Hard Line - Pamela Clare Page 0,1
night after he’d failed to say anything about her expensive new shoes. He hadn’t even noticed them. Amy had broken down on the phone, accusing him of being cold and uncaring. He hadn’t known what to say. How could anyone care that much about something as frivolous as shoes?
Thor’s time in Greenland had stripped him down, bared his strengths and weaknesses, testing him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. It had helped him make peace with what he’d done in Afghanistan. It had showed him who he really was. He had no interest in small talk, and he didn’t give a damn about shoes or possessions or fast cars or any of that stuff. They were overfladisk.
He searched for the English word.
Superficious? Superfictal? Superfiscal?
He wasn’t sure.
Plus esse, quam simultatur.
Hellere at være, end at synes.
It was the motto of the Jægerkorpset—the elite Huntsman Corps—but it might as well be Thor’s credo.
Rather to be than to seem.
Either he would meet a woman who meshed with his lifestyle, or he wouldn’t. He’d already lived most of his adult life in the all-male world of spec-ops, serving first in the Jægerkorpset in Afghanistan before making the cut for Sirius. He had a lot of practice channeling his sexual energy into his work—and jacking off when he needed release. It wasn’t as pleasurable as a night with a woman, but it was less complicated.
No emotional messiness. No one to disappoint.
He took another drink of his beer, let his mind go blank, and watched the sun dip below the horizon, its last rays turning the sky pink.
Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz.
His cell phone vibrated.
He drew it out of his pocket.
It was Derek Tower, his boss and one of the two owners of Cobra.
“Isaksen here.”
“Get your cold-weather gear together and drive to HQ. We’ll meet you there and head straight to the airport. We’re flying to Christchurch, New Zealand, and from there, we catch an Air Guard flight to Antarctica.”
Thor stood. “Did you say Antarctica?”
English wasn’t his mother tongue. He must have misunderstood.
“We’re going to Pole—Amundsen-Scott Station.”
Hold dog kæft.
Shut the fuck up.
Thor had a hundred questions, but he knew Tower couldn’t say much over the phone. “I understand.”
The South Pole had been on Thor’s wish list for years.
“It’s Antarctic winter, and this operation is going to be extremely high-risk. Just getting to the job site is going to be the most dangerous thing we do this year. I’m asking only those of you who aren’t attached—you, Jones, Segal. But if you want to opt out—”
“I’m in, sir.”
Thor wouldn’t miss this for anything.
Amundsen-Scott Station
South Pole
Samantha Park stared at Dr. Decker, his words hitting her like a fist, driving the breath from her lungs. “She’s … dead?”
Decker nodded, jaw tight, lips pressed in a tight line. “I’m sorry, Sam. We did everything we could, but it was too late.”
Samantha shook her head. “No! No, no. This can’t be happening.”
Patty couldn’t be dead. She was only thirty-two, healthy and active. She’d been fine yesterday.
Decker wrapped an arm around Samantha’s shoulder and shepherded her into the infirmary. “Sit down. I don’t want you fainting on me.”
“I don’t faint.” She sat.
“I know you and Patty were close.”
Samantha nodded, her throat tight, tears stinging her eyes. “We went to grad school together. We were … uh … housemates, too. This is our second year as winter-overs. She’s my best friend.”
Why was it so hard to think?
Shouts. Footfalls. Whispers.
Lance stuck his head inside, his brown hair disheveled as if he’d just gotten out of bed. “Sam? What’s going on? Where’s Patty?”
Sam looked up, shook her head, unable to say it.
Lance and Patty had been lovers for the past six weeks or so. Though most relationships on the ice were temporary and forgotten the moment people boarded the plane home, Patty had told Samantha last week that Lance might be different.
Decker gave him the awful news. “I’m sorry, Lance. Patty’s dead.”
“What?” Lance gaped at Decker, his face going pale. “She was fine last night.”
“Sam found her in her bed this morning, unconscious and barely breathing. We intubated her, bagged her, got fluids going. She went into V-tach. We did chest compressions, defibrillated her, and pushed the meds—epinephrine, lidocaine, bicarb—but she bottomed out. Her heart stopped, and we couldn’t bring her back.”
“Keep trying!” Lance pushed past Decker.
Decker grabbed for him. “Lance, stop! You don’t want to see this.”
But Lance was quicker. He jerked aside the curtain that shielded Patty’s body from their view—and froze. “Jesus.”
Samantha gasped.
Patty lay there, unmoving and shirtless, her skin pallid, her eyes staring unseeing at