be dozens of photographers in the Chamonix valley, but the last time they’d met, Lena had told him about the large family of chamois she’d been lucky to photograph.

Fuck.

The last picture in the colonel’s hand wasn’t of the agile goat-antelope mammals. It was of a young woman with wavy, burnished copper hair and beautiful hazel eyes.

“This is my daughter, Madeleine.”

The air left Tristan’s lungs. He gripped the table for support, but nobody seemed to notice because, at that moment, Lorenz, Alex, Hugo, and Ry stepped in through the doors. “We came as fast as we could.”

Because Tristan was still looking down, he saw how badly the colonel’s hands were shaking as he straightened the photographs. “Madeleine took these photographs several weeks ago, in the Col des Montets area,” he said, pointing at the wildlife photographs.

Tristan hadn’t even known the colonel was married or had children, let alone that his daughter … He pulled in a ragged breath.Fuck. He had to put aside his shock and focus on her.Treat this like any other rescue.

“She left a note saying she was going to look for the family of chamois again,” the colonel said in a shaky voice.

“When was that?”

“She was still there when I left this morning. She must have left shortly afterwards. She should have been back long before now.“ The colonel rubbed at his face and took a physical step back. “Beau, I’m going to need you to lead on this one.”

Beau nodded. “I’ll coordinate with Damien’s team. We’ll start at the Col des Montets and move out from there. Tristan, are you ready?”

It was the moment of truth. Tristan could tell them he knew Lena …Madeleine. Hell, heshouldtell them. A better man would tell his colleagues. He owed it to them. But Tristan wasn’t thatbetter man. Something inside him—something fierce, selfish and possessive—told him he had to be there. Talking about his relationship with Lena would slow the rescue down until they found another pilot, and that was something Lena couldn’t afford. The colonel didn’t have a choice. He had to stay back, but Tristan didn’t have to.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Does she have her cell phone with her?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” the colonel huffed. “I’ve tried calling her but, wherever she is, there’s no cell reception.”

“Give me her phone number, Colonel. Even if we can’t track her real-time, we can request cell tower logs to try and approximate her location.”

The colonel nodded, his face a mask of agony, and scribbled the number down.

While Beau organized the search, Tristan brought up the latest weather updates. It’d been raining all afternoon in town, and he needed to see what the weather would be like up by the col. Bad weather and night-time did not make good flying companions.

Lena

Of all the things she could be thinking about, it’d be Tristan’shands that would fill her thoughts. Or rather, his hands across the table from her, as they’d shared that first beer together. Strong, large, capable hands.

He’d told her he was a helicopter pilot, and she could easily imagine those hands, with their short, blunt nails, flying a helicopter, bringing tourists to remote locations, charming them with his knowledge of the valley.

Her thoughts roamed. She wondered why they’d never met before, when they’d both grown up in Chamonix. Probably because she was younger. How old was he? Probably close to thirty.

Oh, but those hands. She recalled the pleasure she’d felt when his hands had reached over across the table, those long fingers grazing her palm. She could just about imagine what his hands would feel like on her body …Warm.Warm, when she was so, so cold.

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