He leaned closer to her, glancing at the gas gauge, and relaxed when he saw that they still had plenty in the tank. They could sit here and warm up a little bit longer. Then again…
He leaned over her, angling so he was looking upward out the window. Being parked around the bend from where the avalanche had hit was a safer spot. The mountain above didn’t come down at quite the same sharp angle. It was less prone to avalanches. Still, if the snow above was unstable, he didn’t want to sit here and discover he was wrong.
Alanna had squeezed against the back of her seat and he could practically feel her holding her breath until he sat back and put some distance between them.
“We should probably move.”
She twisted in her seat, giving him a glance of bare shoulder as she smiled at Chance, who’d shaken free of the blanket and lay down on the back seat, looking far more relaxed than he should have after digging them out of an avalanche.
“You okay, Chance?”
Her dog lifted his big head, strained forward and licked her cheek.
“Guess so,” she said, laughing as she turned forward again. She squirmed inside the blanket until she had it wrapped around her more like a towel, her arms and shoulders bare. Then she twisted and tucked it around her knees and gripped the wheel. “I’m not running around the truck to change seats and I think climbing over each other will be a disaster. So, how about I drive?”
He blinked back at her, suddenly conjuring an image of the two of them tangled together, wool blankets awkwardly between them and nothing else. “You drive and I’ll direct. Let’s go to my house and figure out a plan.”
She stared at him a long minute, the air suddenly tense between them, until finally she gave a short nod and shifted the truck into Drive. She made a careful turn and they headed back up the mountain, past the Altiers’ old home, and then downward again, back to Desparre’s downtown.
With every mile, he snuck glances at her, her hands tense on the wheel, her hair slowly drying and curling slightly against the wool blanket. She seemed more serious in profile, older somehow, and Peter wondered which Alanna was the real one.
The woman who’d held tight to her dog, even at the risk of being tossed over the edge of the mountain by the avalanche? Who’d offered to help the police catch someone she obviously still cared about? Who’d blushed when he stripped his sweater off, even when she should have been more concerned about her own physical well-being?
Or was she the person who’d defended the couple who’d kidnapped her? Still the child who’d been molded by two kidnappers, who’d had her emotions manipulated for so long that her loyalty would always lie in the wrong place?
By keeping her close, he could keep her safe. But would he just be putting himself back in the same position he had two years ago, risking his own safety for someone who was beyond saving?
* * *
ALANNA MORGAN LOOKED good in his house, looked good in his clothes.
Peter scowled at the ridiculous thought as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee and settled on the chair across from her, Chance on the floor between them. He’d started a fire as soon as they’d walked through the door. Now it was blazing, almost too hot, but it felt good after being buried in the snow. He took a long sip of his coffee, making a mental note to grab their clothes from his truck soon and toss them all in the dryer. The sooner she was back in her own clothes, the better it would be for his focus.
He still had his suspicions about Alanna, still wondered how much he could trust her, but now sympathy was mixed in with those other emotions. She had to be carrying so many conflicting feelings about her past, about Darcy, about her future. He knew that territory well, and he wanted to reassure her that she could make it through just as he had done.
The drive to his house had been quiet. All of Alanna’s attention had been on navigating the Alaskan roads and she’d handled them better than most of the locals. It reminded him of something else he’d heard through the rumor mill: the Altiers had taught the kids they’d kidnapped all kinds of survival skills. He knew she could lose a tail better than most police officers. Still, when it came to searching for Darcy, she’d acted with emotion rather than intellect. Both he and Alanna should have known those back mountain roads could be dangerous, and still, they’d persisted.
Was it a mistake to bring her here? A mistake to let her get too close? Because even though she might help him find Darcy and those kids, Alanna was still a threat, too. Maybe not intentionally, but when it came right down to it, who would she choose to help? Those kids and a police officer she’d just met, or a woman who’d raised her for most of her life?
Right now she was glancing around his home with open curiosity. It was cozy in a definably Alaskan way, with big windows that showcased the wilderness outside, exposed wooden beams and huge, open living spaces. She took in the long row of black-and-white photographs on one wall. They were images from his time overseas, mostly inside war zones. Images his family always complained about when they came over, images they’d pushed him to take down as his nieces and nephews started asking about them. Images he still kept up so he’d never forget. There was only one photo he’d never hung, one that had appeared in newspapers across the country. He touched his bad ear, scowled when he realized what he was doing and refocused on Alanna.
She frowned slightly at the photos, then turned her gaze out the window as he studied her.
Five years ago, he’d been too caught up in his own life to pay a lot of attention to a group of kids, ages six to twenty-three, rescued from kidnappers so near his hometown. But when he’d first come home, feeling totally adrift and with no idea what he’d do with the rest of his life, he’d read a lot about the story. He’d scoffed at statements made by the victims saying they’d been loved and well-treated. But admittedly, he’d been biased by his own experiences. He still was.
“Tell me about life with the Altiers.”
She shifted to face him, her suspicion of his motives all over her face. Still, she answered softly, earnestly, “I don’t know why she’s doing this, but Darcy would never hurt those kids.”
“She already has,” Peter snapped, regretting the words as he spoke them but unable to call them back. “She kidnapped them. Don’t you remember how that felt?” Way to get beyond his own biases. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, not wanting to tell her about his own past but wondering if that was the best way to reach her.
Before he could, she set down her coffee and leaned toward him. Chance’s head popped up, glancing between them, obviously sensing the tension. “I do remember. I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I know you don’t understand how I can—” she took an audible breath, then stared him straight in the eyes as she finished “—love them.”
“I do understand that.” Or at least, he understood that she thought what she felt was love, instead of a complicated mix of fear and dependency, multiplied over fourteen years. “The attachment you can develop for someone who holds you against your will is real. It can be necessary for survival and then it gets ingrained. It’s—”
Her snort of disbelief cut him off. She looked offended when she replied, “I got a psychology degree after I left Alaska. I understand why you think that’s what’s happening here, but don’t forget—I’m the one who turned them in. They both went to jail because I left that note. My… Julian died because of me.”
Peter frowned, scooting to the edge of his seat, wanting to reach for her hand across the coffee table and assure her that none of it was her fault. But he’d done that once before in his life as a war reporter, and it was amazing he’d come out of that situation with only lost hearing.
She squeezed her eyes briefly shut, then continued, “I know what they did was wrong. I think they know what they did was wrong. But I lived almost my whole childhood with that family. They were the ones who held me when I cried, who made me laugh with their silly joke
s, who cheered for me when I accomplished something. The only thing they ever did to hurt me was take me from my family.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Peter asked, straining to keep his voice neutral.
“That’s how my family feels,” Alanna said, her hands clasping together so tightly that her knuckles went white. “But how much do you remember from before you were five? If you’d gone to live with someone else for most of your childhood, how many memories would you have of your family before that?”
Probably sensing her distress, Chance stood and went to her, plopping his big head in her lap and making a brief smile spread across her lips. It faded as soon as Peter spoke.
“You’re telling me you hardly remembered your family?” He tried to imagine that, being ripped from his family as a kindergartener by two people who then called themselves his parents, who treated him well and raised him with love. An ache twisted in his heart at the idea. Worse, he could suddenly picture it, could understand why she’d grown to love them and probably forgot more and more of life with her real family as the years went on.
“I remembered enough,” Alanna answered, her voice softer now, as if she knew she was getting through to him. “But sometimes, love is irrational. And sometimes years of good actions start to outweigh one bad one, no matter how terrible that moment was.”
“And still, you turned them in. Why?” What had changed after fourteen years to make her write that note?
“I didn’t want to go the rest of my life without ever knowing the parents I vaguely remembered, the sister and brother I’d had.”
Something passed over her face, a wave of sadness that told him she’d sacrificed a lot to fulfill that wish. More than just the loss of two people who’d acted like her parents most of her childhood, but also four other kids she’d loved as siblings. Four other kids who, from all accounts, had also felt loved in that household. Who probably missed Alanna as much as she missed them.
“Have you seen Darcy and Julian since they went to jail?”
She stiffened, straightened in a way that made his internal lie detector go off.
“No.”
“But you’ve talked to them?” he guessed.
“No.”
Was she lying? He couldn’t tell. But if she wasn’t… “Alanna, you need to be careful. I know Darcy and Julian loved you once. But you did turn them in. You said what Darcy’s doing now makes no sense. Maybe she changed in prison.”
He frowned, knowing that in terms of the investigation, it was a mistake to say any more, but he needed her to recognize the threat against her, to keep herself safe, too. She’d agreed to work with him, but theirs was a tentative truce, at best. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, even if he was beginning to sympathize with her. Even if he was starting to like her as a person.
That was a mistake, too, but one he couldn’t seem to help. These days, it was his job to risk his life to protect others, even if they put him in danger.
He touched his bad ear again, watched her gaze narrow as she followed his movement.
“Darcy would never hurt me,” Alanna said, but her voice lacked confidence.
“You can’t know that,” Peter insisted. “So, let’s make a deal. You want to work together to find those kids? I’m in. But I’m law enforcement, so you’re going to let me keep you safe. No more going off on your own to search for her. We stick together from here on out. Deal?”
She looked ready to argue, but after a long moment, she simply nodded.
“Now, where were you going today?”
“I think I have some ideas about where Darcy might go. Julian had backup hiding spots.”
Anger flooded through him at the realization that she’d kept this to herself. She’d been gunning for one of those hiding spots and if he hadn’t been following her, that information would have been lost. Those kids might have been lost. Maybe for fourteen long years, like she had been. Maybe longer.
This time, he held his anger inside and asked, “Where are these hiding spots?”
Panic rushed over her face and she leaped to her feet, making Chance jump up, too. The pair of them ran to his garage, and Alanna yanked open the back door of his truck, climbing inside as he caught up to them.
When Chance tried to climb in with her, Alanna put up a hand. “Stay, Chance.”
The St. Bernard promptly sat, but he looked back at Peter as if to say, Can’t I go, too?
“We’re not going anywhere, Chance,” Peter told him as Alanna climbed back out, unzipping an interior pocket of her bright red coat.
The coat was still sopping wet and so was the small piece of paper she pulled out of the pocket.
She unfolded it with infinite care, then swore as she looked back up at him, dismay in her eyes. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“The list of locations I found at the house. All the places Darcy might be hiding.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I can’t believe it’s gone,” Alanna said, staring at the little scrap of paper. She hadn’t been able to toss it in the trash, even after putting it under a blow-dryer confirmed that all the pencil marks were lost.
Peter sat next to her, taking the smaller spot on the couch to her left instead of the bigger space to her right. “You read the list, right? Maybe if you think about it, you can recall some of the places?”
The heat from his body warmed her still-cold legs and she tried not to fixate on his closeness. It was just residual embarrassment from stripping out of her clothes in his car. Even covered by a blanket, it had been awkward. She’d had to use a lot of willpower not to glance his way as he’d stripped off his clothes—thank goodness he’d eventually wrapped a blanket around himself.
The memory made her hyperaware of the shocking blue of his eyes, the sharp lines of his face and the lean power of his build. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but there was something compelling about him. Maybe it was part of what had made him a good war reporter, the ability to project such intensity that it made it hard to look away.
“Alanna?” Peter pressed.
“I read the list. But it was coordinates, latitude and longitude, and it was in code.”
“Code? Are you serious?”
“A silly code. My sis—the other kids and I made it up one winter when we had a bad storm and we were stuck inside. It was just a game, but we left codes for each other all over the house for a week.” She shrugged at the interest in his gaze, remembering how much fun they’d had running around the house to find coded clues like a scavenger hunt. “My par—the Altiers got in on the game, too. I’d forgotten all about it until I saw this list.”
“It sounds like a good time.”
His tone was hesitant, speculative, and Alanna held in a sigh. Reporters—at least reporters actively chasing a story—got right to the point. But once anyone else would realize her history, they’d just pick at the edges. They’d ask sideways questions, looking for insight and pretending to understand, before they announced, “But these people kidnapped you.” As if she didn’t know.
Usually, for Alanna, that was the beginning of the end. It was too awkward to try to convince people that she’d been loved, that she’d loved in return. More awkward still to feel like she had to justify it. It was easier to break ties, keep to herself.
When she’d gone back to Chicago, she’d ventured outside her comfort zone with school and volunteer work. But after an initial burst of interest by anyone with the remotest connection to the Morgans, she’d found herself becoming more and more isolated socially. Kensie and Colter, Alanna’s new brother-in-law, had decided something had to be done. Alanna had connected with Colter’s dog, Rebel, a former Marine Combat Tracker Dog who had been as good for Alanna’s anxiety as Colter’s PTSD. So they’d found her a dog of her own, rescuing Chance to give to her.
She smiled at t
he St. Bernard who’d been so little two years ago, a victim of such cruelty that the vets weren’t even sure he would survive. Now, still small for his breed, he was a total gentle giant. And he’d definitely rescued her as much as she’d rescued him.
At her smile, Chance pushed his way between the couch and the coffee table to drop his head in her lap. She stroked his head as she told Peter, “Drew and Valerie, the youngest kids, didn’t remember their real families at all. They had no idea they were kidnapped. And we—Johnny, Sydney, and I—didn’t tell them because they were so young and because honestly, we hardly remembered our own families. How do you break that to someone? Especially when they’re happy?”
“Sydney was the one who remembered her family best, right? She was a few years younger than you?”
Alanna eyed him. “You’ve done your research.”
He flinched, actually looking a little ashamed. “I read up on it when I came back home—to what used to be my home—two years ago. I lived on the other side of the mountain, in Luna, where you were reunited with your sister. When you showed up in Desparre this week…”
“You read through all the news reports again?”
He nodded, not quite meeting her gaze.
The coverage in Desparre hadn’t been the most flattering, especially after time went on and reporters looked for a new angle to keep the story alive. They’d all seen her as that new angle. She might have turned the Altiers in, but the real story was how she hadn’t spoken up for fourteen years.
“No wonder you acted like you already knew and disliked me as soon as you heard my name.”
The Morgans had tried to keep the negative coverage from her at first. She’d been getting her GED and applying to college then, trying to get out into the world and reenter her life from fourteen years earlier. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from seeking out the news coverage on herself and the rest of the “family” she’d left behind.
“Hey.” Peter’s voice was soft, his eyebrows lowered as he put his hand over her free one.
Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 2 of 2 Page 45