Alaskan Mountain Pursuit

by Elizabeth Goddard

  Not that he’d been trying to do that with Summer. Nothing like that had been on his mind. Only a strong admiration for how quick thinking she was, and the desire to show her he was on her side. That he cared.

  All it had done was push her away.

  It took all Clay’s focus to keep driving and not pull over and go for a walk in the woods. Or a run, that would be better. He missed the routine he’d had to keep himself in shape back when he was a police officer. He could easily maintain the same habits now but driving across the country had thrown that schedule off some. He needed to get back into the swing of that. He glanced at Summer. He considered bringing up to her now the idea of them running together—to get him back into shape and to let her get out of the house while still being protected—but from the way she leaned away from him to the way her arms were folded, everything about her said “no trespassing.”

  Instead he just drove, through the vastness of the Kenai Peninsula, up into Turnagain Pass, then around Turnagain Arm as they approached Anchorage from the south side.

  Summer broke the silence. “When we get to the police department, they won’t separate us, will they? I mean, we’re not suspects so it’s not like TV. Right?”

  Clay’s shoulders relaxed a little at a conversation he could easily handle. “Not at all. They just want to share information, really. They may treat you a bit like—”

  “Like a victim?” Her tone made no secret of her hatred for that word. It wasn’t something anyone wanted to be, a victim, but something about how strongly Summer rebelled against the designation made him wonder if there was more to it in her case, some aspect of her life that he didn’t know about. Which wouldn’t be difficult as he hadn’t known her for a full week yet, though in some ways it felt like he had known her for years.

  “Right.”

  “But you’ll be there.”

  “Yes. I’ll make sure they understand we have to stay together. Your brother wouldn’t want us separated.”

  “Just my brother?”

  Something about the way she asked it caught his attention—she was not speaking in a coy way at all, her tone was just honest. Like she wanted to know what he thought of her, if he cared. How much of this was a job and how much was because he didn’t want to see her hurt.

  Clay didn’t know. He was afraid to let himself think through any of the possible answers.

  “I don’t want it, either, Summer. I can keep you safer when I’m with you.” He took a deep breath, determined to make up the ground he’d lost with the hand-holding incident. “It’s my job.” He added the last three words knowing full well he cared more than he would about some random person he felt obliged to protect, which was all Summer had been to him before he had started to get to know her.

  “It is. You’re right.”

  She grew quiet again and Clay didn’t mind it as much as they entered Anchorage and traffic started to get thicker. They’d hit right about at the morning rush hour, or so it seemed. He wasn’t sure how long rush hour lasted there, he only knew that compared to Treasure Point and Moose Haven, the traffic was thick. He got off the highway when they were well into town and, following the directions he’d gotten from the internet, arrived at the Anchorage Police Department.

  “Has Anchorage been working on tracking this guy, or would it be better to talk to the troopers?” Summer asked with a frown after Clay pulled into a parking place in front of the building.

  “We’ll talk to both. They have both worked on the cases here in town.”

  “So they don’t mind sharing information with each other, things like that?”

  Clay laughed. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV. Most law enforcement departments are perfectly happy to have more manpower working on a case. Gets through evidence faster, prevents some backlogging.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

  They entered through the front doors and Clay told the receptionist who they were there to see. The detective Noah had told him to ask for came through a security door only a few minutes later. He held it open and motioned for them to enter.

  “Clay Hitchcock? Summer Dawson? I’m George Walters. Thank you for coming. We’ve been hoping to talk to you, but it didn’t sound initially like you’d be able to make the trip up from the Kenai. Did your drive go well?”

  “No traffic, roads were great,” Summer confirmed.

  “It’s nice that the snow is melted now.”

  “It is. It’s tricky getting up here in the winter.”

  Clay hadn’t considered that, but when he thought about it, he realized the Seward Highway, which they’d just taken, was the only road between the whole Kenai Peninsula—not just Moose Haven but also five to ten other medium-sized towns, he’d guess from the maps he’d looked at—and Anchorage.

  “If you’ll both come to my office.” He stopped at a doorway and motioned them inside. Clay stopped to let Summer go first and she did so, and then he followed.

  “Thank you again for meeting with us,” Clay said as he sat. “We had another incident last night and wanted to make sure everyone working on this case had as many details as possible.”

  “Chief Dawson told me some of it this morning, though not specifics. I wanted to get those from Miss Dawson firsthand. I appreciate you both making the trip—anything that could help us make some progress.” Walters ran a hand across his forehead as he shook his head. “I don’t like knowing this guy is out there somewhere. I don’t feel like any of the women in our city are really safe—or apparently the entire area.” He looked at Summer.

  She didn’t say anything but Clay thought she looked a little nervous. He decided he’d better talk first. She could answer questions once Walters asked some.

  “Do you guys happen to have any idea why he might have moved onto women on the Kenai?”

  Walters seemed to weigh his words. “I understand you’re former law enforcement, Clay. So you’ll understand why I can’t answer that question fully. Here’s what I know. We’re working with a profiler at the FBI to try to figure out his motives, try to decipher if his MO might change. The move to another location surprised the guys at the FBI and us too, but there are possible explanations.”

  Clay nodded. He could respect if the other man didn’t feel like he could say more since he wasn’t technically an officer anymore. He knew everything Walters did tell him today was a favor.

  “Speaking of that subject though, could I ask you a few questions, Miss Dawson?”

  “You can call me Summer.” She sat up a little straighter, leaned forward a little, Clay noticed.

  “Alright. Summer, do you have any idea who might want to attack you?”

  The man didn’t pull punches; Clay liked that.

  She shook her head, as Clay had already known she would.

  “I have no idea. I’m working on...compiling a list of suspicions I have.”

  “Of people the killer could be?” The detective raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you were being so proactive.”

  Summer laughed it off, which Clay appreciated. He didn’t feel the other man needed to know the effort Summer, and he by extension, planned to go to find a link between her and the other victims. Since it wouldn’t impede the official investigation and might yield useful clues, some things were just better left unsaid.

  “I’m working on figuring out possible ways the killer might have met me. Things like that. I thought that might help?”

  “It might. It’s worth a try as long as you’re staying out of danger.” He looked at Clay. “Do you have her in a safe house?”

  He shook his head. “The situation in Moose Haven currently makes more sense if we don’t. I know you’ve talked to her brother Chief Noah Dawson, and he’ll change her protection plan if it seems our current plan isn’t sufficient.”

  “She has someone with her 24/7 thou
gh. Right?”

  Clay nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The other man looked relieved, Clay noted. He was glad that the Anchorage police were taking the threat as seriously as they were, liked that someone else had Summer’s back, even if it was from a distance.

  “Can you tell me in your own words what happened last night?” he asked Summer.

  Summer did so and Clay listened, impressed at the way she was able to share everything with so much confidence, apparently unaffected. He knew better than to believe she was as nonchalant as she seemed. He knew how much the idea of someone being after her shook her. But he appreciated how she was able to deliver information in a detached sort of way.

  When she’d finished giving her answer, the detective nodded and then slowly stood. “I’m going to pass this information on to the rest of the team. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming up. I know it’s a long drive.”

  “We have other things to do in Anchorage anyway,” Summer said with a smile. Clay tried not to react but wished she hadn’t shared that particular tidbit.

  Thankfully the detective didn’t ask questions, he just saw them out politely and then they were climbing back into Clay’s car.

  “That went well, right?” Summer asked when they were both buckled in.

  “It did.” Though it hadn’t been quite as informative as he had hoped. For the first time since he’d left Georgia, Clay honestly wished he had his badge back. He’d love to know what was going on in the police department right now, what leads were going to be pursued with the new information they’d been provided. He had guesses, of course, based on how he would handle it, but that wasn’t the same thing as knowing.

  He was surprised by how much his civilian status stung.

  He glanced over at Summer. Was it endangering her, being protected by someone who didn’t have the full power of the law behind him? It was better than nothing for sure, but he’d have to talk with Noah. The other man had floated the idea of Clay being sworn in as a Moose Haven reserve officer once, but Clay had brushed him off.

  Maybe it was time to accept that offer. Anything that would keep Summer safer.

  * * *

  Summer gave Clay the address of the first house she wanted to visit. That of the first victim’s parents. Not every victim had relatives living in the state, so it worked out well for Summer that the first one had. She wanted to start at the beginning, talk to people who knew the victims while following the order of their disappearances just in case that was somehow significant.

  The farther into the neighborhood they drove the heavier the pit in Summer’s stomach grew. She reached for the thermos of tea she’d brought and took a sip. Lukewarm. She winced. She’d known when she came up with this idea that it would be difficult, tracing the killer’s movements from one grieving family to another. Especially when her own emotions seemed to be waging a war between thankfulness that she was alive, that her family wasn’t one on the list, and at the same time feeling guilty. Why her? Why was she alive when these other women were dead?

  Classic survivor’s guilt, Summer knew and was able to acknowledge. But it didn’t change the weight that seemed to sit on her, that made it a little harder to breathe. And also drove her to answer the whispered question from somewhere inside herself. It doesn’t matter why. You’re alive. What are you going to do about it?

  What was she going to do?

  “Which way here?” Clay asked.

  Summer smiled at the irony of his timing. “Turn left,” she said after looking down at the directions she’d pulled up on her phone.

  Working at the lodge was the right thing to do, she told herself as they approached the first house. There had to be a way to make it feel more like her passion. She already knew it was worth doing because it made her family happy and family was important, that was a lesson she should have learned long ago.

  She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  “This one?” Clay nodded toward a blue two-story house.

  “Yes.” He pulled into the driveway.

  She didn’t move, didn’t unbuckle. She suddenly couldn’t. Summer swallowed hard, tried to remind herself of all the reasons this was a good idea. Maybe their only chance.

  “Ready?” Clay asked, his voice gentle and not pressuring. She smiled a little even as she still fought to keep herself from spiraling into panic.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Nervous?”

  “I don’t know what I am. Too many emotions to name, I guess.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s hard to face someone who’s been through this kind of tragedy, much less to ask them questions. Your part in this case, the fact that you’re not just someone investigating, that’s got to make it harder.”

  She nodded.

  He started to reach his hand over, then seemed to remember earlier and pulled it back.

  Summer took his, accepted the squeeze he gave once she had and gave him a small smile. “I can use all the encouragement I can get right now.”

  “I think what you’re doing is smart.”

  “You’re coming with me, right?” The thought of facing the family without Clay hadn’t occurred to her.

  “Yes,” he answered before she could worry any longer. She exhaled, let go of his hand and opened the car door. “I’m ready as I’ll get.”

  She crossed the driveway and followed the sidewalk up to the small front deck of the house. Without hesitating, because she suspected if she hesitated she’d get back into the car and ask Clay to drive straight back to Moose Haven, she knocked on the door.

  Waited.

  The door opened slightly and a woman she’d guess to be in her midfifties looked at both of them. “Yes?” Summer detected a slight European accent, something that was common in Anchorage and other parts of Alaska. In this woman’s voice, it sounded almost musical.

  “Mrs. Hunt?”

  “Yes?”

  She opened the door slightly farther after they mentioned her name. Summer realized she shouldn’t waste time before explaining who they were. The woman’s life had just been changed by violence. She was probably going to be slightly suspicious of anyone she didn’t know.

  “I’m Summer Dawson. I wanted to ask you some questions about your daughter.” The words spilled out before she could decide if that was the best way to approach saying who she was.

  “Jenna?”

  “Yes.” Summer nodded.

  “The police have been here. You’re not the police.”

  “No. I’m not. I’m...” She weighed her options, then decided to take a chance with full honesty. “Police think the same man tried to kill me.”

  Her eyes and the door both widened. “Come in. And your friend?”

  “Clay. He’s a former police officer who’s my full-time protection at the moment.”

  The older woman nodded and moved aside.

  Summer walked inside the house.

  “Please, have a seat.” She motioned to a couch and Summer sat. Clay sat beside her. She was grateful for the fire in the fireplace, since she’d started to shiver slightly. While she wasn’t convinced it was from the weather, since it wasn’t cold or rainy outside, the heat might help anyway.

  Mrs. Hunt sat across from them. “Why don’t you tell me why someone who isn’t a police officer needs to ask me questions.”

  Summer weighed her words. She hadn’t counted on how difficult it would be to talk to people who had been so personally affected by the man who was after her. Here she was, doing what she’d planned, taking charge and getting involved, and right now all she could do was sit there.

  “I just... I need to see if I can find any answers to explain why this is happening. Maybe help find the man responsible.”

  The other woman st
udied her. “You seem, Summer, like the kind of person who has her own grief. You’re careful in how you talk to me. I can tell that.”

  Avoiding Clay’s eyes, Summer shrugged. The woman could read people, Summer would give her that. But she wasn’t there to talk about past griefs. She wasn’t even there to make the woman feel better about her own, though if she somehow could she’d certainly be happy to know she had done so. She was there for answers.

  Mrs. Hunt shifted in her seat, leaned forward and rested her elbows on her legs in a graceful gesture. “Tell me about yourself first.”

  “Um...” Summer fumbled for words. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She had her questions, on another page of her notebook, written down, ready to show how she could help in this investigation rather than being the one person everyone else was protecting. Not that she minded being kept alive—she appreciated that part. But she was tired of being treated with kid gloves. Again.

  If only it was the first time people had seen her as a victim. At least this time she wasn’t to blame. That first time, she’d been a victim of her own life choices.

  “Please.” The older woman smiled and Summer sighed.

  “I’m twenty-eight. I live in Moose Haven, with my family. We run a lodge.” She glanced at Clay, noticing how carefully he seemed to be listening. Did he want to know more about her? Summer knew it was silly to wonder. It wasn’t as though anything could come of any possible interest. But she still wanted to know—did he have any interest in her? Or did he just see her like so many other people did at the moment, as someone to protect?

  She turned her attention back to Mrs. Hunt. “I love Alaska. It seemed like your daughter did too from her Facebook profile.”

  Mrs. Hunt nodded. “She was a fan of yours, you know.”

  “Of mine?” Summer shook her head. “I haven’t done anything in years.”

  “But you were a mountain runner back in the day, weren’t you? Jenna followed your career. You weren’t too far apart in age and she was amazed at all you accomplished, starting with those records you broke back in high school.”