Page 5 of Mountain Target

There.

That’s better.

She didn’t quite look like her normal self, but then, she didn’t feel like her normal self, either.

She was a doctor. She’d gone through medical school and, then, had decided to specialize in Emergency Medicine. She was used to keeping strange hours at the hospital—used to sleeping when and where she could. She knew exactly how many cups of coffee she could drink before becoming irritable. She’d always thought uninterrupted sleep was for the holidays.

But she’d never—ever—felt exhaustion like this before. Exhaustion deep enough that all she wanted to do was curl into a ball under her duvet and wait it out. Except she couldn’t, because she was being chased by grief, and any time spent standing still simply gave grief the chance to catch up.

Of course you’re grieving.

Your sister died.

Guilt seized her then, tensing her shoulder and neck muscles into painful ropes. Because she knew the grief she was experiencing—this solid, sharp sense of loss—wasn’t just for her sister, but also for herself. And she couldn’t afford to feel sorry for herself—not now, not when there was somebody else who needed her so much.

A noise outside the bathroom startled her. Val still wasn’t used to sharing her living space with anyone.

She forced herself to breathe out, releasing maybe a fraction of the tension she was holding inside, then opened the door just in time to see a slim figure fleeing down the corridor. Her long, light brown hair was the last thing Val saw before the girl disappeared into the living and kitchen area.

Val hesitated, wondering if she should call out, finally deciding against it.

She didn’t know the first thing about thirteen-year-olds, and there had been nothing normal about the last month. Nothing had felt normal since the moment the police had contacted her to let her know Camille had been in a car accident.

Dead at thirty-three.

A normal morning. A moment of inattention on the part of the other driver. And Camille would never go home to her daughter.

Thank God you were alone in the car.

Wherever Camille was, Val had no doubt her sister was thinking the same thing.

Because as hard as it had been to say goodbye to Camille, at least Ren was okay.

It’d been Ren who’d given the police Val’s number, since Camille’s phone had been destroyed in the crash.

Val barely remembered those awful hours in the car. Now that she thought of it, she probably should have found somebody else to drive her. But she’d finally made it to Paris and, together, she and Ren had said goodbye to Camille and packed Ren’s things for the move to Chamonix.

Val’s jaw tightened when she thought of the trip back home. Chamonix was home for her, but not for Ren, and while Val had hated uprooting the girl, her job and her life were here. She couldn’t just up and leave.

Coming back to Chamonix made sense.

Stop feeling guilty about that.

She watched from the doorway as Ren stared morosely into her glass of milk. She and Ren had always had a close relationship—but then, Val had always been the fun aunt. Parenting had been left to Camille, who’d always been there with them.

And now she wasn’t. Now it was just the two of them and, most of the time, Val didn’t know what to do or say to Ren.

I’m twenty-six.

And guardian to a thirteen-year-old girl.

She swallowed the panic threatening to bubble out of her. Today, of all days, she needed to portray confidence.

“Good morning, Ren,” she said, trying for a smile. “How did you sleep?”

It was the most harmless phrase Val could come up with, but the pale, thin girl in front of her looked at her like she just threw an insult in her face.

She’s still losing weight.