The floors he was delivering to were, of course, the upper ones. If being recognized humiliated him into quitting, Grant Siebold wanted it to happen sooner rather than later.
Seth learned a lot of things. He learned that the mail-room clerks were largely invisible. He learned that one assistant had a perfect manicure because she paid a lot of attention to it. He learned who played computer games. He learned who was liked and who wasn’t, something that was easily picked up from the assistants’ attitudes. One vice president was drinking on the job; Seth smelled the faint but unmistakable odor as soon as he entered the office, pushing his cart. He also smelled the air freshener that had been sprayed to kill the smell. The assistant caught him sniffing the air and gave him a cold-fish stare that said, “You know nothing, you see nothing, you smell nothing.” He nodded and continued on his way.
He learned that he had delusions of grandeur, because not one person recognized him.
25
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, CAM TOOK HIS NEW LEATHER overshoes for a test drive—or rather, a test walk. They were crude, laced up part of the way with the laces from his own shoes and electrical wiring the rest of the way, and the holes had been punched into the leather with his knife. But they were supple, they covered his dress shoes and came almost as high as his calf, and Bailey had made them large enough that pieces of cloth—she’d sacrificed a shirt—could be stuffed around his feet for insulation. Plus, without his shoes laced up, he’d been able to wrap part of the cloth around his feet before putting the shoes on. Altogether his feet had a lot more protection now, and, thanks to the fire, were actually warm.
The day had been extremely busy, but oddly not too arduous. They had sat side by side on the stuffed trash bag in front of the fire, she working on his overshoes, he making a rudimentary sled for hauling what precious supplies they had, as well as some rough snowshoes for them. As the snow in the mouthwash bottle melted, they drank it. Because the melt rate was much faster now that they had a fire, for the first time since the crash they were able to drink enough that thirst wasn’t a constant factor.
She was oddly content, sitting beside him in mostly silent companionship while they worked. It wasn’t that she didn’t worry, because how could she not? They faced a long and dangerous ordeal, one they might not survive. The mountains were treacherous and incredibly rugged, unforgiving of mistakes. Even if they did make it out, there was still the fact that someone had deliberately tried to kill them, and all the arrows pointed to Seth.
Proving he was behind it could be difficult. For one thing, all the evidence was here, scattered across the mountainside. Even if the wreckage could be found again, any forensic evidence might well have been destroyed by the elements. On the other hand, cold might preserve evidence; she simply didn’t know. She had to face the very real possibility that, even though she and Cam knew someone had tried to kill them, they might never be able to prove who did it. How could she carry on as before, knowing that? How could she deal with Seth? She couldn’t. She would have to renege on her agreement with Jim, and even under the circumstances she didn’t like doing that.
But all of that was in the future, assuming she had one. All she was assured of, she realized, was right now. The concept was both liberating and comforting. She wasn’t on tenterhooks, waiting for a rescue that she now knew wouldn’t be coming. They had a plan, and they were putting that plan into action, relying on themselves and their own ingenuity, their personal determination and fortitude. She was good with that.
Once she had his overshoes made, she began working on the problem of his clothing. Taking two of her flannel shirts—and thank God she’d brought plenty in preparation for two weeks of rafting—she buttoned them together, making one big, ungainly garment out of two. It was an awkward arrangement, but otherwise there was no way anything she had would fit over his chest and shoulders. The sleeves were too short, and the two unused ones dangled down his back, but it was a layer of warmth he hadn’t had before and wasn’t constantly having to be repositioned. He put it on immediately. The two shirts didn’t match so the look was odd, but neither of them cared. What mattered was warmth.
She would wear the down vest, they decided. For one thing, it fit her. He would wear her brand-new rain poncho, which wasn’t much insulation but would at least block the wind. She had a couple of other ideas for additional layers, if she could work out the details.
Keeping his legs warm was a problem. While she could put on a couple of pairs of sweatpants, all he had was his suit pants. Even though the sweatpants had an elastic waist, he couldn’t get in them. He was too tall, and she was lean from all the workouts she did.
Finally she had an idea. “I think I can make something like chaps,” she told him.
He looked up from the snowshoe he was making from tree branches and wiring, his brows arched in fake astonishment. “Don’t tell me you packed a cowhide, too.”
“Smart-ass. Just for that, you can freeze.”
He leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his. “I apologize. What’s popped out of the Idea Factory this time?”
“I have four microfiber towels.”
He thought about it, and nodded. “Okay, I can actually see taking towels along for a two-week camping trip. Makes sense.”
“Thank you, Mr. Skeptical,” she said drily, then explained. “If I cut small slits all along the edges—not cutting the edge itself, but about an inch back—then I could weave a strip of cloth through the slits to make a kind of belt and tie that end around your waist, then lace the edges together the same way down your legs, and presto, you have chaps.”