Snowblind Justice

by Cindi Myers

  She said nothing, no longer wanting to encourage him.

  But he didn’t need her encouragement. “I decided I needed to work my way up to you,” he said. “I had to experiment and perfect my methods.”

  “What about Tim?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

  More stomach-turning laughter. “I asked him to come with me because I thought he could be my first victim. But he turned out to be useful.”

  “He helped you murder the first few women.”

  “He did. Turns out, he had a taste for killing and I was able to exploit that. Of course, he was nowhere near my level of genius. Which is why he was caught in the end.” He giggled. That was the only way Emily could think to describe the sound he made, like a little child chuckling over a silly cartoon. “Things kept getting better and better for me after I came here. The local sheriff’s department was as tiny as the town, and they had tiny brains, too. And then I found out your older brother was the sheriff. Such delicious synchronicity. As if this was all meant to be.”

  He had turned onto the highway up Dixon Pass. Emily craned her head to see out the window. “Is the pass open now?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter if it is,” Alex said. “We’re not going all the way to the top.”

  Emily strained forward, staring down the empty road. They passed a sign warning of the road closure, then the orange barricades loomed in sight. But before they reached the barricades, Alex jerked the steering wheel to the right and the van lurched to the side. Unable to brace herself with her bound hands and feet, she jerked painfully forward against the seat belt and her head bounced against the window. Tears stung her eyes from the pain.

  The van jolted to a stop, the vehicle’s nose buried in a snowbank. Alex shut off the engine, then came around and slid open the side door. He leaned in to unbuckle Emily and she wondered if she could find a way to fight him off. But then he was pulling her from the vehicle. He dumped her into the snow like an old suitcase and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “Come on,” he said, then grabbed her by the ankles and began dragging her through the snow.

  She screamed, hoping to attract the attention of one of the highway workers who were clearing the pass. “Shut up,” Alex said, no heat in the words. He climbed over a snowbank and came down in a narrow alley cut through the snow. The passage was just wide enough for one person to walk. He strode down it, dragging Emily by her heels after him. The packed snow scraped her body and sent stabbing pains through her arms. The cold bit into her until her teeth were chattering, and tears streamed down her face from the pain as her head repeatedly pounded against the ground. She wanted to protest, to beg him to stop hurting her, but what difference would it make? He was going to kill her, unless Brodie and Travis and the others got here in time.

  Then, as suddenly as he had started, Alex stopped. Emily lay in the snow, staring up at the blue, blue sky, wondering if this would be the last sight she would ever see. Alex came and bent over her, the scarf no longer hiding his face. “Wait for me at the bottom,” he said, then gave her a hard shove.

  She flew down a steep slope, over the packed snow, sliding on her back, and then she was falling, tumbling. She pressed her arms tightly to her body and tried to curl into a fetal position, sure she was going to break something. Her body turned and bounced and slid some more, until at last she came to rest in a drift of snow, so cold she could no longer shake, numb with fear and the certainty of impending death.

  Then Alex was standing beside her. “Was that fun?” he asked. “It looked like it might be.” He hauled her upright and tossed her over his shoulder, as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. “One more trip and we’ll be home.”

  She heard the sound of a motor coming to life, and the creak of turning gears. She craned her head to look and saw an old ski lift with chairs wide enough for two people. Alex shoved Emily into one of the chairs, then sat beside her, and they started up at a rapid clip. She thought of jumping from the lift, but the fall would probably hurt, and with her hands and feet still taped, she wouldn’t be able to get away. “Is this where you’ve been living?” she asked.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” he asked. “I got the old ski lift going, and I fixed up the lift shack at the top as a cozy little hideaway.”

  “Did you set off the avalanche the day Brodie and Gage came here?” she asked.

  “They were stupid enough to come here when the avalanche danger was so high. I figure I did a public service, reminding them.”

  “Are you going to kill me up there?” Emily asked. Maybe it was a stupid question, but she wanted to know. If he answered yes, maybe she would risk jumping off the lift, and find a way to take him with her. With luck, he’d be the one to break a bone or hit his head when they landed.

  “I’m going to kill you eventually,” he said. “That’s the point, isn’t it? But not right away. First, we’re going to wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “For your brother and his men to come after you. I have a big surprise in store for them.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brodie descended the stairs two at a time. He met Bette crossing the living room. “Have you seen Gage or Cody?” he asked.

  “They and the other groomsmen went into town to pick up their tuxes. And I think they were all going to have lunch together. Why?”

  He shook his head and went past her, back onto the porch. He could call Gage and break up the lunch—and probably end up disrupting the whole wedding. Or he could try to locate Emily and Alex on his own, and summon help then. He surveyed the empty porch again, then moved into the yard and parking area. He was staring at the ground, trying to find what might be Emily’s footprints, when he spotted something he hadn’t noticed before.

  He picked up the box of staples, a cold piercing him that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. Something protruded from the corner of the box. He lifted the lid and shuddered as a small white card fluttered to the ground. He could read the words printed on it without bending over: ICE COLD.

  Alex had Emily, and he wanted Brodie and the others to know he had her. Maybe he even wanted them to come after him.

  Brodie picked up the card and tucked it back into the box of staples, then slipped them into his pocket. He surveyed the snow near where the card had fallen, the surface smooth and undisturbed. But a short distance away, he spotted an area of churned-up ice, with drag marks leading away from it.

  He followed the marks for several hundred yards, to a wooded area on the edge of the Walker property. Someone had parked a vehicle here, the impressions from the tire tread making a distinctive pattern in the snow, dripping oil forming dark Rorschach blots between the treads. The tracks circled back to the road that led away from the ranch. When Brodie reached the road, he turned and jogged back toward the house to retrieve his truck. Travis’s SUV was still parked in front of the house, but the sheriff must still be inside.

  Good. Brodie would follow Alex, and once he found him, he’d call for help. And heaven help the man if he hurt one hair on Emily’s head.

  The oil drip made Alex’s tracks relatively easy to follow. Brodie wondered once again if Alex had planned it that way. The man didn’t seem to do anything by accident. Had he set up an ambush to take down any law enforcement who followed him? Did he really think he could defeat a whole phalanx of lawmen? Maybe he thought Emily would be enough of a shield to protect him.

  The idea made Brodie’s stomach churn, but he told himself if Alex intended to use Emily as a shield, he would keep her alive as long as she was useful to him. And no matter what the murderer thought, he wasn’t going to be able to outwit and outrun them much longer.

  The oil drips turned onto the highway leading up to Dixon Pass. Brodie followed them, keeping his speed down, watching the roadsides for any sign of Alex or Emily, or anything that looked like a trap. Alex might be in
disguise, or he might use other people to help him, as he had done before. But Brodie saw no other traffic or pedestrians as the road climbed toward the pass. He sped by the sign warning of the road closure, and was almost to the barricades when he spotted an old van, nose first in the snowbank that marked the site of the avalanche he and Gage had been caught in.

  He pulled the truck in behind the van, blocking it, then sat for a long moment, staring at the empty vehicle, noting the puddle of oil beneath the rear axle and the opened passenger-side sliding door. The van had no license plate, and was scratched and battered, the bumper wired in place and a deep scratch running the length of the driver’s side. Minutes passed, with no sign of life from the vehicle, and no sound but the ticking of the truck’s cooling engine.

  Weapon drawn, Brodie eased open the door and exited the truck, then approached the van. The vehicle was empty, the keys dangling in the ignition. A glance inside showed a roll of duct tape on the back floorboard, and a single long, dark hair caught in a tear in the upholstery on the back seat. Brodie stared at the hair, struggling to rein in his emotions. Emily had been in this van. So where was she now?

  The deep snow made it easy to follow a set of footprints and drag marks from the van, up over a berm of snow to a perfectly carved channel, just wide enough for one man to pass through.

  Brodie crept down this channel, the cold closing in around him, as if he were passing through a freezer. He kept his weapon drawn, alert for any activity over and above him. But the only sound was the heavy inhale and exhale of his own breath.

  He emerged at the top of a rise and stared down at the old Dixon Downhill ski resort. As before, all was silent. A single chair dangled from the old lift and no life stirred below him.

  Except... He sniffed the air. Yes, that was smoke, rising in a thin ribbon from a stovepipe on the other side of the canyon, where the old ski lift shack huddled at the top of the lift line. Brodie stared at the smoke, a vise clamped around his heart. Then he turned and walked back to his truck, where, fingers shaking so hard he could hardly make them work, he punched in Gage’s number. After three rings, Gage answered. “What’s up?” he asked, the sounds of laughter behind him.

  “I’ve found Alex,” Brodie said. “He’s got Emily. We’ve got to stop him before it’s too late.”

  * * *

  ALEX FED MORE wood into the cast-iron stove that crouched at one end of the lift shack, until the flames leaped and popped, the heat almost overpowering, even though Emily was sprawled on the bench seat from an old pickup truck that had been placed in the opposite corner of the little wooden building. Alex—or someone else—had also brought in a rusting metal table, two wooden stools and a cot draped in blankets, presumably where Alex slept. “They should be able to see the smoke from the highway,” he said, closing the door of the stove and standing. “I did everything I could to draw them here, but they’re so dim, I need to practically lead them by the hand.”

  “There’ll be more of them than there are you,” she said. “You can’t kill them all.”

  He turned to face her, firelight reflecting in his eyes, making him look as insane as he probably was. “But I can.” He swept a hand toward the slope opposite them. “I’ve got explosives planted everywhere on that slope. I stole the dynamite and fuses from the highway crew. They use them to set off avalanches when the road is closed. There’s enough gunpowder out there to take out half the mountain.”

  “If you do that, you’ll be killed, too,” she said.

  “I’ll be gone before it blows. Of course, you’ll still be here.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Do you think I should kill you before I go—or let you die with your brothers in the explosions?”

  She closed her eyes, unwilling to look at his face any longer. The mania in his eyes frightened her. Had the insanity been there all along and she had simply failed to see it, believing he was just another undergrad, not someone she really noticed?

  “They’re here.” She opened her eyes at his words, in time to see him pick up a rifle and carry it to the sliding window that filled half of one side of the shack. Originally, the window had allowed the lift operator a view of the lift line and the skiers unloading at the top of the lift. Now it gave Alex a view back toward the opposite slope, beyond which the van was parked. “They’re really going to make this too easy for me,” he said, sliding the window open a few inches.

  She tried to rise up and look past him out the window, but the pain in her arms and legs made movement difficult. The best she could manage was a view of the sky and the back of his head.

  Without warning, a blast echoed through the shack. Emily screamed. Alex steadied the rifle against his shoulder and fired again. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, and cold from the open window settled over her like an icy blanket. Alex straightened and laughed. “You should see them out there, running around like frightened rabbits,” he said. “I can’t believe they thought they were just going to walk up here and take me.”

  Emily closed her eyes again and said a silent prayer that no one had been hurt.

  A melody full of Celtic pipes and drums filled the small shack. Alex whirled to face Emily once more. “What is that?”

  “I...I think it’s my phone.” How was that even possible? She’d been carrying the phone in her back pocket when she stepped out onto the porch, but she would have thought it would have either fallen out or been damaged as she was dragged, and then pushed, down the snowy road.

  The music continued to play. Still clutching the rifle, Alex stalked over, shoved Emily onto her side and extracted the phone from the back pocket of her jeans. He studied the screen, then swiped to answer. “Emily can’t take your call,” he said. “She’s a bit tied up at the moment.” He laughed, and her stomach churned.

  Alex moved back to the window, his back to her. “Who do you think this is? This is the Ice Cold Killer. Who is this? Wait. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

  “What have you done to Emily?” Brodie’s voice boomed over the phone. She choked back a sob, though whether of relief or panic, she couldn’t say.

  “I haven’t done anything to her...yet.” Alex held the phone out toward her. “Say hello to Agent Langtry,” he said.

  “Brodie, it’s a trap,” she said. “He’s—” But before she could finish her warning, Alex hit her, hard, almost knocking her off the seat. She tasted blood from her split lip.

  “Let her go now.” Brodie’s voice was louder, more urgent. “Release her and we can negotiate with you.”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Alex said. “After all, you think I murdered ten women. Besides, I need her. The sheriff and his deputies won’t dare hurt me if it means hurting his dear baby sister, too.”

  “Let her go and take me,” Brodie said. “They won’t hurt you with a fellow cop as a shield.”

  Emily held her breath, not sure she had heard correctly. Why would Brodie offer to take her place with a killer?

  “Oh, you do tempt me,” Alex said. “But I’m not interested in you. I came here originally to kill Emily and I believe in carrying through with my plans.”

  “What do you want from us?” Brodie asked.

  “I want you to play a game with me. You won’t win, but I’ll try to make it challenging.”

  “What is the game?”

  “Where is the sheriff?” Alex asked. “I want to talk to the sheriff.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Why not? Does he think his wedding is more important than me? More important than his sister?”

  “Tell me what you want,” Brodie said.

  “No. I’m done talking with you now. And I’m destroying this phone. Don’t bother calling back.” He hit the button to end the call, then jerked open the door to the stove and tossed the phone inside. The smell of burning plastic filled the air.

  “Isn’t that noble of him,
wanting to take your place?” Alex said.

  Emily didn’t have words to explain how Brodie’s offer made her feel. Was he only doing his job as an officer of the law, or did she really mean that much to him?

  * * *

  BRODIE, GAGE, DWIGHT, Jamie, Nate, Ryder and Marshal Cody Rankin gathered at the top of the rise looking down onto the ski lift, just out of range of Alex’s rifle. Brodie punched Emily’s number again and listened to it ring and ring. “He probably really did destroy the phone,” Ryder, who was standing next to Brodie, said. “He doesn’t strike me as one to bluff.”

  “Maybe we should get Travis out here to talk to him,” Dwight said.

  “Not yet,” Gage said. “Rob is with him. His job is to keep him occupied and in the dark.” DEA agent Rob Allerton was Paige Riddell’s boyfriend and had the least involvement of any of them in this case.

  “Alex might make a deal with Travis,” Dwight said.

  “He’s more likely to kill him,” Gage said. “I promised Lacy I’d do my best to see that she wasn’t a widow before she was a wife.”

  “How are we going to get closer to him?” Nate asked.

  “The snow down in the valley must be six feet deep,” Jamie said. “You’d never get through there without a snow machine. Even if you could somehow manage on snowshoes, you’d have to climb down there first, and Alex would have plenty of time to see you and pick you off.”

  “How did he get up to the lift shack?” Brodie asked, studying the steep, rocky incline from the bottom of the lift to the top. “And how did he get Emily up there with him?”

  “I think they rode the lift,” Dwight said.

  “The lift’s broken,” Gage said. “It hasn’t worked in years.”

  “Maybe he figured out how to get it running,” Brodie said. “Didn’t you say it’s powered by an old car motor?”