by Diane Moody
“Trying to, anyway. On my way back from a conference in Amarillo. I live in Weber Creek, but this storm hit pretty hard over there. Power’s out, phones are down. Why do you ask?”
The waitress brought Max’s meal, setting it out before him. He dodged around her attempting to carry on his conversation. “Actually, I’m headed there myself, but my van broke down. And I was wondering . . . I was thinking maybe, could I hitch a ride with you? Is it legal to hitchhike with a cop?”
The sheriff laughed. “Sure, no problem.”
“Awesome! Thank you! Thank you so much, Officer!”
“I’m Brett Patterson.” The sheriff stood, extending his hand to Max. “Mind if I join you?”
“No! Not at all. I’m Max Mc—” he hesitated, shaking the sheriff’s hand. Relieved he hadn’t said his whole name, he quickly changed the subject. “Can I buy you something to eat? Are you hungry? This chicken is outstanding. Want some?”
Patterson waved him off. “No, but thanks. I’ll just have a refill on my coffee.” He looked over Max’s shoulder for the waitress. “And take your time. We’re in no hurry.”
Max bit into the crunchy chicken breast, savoring its flavor. “Oh man, this stuff is too good,” he said around a mouthful. “I haven’t had anything but McDonald’s and Dunkin’ Donuts for days. This—” he added, waving the chicken for emphasis, “is great.”
“Where are you from? What brings you to Weber Creek?”
“Florida. My mom.”
“You drove all the way from Florida?”
“Yes, sir. It’s been a haul, let me tell you.”
“I guess it has. Your mom lives in Weber Creek?”
“No, sir. Just visiting.” Max took another mouthful wondering how much he should say.
The waitress slid his pie across the table toward him. “I’ll scarf this down then we can hit the road. Oh, except I need to make a phone call if that’s okay.”
Seminole, Florida
Pete Nardozzi looked up as the bell on the door of the donut shop rang again.
“Hey PJ. Any word from Ma—” Megan Tanner shot a look at Nardozzi, then the donut maker, then back at the officer.
Nardozzi looked back and forth between the two of them.
Megan smiled brightly at him then turned again to PJ. “Uh—oh hey, I just came by to, uh, to pick up those—”
“All right, you two. I think it’s time the three of us had a nice little chat.” Pete stood, waving Megan to the stool beside him. “Have a seat, Miss Tanner.”
Her smile faded. She sat down then folded her hands on the counter in front of her.
Pete took his seat again and drummed his fingers on the counter. “You’ll never guess what just happened. Pastor McGregor and I have discovered that Max is in Colorado. That’s right. Colorado. Now I don’t suppose you two would know anything about that, would you?”
“Colorado? Max in Colorado. Imagine dat,” PJ mused.
Megan raised her brows in a sad attempt at surprise.
“Fact is, Max called his father just a little while ago. Seems his mode of transportation broke down on him.” He studied PJ’s evasive eyes. “So he’s up there in Colorado, the roads are bad, he’s thousands of miles from home, and he’s sounding pretty scared.” He didn’t miss the fleeting trace of concern that flashed across Megan’s face.
“And it strikes me as rather coincidental that your van has disappeared from out back, PJ. It’s been gone since—wow, just about the time Max took off! So I’m wondering—could it be? Is it possible that Max borrowed that old VW bus to try to find his mother?”
“Okay, that’s it.” PJ threw his towel on the counter. “He got us, Megan. No use trying to hide the truth from this one, no sir!”
Megan dropped her head into her hands. “Okay, okay.” She looked up again. “But we weren’t trying to lie or anything. Honest! It’s just that Max really wanted to do this all on his own. He thought if he could just find his mother, then everything else would be all right.”
“I understand. I do,” Pete said. “But the situation has moved beyond that. I’ve been in touch with the Highway Patrol up there. It’s a near blizzard through that part of Colorado. The roads are a mess. We need to find Max and we need to find his mother. The McGregors haven’t heard from her in several days.
“Game over. We need your help.”
CHAPTER 34
Southeast Colorado
“Thornton, this is Patterson. I’ve been trying to get through. How long have the regular phones been back up?”
Max woke up, his neck stiff from leaning against the cruiser’s passenger window. He looked over to see the sheriff talking on his cell phone. Patterson continued his conversation then ended the call. “My deputy says the road should be cleared up from that accident in just a couple more hours. Power should be back on by daybreak.”
Max stretched, trying to wake up. “Where are we?”
“Just a few miles out now.”
He looked out the window at the mad flurry of snow. “Maybe so, but at this rate we’ll be another six hours getting there. How slow are you going, anyway?”
Patterson dropped his gaze to check the speedometer. “Looks like thirty-five miles per hour. Not bad with the roads in this condition. We’re lucky to be moving at all.”
The wipers whipped away the flakes beating a steady rhythm. Max watched them, back and forth, back and forth. “Would you believe I’ve never seen snow?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Never snows in Florida. This is pretty cool.”
“You certainly timed it right this trip. Lived up here all my life and I still love the snow. It can cause a mess of things, but I never get tired of it. You should try to do some skiing while you’re here.”
Max rubbed his face and yawned, stalling. “We’ll see.”
Houston, Texas
“I don’t want to hear any more of your ridiculous complaints!” Elliot growled into the receiver. “I want a visual confirmation that he’s in that cabin and I want it now! Quit screwing around and get up that mountain!”
“Oh, nossir, I don’t think you mean for us to get up there tonight, sir. You gotta understand—the roads here are real bad right now. It’s too dangerous out there to drive.”
“Then you’ll WALK up that mountain and you’ll do it NOW!”
“You want us to walk up a mountain road that’s nothing but a sheet of ice and snow at this—”
“That’s exactly what I want! And the split second you mark him, you call me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Right now. Me and Marcus. We’ll climb that mountain if it kills us.”
Weber Creek, Colorado
“You boys back so soon?” Bob posted the CLOSED sign on the door.
“Afraid so. Me and my friend here need us some warmer clothes. We’re about to freeze to death. You sell clothes?”
“A few. Come on in and follow me.”
Mary Jean continued sweeping the floor, watching the two men. She worked her way over to the fireplace where Doc Wilkins sat on the hearth warming his back and reading a Tom Clancy novel. She tapped her broom against his leg.
“George,” she whispered. “Look at those two.”
Doc peered over his glasses, taking in the newcomers from head to toe. He looked back at Mary Jean, shrugging his shoulders as if to say “so?”
Mary Jean positioned herself between Doc and the others, her back to them. “They were in here earlier this afternoon. Said they were stuck here on account of the weather.”
Doc tried to find his place in his book. “What’s so strange about that and why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know. Just a couple of weird ones, I suppose. Something strange about them. I can’t quite put my finger on it. They were asking if we’d seen some other fellow. Said it was a friend of theirs they’d lost track of. But I’m thinking that’s not it at all.” She swept around Doc’s feet, straining to see them.
He inserted the bookmark nonchalantly an
d closed the book. “How come?”
“I don’t know, George. Something’s just not right.”
“Did they say who this person was they’re looking for?”
“Didn’t leave a name, come to think of it. And I didn’t have sense enough to ask, I reckon. Described him as a tall fellow with dark hair. I think they said he was handsome or nice looking, or something like that.” Mary Jean noticed a trace of alarm on Doc’s face. She was glad he was finally starting to take her seriously.
“What else did they say?”
“Nothing.”
Doc stole another glance at the two men now making their way to the counter with their arms full of long johns, flannel shirts, thick socks, and wool stocking caps.
Bob rang up their purchases on the old register. “That comes to a total of two-hundred and eighty-five dollars.” Doc, Mary Jean and Bob all watched as the customer pull out a thick roll of crisp, new hundred dollar bills, peeling off three of them.
“Marcus, c’mon. We gotta get going,” the other man beckoned from the front of the store.
The one called Marcus stuffed his money back in his jacket and lifted the oversized bags of their purchases. “Keep the change. Thanks for the help.”
As soon as the door closed, Mary Jean dashed to Doc’s side. “See what I mean, George? Something’s fishy about those two. Mark my words.”
“Any idea where they’re staying? Are they over at the Inn?” Doc asked.
“I think so. Least ways, that’s where we recommended when they asked.”
Doc put his book on a shelf behind the counter then reached for his coat. “Well, I wouldn’t get all worked up, MJ. Just a couple of strange ducks passing through. Aren’t the first. Won’t be the last.”
Bob helped him put his coat on. “Where are you off to? Why don’t you stick around for dinner? MJ made her homemade chicken pot pie.”
Doc was already heading for the door. “No thanks. I need to look in on some of the girls before it gets too late. Maybe I’ll stop back by later this evening.”
Doc was out the door before Bob or Mary Jean could protest, but his thoughts were definitely not on the widows in town.
He looked across the street just in time to see the two men turning the corner, no doubt heading for the inn. Pushing his hat down farther on his head, Doc followed them at a safe distance.
Once the two men entered the inn, he walked carefully over the ice-crusted road toward the inn’s parking lot on the other side of the building. Grateful for the cover of darkness, he moved among the few cars parked there. Most were covered with several inches of snow, like caricatures of some weird Arctic creatures. In the far back corner near the hotel dumpster, he spotted a black sedan. The nondescript automobile was partially covered with snow. It was caked with dirty ice, the kind that hitches a ride along the bottom edge of a car’s body when it travels on roads treated with salt and sand. Clearly a new arrival.
Glancing around, careful no one was watching him, Doc shuffled to the back of the car. With this gloved hand, he brushed the dirty snow off the license plate. It was too dark to make out the numbers and letters. He remembered the tiny flashlight on his keychain and dug it out of his pocket. Muffling the jangling keys with his gloves, he aimed the penlight at the plate as he knelt down, safely out of sight.
Texas tags. A Houston Ford dealership plate holder.
Bingo.
CHAPTER 35
Houston, Texas
Elliot heard the tremor of anger in his own voice. “I don’t trust those clowns and I can’t afford to have them let Michael get away. Not when we’re this close.” He wedged the phone against his shoulder as he continued packing his briefcase. “We’ve got to finish this and make sure it’s done right. That’s why I need you. You’ve helped me this far and I want you there at the finish line.”
He sat back down as he listened to the response on the other end of the line. He checked his Rolex—it was just after three in the morning. “Good. I’ll fly out of here in one hour. That should put me at your airport at five-thirty sharp. Meet me at Hangar 12. We’ll get back in the air and be in Pueblo no later than seven.”
He nodded, the cell phone still at his ear. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a Hummer waiting for us there with a driver who knows the roads. A little snow isn’t about to stop me now. Just be at that hanger and don’t be late.”
Elliot disconnected the line. He looked around his study, inhaling the comforting scent of the leather books that lined his bookshelves. But in the darkness of this early morning, he found no comfort. His coffee mug shook in his hand, the sight of it setting his nerves on edge. He kneaded his throbbing temple. A sob escaped, startling him. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand roughly across his mouth then biting the knuckle of his fist.
Through blurred eyes, his gaze rested on the family photographs elegantly framed and lining his credenza. His eyes crinkled as they caressed the image of his beloved wife. He reached for the picture, cradling it in his hands. Taken the summer before she died, she smiled warmly beneath the brow of a large straw hat. She was sipping lemonade while stretched out on the porch swing of their lake house. Relaxed and happy and beautiful.
He took a deep and ragged breath. His eyes shifted to the ornate silver frame where Amelia and Michael smiled, proudly adorned in their wedding attire. Amelia’s eyes, so like her mother’s . . .
The last time he’d searched his daughter’s eyes, they were dull and lifeless and bloodshot. Her hospital gown hung loosely around her, revealing pale and bony shoulders. She was curled in a fetal position, her wrists bound in stark white bandages as she rocked slowly back and forth.
He slammed the frame face-down on his desk and cried out. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed the picture, holding it tightly in his hands as he stared at the images through broken glass. He felt the scorching heat of hatred swell through him again. Carefully, he replaced the photograph, snapped his briefcase shut, and left the room.
An hour later, seated aboard his Lear jet, he sipped a glass of orange juice as the plane sped through the ink black sky, leaving Houston’s skyline behind. After a brief stop at five-thirty to board another passenger, the jet climbed once more the early morning sky and streamed westward toward Colorado.
CHAPTER 36
Eagle’s Nest
Annie woke up, chilled to the bone and shivering. She got up, quietly leaving her spot on the sofa to put more logs on the fire. As her sleepiness gave way to reality, she shuddered against the uneasiness seeping through her. A few moments later, she welcomed the revived warmth billowing out of the fireplace, momentarily relieving her senses. She stood against the hearth, her hands outstretched to thaw her icy fingers.
Wake up!
She jumped, startled to find Michael still sound asleep. She looked around, certain she had heard a voice.
Wake up! Listen to me!
Her eyes grew wide with recognition. There was no question in her mind. Turning back to face the fire, she fell to her knees before the hearth. “Oh God—I need You!” she whispered.
Shhhhh . . .
Shhhhh . . .
“Lord, You’ve been so silent. Why did You desert me when I needed you most?”
I’m here. I’ve been here all along.
Then a rush of guilt flooded her heart. “Forgive me, Father. I should never have doubted You.”
Words failed her. Yet, in a split second, every fear in her heart melted away. Every frustration that had rendered her spiritually powerless for these many months seemed instantly absolved. Every seed of bitterness and disappointment was plucked away in the blink of an eye. An overwhelming release sent tears spilling like the currents of a mighty river. Her body trembled as the incomprehensible warmth of His embrace surrounded her.
She rested her head on folded arms, warm against the stones of the hearth. “Thank You, Father. I don’t understand. Why here, why now? After all of this . . . but oh God, thank You!”
Annie, here’
s what I want you to do.Hear what I say.
As her mission unfolded, Annie wept with tears of gratitude. Suddenly everything that had happened before and all that had happened here in this cabin became clear and focused. She laughed through her tears, wiping them against the fuzzy wool of her sweater.
“Show me how, Lord,” she whispered, turning back to Michael’s side.
“Michael. Michael, wake up!” She shook him, rubbing her hand against his cold cheek. “I have to talk to you. Wake up!”
“What? Who’s there?” he jumped, startled. When his eyes focused on Annie, he relaxed. “Annie, don’t do that to me! I thought someone was—what’s the matter with you? You look—”
“I have to talk to you. I finally get it.”
He tried to sit up, grimacing at the persistent pain in his side. “Get what?”
“This is really important. I need you to listen to me.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening. What’s this all about?”
She took a deep breath, kneeling beside the sofa. “I need to explain something to you. See, the reason I came up here to Christine’s cabin was because I was dying inside. I realize that now. I was so frustrated with everything in my life. I couldn’t go on anymore. I’d lost my way.
“It’s not important for me to tell you everything right now, except this—the very reason I was here was because I’d become so distracted with all the wrong things in my life! I was blinded by the stupid stuff. I let all that insignificant junk weigh me down until I rendered myself absolutely worthless.”
Michael stopped her, impatience written on his face. “Why are you telling me this? I don’t think I need to hear—”
“Yes, you do. Just let me say what’s on my heart. I know it sounds ridiculous but, the truth of the matter is, I ran away from home.”
He yawned. “You ran away from home.”
“Yes. I quite literally ran away from home! I’m a grown woman who left her husband, her kids, her whole life behind, to come up here.