By the time Claire Bennett realized the Cadillac was not going to start again, the snow had already erased most of the road behind her.
She sat perfectly still with both hands resting on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at a narrow ribbon of Colorado highway disappearing beneath white.
The dashboard lights glowed against the gathering darkness.
ENGINE SYSTEM.
BATTERY.
TRACTION CONTROL.
Then, one by one, most of them disappeared.
The engine remained dead.
Claire pressed the start button again.
A weak click came from somewhere beneath the hood.
Nothing else.
“Perfect.”
Her voice sounded strangely small inside the luxury sedan.
She tried once more.
Click.
Silence.
Outside, snow drifted beneath the headlights. The road curved between thick stands of pine, with a frozen hillside rising sharply on one side and dropping toward a dark valley on the other.
A green sign stood fifty yards ahead.
PINE HOLLOW LODGE — 100 MILES.
Claire stared at it.
“Of course.”
She had left Denver later than planned.
The gala luncheon had run long. One investor insisted on another drink. Her assistant called twice about Monday’s board packet. Then her mother called to remind her that normal human beings occasionally accepted invitations that had nothing to do with business.
That was how Claire ended up driving through the mountains in an elegant white dress under a cream wool coat, carrying a handbag worth more than her first car, on her way to meet a man she had never seen.
A blind date.
At thirty-two.
She still could not believe she had agreed.
Her friend Paige had spent six weeks arranging it.
“You complain everyone you meet already knows who you are,” Paige said. “So I found someone who doesn’t.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“He’s normal.”
“What does that mean?”
“He has a job.”
“Excellent start.”
“He has a kid.”
Claire had paused.
“A child?”
“A son. Ten years old.”
“Divorced?”
“No.”
That silence had been different.
Paige softened.
“His wife died four years ago.”
Claire had immediately regretted the joke in her voice.
“Oh.”
“He’s not looking for a replacement mother. Before you invent seventeen reasons not to go.”
“I had only reached nine.”
“He owns a repair shop.”
Claire blinked.
“A mechanic?”
“Former mechanical engineer. Now owns a small garage.”
“And you think we have something in common?”
“No.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I think that is why you should meet him.”
Claire had laughed.
Paige had refused to give his photograph.
The man, apparently, had refused hers too.
“No social media reconnaissance,” Paige declared.
“That sounds irresponsible.”
“It sounds like dating before the FBI was available to civilians.”
They agreed to exchange only first names.
Claire.
Daniel.
Dinner at Pine Hollow Lodge.
Seven-thirty.
One evening.
If they hated each other, Paige promised never to arrange another date.
That condition persuaded Claire more effectively than romance ever could.
Now it was seven twelve.
Her phone showed one bar.
She typed:
My car died. I’m going to be late.
The message remained unsent for several seconds.
Then finally delivered.
Claire looked at the road.
No houses.
No service station.
No visible traffic.
She called roadside assistance.
Automated voice.
Estimated arrival: ninety to one hundred twenty minutes.
Temperature outside: twenty-one degrees and falling.
Claire looked down at the white fitted dress she had chosen because Paige told her to stop dressing like she was attending a shareholder meeting.
“Fantastic planning.”
She turned the heater higher.
Cold air came from the vents.
The battery indicator flickered.
She turned everything off.
Silence filled the car.
That was worse.
Claire grabbed her coat properly, stepped outside, and immediately regretted it.
The cold hit like an insult.
Wind pushed loose platinum-blonde hair across her face.
She opened the hood.
Steam did not pour out.
Good.