by J. S. Marlo
“About three hours walking from the main entrance of the cave.”
Main entry point suggested the cave had more than one opening, unless she’d misread the words. “What about the other exits?”
“There’s another entrance, but it leads in the opposite direction.” Greta pointed at a corner where sunlight seeped through a gap in the ceiling. “I carried you through it. The snowmobile is buried forty minutes away.”
“Are you saying you walk everywhere?” The woman hadn’t mentioned any mode of transportation, but she obviously traveled around.
“My snowshoes don’t need fuel. They don’t make noise. And if I drag a branch behind me, I can easily erase my prints. As long as I can check my traps and return before nightfall, I don’t need an engine.”
Many questions swirled inside her mind. While she wanted to ask Greta what had prompted her to live apart from society, Lucky had more pressing issues to deal with. “Do we have time to return to the crash site? I’d like to see the snowmobile.”
“Now?” The dubious look on Greta’s face conveyed her surprise more efficiently than any intonation in her voice.
Not being able to hear wasn’t as frustrating as not being able to remember, but it came a close second.
“Please? I need to go.” She didn’t think she was strong enough for the three-hour trek to the site of her attack, but she should be able to manage an eighty-minute round trip. “It’s important.”
A silent sigh deflated Greta’s chest. “Let me get some winter clothes and gear.”
The hand-sewn clothes were made of pelts and decorated with claws. They were beautiful and practical, but what struck Lucky the most were the snowshoes. While both pairs showed impressive craftsmanship, she particularly liked the pair with the rabbit paws.
As she stroked the wood, a fleeting image flickered through her mind. “Did you make these?”
“The old man gave them to me after the man who slashed me, cracked mine.” Greta looked at her with a cloudy, far away look. “They were the only reason I escaped.”
***
Avery peeked at the alarm clock through heavy eyelids and groaned. 4:30 p.m.
Knocking on his door less than two hours after his return from Rowan’s home should be illegal. He dragged his exhausted self out of bed and hobbled to the door. Ghost pain seared up his right leg. With time, effort, and determination, he’d regained full mobility, but the old bullet injury—and the imprints of Rory’s arms as the boy hung to his leg before his departure—hadn’t stopped haunting him.
If he bangs one more time, I’m arresting him for breach of the peace.
Another knock resounded in the house, echoing in Avery’s skull. He nabbed the knob and yanked the door open. “Bloody hell, what do—” Upon seeing Reed’s reddened face ready to bleed out, Avery swallowed you want. “Sergeant?”
“Did you even bother sobering up before you drove back?”
Not drunk, just overtired. Same symptoms but different cause. As long as Reed didn’t charge him for drinking and driving, Avery welcomed his superior’s misconception. “What makes you think I drove somewhere?”
“Don’t take me for an idiot, Stone.” Reed elbowed his way in and kicked the door shut with his boot. “Two days ago, you went AWOL, filled up for gas in Port-aux Basques, booked a cheap motel, withdrew a thousand bucks from an ATM, and squandered it on hookers. We talked to gas station and motel attendants. They remember you. You’re pathetic.”
Someone in the detachment had followed the trail Avery had left behind. Had time been on his side, he would also have falsified a request for personal leave. If Reed reported him for being absent without leave, it could jeopardize his assignment. “I can explain.”
“Don’t bother lying.” Reed unzipped his jacket, exposing his gun. “We checked your credit card.”
“Should have paid cash,” he mumbled to himself to keep up with the subterfuge. “My partner was murdered three years ago. I needed to get away for her anniversary. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“No.” His sergeant wandered inside the living room, as if he owned the place, and gazed around. “Fred Pike came in yesterday afternoon. He was looking for you.”
Hannah… “What did he want?” In his exhausted state, playing ignorant came easy.
“Sometime in the last few days, Parker’s cabin blew up. She and her boy are missing, and Fred is worried.”
With good reason. “Did someone search the debris? Did you establish the cause of the blast?”
Reed eyed him cautiously. For a moment Avery feared he might have shown too much interest.
“No human remains were found on the site. The preliminary report points to the propane tank as the cause of the explosion.”
The wave of relief washing over Avery receded as quickly as it had rolled in. Hannah loved her son and would never have intentionally abandoned him. Something had prevented her from coming home, and that something didn’t bode well for her safety. “The propane tank?”
“A tech from Propane Plus was at the scene this morning. He suspects a defective safety valve.”
What better way to stage an explosion than to tamper with the propane tank. “Who’s in charge of the investigation?”
Reed threw a smirk his way, disconcerting Avery. “You are. You get Fred off my back and expedite the case of Parker and her son’s disappearance, and I may just forget your unauthorized escapade.”
***
A baby wailed. A door squeaked. Stairs creaked. The wailing stopped.
Typical night at Buccaneer.
Standing by the window in the attic bedroom, Bill stared into the night. The wind and the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff rattled the glass. After Rowan closed the Bed and Breakfast, she’d convinced him to move in to be closer to his newfound family.
Best decision of my life. It had brought him peace and closure.
The floor creaked again. It’s too soon for Rowan to be done nursing Savannah.
Bill ventured outside the room in search of the disturbance and caught a diminutive shadow sneaking down the staircase.
“Rory?”
One hand on the railing, the youngster froze.
“Are you hungry?” The boy had barely touched his food since Avery had left him in their care. “Want something to eat? I make terrific peanut butter sandwiches. We could both have one.”
A heavy silence settled on the staircase, drowning out their breathing. When it showed no sign of dissipating, Bill sat by the child’s feet and patted the step beside him. “Why don’t you come here and tell me what you’re doing up in the middle of the night?”
Two nightlights, one plugged into the upstairs hallway and the other into the downstairs lobby illuminated their midnight encounter. When Rory turned his head in his direction, the pain reflected in his eyes broke Bill’s heart.
When it’d been time for Officer Stone to leave, Rory had clung to his leg like a lost and frightened puppy. It didn’t matter that Stone had promised to come back, the child was too young to understand he’d been placed in the care of strangers for his own protection.
In his mind, the boy must feel abandoned. The youngster needed a friend.
“There’s a baby coyote in the garage.” Two weeks ago, Bill had found her in a den near the frozen stream. The only pup in a litter of five to survive her mother’s death. He hadn’t had the heart to abandon her to fate, so he’d contacted the Wildlife Office. They had yet to send an officer to collect the orphan. “It’s time for her night feeding. Want to help me give her a bottle of milk?”
A timid nod spoke of Rory’s quiet resilience.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Except for the tender bump on the back of her head and the persistent lack of hearing, Lucky felt like her normal self—or whatever her normal self might have been.
Awake at dawn, she’d coaxed Greta to go for another snowshoeing trek in the woods.
The ease with which Lucky walked in the snow suggested she
’d donned snowshoes in the past. With each step she took, the old rabbit paws bounced behind her. She couldn’t shake the feeling they held some mysterious significance.
Some six feet in front of her, Greta paused inside a clearing and turned toward her as she pointed at the frozen creek. “The two men came from downstream. They ambushed you here.”
A recent snowfall had erased any trace of the violent encounter. The site didn’t yield any more memories than the beaver lodge or the snowmobile resting at the bottom of the pond. “How far are we from the nearest town?”
“A full day of walking. Maybe more. There’s a cabin in the woods.” Greta pointed away from the stream. “Four…five hours away. The old man used to live there.”
“The one who saved your life?” Maybe she could seek shelter in the cabin on her way to town. “What happened to him?”
“He died.” Greta sported an enigmatic expression, and Lucky wished she could hear the infliction in her voice. “The Mounties framed two native teenagers for his death. You cannot trust them or the government. Justice only serves the whites.”
The conviction etched on the older woman’s face didn’t bode well for Lucky’s chances of convincing Greta to come into town with her and give a description of her assailants. “Greta, would—”
“I hear an engine. Hurry, we need to hide.”
***
Avery could only speculate as why the sergeant put him in charge of the investigation. Whatever the reasons, it gave him the opportunity to snoop around what was left of Hannah’s cabin without raising suspicion.
With all the different people that had visited the explosion site in the last few days and the snowfall from last night, any evidence worth gathering had either been collected or destroyed.
It wasn’t an accident. I glimpsed the perpetrator.
Hannah had wanted to go for a ride in the forest. His request to access her laptop had provided her with the opportunity to go alone. A specific objective had been on her mind, that much had been obvious. He’d been so eager to look at those confidential files, it didn’t occur to him to inquire about her destination—a lack of foresight he regretted. Alone and deprived of one sense, she must have stumbled onto someone, and lethal consequences had ensued.
With the GPS of his snowmobile set on the coordinates he’d copied from Pike’s murder report, Avery plowed through the fresh layer of snow, pushing deeper into the forest. The answers lay beyond the cabin. Short of a better place to start, he sought the place where Hannah’s grandfather had been killed.
Among the evergreens, naked skeletons of deciduous trees shivered in the cold. The wintery landscape didn’t change much the farther he traveled. Maybe she got lost, or ran out of gas, or experienced engine trouble. While the odds of these events occurring might not be in Hannah’s favor, he refused to dismiss the possibility she survived.
A dot bleeped on the screen of the GPS. This is it. Avery stopped his vehicle and wandered around on foot. No landmark, no lair, no hangout. The old man had met three strangers in an unremarkable clearing only to die a violent death.
In his career, Avery had dealt with his fair share of murderers. The majority of them had killed for a reason. For love, for revenge, for money, to cover another crime…the list was endless. As he racked his brain for a motive, his gaze traveled across the magnificent landscape. Wild, white, untouched…except for a stretch of snow between two large trees, smudged with streaks—unusual streaks.
One hand on his holster, Avery advanced toward the disturbance. The low branches battering the snow didn’t reach the middle of the path.
This doesn’t look like Mother Nature’s artwork.
Adrenaline rushed through his body, heightening his senses. A branch cracked behind him. He spun around and drew his gun. A blow struck him behind the knees. His weapon slipped from his grip and fell into the snow. As he tumbled forward, he heard crunching steps and glimpsed a short woman emerging from behind the tree.
Ignoring the pain searing up his legs, he staggered up. Two suspects were snowshoeing away. Aside from the stick she’d ditched into the snow, it didn’t appear the woman or her companion had been armed. Had she mustered more strength, the hit could have incapacitated him.
While he wasted precious minutes digging his weapon out of the snow, the suspects reached the edge of the clearing.
Bloody hell. They’re fast.
His gun stored back in his holster, Avery jumped on his snowmobile to pursue them. The snowshoe tracks circumvented a steep embankment looming ahead. He hit the slope with his skis at an upward angle. The roaring engine propelled the vehicle airborne. A long second later, he landed in a mist of snow only to come to an abrupt halt in front of the impenetrable path.
Bloody trees. The forest was denser in these parts and his assailants had sneaked through the narrow gaps between the evergreens. Avery tossed his helmet on the bench and continued his pursuit on foot, one sinking step after the other. Through the branches, he glimpsed their smooth advance. Bloody snow. The woman who’d hit him led the way, her steps short and brisk. The second individual moved more graceful and seemed to skid over the snow. Another bloody woman.
“What are two women doing in snowshoes deep in the woods so far away from town?” His heavy breathing drowned out his question.
They hadn’t looked behind, but they had to hear him, to know he was chasing after them.
“RCMP.” He yelled to gauge their reaction. “Stop.”
Glancing above her shoulder, the woman farther ahead motioned for her accomplice to move faster.
Stubborn women. Fallen trees and scratchy shrubs hindered the women’s escape. Despite his cumbersome progression, he gained on them with his longer strides. Less than fifteen feet.
As she skipped over a dead tree, the snowshoe of the trailing woman caught on a branch. She tumbled onto her hands and knees.
“Lucky! Get up!”
Seizing his chances, he lunged forward and tackled her—the one named Lucky—into the snow. They rolled. He landed onto top, grasping her wrists. Kicking and thrashing, she swung her head left and right. He tightened his grip. “Stop or—”
A grimace warped her face, and she stilled her head. “Let go of me.”
Thunderstruck by the blue eyes glaring at him in defiance, Avery pushed himself up. “Han—”
Blackness embraced him.
***
Rowan caught them all bundled up in the vestibule, ready to venture outside in the middle of a snowstorm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“We need to clear a path to the garage to go feed Finger.” Her grandfather placed a large gloved hand on Rory’s shoulder. “My little buddy is helping me.”
A coy smile played on the boy’s lips as he nodded. Since Avery’s departure, the youngster had become Bill’s shadow. Not even Gail’s gooey chocolate chip cookies could tear those two apart.
“You named the coyote Finger?” A wildlife officer had collected the dead female coyote and pups and tested them for disease. Why he didn’t take the surviving baby at the same time boggled Rowan’s mind. Nevertheless, he’d assured them there was no health risk associated with the pup in the garage.
“She likes licking Rory’s fingers, so we called her Finger. Right, Buddy?” The tuque fell down the boy’s eyes when he gave Bill a brisk nod of approval.
“Well, you make sure Rory keeps all his fingers. And no climbing on any roof.” To remind Bill that he broke three ribs last winter while clearing the snow from the roof of the garage seemed redundant.
***
Something licked his face. Something warm, and wet—and furry.
Avery snapped his eyes open, quickly moving his hand to his face. “Snowflake?”
Protected from the cold by her heavy sweater and boots, the small dog caught his glove between her front paws, and through the leather, nibbled at his thumb. Never in his life had Avery been so happy to see an animal. Rory would be thrilled to learn Snowflake was safe and sound.
“Are you hungry, girl? Where have you been?” And where am I?
As his gaze wandered through the mayhem around him, vestiges of his encounter in the forest emerged from deep inside his throbbing head. Hannah?
Unsure he should trust his memory, he touched the back of his head and winced. A lump the size of a hockey puck protruded from his skull. The attack had been real and Hannah had been there. She’s alive. He should have been relieved. He would be had her behavior made sense. A woman had attacked him, and Hannah had fled with her.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
He sat inside a ransacked shack, his back against a barrel, the only object still intact amidst knocked down shelves, damaged tools, dented cans, and shattered glasses. The sun shining through a hole in the ceiling and broken window cast a yellow hue on the destruction.
The sight looked familiar. He’d been inside a similar shack, though he couldn’t recall where or under which circumstances.
Done playing with his glove, Snowflake cuddled against his chest, near his holster. His gun was in his possession, loaded. His badge, his wallet, and his phone were in his pocket. Nothing seemed to be missing.
“Let’s get out of here.” He picked up the dog and slowly stood. No dizziness or weakness. Good.
The door was ajar. He pushed it, took a step outside, and gaped in consternation at the ruins of Hannah’s cabin.
He’d somehow ended up in her shed. His snowmobile was nowhere in sight.
Chapter Twenty-
Three
“Greta?” Though she hadn’t seen any gun in the cave, Lucky didn’t want to startle Greta by entering the premises unannounced. “Are you there?”
Crouched by the fire, the old woman gestured for her to come in. Her lips didn’t move until after Lucky joined her. “Where have you been?”
“I couldn’t leave him. He would have died.” When the officer had looked at her, seconds before Greta hit him with her walking staff, a peculiar expression had registered on his face.