“Hannah, we need to get out of here. Now!” Layke’s baritone voice boomed with undeniable urgency.
“What’s going on?”
“Propane leak and our position has been compromised.”
She ushered Gabe down the hall to where Layke had the front door open and was waiting.
Layke nudged her out the door. “Come on!”
“Where will—”
An explosion cut off her words and rocked the cabin’s structure, propelling the trio off the front porch. They fell into a mound of snow.
Layke jumped up and dragged her and Gabe farther down the laneway.
A second blast turned the cabin into a fireball and slammed a gush of heat in their direction as debris pelted them.
Layke shoved Gabe toward her and used his body to shield both of them.
Gabe cried and squirmed in an attempt to get out from under them.
Layke jumped up and lifted the boy into his arms. “Get to the car! Run, Hannah!”
Darlene L. Turner is an award-winning author who lives with her husband, Jeff, in Ontario, Canada. Her love of suspense began when she read her first Nancy Drew book. She’s turned that passion into her writing and believes readers will be captured by her plots, inspired by her strong characters and moved by her inspirational message. Visit Darlene at www.darlenelturner.com, where there’s suspense beyond borders.
Books by Darlene L. Turner
Love Inspired Suspense
Border Breach
Abducted in Alaska
Abducted in Alaska
Darlene L. Turner
I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.
My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.
—Psalm 139:14–16
For Murray (Murly-the-Whurly), my amazing brother
I miss you
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Mountain Survival by Christy Barritt
ONE
Border patrol officer Hannah Morgan stepped through the doors of the Canadian Services Border Agency station in Beaver Creek, Yukon. Strong winds assaulted her exposed face, but she didn’t mind. It would help take away the sting of the recent news she’d received. Well, if that was possible. The blinding snow pelted her as she trudged from under the station’s covered border crossing.
Movement at the tree line caught her eye, jarring her from the winter conditions. What was that? She pulled her flashlight from her pocket and shone it toward the woods. A young boy emerged from the tree cover, stumbling through the blizzard...coatless. He fell face-first into the deep fresh-fallen snow.
Hannah yelled and raced toward the boy. She had to reach him and fast. Who knew how long he’d been out in the elements? Frostbite would set in soon—if it hadn’t already.
It took her only seconds to reach him. She pulled him out of the powdery mess. His matted curly hair held embedded chunks of snow, revealing hints of brown mixed with white. Hannah guessed him to be about seven or eight.
He whimpered, his teeth chattering through bluish lips. She had to get him inside. Now.
“I’ve got you.” She pulled off her CBSA-issued parka and wrapped it around him. “Here, this will help.” She ignored the biting wind that whipped through her long-sleeved shirt. His safety was her only concern.
“He’s. After. Me.” The boy’s words stumbled out in shivering whispers.
“Who’s after you?”
Movement from the tree line answered her question. Once again, she shone her flashlight. A man scrambled through the woods, a gun at his side. He spotted them and raised his weapon, revealing his intention. He wanted the boy.
Hannah grabbed the boy’s hand. “Run!” she yelled. With her free hand, she unleashed her Beretta. Not that she could fire well in the disappearing daylight, but she needed to be prepared. She would not let harm come to this boy. Not on her watch.
They raced across the field, ploughing through the snowstorm. Tightness attacked her chest as her airways constricted. No! Her asthma couldn’t flare up now. Not when someone else was in danger. She breathed in deeply and veered the boy toward the border patrol station.
A shot rang out, echoing in the area as snow sprayed them from the bullet gone wide. God, protect us.
The boy stumbled on a fallen branch. She stuffed her weapon back into its holster, lifted him in her arms and kept running. Another shot pierced the night. Hannah raced in a zigzag pattern, determined not to give the shooter an easy target. Even though the boy was lightweight, her arms became heavy from carrying him. She ignored the discomfort and concentrated on one thing.
Reaching the station and safety.
A shadow emerged ahead under the building’s light in the now darkened area.
Her boss.
He had heard the shots.
“Run, Hannah!” He raised his weapon, ready to fire.
She was almost at the border patrol station.
Another shot rang out, hitting the light and plunging the dusk into darkness. A coyote howled in the distance. She knew they ran in packs, but the gunfire should keep them away.
She stumbled, then caught her footing as she reached the roadway.
“Hurry,” her boss shouted, racing toward them.
Within seconds, Superintendent Doyle Walsh reached them and grabbed the boy from her. “Quick, into the station.” The older officer’s father-like tendencies had comforted her throughout her career with the CBSA. They were safe with him.
She whipped open the door and held it for her boss and the boy. She slammed it shut, locking it.
A gush of heat embraced her like a brick wall of safety. How long would it hold before the assailant breached it?
“We have to brace the doors.” Hannah began to push a short filing cabinet in front of the door. Hopefully, it would at least give them some protection. “Help me.” Her shallow breathing stole her air. She breathed in and out slowly to calm her racing heart.
Doyle set the boy in a chair and helped her shove the cabinet across the floor.
A bullet struck the window.
Hannah lunged for the boy, pulling him onto the floor. “Get down!”
More bullets struck the building, but the bulletproof glass held.
Shouts sounded from outside. The assailant had called in reinforcements.
Who were these people and why were they after the boy?
When no more shots came, she eased herself up and glanced out the window. A man with spiked hair appeared within inches of the building, staring directly at her. His cold eyes personified evil and he sneered. He raised his cell phone and pressed it against the glass. A picture of her on Facebook appeared. What? His intent was clear. He k
new her identity and she was now a target.
Hannah stumbled backward, falling to the floor, and pulled out her inhaler. Lord, keep my asthma at bay. She put her lips on the mouthpiece, took a puff and then exhaled to still the panic threatening to overpower her body. How did he know who she was in such a short time?
The boy cried beside her.
She gathered him into her arms. With the unexpected news from her doctor only an hour ago indicating she would probably never bear a child of her own, she had the sudden urge to protect this boy. “You’re safe with us. Are you hurt?”
He shivered in her embrace and shook his head. How long had he been out in the cold?
“What’s your name?” Doyle knelt beside them.
The curly-haired boy hiccuped through his tears. “Gabe.”
His chocolate-brown eyes reminded Hannah of a puppy dog. Her heart melted. “How old are you?”
He raised eight white-tipped fingers.
Hannah smiled before wrapping her hands around his tiny ones. She needed to warm him up. “What’s your last name, Gabe?”
“Stewart.”
Shouts alerted her to the continued danger outside.
“Did you call 911?” Hannah asked her boss.
Doyle nodded. “They should arrive any moment now.”
The station’s phone trilled and he hit the speaker button. “Beaver Creek Station.”
“Give up the boy and we might let you live,” the deep voice growled.
Gabe whimpered.
Hannah held him tighter. Lord, bring reinforcements now! The normally peaceful small station housed only a couple of officers. They were outnumbered.
Flashing lights lit up the area as sirens pierced the night.
Her prayer was answered.
More shots rang out.
She eased up and peeked out the window. Lights bounced from tree to tree as gunfire pierced through the inky sky. Gabe’s sobs reminded her of the need to keep the boy from harm. She had to get him safely out of the station. How, with the assailants so close?
A police constable crouched behind his cruiser with his weapon raised.
He fired and glanced toward the station, the sole remaining streetlight revealing his features.
Where had she seen him before? She searched her memory and couldn’t come up with the answer.
Machine gun fire peppered the window.
She screamed and fell back down on the floor.
Gabe raced to her and latched his arms around her neck, holding her in a vise grip. “Don’t let them get me.”
His whispered words tore at her heart.
A tear leaked down her cheek as determination surfaced.
She would not let this boy down.
* * *
Canadian police constable Layke Jackson cowered behind the cruiser, raising his Maglite and Smith & Wesson in the direction of the shots fired. The dark five-o’clock hour hid the number of assailants lurking in the distance, making it impossible to get a clear line of sight. The wind snaked down his neck, adding to the trepidation creeping into his body. He hated winter. He’d take the beach over mountains any day. He zipped up his jacket tighter to his neck and focused on the task at hand.
Local Beaver Creek constables pulled up beside him. They jumped from their cruiser and flanked him with their weapons raised, protecting the occupants of the station. Layke identified himself over the howling wind.
He had been on his way from Whitehorse hours ago to investigate strange child abductions in the Beaver Creek area when he heard the desperate 911 call from the patrol station. On loan to the Yukon authorities from Alberta, he’d requested to lead the joint task force of a child labor smuggling ring happening along the Yukon-Alaskan borders. He’d jumped at the chance after he received a frantic call from his newly discovered half brother, Murray. His son had mysteriously disappeared and with the high rise of child labor in the area, Layke knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Once his boss and the local corporal approved it, he’d hopped on a plane and headed to Whitehorse.
He promised Murray he’d find his son, Noel. Before it was too late.
Was the boy barricaded in the CBSA station connected to the other abducted children or a coincidence? Could the boy lead them to Noel?
Bullets whizzed over Layke’s head, snapping him from his thoughts.
Multiple muzzle flashes revealed the shooters’ location.
Layke and the other constables fired in that direction.
When no other flashes erupted, he lowered his weapon. “Hold your fire!”
Silence hushed the night, stilling the wind.
Layke eased himself up, being careful not to make himself a target. “They’re gone. Can you secure the perimeter? I’ll check on the occupants in the station.”
The local constables glanced at each other, then back to him. One stepped forward. “Where are you from, Constable? Clearly not from around here.” His lips flattened.
Oops. Had Layke overstepped his bounds?
He stuck out his gloved hand. “Sorry, I should start over. I’m Constable Layke Jackson on loan from Alberta. You are?”
The fortysomething black-haired constable shook his hand. “I’m Constable Antoine and this is Constable Yellowhead. Why are you in our area?”
“There’s reason to believe the boy inside could be one of the recently abducted children. I’m leading a joint task force to capture the child smugglers.”
The other constable crossed his arms. “But why from Alberta? Local constables could lead this task force. After all, we know the area better.”
Layke had to tread lightly. He couldn’t get on their bad side. He needed their help and he also had to get inside to check on the occupants. “Understood. I’ve had lots of experience in the uptick of child labor smuggling rings across the country. I volunteered to come here.” No need to go into all his reasons.
Constable Antoine reached for his radio. “We’ll call it in. Then we’ll scour the area for the shooters.”
Layke pinched his lips together. They were wasting time and the assailants were getting away. However, they were correct. They had to go by protocol. Everything must be done right. Airtight investigations led to solid convictions. It was the way he operated.
He pointed to the station. “I’ll check on the CBSA officers and boy inside. Nice meeting you.”
They nodded and stepped toward their cruiser.
Layke rushed to the entrance and tried the door. Locked. He banged on it. “Constable Jackson here. Can you open up?”
“Is it safe?” a female’s voice yelled from inside.
“Yes. They’re gone.” At least that appeared to be the case.
He heard scraping sounds, as if the station’s occupants were moving furniture. Perhaps they had shoved something in front of the door to protect themselves. Smart thinking.
Moments later, the door eased opened slightly and a blue-eyed CBSA officer peered through the crack. Wiry red hair poked out from under her tuque. “Can you show me some identification?”
He fished out his credentials and held them up. “Can you let me in? It’s freezing out here.” His tone conveyed a mix of annoyance and authority. Probably not a good first impression, but he was losing his patience. Not his best trait.
She scowled and opened the door wider. “Yes, sir!”
He swept by her and brushed the snow off his jacket. “Everyone good?”
He spied the boy huddled in the corner under a mound of blankets, his body shaking. He rushed over and knelt beside him. “Hey, bud. You okay?”
The boy remained silent.
Layke turned to the officer. “You are?”
“Border patrol officer Hannah Morgan.” She pointed to the man on his cell phone. “That’s Superintendent Doyle Walsh. He’s reporting the incident to our superiors.
”
Layke stood and pulled out his notebook. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Hannah removed her hat, revealing her disheveled red locks. She tugged at the elastic in her hair and repositioned it. “I was performing a sweep of the area at dusk since the traffic was light when I caught movement at the tree line. Gabe here came through the woods without a coat on.”
No wonder he still shivered. How long had he been out in the cold?
“I rushed over and put my jacket around him,” Hannah continued. “He barely told me what was going on when I saw a man with a gun emerge from the trees, rushing at us. I grabbed Gabe’s hand and we ran toward the building. The man fired some shots that went wide. Thankfully, God protected us.”
God? Hardly. He held his tongue and waited for her to continue.
“My boss heard the shots and came outside. We reached the station and barricaded ourselves in. One of the assailants called us and demanded we release the boy or they’d kill us.”
“Any recognizable voice traits? Accent?”
“None, but I won’t forget it. It was deep and chilling.” She rubbed her arms as if warding off the threat.
“Do you know anything about Gabe?”
“Only that he’s eight.”
“Any signs of how long he was out in the cold?”
“His fingertips are frostbitten. I treated him.”
Gabe held up his bandaged hands.
Layke smiled, pulled up a chair beside the boy and tousled his curls. “Can you tell me why you didn’t have a coat on, Gabe?”
He shrugged. “No time. I ran.”
“From where?”
A fat tear surfaced and the boy looked at Hannah.
She rushed to his side. “It’s okay, Gabe. You can tell Constable Jackson. You’re safe now.”
“They said they’d kill us.”
She rubbed the tear away with her thumb. “Who said that?”
“The bad men.”
Layke had to get this boy to trust him. He pulled out his badge and handed it to him. “See this, Gabe? I’m a police officer and I will keep you safe. I promise.”
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