Curtis takes my riding to pieces, listing half a dozen more things I need to improve. I listen, devastated. Wishing I had a pen to make notes. No wonder Saskia has stayed ahead of me. Brent and Dale have given me advice, Odette too, but nowhere near as in-depth as this. My ego is taking a slamming.

“Brent suggested I try a Crippler,” I say when he finishes.

Curtis’s eyebrows shoot up. “Has a female rider ever done one?”

“Not in competition.”

He thinks about it for a moment. And frowns. “No. Not yet anyway. What you need to do before that is fall.”

“What?”

“You’re too scared of falling.”

He’s dead right, I’m scared. Falls break bones. Falls end seasons. End sponsorships even. I know this from experience. But it’s hardly helpful to have it pointed out.

And I hate it that he’s noticed. “I don’t want to break something this close to the Brits.” They’re only two weeks away.

“Yeah, but it’s holding you back. Find yourself a big jump into deep powder and make yourself fall. It won’t be as bad as you think. Then you can think about Cripplers.”

I look at him uncertainly. Falling is risky, even with a powder landing. Whose side is he really on? Is he genuinely trying to help me or has his brotherly loyalty kicked back in?

CHAPTER 37

PRESENT DAY

Heather paces up and down in front of the window in the restaurant. If I hadn’t hurt my knee, I’d be pacing, too.

“What if they don’t come back?” she says.

“They’ll be back,” I say.

It’s pitch-dark out there now. Where are they and why haven’t they found Dale? I glance at the table again to check the candles and lighter are there in case the lights go out. Privately I’m freaking out just as much as Heather is. Curtis and Brent could have fallen down a crevasse during the search. Should I go and look for them? But what if the person who’s messing with us—Saskia, Dale, or someone else—has hurt them? And they’re lurking out there, waiting for me to go out?

I strain for something to talk about. “So how is it being married?”

Heather comes over. “It’s . . . okay.”

“Right.”

She backtracks, telling me about their friends and relatives and their new agency, but I can tell the original answer is the truest one. That it’s just okay.

She lets out a shuddery breath. “Look, I need my pills. They’re in my dorm. Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” I say, but I’m immediately on guard. Watch your back. Is she plotting something?

I’m still wearing my snowboard jacket and trousers. I stuff the lighter and a candleholder in my jacket pocket and haul myself upright. We slap every light switch we pass as we go down the corridor.