Troubled Waters

by Susan May Warren

  Huh?

  She’d dropped her satchel then, and turned back to the window. “Imagine waking up every morning to this view. It makes me want to shout something like, ‘This is the day the Lord hath made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it!’”

  And he had nothing for that.

  “C’mere,” she’d said, glancing over her shoulder. “Try it.”

  Try it?

  But she held out her hand, as if expecting him to take it, and oddly, he stepped forward next to her.

  Didn’t take her hand but stood there staring out to the mountains. To the arch of the cloudless blue sky, the ripsaw horizon reaching for the heavens, patches of white stuck in the crannies and draws. The smell of summer stirred through the house—wildflowers, the nearby field of wheat grass, the earthy scent of animals.

  For the first time since he’d lost his wife and his son, grief loosened its hold and he tasted hope. A fresh start.

  This is the day . . . maybe.

  “Don’t you want to shout? Or sing a song. Or—”

  “You’re hired,” he’d said, which felt very much like any of those things.

  She’d looked up at him then, and for the first time in thousands to come, he noticed how pretty she was. Perky nose, sweet pink lips, curves. And competent, the way she smiled, nodded. “Good. Because I took the liberty of walking through the kitchen, and you are in sore need of food in that refrigerator.”

  She looked in the refrigerator?

  “I brought you some cookies. Sugar. And you can’t have sugar cookies without milk.”

  He just stared at her, nonplussed.

  She raised a shoulder. “Chet mentioned you were eating at the Gray Pony a lot. I did the math, and by the way, brought you a list of potential cooks. I only make cookies.”

  No, she did so much more. Like relit the fire inside that said maybe life could have a better ending than the one he’d woken up to for the past five years. Maybe he even had a chance at being the man he’d promised to be, once upon a time.

  It was that man who invited his niece, Esme, to live with him after his sister fell off the wagon, again.

  And that man who pushed Esme for grades and SAT scores and got her accepted to Stanford, Yale, and not a few other schools.

  But he should have also remembered the man he’d been, the one who turned obsessive when he panicked, when life slid out of control. Because if he had, Esme might have actually attended those schools.

  Lived the life he’d planned for her.

  But he couldn’t go back, and gone were the days when he’d get up and find Sierra in the kitchen, making him a cup of coffee. Standing with him at the picture window.

  This is the day. No, that was the day . . .

  Whatever favor he had with God, whatever hope that God would show up in his day, his life, had vanished when Sierra walked out the door.

  When he’d fired her, rather.

  Stupid, stupid . . .

  “Yeah,” he said now, to Dex. “Noelly was right. It’s time to start over.”

  Silence on Dex’s end, then, “Okay, I’ll think about buying the boat. But I’d feel better about it if I knew the yacht was actually seaworthy.”

  “Thanks, Dex.”

  Ian hung up and dropped the phone on the table. He heard the whump-whump of a chopper even before it materialized out of the fog. He tried to make it out and startled when he saw not one but two choppers. His heart sank as he watched the blue and white Bell 426 he’d purchased for the PEAK team dangle from a cable attached to a larger, military-grade transport.

  A bird with broken wings, the chopper swung below, dwarfed by the larger bird. Even from here, Ian made out the torn rotor bent at a raw angle.

  Coming home to heal. Maybe he should stop by, take a look. Not that he could offer anything for repairs, but . . .

  See, he needed to get away, get PEAK out of his system.

  He went inside and headed upstairs to shower.

  But the image nagged at him even after he’d pulled on a clean button-down shirt, a pair of jeans, and cowboy boots.

  He was rolling up his sleeves as he walked out of the house and almost on reflex headed toward the PEAK base. He should probably just admit that PEAK was in his blood—as long as he lived in Montana, at least.

  As he drove up, Chet, along with Pete and Sam Brooks, were unhooking the PEAK chopper from the cables. He parked and ran over to grab the cable from around the tail assembly.

  Overhead, the massive chopper moved away, the cables winding up into the body.

  “That’s an S-64 Air-Crane,” Chet said, coming up to stand beside him. “I put in a call to the forest service—they had one on hand, dropping water on the fire.”

  Chet walked over to the chopper, surveyed the damage. “This could have been fatal if Kacey wasn’t such a good pilot.” The rotor hung at a thirty-degree pitch, the blade broken just past the blade grip.

  “The rope whipped up, caught the blade. When the force of the torque sheared the rope, it snapped back and hit the vertical stabilizer.” He pointed to the shaft right in front of the tail rotor. “Somehow, Kacey kept it from spinning out of control. But the entire rotor blade will need to be replaced, along with the stabilizer.”

  “What kind of money are we talking about?” Ian said.

  “I don’t know.” Chet stepped back, his hands on his hips. “That’s a question for Sam.”

  He glanced at Sam, who was out of uniform and standing next to his brother. They both frowned at Chet.

  “What? It’s the city’s problem now.”

  “We don’t have a budget for this,” Sam said.

  “We have insurance, don’t we?”

  Sam pursed his lips. “Yeah. Uh, I did some checking, Chet, and well . . . according to our accountant, PEAK was supposed to pick up the insurance on the chopper . . .”

  Chet stared at Sam, and even Ian felt the punch to Chet’s gut.

  “Are you telling me that we’re not insured?” Chet said quietly.

  Sam’s mouth tightened. “I think probably that minor detail got lost when we took over . . . really, Chet, you didn’t think to ask?”

  “Mercy Falls asked me for all our expenses—and I submitted them. Along with chopper repairs and updates. I just assumed the insurance premium was included in the minor details!”

  Ian couldn’t blame him for yelling. He wanted to yell. Seriously? A $1.9 million chopper and they’d let the insurance lapse? He could be sick.

  “This isn’t an easy repair,” Chet said. “We’re talking a couple hundred thousand dollars here. We can’t just slap another rotor on this baby and call it good. We have to have an entire body and mechanical overhaul, make sure it’s airworthy.” Chet took off his hat, ran his hand across his forehead. “Well, that’s it, then. Without the insurance money, we’re grounded. The PEAK team is kaput.”

  And Ian could say nothing. Because despite his desire to step in, he was running out of things to sell.

  “What do you mean, we’re grounded?”

  The voice came from behind them, and Ian turned, found Sierra standing there, her short dark hair tucked behind her ears. Her wide eyes fixed on Chet.

  “We have no money to fix our chopper. And without the chopper, well—we’re an air rescue outfit, Sierra. The Mercy Falls EMS department has their own EMTs. They don’t need more.”

  “But . . . we’re a . . . team. We . . .”

  “Without the chopper, we might as well close our doors.”

  “I think that’s a little overstated, Chet,” Sam said. He looked at Sierra. “But he’s right. Mercy Falls’s budget doesn’t include another rescue team. We have the fire department, an EMS department, and plenty of rescue volunteers. PEAK’s usefulness relied on the chopper. But we’ll be glad to integrate Gage and Jess . . . anyone into the EMS department—”

  “Wait! Stop—wait.” Sierra held up her hand. “This is not over. We have resources.”

  And then she looked at Ian with so much hope
, he just about handed over the ranch. But he couldn’t—not when the government held it in lien over his fine.

  “Sierra, I’m . . .” Shoot, he didn’t want to say it. Not in front of Pete and Sam and—

  “I know you’re paying some massive fines right now,” she said, to his surprise. “I’m not talking about you footing the bill again. I’m talking about the fact that you have friends, Ian. Wealthy friends who just might be willing to help. Like Vanessa White. She runs about ten charity organizations. And how about Dex and Noelly Crawford?”

  She took a step toward him, and it rooted him to the ground.

  “I could call them. Maybe put together a fund-raising junket. I don’t know—a camping trip into the woods. Hiking and fishing, and we could tell them all that we do. They could get a firsthand look . . .” She shot a glance at Pete. “Pete’s here—he could be our guide.”

  “Wait,” Pete said. “I’m not bringing anyone into a forest that could ignite any second.”

  But Sierra didn’t seem to be listening.

  “And we could show them the chopper, and maybe even get some testimonials—”

  “Sierra—” Chet started.

  “Dex was always saying that he wants to visit the ranch again. And Noelly . . . she really likes you and—”

  Sierra had noticed that?

  She probably noticed a lot of things he’d wanted to keep from her over the years.

  “And what about your friend Hayes Buoye? He’s really nice—”

  Yeah, he remembered the last time he’d invited Hayes to the ranch. The NFL defensive end had paid so much attention to Sierra, naïve, sweet Sierra who laughed at his stupid stories of football tackles and marveled at his scars, that Ian had cut the guy’s trip short, shoved him aboard his plane, and they’d jetted off to a Texas game.

  “I’m not inviting Hayes—”

  “Ian, please.”

  The please stopped him short. It hung in the air, cut through him, and grabbed his heart.

  Sierra had never asked him for anything in all the years she’d worked for him. Not a day off, not a cup of coffee, not even a place to stay when her house collapsed.

  And then he saw it. Pete and Sam, Ben and Chet and Jess and Kacey, walking out of Sierra’s life.

  Just like he was about to do. And not that he mattered to her anymore, but he knew Sierra well enough to know that she loved the rest of them like family.

  The only family, really, besides her sister that Sierra had.

  So the words simply emerged, almost on instinct, just like the instinct to get into his truck and drive to PEAK. Just like his instinct that still drove him every morning to the window, to look out onto the land, reach out to grab hope. This is the day . . .

  “You could use my yacht,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “My yacht, down in Galveston. The . . . Montana Rose.” He’d never told her the name before, and he didn’t know if she’d get it—pretty much hoped that she wouldn’t—so he stumbled on. “Dex already wants a ride, and Noelly too, and I’ll ask her to call Vanessa—”

  “And Hayes?”

  Oh boy. “Maybe, sure.” Hayes probably had a game this week. Hopefully. “We have a full staff, a captain—you wouldn’t have to do anything, really. Just let the staff know what you need.”

  “And you—will you go?”

  Oh. Uh.

  “Because you don’t have to go with us. I don’t need you. I can do this, Ian. I know your friends and what they like. I can put together an amazing three-day junket.” She turned to Chet. “I will raise this money. Don’t shut down PEAK. Not yet. Give me a chance to do this.”

  Chet looked at Ian, back to Sierra. Nodded.

  “Thank you!” She turned to Ian, and the smile she gave him scooped out his thoughts, left him hollow. Filled him with the sudden urge to shout, or yeah, sing.

  Something that could release the adrenaline that surged through him.

  “Thank you, Ian.” She wiped her hand across her cheek. “I promise I’ll fix everything.”

  5

  MAYBE HE’D LOST HIS MIND, but if Ian wanted to start over, he had to burn a few bridges.

  Or, in this case, twelve file-sized boxes of research, leads, and details related to the case of missing teenager Esme Shaw. And fifteen more boxes in the truck that contained every lead, every mention, every transcript of the responses to the America’s Missing episode on the Jane Doe body the PEAK team had found last year.

  She’d turned out to be an exchange student from Spain and weirdly, a friend of Gage’s girlfriend, Ella Blair.

  Ella had recently moved to Mercy Falls to work for the local county prosecutor’s office. And, in her spare time, help Ty track down the remaining box of leads. But Ian couldn’t look at these one more minute.

  He had to admit that, most likely, the dead girl probably had nothing to do with Esme’s disappearance so many years ago. It had been a thin lead anyway.

  “Are you sure?”

  This from Sam, who had stopped by to work out and instead found Ian in the backyard with his truck pulled up to the fire pit.

  “I’m done,” Ian said, leaning on the tailgate. “If Esme doesn’t want to come home, I can’t make her. And every time I walk into my library, I see this . . . this pile of failure. It’s my fault she ran away, and probably my fault she won’t come home. And it’s like a cancer, eating at me.” He got up, walked over to the boxes piled next to his backyard fire pit. He pulled out a book of matches with the Gray Pony logo on the front and ripped off one of the flimsy matches.

  “Let me at least drag out a hose!” Sam said. “Sheesh, the entire ranch could go up. Hello, have you not taken a good look around you?” Sam indicated the still-smoky layer of fog and debris that clouded the eastern mountains. “I have a better idea—let’s drag these down to my office. We’ll put them in storage. Let Sheriff Blackburn handle them. It’s still a cold case, and who knows, a lead might turn up.”

  Ian stood with his thumb on the match head.

  “After we drop them off, we’ll go to the gym, see if we can’t work out whatever is eating at you.”

  Oh, that whatever had a name.

  Had been haunting him for two days since Sierra had basically told him she didn’t need him.

  “You don’t have to go with us.”

  Right.

  Of course not. And he had no desire to make a fool of himself. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d purchased a boat when he hated the ocean and generally turned nauseated at the thought of spending a day, let alone a vacation, at sea.

  Pride, maybe. Another toy to add to his list of acquisitions.

  No—the determination to conquer another stronghold in his life. To put the past behind him.

  Sam seemed to assume the answer because he walked over to one of the boxes stacked beside the fire pit and picked it up. Hauled it to the nearby truck.

  Fine.

  Ian pocketed the matchbook and helped him load the rest of the research into the truck.

  Sam slid in beside him, silent as they drove into town, to the Mercy Falls sheriff’s office.

  “It’s not a pile of failure,” Sam said quietly.

  Ian looked at him. “I didn’t find her.”

  “It’s evidence of your dedication—”

  “And fruitlessness.”

  “Ian.”

  Ian’s fists tightened on the steering wheel.

  “Maybe you should go on that trip with Sierra.”

  Ian glanced at him. “What? No. She clearly doesn’t want me along.”

  “That’s not what she said. She said you didn’t have to go, that she could handle it. But . . .” Sam sighed, turned. “Listen, it’s no secret between us that you are still holding a torch for her. Ask her out—”

  “Ask Sierra out?”

  “No, the Easter Bunny. Yes, Sierra Rose. The girl you named the stupid boat after.”

  Ian’s mouth tightened.

  “Really? Did y
ou think no one would notice?”

  “I bought it when . . . well, right before she left me.”

  “She didn’t leave you. You fired her. For keeping a secret from you.”

  His mouth tightened to a grim line. Not one of his brightest moves. “I apologized.”

  “You did, and you two were friends. So what happened?”

  “You started dating her.” Ian glanced at Sam, raised an eyebrow.

  “I asked. You were fine with it.”

  Ian’s jaw tightened.

  “Listen, you weren’t exactly showing up on her doorstep trying to woo her back.”

  “She doesn’t want me!” He didn’t mean for his voice to explode, but . . . “We kissed. A couple times—first, when, well, right after Esme went missing. And we agreed that as long as we worked together, we needed to draw a line. Then—well, then I fired her, and that line wasn’t there anymore. She still helped me with the search, and we’d figured out that Esme was most likely alive, and suddenly, amazingly, she was in my arms . . .” He drew in a breath, that memory too easily wrapping around him, taking his breath away.

  Because if he could, he’d rewind time back to that moment when the world stopped, when Sierra kissed him like she needed him, too.

  “And then I told her that I’d never give up the search for Esme, and she . . . she walked away.”

  Sam frowned.

  “Said that Esme didn’t want to be found, and I needed to let it go.”

  “Pretty much Esme’s exact words, I think, when she called you,” Sam said.

  The words, softly spoken, slid in between the bones of his chest, knife-sharp.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not built like that. I don’t give up.”

  “You’ve given up on Sierra.”

  “Have you not been listening? She doesn’t want me.”

  Ian turned off the highway, into Mercy Falls.

  “Why do you think we broke up?” Sam said as Ian stopped at a light.

  “Because you kissed her sister.” Ian looked at him, smiled.

  “Okay. Yes. But Sierra was never into me, and I knew it. I just didn’t want to believe it. I mean, c’mon, I’m a catch.”

  Ian shook his head, rolled his eyes.

  Sam turned serious. “She never looked at me the way she looks at you, dude. And why not? You’re Ian Shaw. Billionaire, risk-taker, founder of PEAK, and frankly, you take up most of the space in the room.”