The Ice Wolves Read Online Free

They never talked about it; it just was. Their skills and ideas complemented each other’s, and their admiration was mutual. In every dangerous situation, she never flinched, cool as anything but without any of Brad’s recklessness. She really did cope with everything life threw at her.
    There’d always seemed the possibility that their relationship would grow beyond friendship, but it had become frozen, like his emotions, locked in time by a single event. He’d never asked her how she felt. He guessed he was afraid of the answer.
    â€œYou want to go out and get breakfast?” she asked.
    â€œNot hungry.”
    â€œI want to thank you for the loan of your couch while I’m passing through, Brad, but I have to say, you really are a rude, unpleasant asshole.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThis whole brooding thing? I get it. You’ve seen some terrible things—we all have. But you can’t let it eat up your life.”
    â€œWhy not?” Bitterly, he slapped his portfolio off the coffee table and sent sheets of negatives scattering across the floor.
    Lisa sighed. “If you’ve got the time, there’s a whole bunch of clichés you need to study. Life goes on. Life’s what you make it. You’ve only got one shot. Bottom line: there’s a lot of misery in the world, and it’s up to us to make it better.”
    â€œUp to us? You and me? Right. I’ll go off and be Gandhi or something.”
    â€œYeah, it’s better to sit here moping, right?” Lisa sat next to him and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He found it affecting; in all their time together, there had hardly been any physical contact. They were buddies on the road, watching each other’s backs; that was how they played it.
    â€œI’m fine,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve got posttraumatic stress or something. You need to talk this out.”
    â€œThanks, but I’m just having a bad day. It won’t get any worse.”
    A loud knock at the door interrupted them. When he answered it, Brad was stunned for a moment.
    â€œYeah, I get that a lot,” Hellboy said. “Can I come in?”
    Pushing past Brad before he could answer, Hellboy strode into the lounge, where Lisa surveyed him for a second before vaulting the sofa and rushing toward her bag. “Wait! Let me get my camera!”
    â€œA mug like mine will break your lens,” Hellboy said. “Besides, I’m camera shy.”
    Lisa skidded to a halt, sullenly, still casting one eye toward her camera bag. “I saw you on CNN once.”
    â€œYou were in Africa,” Brad continued.
    â€œI’ve been all over.” Hellboy strode over to Brad and sized him up. “If you’re Brad Lynch, I need your help.”
    â€œYou need his help?” Lisa said incredulously.
    â€œThanks for the vote of confidence,” Brad sniffed. “What can I do?”
    â€œIt’s about your father—”
    Brad held up a hand to silence Hellboy. “Let me stop you there. I haven’t spoken to my dad in three years. I don’t want to speak to him. He doesn’t want to speak to me. We don’t hate each other. We just . . . ” He shrugged, searched for the right words. “Think it’s better if we don’t get within twenty miles of each other.”
    Lisa leaned in to Brad and whispered, “Just hear the guy out, all right?”
    While Hellboy inspected the framed photos lining the walls, Lisa fetched them all coffee. “Some talent,” Hellboy said.
    â€œThanks. Not much use at anything else, but I always had an eye for an image.”
    â€œYou only need one skill to make a go of it in the world.”
    â€œTell that to my dad. He never got the whole photojournalist thing. I mean, he was happy I was making a living, seeing the world, but he always thought it was a stopgap until I did something serious. Your father like that?”
    â€œI never knew