Chapter 2

"Snowy Peaks, British Columbia. We're here, people!" 

Keara Faye Linn grabbed her carry-on as the bus driver vaulted into his end of the trip litany. Two days of traveling through gorgeous western Canada, and she was finally here, the location of her next job. Two weeks to start, a possible extension if she did good.

Hell.

Outside, in the madhouse that was disembarking and the gathering of the luggage from the bowels of the bus, she waited until the driver found her bags. Watched as he hoisted the first one, and his face turned blue. Almost.

He turned to her with a scowl. "Lady, what you got in this thing? Bricks?" 

Ridiculously happy to see her bag and its precious cargo intact, she shook her head anxiously. "One more."

"Well, I’ll be ready for this one." The driver braced his legs, angled his shoulders, then yanked it out and practically flung it over the curb. He barely managed to skim it, and the old-style brown, rumpled suitcase came to rest on the pavement. A bit lopsided, but none the worse for wear. 

With a massive burst of pent-up oxygen, he blinked at her, rubbing his arms. "Holy hell, lady. Good luck with whatever you’ve got in there." 

Next, the taxi. It was supposedly going to take just ten minutes; she'd read in the brochure. Ten short minutes, and more precious dollars for cab fare she didn’t have. 

Worse, she was starving. She dug around in her satchel, scrambling for food. Anything. A spare piece of candy, maybe the small bag of peanuts she'd started in Saskatoon.

And came upon the bag of chips her ex-landlady Ilona had tossed in there, just in case she got hungry. 

Oy. Chubby European ex-land-ladies that had your best interests at heart, and knew how to cook vats of soothing, rib-sticking, carby food? 

Priceless. 

And dangerous.

Her fingers closed over the puffy cellophane, and she could almost taste the salt, relish the crispness. Rumbling, tumbling into her tummy.

Abruptly, she clenched her eyes shut.

No. No. She wasn’t going to start the next bit of her life off like that. She'd made the decision. No matter how hungry she was—diet. 

Regardless of the health problems she had because of that stupid stepbrother of hers and the hardcore anxiety he'd put her through, she wasn’t going to end the next few weeks up in weight more. Continuing old patterns that didn’t serve her. 

No. Damn. Way. 

She shoved it back in her purse, wishing she could fling it out the window instead, as the gorgeous scenery flew by. Out of sight, out of mind. But Ilona's ghost would probably appear, shaking a fat finger at her.

Thankfully, her cell rang, and she gratefully pushed the talk button. 

"Okay, you want to tell me what's going on?"

Effie. Thank goodness. Her bestie. She could sure use a talk with her now, just when she was flying into the wild blue yonder on a totally unexpected, crazy mission to who knew where.

"I got the job at that ski resort, Eff. On a trial basis. Isn’t that great?" She forced the cheerfulness she didn’t feel into her voice.

"Great? You weren’t happy with it when we talked about it before. In fact, you were totally not impressed. You said it was going to interfere with everything. Your studying, your degree, the deadline for your thesis. Your life. What the hell changed?"

Keara let out a quick breath. "I can never put anything over on you."

Remonstrance spilled from Effie. "No, you can't, Missy. Talk."

Keara dropped her voice lower in case the cab driver was a regular at Snowy Peaks and heard her. Now wouldn’t that be a nightmare? Talk about starting off your new life with intrigue. Without trying to, mind you. Kind of her specialty, and a minor she didn’t want.

"Eff, it’s a job being an assistant to someone planning activities at a ski lodge. For the holidays. Specifically Valentine's Day." She tried to keep the disdain for the job out of her voice. "How hard can it be?" 

"I don't think you should be taking a job right now. Yeah, yeah, I know you're broke. You could've stayed with me for a few more months till you got everything sorted, found a job, then launched your new life. You’ve got too much on your plate, and you're coming off way too much stress." Effie paused. "They got your stepbrother for sure?"

The turmoil of the last year crashed in on her again, as did the real reason she wouldn’t go near Effie's place right now. Too dangerous for the woman she loved like a sister.

"They did. They're still hunting for Blaine, though." The mention of her lowlife stepfather creeped her out. Just the thought of him made her flesh crawl.

And the fact he probably wasn’t too crazy about her right now, since her cooperation with the police had put his son away? That worried her even more.

But no matter. There was no way she was going to let that jerk get away with his illegal activities. Once she'd found out, the idiot with whom she actually didn’t share a bloodline—thank goodness—had tried to tell her it wasn’t that bad.

She still remembered Rod in the kitchen, in his signature-stained white T-shirt and dirty black pants, beer in hand. "They're just animals, Sis. If I can make a few bucks, what's the hurt?"

She still hated him for what he'd done. And if she'd known karate, jujitsu or just plain street-fighting—she absolutely would’ve pounded him into the ground. Enjoyed herself. And called the police—later. Maybe. 

After she'd beaten him up again.

Effie's voice, though, was a reassuring balm. "Well, you don't have to worry about Buddy anymore. He’s here with me now, and he’s safe. But he’s missing you. You're sure the vet said he'd recover fully?" 

The thought of her big, clunky, and somewhat overweight golden Lab thudded into her heart. She'd had Buddy for five years now, and the idea that it was entirely possible he would have ended up in one of Rod’s schemes next—she had no words. 

And the fact he'd kicked him that one day in a drunken stupor, before the investigation had yielded its results? It still made her want to do unmentionable things to that excuse for a man. She'd moved out the next day, into the third-floor rickety walk-up on Spadina, into the old century home. Into the two-room, tiny flat without its own bathroom. 

Again, paying money she didn’t have. Money that was supposed to be stretched, and stretched hard, while she got her Masters. 

And when the money ran out, Ilona had let her stay—free. 

But the older woman needed that rental money. Counted on it, to pay her bills and her mortgage. She'd make sure she'd get it, no matter what. 

But right now, only one word escaped her lips, she damn well missed her Buddy so much. "Awww." 

"Yeah. I put you on speakerphone, and he ran right over. Now he’s looking up at me with those big, black eyes. Wondering where you are, hon."

A big lump rose in her throat. "Once this is all over…" Tears threatened.

Once again, Effie—amazing Effie— knew precisely what to say. 

"Chin up, girl. And if you're going to be out in glorious British Columbia anyway—not that I think it’s the right decision, but fine—make sure you relax some. Get rid of that ton of stress you took on, and don't worry right now about losing weight. You're gorgeous to anyone who's got eyes, sweetie. It'll come off when the time is right."

Then, as she did, she switched quickly into business mode. “But how are you going to get your studies done if you're working? Assistant jobs like that can stretch all hours. If you don't get your thesis done, you can't apply again for the scholarship, don't forget."

The thought of everything that was at stake—it wasn’t helping with the no stress thing. She'd spent years studying, already, to get her degree. Her dad had given so much for it. Her mom too. Even married that jerk when Dad passed, because he'd fooled her, pretended he was a loving husband, and especially, a caring stepfather. And that he had big resources he'd gladly use to help her kids.

Yeah, big resources. No money, no brains. No personality. The perfect stepdad.

Now, because of her working with the cops against Rod and Blaine, she'd already lost her scholarship. Though they'd extended this special one-time offer to her. There'd been a lot of back and forthing, and she'd already missed the original deadline. 

But the offer had been made. A special contingency, just for her. After she'd submitted all the paperwork and a special letter from the Toronto Police.

Get the thesis done, and you can still save your Masters. And the date? It was scribed in platinum. Rock. 

Whichever was more unchangeable. 

And if she didn’t, she failed. Simply didn’t get her degree. If she wanted it, she had to start it all over again, and this time with no financial aid. None whatsoever.

Losing out on her Masters and the life of science she could barely wait to start? It wasn’t an option. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd known what she had to do.

And it wasn’t damn event planning. 

"I’ve only got one question left. How in the hell are you going to find the time to do the research, comb through your ton of ancient books, and actually finish your paper?"

Determination blazed in her. "Eff, the only good thing about this mess is, I repeat. It’s not a hard job. I’ll do what I have to, then pawn the rest off on the guy I'm working for. He’s the MC, plus Activity Leader. Poor schmuck. What a job description." She shook her head. "How hard can it be?"