Edge of Survival [NOOK Book]

Read an Excerpt

Guffaws of laughter hooted through the crowd as Cam dropped her backpack to the bare wooden floor and released a whoosh of air. "Yeah, yeah. Very funny."

She leaned on the bar, adjusted her ball cap, feeling hot and lightheaded. Her hands shook, her mouth tasted of aviation fuel and dirt. Not a good way to start a twelve-week stint in the Canadian wilderness. She slipped her hand into the back pocket of her worn-out jeans and grabbed her wallet, relieved to have almost reached her destination.

"Give me a cranberry juice and a tomato juice, please," Cam asked the bartender. On today’ s four flights—so far—she’ d used up half her emergency granola bars. A helicopter was supposed to pick them up here in Frenchmans Bight for the short hop to the ship where they’ d be stationed for the next three months, but the pilot wasn’ t here yet.

The bartender put the cranberry juice in front of her and she chugged back half the glass and left the rest on the bar. She needed a quick sugar fix. The tomato juice would stop her stomach from feeling as if her throat had been cut.

"Vikki? What do you want to drink?"

"Get me a vodka and tonic, hon, and make it a double if this ship we’ re on really is dry." The blonde made dry sound like leprous.

Vikki Salinger was a Ph.D. student in the lab where Cam was now a post-doctoral research fellow. They’ d been friends as undergraduates, but the other girl had taken a break from science to earn a mint modeling. Needless to say, Cam didn’ t have any catwalk in her past, present or future.

Vikki looked around the shabby room for somewhere to sit. Cam took stock of her surroundings and figured this remote Labrador mining community wouldn’ t know what hit it. Every person in the bar had a Y chromosome, and testosterone lit the air like campfire smoke.

Cam paid the bartender and, drinks in hand, shoved her backpack across the floor with her foot toward the table Vikki chose. Cam left Vikki’ s luggage where it sat, blocking the entrance like some oversized Barbie accessory. Yes, she was cranky. Eighteen hours of traveling had taken some of the pep out of her usually sunny demeanor.

An older guy with bushy silver eyebrows, wearing mud-caked boots and a black-and-gray plaid shirt, sidled over from the herd of men.

"So, what’ re two purdy things like you doing in a roughneck joint like this?" His cheeks were ruddy, and a gold tooth winked from deep inside his mouth.

Vikki leaned back and let her eyes travel over him the way she did every man who came within touching distance. Age didn’ t matter. The fact she was already screwing Cam’ s boss, her own Ph.D. supervisor, didn’ t matter either.

"What’ s your name?" Vikki asked.

"I’ m Dwight Wineberg. I’ m in charge of the exploratory mining operation ’ round here." He puffed out his chest and hid the hand with his wedding band beneath the table.

Cam took a long draw of tomato juice and watched the interaction from beneath her lashes. In terms of attractiveness, Dwight turned her stomach, which, as a reaction based purely on looks, proved she was just as shallow as he was.

Vikki curved her lips into a smile, and the whole bar lit up like dry tinder in a forest fire. Cam grinned around her straw. She eyed the menu written on a chalkboard behind the bar—moose stew and caribou burgers? Ugh. Hopefully she’ d get something more appetizing on the ship.

"And who are you?"Dwight asked.

"I’ m Vikki, and this here is Cameran." Vikki indicated Cam without looking at her and Dwight didn’ t even pretend to glance away from the blue-eyed blonde.