Alanna had only been five years old then, totally reliant on three people she didn’t trust. Peter was probably right that being so dependent on them from such a young age had helped forge a deeper connection. Slowly, Alanna’s fear and hatred had shifted. Her “parents” and “brother” had worn her down with love and caring. As guilty as she’d felt about it, she’d started to care for them, too.
By the time they’d grabbed Sydney, Alanna hadn’t forgotten the Morgans. But she’d felt like she had a new family.
That was when she’d learned how the kidnappings worked. Darcy and Julian always talked about wanting a big family, but apparently Darcy couldn’t get pregnant. Every few years, Darcy would see a kid—one who looked like an Altier—and felt as if the child was already hers. Then Julian would make it a reality.
Darcy doing the kidnappings without Julian seemed so counter to the way her “mother” worked. Alanna had come here thinking she could talk some sense into her, make her realize her actions were emotional and unethical. But abducting two kids, in such a short span of time? It meant Darcy was different now, that she was taking on both hers and Julian’s past parental roles. It meant she wasn’t the person Alanna remembered.
When Alanna was a child, she’d always been able to talk Darcy into things to make her happy. One more story at bedtime. A warmer pair of boots so she could spend more time playing in the snow. A later bedtime so she could stay up reading or playing games with her “siblings.” But now? With everything that had changed while Darcy was in jail? Would Alanna be able to interrupt Darcy’s plan?
Shutting out the memories along with worries of what would happen if she did find Darcy, Alanna took a deep breath and looked around the room. Chance had gotten up without her noticing and was standing next to her, staring up at her with those dark brown eyes. A string of drool in the corner of his droopy mouth nearly stretched to the wooden floor and made Alanna smile.
She stroked his soft fur, then said, “Let’s get to work.”
His head swiveled, as if taking in the small front room and asking, Doing what?
“We’re looking for somewhere else Darcy could hide,” Alanna told him.
He tilted his head at her, making the drool break free, and Alanna laughed. It loosened the tension in her chest, was the impetus she needed to get moving.
Five years ago, when Kensie had shown up at their house searching for her, Darcy and Julian had bundled all the kids quickly into the car and fled. Alanna had initially thought they were going back to what they’d done years ago, skipping from state to state, hiding. Then she’d learned Julian had a specific hiding place in mind and it was nearby. They’d never made it, though, because the police had caught up to them. As far as Alanna knew, other property owned by the Altiers—in their name or some other name—had never been uncovered. But that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
If Darcy was returning to Desparre, it was unlikely she’d come back to the cabin. That was too dangerous. But some other hiding spot her husband had scoped out years ago that police and the FBI had never uncovered? That seemed reasonable.
Alanna didn’t know where it was. But there had to be a clue in this cabin. She walked from room to room slowly, her gaze lighting on every object, all the pieces of their lives that had been left behind. She picked up old books, looked through cupboards now littered with rodent droppings and then retraced her steps, trying to see it all anew.
Two hours later, she held a small piece of paper in her hand. She’d found it taped to the inside cover of one of Darcy’s old drawing books. If the police had found it five years ago, apparently they hadn’t thought anything of the random symbols. But they meant something to Alanna: a goofy code she and her “siblings” had created one particularly frigid winter when they’d all been stuck inside for two weeks. Darcy had encouraged them, laughing as they’d constructed what they thought was a tightly encrypted cipher. Translated, the symbols in Darcy’s book were a series of latitudes and longitudes. Coordinates.
Alanna stared at the list, five places she knew in her gut were hiding spots. Then she looked over at Chance. “Let’s start at the top.”
Chance must have felt the mix of excitement and anxiety in her words because he got to his feet quickly and chased her to the door. When she flung it open, her excitement transitioned immediately to dread.
The snow that had been falling slowly for the past few hours had picked up intensity, racing faster for the ground, piling on top of the foot and a half’s worth that had already come down over the past two days. Alanna squinted at the gray sky, then at the truck she’d rented. It was built for off-roading in the Alaskan terrain. But there was no rental vehicle hardy enough for the furious climate Desparre could spawn.
In November, conditions could turn dangerous fast. Alanna checked the weather app on her phone, which indicated that the snow was supposed to stop before the top of the hour, only a few minutes away. As if she’d willed it, when she looked back up, the speed of the falling snow had decreased, the snowflakes seeming to shrink in size.
“I think we can do it,” she told Chance, glancing again at the paper in her hand. According to her navigation app, the first location was less than half an hour’s drive. And she’d spent years in the unpredictable Desparre weather, understood how to take care of herself in it.
Chance bolted out the door, bounding in circles in the fresh snow before coming to a stop by the back door of the truck. He glanced back at her, as if to say, What are you waiting for?
She hurried after him, slower in the heavy snow, and opened the truck door for him.
Chance leaped into the back seat, bringing snow with him and making Alanna wish she’d brought more towels.
She ran to the front, turning the heat up to high as soon as she was inside. Tucking the paper into the inside pocket of her coat, she eased the truck carefully out of the driveway, happy to see that the snowfall was slowing even more.
Still, the roads near the cabin were unpaved. The town didn’t bother to clear them and the people who lived out this way all had snowmobiles for when winter got too tough for even their all-weather vehicles. So, Alanna drove slowly and carefully, following in other tire tracks where she could. She headed farther away from Desparre, but down the mountain this time, on roads that wound around massive old trees.
It was the route they’d been on five years ago, when the police had caught up to them.
Snow shot out from beneath the tires, fluffy stuff that would have been perfect for building snowmen. Luckily, there was no ice underneath it. On one side of her, the mountain continued upward; on the other was the cliff edge.
She gripped the wheel tightly, slightly less confident after five years of living near Chicago, with their milder winters, snow removal services, far-reaching cell towers and easy access to help. She glanced in her rearview mirror at Chance, lying across the back seat, but his head up, watching out the window. He met her gaze in the mirror, trusting, and she wondered if she was making a mistake.
But when she glanced at her navigation app, she realized she’d driven farther than she’d expected. The snow had stopped falling from the sky, but every once and a while, a big hunk of it slid off a tree branch, startling her as it plopped onto the windshield. She was close now. Her heart rate picked up in anticipation of finding the hideout Julian had probably built, at the possibility of finding Darcy there now.
Then she rounded a corner and swore as she stomped on the brake. The truck swerved slightly in the snow and Alanna clutched the wheel harder, angling away from the steep drop to her right.
Ahead of her, the road was blocked. A pile of snow higher than the front of her truck covered the entire road to the edge of the mountain. She couldn’t tell how far it went, but as she leaned forward and glanced up through her windshield, she could tell why it had fallen. Avalanche.
“Guess we’ll have to move on to the next spot
,” she told Chance, but just as quickly, she decided to put that plan on hold. Where there’d been one avalanche, there could be another. Best to get away from the mountain and hope the snow melted.
She backed the truck up slowly, carefully as she got ready to round the bend again backward, since there was no room to turn around. But the tires slid on her anyway, and she overcorrected, more afraid of the drop-off than bumping the other side of the mountain. Except when her rear bumper hit the rock, the truck also slid into a rut. When she hit the gas again, the wheels spun, but the truck wouldn’t go anywhere.
Cursing, Alanna pulled her hood over her head and hopped out of the truck to grab the shovel from the back. As soon as she stepped outside, a fierce shiver rushed through her body at the force of the wind. And as she opened the back door, Chance leaped out.
“No!” She made a grab for his collar even as he spun back toward her, but a noise overhead made her look up. A rumbling like thunder, but far too close. An avalanche.
Years of living in Alaska rushed back to her, as she stared at the mountaintop, instantly seeing the path of the snow. It would probably miss her if she backed away fast enough. But it was definitely going to take her truck. And Chance, standing too close to it...
She grabbed for him just as the wall of snow rushed downward, sweeping him up with it. Then her arms closed around him, just under his front legs. She clung tight, even as the snow slammed into her, hard and fast, shoving them both toward the edge of the mountain.
Chapter Five
Alanna Morgan knew something.
Peter had been following her around half the day. Unlike when he’d last followed her around with Tate three days ago, he was alone today. Saturday was his day off. Unfortunately, that meant he was in his personal vehicle instead of the police SUV. Although his truck could handle the Desparre winters, his police vehicle was equipped for anything. As Alanna headed farther away from Desparre, taking dangerous back roads down the mountain like she’d driven them a million times, Peter’s knuckles went white gripping his steering wheel.
He’d grown up on the other side of the mountain, in an area almost as prone to crazy weather as Desparre. But the town of Luna—where his parents and older siblings lived still—was much flatter. They occasionally got nasty avalanches off this side of the mountain, but being at a lower altitude usually meant slightly fewer dangers. It definitely meant easier driving.
Since joining the Desparre police department last year, he’d been up on this mountain a few times, usually doing welfare checks. He’d driven it in far worse weather than this, but he’d never done it while chasing after a former victim, potential new accomplice or possible target. He’d never done it while trailing someone who seemed to know too well how to lose a tail.
Right now, she had good reason to try to lose him. Judging by the excitement on her face when she’d finally left the Altiers’ cabin, she’d found something inside it. And the chances that she hadn’t spotted him seemed low. So, when she rounded another corner and he heard snow crunching hard, as if she’d slammed the brakes, he eased off the side of the road and waited.
When her truck door slammed, he cursed and wedged his door open against the side of the mountain so he could climb awkwardly out of his vehicle. Better she stride over here, furious and ready for an argument than hide somewhere again while he drove past, clueless. But then she yelled “No!” and almost immediately—as if she’d been yelling at the mountain and it didn’t want to listen—an ominous crash and boom signaled an oncoming avalanche.
His heart gave a quick, painful thud and then he was running toward her, rounding the corner before he could fully think it through.
Snow rushed downward from far above, a furious waterfall of white, slowing slightly along the road before it tumbled over the other side. There was a groan of metal over the rush of snow, only the top of Alanna’s truck visible as it flipped sideways, then disappeared over the edge of the mountain.
Dread, anger and grief hit him unexpectedly hard. But he didn’t have time to linger on it, because there she was, outside the vehicle, just a flash of her red coat in the flurry of snow.
He darted toward her and his left boot slid on the spilling snow, almost taking him down, sucking him under. He looked up quickly and saw that the avalanche was slowing, the end in sight way above him. But that flash of red was too close to the edge.
Fear threatened to freeze him in place, but he gritted his teeth and changed his angle, moving toward the edge of the mountain, toward a big old tree withstanding the onslaught of snow. Wrapping an arm and a leg around it, Peter reached out with his free hand, blindly now, since that flash of red had been overrun by snow.
Somehow, he grabbed her—or at least he hoped it was her. Cursing the thick gloves that made it hard to get a good grip, he clung to the edge of material. Then the snow yanked him forward, the pull hard and unrelenting, tearing at the socket in his shoulder.
The momentum ripped him around the front of the tree and the right side of his body burned with the contact. He clung to his quarry tighter, squeezing his left hand as tightly as he could, praying the coat wouldn’t rip right out of his hand and take Alanna with it.
The snow shifted, taking a slight turn over the edge of the mountain, probably catching on the trees there. It pushed him back toward the big tree, easing the screaming pain in his shoulder and letting him get a better grip.
Suddenly, there she was, rising up on the curve of snow. First came her bright red coat, then a swash of long, dark, wet hair. Then her face, both too starkly pale and too bright red in places as she gasped for air.
“Your hand,” he croaked, his voice lost beneath the still-thundering snow. He prayed she’d hear him, grab his arm and pull herself toward him.
If she replied, he couldn’t hear it with his bad ear facing her. Instead, she tried to angle her body toward him in the snow and he saw both her arms wrapped underneath the front legs of her enormous dog. The St. Bernard was scrabbling for purchase with his huge paws and was actually managing to get a little traction, moving them both closer to Peter.
But then the last rush of snow swooped down and both of them disappeared underneath it.
Peter took a huge breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the snow claimed him, too.
* * *
SHE WAS SUFFOCATING.
The world around her finally stopped moving, but where had she landed? Had she tumbled over the edge of the mountain and managed to get wedged between some trees? Or was she still on the edge of the road, where one wrong move would send her flying over it?
She tried to move her fingers and felt Chance squirm in her arms. Tears pricked her eyes with the relief that he was still with her, still alive. But when she opened her eyes, there was only darkness. And cold like she’d never experienced.
The avalanche had buried them both. But how deeply?
She shifted along with Chance, not moving her arms from around his belly, not wanting him to go too far. Hoping there was a pocket of air, she finally had to open her mouth and gulp in a breath. There was a pocket, but it felt too little for both her and Chance, especially as her lungs demanded more, more, more.
Keeping one hand locked around Chance, she thrust the other upward, hoping to encounter fresh air. But there was only more snow. Was she really reaching up? Or had she been spun around so she thought down was up?
Don’t panic, she reminded herself as her heart started thudding faster. She thrust her arm the other way, and this time she felt hard ground. At least, she thought so. Which meant escape was above her. But was it through a few feet of loosely packed snow, just above where her fingers could reach, or twelve feet deep and pressing down hard? Would movement help her get to safety or shift the weight of the snow so it crushed them both?
Her collapsible snow shovel was in her truck, which was probably buried under the snow with her. By the time she’d he
ard the telltale whomp of snow breaking free that signaled an oncoming avalanche, it had been too late. She should have known better; she never should have been out here in this weather. And now Chance, who’d suffered so much as a tiny puppy, who’d been her constant, loyal companion for the past two years, would probably die with her.
Stop it, she commanded herself. She needed to find a way out for both of them. For Peter, too?
Had she imagined seeing him at the edge of the avalanche in those brief moments when the snow had shifted and let her suck in a desperate lungful of air before it pulled her under again? Had she imagined his hand reaching out, yanking her backward, even as the avalanche tried to throw her forward, over the edge of the mountain? She reached behind her, felt a hand clutching her coat and her heart gave a hard thump.
He’d tried to save her. He didn’t even like her, but he’d tried to save her life. Had it cost him his own?
The fingers locked in her coat weren’t moving. She tried to scoot toward him, tried to urge Chance to come with her. She moved slowly, terrified of triggering more snow that might crush them, not sure how close they were to the edge of the mountain.
But as she slid toward Peter, Chance broke free from her grasp. She fumbled for him, her hands grasping nothing but snow, feeling clumsy in the cold.
“Chance!” As she gasped his name, she sucked in snow and more fell, closing the gap between her and her dog. She stretched her arms farther, but couldn’t find him.
Panic took hold, squeezing her lungs tight as she turned her head and spit out the snow, trying to get more air. She found another pocket of it, but it felt stuffy, like it was already emptying of oxygen, and she tried to take shallow breaths. Reaching behind her, she tugged lightly on Peter’s arm and he moved. But she couldn’t tell if it was just gravity or if he was okay.
“Chance!” she tried again, even as she heard him moving away from her. Was he headed toward the edge of the mountain? She was too turned around to tell. Even if he managed to get free of the snow, would he fall over the edge?
Alaska Mountain Rescue Page 5