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Frida zipping it up for her, like a mother with a toddler, before pulling on a helmet.
    There were two skidoos outside, and Gorev lifted her onto one of them before climbing on behind her. She hated to admit it, but she needed the support of his arms to stay on the damn machine. His warmth surrounded her and she could smell him. Not bad, he had clearly showered this morning. Just not right.
    Not like Andy McTavish. What was it about the Irishman? Something about him fitted perfectly with her. His mouth was just right for her skin. His scent teased her nose. His hair tempted her fingers. His cock... Roz stamped down on that thought. She didn't know about his cock. Thinking it was the perfect fit for her pussy was just a delusion.
    But as the little machine laboured its way over to the Klein-Matterhorn cable car, she wished she hadn’t rushed out of his hotel room so quickly. She was under no illusions. There was a good chance she was going to die here, and she would be going to her death wondering what it would have been like to make love to Andy McTavish. She wished she had taken the chance that had been offered to her.
    What a pity there were no do-overs in life. Andy was one she would certainly have done over.
    Gorev and Frida both wore goggles as well as helmets, but Roz’s eyes were unprotected from the icy air. That was why they were watering. No other reason, she told herself firmly.
    She forced movement into her hands, but they were still numb.
    Gorev must have felt something. He shouted, to be heard over the engine of the skidoo, “They will hurt when the blood comes back.” And he smiled.
    Bastard.
    Frida got to the cable-car first. The sign said the first ascent was at 9am, and it was only 8.30, but she led them up the stairs. “Don't worry,” she said. “My uncle works in the restaurant at the top. I've got his lift pass; we can go up with the staff.”
    To Roz's dismay, Frida flashed her pass and they walked into the cable car unopposed. There were a couple of men wheeling on crates of bottled water and wine, three waitresses already in their uniforms under a warm jacket, and a piste patroller with long skis and grizzled grey goatee.
    Any urge Roz felt to call for help disappeared when the point of a knife stuck into her side. Gorev leaned into her. “No fuss, no muss. Do we understand each other?”
    She nodded.
    He pulled out his phone and dialled. “Take the cable car to the top of the Klein-Matterhorn on the first ascent of the day. No cops, no security. And bring the goods.” He hung up at once.
    Roz had to admire the plan. The only way up was the cable car. Andy wouldn’t have time to get any back-up into position in time to help. Either he did what they told him, or she was dead. Life sucked.
    The ascent was breath-taking, in all senses. They were already high up the mountain, and going higher at an alarming rate. Roz's ears popped as the cable car climbed. When it swung going over a support pylon, she lost her balance and stumbled. Gorev caught her arm and she hissed in pain.
    Agony streaked up and down her arms and she clenched her teeth to hold back the cries of pain. The point of his knife remained stuck in her side, warning her to silence.
    Frida chatted to the waitresses, and it was obvious Roz could expect no help from them. The glacier passed beneath them, blue ice showing hard and lethal beneath the snow.
    A bump signalled their arrival at the top station, and they got out. Roz's breath fogged in the freezing air, and she shivered, not entirely from the cold. The panoramic view deserved her attention, but all she could think of was the throb of blood returning to her hands. They felt huge and swollen, but her efforts to flex her fingers produced only tiny twitches.
    Gorev and Frida, still chatting and keeping an apparently casual grip on her arm, stood where they could see the cable car departing on its way back to the town.
    When it returned, would Andy be on it? Roz realised she was