Chapter Forty

“Get in there!”

Cursing, Arnold shoved her into the old cabin before he slammed the door behind them. Sylvia backed away, still glaring at him, rubbing her half-frozen wrists that he’d bruised with his sinewy grip.

They’d walked for three hours in the frozen rain, up the snowy, rutted dirt road on foot after Arnold’s Ferrari had slid on a patch of ice and blown a tire. Her black dress and thin black coat couldn’t hold up against these wintry conditions. Her black leather pumps were soaked through, her feet like ice, and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be warm. She didn’t know if she would ever feel warm again.

But still, when Sylvia had seen the cabin in the clearing, she’d tried to run away. She’d turned blindly back toward the woods to take her chances in the frozen mountains. But Arnold had had other ideas. Now, he blocked the door, locking it behind him.

“What is this place?” she choked out, huddling near the cold fireplace.

“Laila’s great-grandfather built it.” He look