by J. S. Marlo
“Not going anywhere. It’s a white-out outside.”
“Listen, Vince. You...” The outline of a better plan formed into Sly’s mind. “Make yourself comfortable. And don’t snore.”
***
Had Todd not halted his search, darkness would have engulfed him before he had a chance to retrieve the emergency kit from under the seat of his snowmobile.
He lit two candles, placed one of them on a bench and the other on the window ledge to act as a beacon in case the sheriff was out there.
Shadows danced on the plain walls of the lodge. To his dismay, the door didn’t lock from the inside. Afraid the shooter might return, he wedged the other bench against the door before balancing the garbage can on top. It wouldn’t stop an intruder from barging in, but the noise, as the garbage can tumbled down, would alert Todd and give him time to draw his gun.
He swallowed two painkillers and a granola bar. An hour later, the medicine hadn’t brought any more relief to his throbbing head than the food to his grumbling stomach.
Draped in a thermal blanket, he sat on the floor with the gun tucked into his belt. He was injured and weary. As he tried to make sense of the events that had unfolded in the clearing, his mind slowly shut down.
A wail pierced the haze surrounding his brain. Todd crawled to the door and pricked up his ears. The wind roared, muffling the sound of the night. He set aside the garbage can and pushed the bench a few inches away. The pounding in his chest increased as he pulled the gun and peeked outside.
Amidst the raging storm, yellow eyes glowed in the dark.
***
Slimy’s arrogance and overconfidence worked in Quest’s favor.
To pull the wool over his eyes, she’d needed him to buy her futile knife attack and sudden calculated outburst. She so loved it when the competition underestimated her. Slimy had checked the tackle box for the presence of the bigger tools but had ignored the little bits and pieces she’d kicked under the bed.
Now that he left, Quest crawled on her hands and knees to gather the picks, lures, and hooks dispersed in the dust. She tucked them between the mattress and box spring for later use. In order to make a successful escape, she needed to wait for the right opportunity.
While removing the bullet, she’d noticed the empty holster looped into the sheriff’s belt. His winter jacket had been zipped when Itchy—
Another memory superposed to that one, interrupting her line of thought.
Slimy had introduced him as Mr. Invisible, but when he laid down his threat, he slipped. He’d called Itchy something else. In her mind, Quest recalled Slimy’s lips. It’d looked like...Vence...Vince.
The sheriff’s jacket had been zipped when Vince dumped the man on the bed. The two goons may have expected the sheriff to die. Therefore, they may not have searched him thoroughly.
Careful not to wake the injured man, Quest methodically explored every pocket. His wallet contained roughly sixty dollars and the same platinum credit card as her mom. The Montana driver license identified him as Richmond Morgan.
“Richmond Morgan.” The name rolled on her tongue.
His cell phone was turned on, roaming for a nonexistent signal. She switched it off to save the battery before tucking it under the mattress for safekeeping.
A sheriff badge was pinned to his shirt. “Were you looking for me? Did my mom send you?”
Something bulged from an inside pocket of his jacket. She dug in and encountered something soft and fuzzy. Expecting an extra pair of mitts or socks, both of which she could use, she pulled it out.
A gasp of astonishment died in her throat. “Tango? What are you doing in Sheriff Morgan’s pocket?”
***
“I have a cook who beat his daughter’s boyfriend for missing curfew, a mechanic who stabbed her husband for sleeping with her sister, a maid facing deportation for lack of proper document, a night operator with an unpaid collection of speeding tickets, a day operator who sold alcohol to minors, a deadbeat dad...and the list goes on and on...” Eve rubbed her face with both hands. “Your Captain Jackman is looking at them, but he can’t tie any to your doctor, your daughter’s disappearance, or anybody else for that matter.”
Oblivious to his colleague’s rant, Thompson snored in his chair. He’d crashed from exhaustion. It was only a matter of time before the pregnant deputy met the same fate.
“That’s it, Ford.” Amelia grabbed the woman’s coat from the hook on the wall and placed it on her desk. “You’re going home. That’s an order.”
“But—”
“There’s no ifs, ands, or buts.” Too tired to wage a verbal war she might not win, Amelia softened her voice. “Mother to mother, Eve, your baby needs a nap. Go home to sleep in your bed for a few hours. You can come back at dawn—and bring me a coffee.”
Dispensing with her own advice, Amelia sank in Richmond’s chair. On his desk was the infamous email she’d taken from the senator’s office.
Would you rather I return your daughter dead or alive?
You have three days to resign.
Sly Serpent
Just because Norman’s daughter was safe wasn’t a valid excuse for not reporting the threat. Major Elliot should have directed his murderous intent on the senator instead of targeting Hope. When this was over, Amelia would recommend that Norman be charged for withholding evidence and obstructing justice.
Leaning back in Richmond’s chair, she closed her eyes. Baby duckling, where are you?
Over the years, Amelia had given her daughter some clues about her father’s identity. Not enough for Hope to guess who he was, but enough to rule out the senator. If Elliot revealed his motives to her daughter, she would piece the puzzle together and realize she’d been victim of mistaken identity. Hope’s survival depended on her ability to conceal the truth.
Elliot cannot know you’re not who he thinks you are.
Her cell phone rang, rousing Thompson. He disappeared into the washroom.
The number on the screen belonged to Jackman’s personal cell phone. “It’s the middle of the night, Captain. Tell me you’re making progress.”
“We found a picture of Elliot fishing with a white male. It was taken at a lake. Foliage suggests late spring, early summer. There’s a log cabin and mountains in the background. The caption says Nothing Beats Western Fish. I’m emailing it to you to see if you recognize the area. I also accessed Elliot’s bank records. The day he went AWOL, he withdrew $20,000 cash. He also made two deposits of $15,000. We traced the money back to the senator’s account. That’s another nail in Elliot’s coffin.”
I want Elliot. She couldn’t care less about how many nails they hammered.
Using Richmond’s computer, Amelia downloaded the picture. The first thing she noticed was Elliot’s unkempt beard. The second was the mountain looming on the horizon. Near the top, it sunk in the middle creating a deep V between its two sharp peaks. A few weeks back, Hope had sent her pictures of a similar mountain.
“If I’m not mistaking, this is Axe Peak, a mountain visible from Snowy Tip. Run an image comparison, and try identifying that white male in the picture. We need a location.”
Chapter Sixteen
Pain. Searing pain.
As the burning ache awoke Rich, memories inundated his mind. Pain radiated from his right shoulder into his chest. He’d been shot...and she’d removed the bullet.
“Phoenix.” When she didn’t answer his soft plea, he opened his eyes and winced.
The light blinded him, acerbating the pain in his shoulder. He instinctively pulled his left hand down and groaned. His hand was tied to...to something. He glanced over his shoulder. Not tied, handcuffed to the bedpost with his own cuffs. This isn’t good.
He wiggled his right fingers. The bullet hadn’t caused any damage to his arm. Using his right hand, he clumsily—and painfully—unbuttoned his shirt. His undershirt had been cut. He peeled the towel stuffed underneath. Dry blood smeared the red swollen skin stitched together with green n
ylon thread.
It wasn’t a dream. Before he returned to work, he’d need therapy, weeks if not months of therapy. Phoenix had been...No, not Phoenix. Hope.
Slowly turning his head, he scanned the room for the angel who performed the surgery with skill and confidence. Curled up in fetal position on the floor, the teenage girl hugged a stuffed duckling.
Rich patted his jacket. The pocket was empty.
“Hope?”
Blond streaks highlighted the brown curls she inherited from her mother. She stirred, and something fell from her hand.
His wallet.
***
In the early dawn, the drive from the sheriff’s office to Snowy Tip proved to be as hazardous as a helicopter evacuation from enemy territory. The visibility varied from zero to ten feet between gusts, and the road was a slippery expanse of white powder aligned with utility posts.
Battered by the snow and wind, the cruiser plowed ahead at turtle speed.
Stuck in the passenger seat, Amelia stared at the storm that was supposed to temporarily lessen its grip in the next hour. Richmond had braved the weather to search for Hope, and now the two people she’d loved the most were missing. She’d owed him the truth. Had she been a courageous woman, she would have told him the night he held her in his arms. Her silence had robbed him of a second chance—a chance he’d deserved.
“I’m a qualified driver, Colonel.” The deputy offered a reassuring smile. “No need to rip the leather off the armrest.”
Reining in her emotions was an up-hill battle Amelia wasn’t winning. She loosened her grip on the armrest. “You’re driving is fine. Just keep your eyes on the road.”
“What road? You see a road?” A mischievous grin cracked his face. “Where?”
This witty side of his personality pleasantly surprised Amelia, especially this early in the morning. “How many coffees did you say you had?”
“I stopped counting after five.” He tipped his chin forward. “We’re there.”
A large building had appeared amidst the blowing snow. The maintenance building was behind it.
Wayne River was waiting for them in the cargo bay. “Morning, folks.”
On the lookout for the inside accomplice, Amelia took on her surroundings. Slouched in a chair near a long desk, a woman in blue overall snored. Behind her, a map of the resort detailed all the trails and lodges. Somewhere along those green, red and gray lines, Richmond and Todd had disappeared.
Looking as weary as Amelia felt, Wayne circled an area on the map. “This is where we originally concentrated the search for your daughter. If only I’d noticed her tracks didn’t piggyback and remembered the grooming rake...” A heavy sigh accentuated his regrets. Pointless regrets. “I would have extended it farther right away.” His finger moved along a grey trail and stopped on an orange pentagon. “That’s the lodge my son and the sheriff wanted to check.”
“We’ll find them, Chief. Your son, my daughter, and the sheriff. We’ll find them all.” That was the only viable scenario. The one Amelia clung to for dear life. “The storm is still raging. Is it safe to leave now?”
Someone had readied three snowmobiles with all the clothing gear and supplies necessary for a gruesome expedition.
“I equipped every vehicle with a GPS. I calibrated them and entered the coordinates of the lodge myself.” The man wasn’t taking any chances, and Amelia commended the precautions. “The wind should decrease and the visibility improve as we venture deep into the woods. I’ll ride ahead. Make sure you follow closely.”
The storm had obliterated the trails. Without River’s knowledge of the area, Amelia would have been at a loss to find her way, even with the GPS. The chief rode cautiously, slowing down at every curb to allow her and Thompson to catch up with him.
An hour later, the silhouette of an orange lodge materialized at the exit of a curve.
River stopped in a clearing behind a half-buried snowmobile and shouted. While the words were lost amidst the roaring engines, the urgency echoed in the forest. Amelia came to an abrupt halt beside him.
Ears erected and back arched, two wolves advanced toward them, showing their incisors and snarling.
“Don’t move, River.” As she reached for the gun she’d borrowed from Ford, Amelia sighted two more animals. One prowling around the lodge and the other lying in the snow underneath the branches of a nearby spruce.
Behind her, the sound of Thompson’s engine drew closer. Amelia fired in the air. Twice.
Three of the wolves fled. The one under the tree propped its head up.
Blood matted the fur around its muzzle.
***
A touch set his wound on fire, rousing Rich from a nightmarish sleep.
“I’m removing your bandage. Don’t move.”
The voice, sweet but firm, grounded him. He slowly opened his eyes and gazed in wonder. “You’re as beautiful as your mother.”
“Not many people put Mom and beautiful in the same sentence.” Mischievous glints sparkled in her big blue eyes, her mother’s eyes. “You didn’t say it aloud, did you?”
“No.” He’d mouthed the words without realizing the extent of her ability to read lips. “I didn’t mean to...it was a compliment.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was as dazzling as ice crystals.
As she tossed the bloody towel on the floor, a chain rattled. Someone had shackled her ankle to the bed. Fury rose inside his chest, out-stripping the pain in his shoulder.
“Hope? Has he harmed you in anyway?”
“Someone whacked me across the head. I have a bump, but I’ll live.” With her hand, she pressed against his chest, pinning him to the mattress. “Stay down. I’m not done cleaning your stitches.”
A bottle of liquor balanced precariously between her knees. “Vodka? You’re drowning me with vodka?”
“Yes. Now stop talking. I can’t look at what you’re saying and take care of you at the same time.” She placed a new towel inside his shirt then proceeded to button it. “How badly does it hurt?”
“Not bad,” he lied. “You did a great job. You should be a doctor.”
“Oh no. Never. I’m going to be an engineer like Grampy.” A melodious accent tied her words together. “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, but they didn’t give me any choice. They wanted the bullet. They were going to kill you if I didn’t remove it.”
“They? Who are they?”
“Three men.” She retreated at the end of the bed. Below her left ribs, her tight ski outfit detailed the shape of the duckling. “Were you looking for me, Sheriff? Did my mother send you?”
“Yes...” In his vision, she’d held onto her stuffed animal and his wallet. He patted his jacket. To his surprise and bafflement, he stumbled on the wallet. Hope had either returned it or his imagination had been playing tricks on him. “I’m Rich Morgan. I’m here to bring you home.”
“You were supposed to rescue me?” Her cheeky riposte won his heart. She was the worthy daughter of her mother. “Like my grandfather would say, how in blazes were you planning on doing this?”
“I’m working on a plan.” Her grandfather wasn’t a character he wanted to discuss. “It would help if you could tell me everything you remember.”
Hugging her knees to her chest, she braced her chin against her forearm. “It was early morning. I was alone on the trail for my training session. Two masked men on snowmobiles trapped me. They were pulling a grooming rake and they were armed. The stocky goon reeked of alcohol and cigar. I may have broken his jaw when I punched him.”
The mechanic in the maintenance building had a bruised jaw. The man would have known about Hope’s schedule. He could be the inside accomplice.
“The other goon was slimmer. I kicked him in the groin. I think his name is Vince. He’s the one who dumped you on the bed.”
As much as Rich racked his brain, the last thing he remembered was seeing the gap in the deer tracks. “A young guy by the name of Todd River was with me. Did Vince bring hi
m here too?”
“Only you. He wanted the bullet in your shoulder. It was a .22. Same caliber as the rifle on his shoulder. Who’s...who’s Todd River?”
When her brows met over her nose, Rich was thrown back in time. Amelia had given him that look so often, it’d embedded in his brain.
“He was my guide. He took shelter in a lodge.” No point worrying her about her secret admirer if she didn’t know his name. “What about the third man?”
“White man, mid-fifties, short brown hair. He said his name was Sly. He’s the one who hired the two goons to abduct me.”
Sly Serpent. To have been right about the two cases intersecting didn’t make Rich feel any better. “Did he talk to you? Did he say why he kidnapped you?”
“He thinks a Senator Craig Norman is my father.” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently he has a picture of Mom and Norman together in Germany.”
“Germany?” A brick sank into Rich’s stomach as he remembered Eve telling him she hadn’t found any record of a Lt. Norm Craig or a mishap. Amelia hadn’t possibly replaced him with...with that pathetic excuse of a senatorial being...had she?
“My dad never set foot in Germany, Sheriff. It’s a cover-up.” The intensity of her stare unsettled him. “I don’t know what Norman did, but Sly holds a big grudge against him. I didn’t tell Sly that Norman wasn’t my father. I didn’t want to suddenly become expendable.”
If Amelia was the one who taught her daughter to think on her feet, she’d done an admirable job. The pride and relief he felt didn’t overshadow the realization Amelia had lied to him.
“That was very smart of you, Hope.”
“Please, call me Quest.”
“Quest.” The moniker suited her. “It’s unique.”
“You called my mom Phoenix.” An enigmatic expression played on her face. “Do you know how my mom got her moniker?”
Sensing a double-edged question, he treaded lightly. “A phoenix is a mystical bird who rose from the ashes. Your mother escaped from a burning garden shed when she was twelve years old.”