Prologue
Thirty-year-old Gabby Mulder called out to her friends and roommates, “Go!”
They all dove down the ski slope, racing to the bottom of the hill, on the last run of the day. The sun was high; the snow shone brightly on a wonderful Aspen day. Gabby was tired after a long but eventful day of snowboarding, looking forward to hitting the hot tub. The others had wanted to do one more run, and she’d been willing to go along, knowing she could take it easy afterward. Snowboarding was such a great way to combat stress.
Something she had in spades.
Especially after yesterday.
She worked as a clerk at a local Aspen bookstore—a job she’d quickly fallen in love with, even though she’d been in the resort town only for the winter and planned to leave when ski season was over. She and her best friend, Wendy, had been planning a winter here since forever. Now the end of March was near, and she couldn’t bear to think about leaving. She loved it here, … the town, the atmosphere, her job. Even her boss, although sometimes morose and cranky, most of the time was great.
He had been looking for a gimmick to bring in more customers. As a lark she had picked up a pack of tarot cards she’d found on the counter and offered free readings. It was all fun and games, until several people confirmed that her readings had been right on. Then somebody else had returned, upset at the horrible message she’d been given because it all happened, just as described. The woman was now a widow and felt Gabby could have done something to save her husband’s life.
That was followed by a visit from one of Aspen’s finest, and Detective Damon Fletcher had definitely not understood nor had he been impressed. In fact, it’s almost as if he thought Gabby had something to do with the man’s death, to somehow make her prophecy come true. She wasn’t sure if the detective thought she was a scam artist or a murderer. Neither helped her sleep last night.
His parting words, “Don’t leave town,” had been a sobering reality check. It wasn’t like she could anyway, as she had no car.
Her boss had been furious with her, saying, “Gabby, these readings are supposed to be fun and positive. Nothing else. You don’t believe that stuff, do you?”
She just looked at him mutely.
“Stop them now,” he ordered. “Our business depends on the goodwill of the community. A bad reputation and ugly rumors will finish us. No more. I mean it. Your job is on the line over this.”
She immediately nodded because she needed the job. The cost of living in Aspen was brutal. Gabby shared an apartment with four other women, none of whom could afford to move. Only about seven thousand people lived here year-round, but the influx of tourists during ski season brought in tons more people, both to sightsee and to serve the rich.
Her roommates knew about the tarot readings. Gabby had done several for them in the last few weeks. She had even done readings for them during breakfast this morning and hadn’t thought anything of it. When they’d asked her to pull a card for herself, that had been fine too. Until she pulled the one card that made them all gasp.
The Death card.
She laughed and said, “Whatever,” then tucked it back in the box, as they’d all looked on with worried expressions. She smiled and said, “Come on. The Death card doesn’t mean literal death, as in I die. It could just mean the death of a relationship or a job even.” Although she hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Unconvinced, they all headed to the slopes. And now, here Gabby was at the end of the day, happy that the dire card hadn’t proven to be a bad omen.
With a pleased smile at the beautiful sunny view of white-capped mountains around her, Gabby rode the mountain, leaned into the next corner, loving the power and the sense of control she had, as her board bit into the icy surface.
Just then a hard push sent her careening diagonally across the mountain. She cried out as her body instinctively bent and twisted to stay upright, her arms flaring, even as she tried to see who’d pushed her. She struggled to brake. She was a good snowboarder, not racer material, but she’d have said better than average at least. Until now. Nothing she did brought her board back under her control. Or her speed. She dug in the edge of her board, her body almost scraping along the snow, but it wasn’t working. An out-of-bounds marker flashed in warning up ahead.
Panic hit her, as the wind slashed her cheeks, and icy-cold tears stung her eyes. Still, her out-of-control board propelled her forward, as if guided by unseen hands.
She hurtled toward the cliff’s edge, screaming at the top of her lungs in terror. Her friends hollered and waved at her, telling her to get back.
In desperation, she threw herself to the ground to try to stop. Her displaced goggles allowed snow and ice to burn her exposed skin and eyes, as she hurtled downward into a snowball of board and limbs that never seemed to stop spinning.
Splat.
She slammed into a small upward jut of the cliff, sending a cloud of snow falling on top of her. Gasping for air and terrified to move, she couldn’t even see for the instant whiteout. When her world finally stopped moving, she peeked through her lashes. The snow no longer fell, and she could see the ski hill stretch high above her to the right, as she laid on her back. That emboldened her to test out her limbs. She moved her fingers and toes, and no pain ripped through her. She sighed softly in relief, rolling her head slowly to the left to test her neck as well as to see how close to the edge she was.
It. Was. Right. There.
The cliff dropped away at her cheek. Her bent left knee was suspended over the edge into nothingness.
Oh, hell, no. Too terrified to move—in case her small perch gave way—her heart slamming against her ribs, she froze in place. Not much more than a tiny jut of rock kept her from falling to her death below. Her mind couldn’t wrap around it. What the hell just happened?
Then she remembered the tarot card. Death.
No way was this about the Death card. Couldn’t be.
A voice whispered in her head, Death comes to us all. Sometimes earlier than we want. Sometimes by another hand. You live this time.
Shocked, she cried out, “Who are you? What do you want?”
The same voice chuckled, a sound of triumph and joy. You can call me Death. And what do I want? That’s easy. I want you.
And, with that, the voice disappeared.
Terrified, and still in shock at how close she came to flying off a cliff, she lay pinned against the mountainside, afraid to move.
Calls behind her had her raising her hand to let those racing toward her know she was okay. But was she really? She didn’t dare check further, too paralyzed with cold and fear.
Minutes later, Wendy, her face red and puffy from exertion, finally neared Gabby. Wendy stood a safe distance back and above her best friend, calling out, “Oh, my God. Are you okay? What happened to you? Ski patrol is on their way. Don’t move.”
Gabby had no plans to move … ever. In fact, the longer she lay here, the more rigid and panicked she became at the thought.
“What happened? Did I hear you yelling at someone earlier?” Wendy asked hesitantly.
Gabby rolled her head to look at her best friend in confusion. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought somebody just spoke to me.” She couldn’t very well tell Wendy about the message. She wouldn’t believe her. No one would.