Snow Angel: Rebirth

Chapter Seven

Jake and Doc stepped to the far corner of the cabin, speaking quietly to keep their voices from carrying to the bed.

“You’re right; this isn’t a standard domestic dispute,” Doc said, leaning his weight against the wooden table. “She’s been controlled long-term. A pattern like that doesn’t end in the woods unless something broke the loop. Either she escaped, or she was positioned. They wanted her close enough to be discovered, but not soon enough to survive. The other option is she ran and they lost her in the terrain — which is unlikely given her condition. Either way, they’ll come back for the body.”

“They will,” Jake said. “Men like Haldron don’t walk away from unfinished business. He thinks she’s already dead.”

The cabin went dead quiet except for the low crackle of the fire.

“If it’s the second,” Jake murmured, voice dropping to a freezing whisper, “then we’re already behind. Let’s start preparing for contact.”

***

Daylight filled the cabin when she opened her eyes. The glare reflecting off the fresh snow outside the window caused a sharp ache that made them water. She winced, shifting slightly — and froze as pain flared along her ribs.

Through the haze, she saw them.

Jake sat by the hearth, a book resting in his hands, though he hadn’t turned a page in a long while. Firelight brushed across the hard planes of his face, catching the faint lines carved by years of sun, sand, and sleepless nights. His hair — dark and thick, with only the slightest dusting of silver at the temples — was the one feature that didn’t announce his military past. It fell in a slight wave, brushing the tops of his eyebrows, unkempt and windblown.

His complexion held the deep, weathered bronze of a man who’d spent half his life under unforgiving skies. A strong, square jaw framed his mouth, the stubble along it mostly dark with just a hint of gray that made him look more seasoned than old. His nose had a slight bend from an old break, and a thin scar traced the edge of his cheekbone — a pale reminder of a fight he never talked about.

Broad shoulders filled the flannel shirt he wore, the fabric stretched across a chest built from years of carrying gear, bodies, and burdens. His forearms were corded with muscle, the kind earned through work, not vanity. Even sitting still, he radiated a quiet readiness — the coiled awareness of someone who had learned the hard way that danger rarely announces itself.

But it was his eyes that held the truth. Steel‑gray. Sharp. Haunted. The kind of eyes that had seen too much and remembered all of it.

He lifted them from the book, not because he was reading, but because he was listening — always listening. Concern flickered there, steady, and unspoken, as he watched the woman on the bed breathe.

Doc sat at the nearby table, meticulously cleaning a set of surgical instruments. When Gemma shifted, just slightly, Jake’s gaze snapped toward her. Doc paused his work, his analytical eyes shifting to evaluate her position.

Jake set the book aside and rose, walking to the edge of the mattress.

Relief washed over Gemma — cold, sudden, disorienting. She hadn’t been dreaming. She was out. Somehow, she’d escaped the compound. But the terror didn’t leave her. Michael could be out there right now, searching the mountain, getting closer with each passing moment.

“Water…” Her voice was a dry whisper.

“I’ve got you.” Jake gently lifted her head. Her hands shook so badly he kept hold of the glass, guiding the rim to her lips. She drank quickly, the cold liquid soothing her raw throat, but the effort left her chest heaving.

She sank back into the pillow, eyes glassy. Doc leaned back in his chair, listening in silent, respectful observation as Gemma began to speak.

“My husband tried to kill me,” she whispered. “He was so brutal… and then he told them to kill me. I thought he was a good man.”

Jake tried to make sense of it. “Your husband did this to you? Michael Haldron. The guy who shakes hands with presidents and kingmakers?”

“He wasn’t always… this,” she said. “He knew exactly how to be everything I wanted — until he didn’t need to pretend anymore.”

The words were disjointed at first, falling from her lips in short, exhausted fragments.

She spoke of a wine tasting, a crowded patio, a city skyline.

It began seven years ago. Gemma had been a young, ambitious chef who preferred catering events to attending them, hiding from a loud charity gala on a quiet outdoor patio. That was where Michael Haldron had found her. He looked every bit the chiseled, attentive gentleman; offering her an empty chair, talking for hours about his work as an investment manager.

Every single thing he told her that night had been a calculated lie.

“At first…” Gemma whispered, her voice catching as a tremor shook her shoulders. She bit her lower lip, fighting the memory, before the past pulled her under again.

For six months, he played the perfect suitor. Weekends at exclusive resorts. Designer clothes. Jewelry. A fairy tale designed to blind her.

The first c***k in the illusion arrived with the precision of a steel trap.

Her restaurant manager — her best friend Heather — called in a panic. Michael had contacted the restaurant, informing them Gemma would be taking a full week off during their busiest wedding season.

“Gemma, there’s no way we can get through this without you,” Heather insisted.

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” Gemma told her. “Let me talk to him.”

When Gemma called him, confused and defensive, his voice carried an angry, snapping edge she had never heard before. He claimed he had broken protocol only to surprise her with a trip to Australia — turning his overreach into a test of her loyalty.

A wave of guilt washed over her. She apologized. Rearranged her life. And when they boarded the flight to Sydney, the warm, attentive man was back.

Gemma’s narrative cut off sharply. Her breath hitched, her spine locking as pain flared across her back. A bead of sweat cut through the grime on her pale cheek.

Jake leaned forward, concern tightening his features. ““Gemma, we need to change your bandages. They’ve been on too long, and we need to keep the wounds clean. We’ll help you roll over.”

“No, please…” she whimpered, fingers clawing into the mattress.

“I’ve got you,” Jake assured her. “Easy.”

At the sound of her panic, Doc immediately stood, his quiet posture shifting into crisp medical authority. He grabbed fresh gauze and saline from his kit and stepped to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m right here, Gemma,” Doc said, voice calm and practiced. “We’re going to move you as gently as we can.”

A ragged cry tore from her throat as Jake and Doc synchronized their movements to shift her weight.

Jake went still at the sight of her back. A fresh wave of anger broke through his surface calm. The parallel tracks of the lash were raw and angry, weeping heavily where movement had torn at the fresh clots.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” The words repeated like a prayer — not just for her, but for every cruelty he’d ever witnessed.

Doc didn’t speak. His face settled into a hard, clinical mask as he leaned over the wounds. While Jake held her steady, Doc’s hands were gentle, blotting dried blood and cleansing the tracking lines. Gemma buried her face into the pillow, her muffled sobs vibrating through the frame of the bed.

Doc applied fresh antibacterial cream and taped clean gauze flat against her skin. Together, he and Jake helped her back onto her side. Doc stepped back, tossing used supplies into a waste bin and checking her femoral line before retreating to give them space.

A cold silence stretched between them, heavy with the scent of copper and antiseptic.

Jake’s jaw tightened. His gray eyes had turned icy-cold. He wanted Michael Haldron in the ground. He wanted to ensure this woman would never breathe the same air as him again.

Gemma tensed, eyes flying open in terror. She knew men’s anger — and the violence that usually followed it.

Jake caught her reaction immediately. He exhaled slowly, forcing the darkness down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He didn’t move closer or crowd her; he just waited.

Gemma relaxed a fraction, realizing the fury in his eyes was a shield for her, not a threat. Her hand shifted across the sheet, hesitating before her fingers brushed against his sleeve. Light, uncertain, seeking anchorage.