Read Online Chill Factor by Sandra Brown - Free Book Online

signal. By the time she stopped talking, the phone was dead again.
    â€œI don’t know how much of that went through,” she said to Tierney. “Maybe Dutch will get enough of it to figure out the rest.” She had pulled the stadium blanket off her head, but it was bunched around her shoulders. The wool was wet, unmelted sleet still clinging to it. She was cold, wet, and uncomfortable.
    Of course she couldn’t complain of her discomfort. It was mild compared with Tierney’s. He was sitting upright but swaying as though at any moment he would topple over. Fresh blood had soaked the black watch cap. Frost clung to his eyebrows and eyelashes, making him look ghostly.
    She motioned toward his eyes. “You’ve got—”
    â€œFrost? You’ve got it, too. It’ll go away in a minute.”
    She brushed the ice crystals from her eyes andnostrils. “I’ve never been exposed to the elements like this. Never. Nothing more extreme than getting caught in the rain without an umbrella.”
    She got up and crossed the room to the wall thermostat. After setting the gauge, she heard the reassuring whir of moving air coming from the vent in the ceiling. “It’ll get warm in here soon.” As she moved back toward the sofa, she said, “I can’t feel my toes or fingers.”
    He put his middle finger between his teeth and used them to pull off his glove, then motioned her toward the sofa on which he sat. “Sit down and take off your boots.”
    She sat down next to him and removed her gloves, then worked her feet out of her wet boots. “You knew these weren’t going to keep my feet dry.”
    â€œIt was a safe guess.”
    Her socks were wet, as were the legs of her slacks from the knees down. Her outfit had been chosen for fashion, not for protection against blizzard conditions.
    He patted the top of his thigh. “Put your leg up here.”
    Lilly hesitated but then settled her leg across his thighs. He removed her thin sock. She didn’t recognize her own foot. It was as white as bone, bloodless. He pressed it tightly between his hands and began to chafe it vigorously.
    â€œThis will hurt,” he warned.
    â€œIt does.”
    â€œGot to get the circulation going again.”
    â€œHave you ever written about surviving a blizzard?”
    â€œNot from firsthand experience. I realize now just how smug and uninformed that article was. Better?”
    â€œMy toes are stinging.”
    â€œThat’s good. Blood is returning to them. See? Turning pink already. Give me the other foot.”
    â€œWhat about yours?”
    â€œThey can wait. My boots are waterproof.”
    Lilly switched legs. He peeled off her sock, closed his hands around her foot, then began to massage feeling back into it. But not quite so briskly as before. He lightly pinched each toe. The pad of his thumb followed the curve of her arch, forward toward the ball of her foot, back toward her heel.
    Lilly watched his hands. He watched his hands. Neither spoke.
    Finally, he sandwiched her foot warmly between his palms. He turned his head, bringing them face-to-face, so close she could see individual eyelashes left wet by melting frost. “Better?” he said.
    â€œMuch. Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    He made no move to release her foot, leaving it to her to withdraw it from his hands. She lowered her leg off his thighs. Taking a dry pair of socks from her coat pocket allowed her to move away from him without it being awkward.
    She watched him from the corner of her eye as he bent down and untied the laces of his hiking boots. But even when they’d been loosed, he remained bent forward. He propped his elbow on his knee and rested his head in his hand.
    â€œAre you going to be sick again?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t think so. Just a wave of dizziness. It’ll pass.”
    â€œYou probably have a concussion.”
    â€œNo