Cold as Hell (Haven’s Rock #3)

Chapter Thirty-Five

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It’s been a week since Rory was born, and Dalton and I are out on our first post-baby hike with Storm. We’ve already abandoned our child. She’s with April, who wanted to get in some auntie time.

I’ll admit that made me nervous. Our parents left me with April exactly once, when I was seven, and I ended up playing in the backyard until I fell asleep—at ten P.M. —because she’d gotten caught up in a book and “Casey likes being outside.” Growing up, I’d seen that as a sign of how much my sister disliked me. Forced to babysit, she’d left me outside. Now I know she really did get caught up in her book, and since I did like playing outside, it seemed reasonable, especially considering she’d have only been twelve at the time.

April and I didn’t grow up around babies, so I was nervous until Kenny volunteered to help. He has a passel of nieces and nephews, and with a few instructions, I could confidently leave Rory in their care. It helps that she’ll just sleep. That’s mostly all she does, and yes, I was worried until Nicole assured me that it’s normal for these first few weeks. They sleep a lot, and once that ends, you’ll start wishing for those early days again.

Feeding is going okay. Still not perfect, but it’s getting better every time. Dalton also takes his turn with pumped milk and bottles, which is what he wants.

At this point, with a sleeping baby and tons of help, it feels easy. I know that’s an illusion, but while it’s lasting, I should take advantage and do things like going on walks with my husband and my dog.

Today’s hike actually serves another purpose. We’re searching for a place to bury Grant and Lynn, once the ground is thawed enough. That makes it a quiet walk. We’d done this many times in Rockton, but we’d hoped to avoid it here. While we have had one death—a construction accident—that body could be sent home for family. This is different. Lynn and Grant are both gone, and they will both stay gone, buried in a place neither of them wanted to be.

“I know he really liked fishing,” Dalton says as we walk. “But this should be more about her, and I don’t really know what she liked.”

“None of us did, and not because she wouldn’t have happily told us, if we’d taken an interest.” I exhale a long breath. “It was complicated. With both of them.” I squint out over the sun-dappled snow. “She did enjoy the hikes. Oh, I remember her saying there’s a spot where she could see the lake in the distance, and she liked it when they paused there. That would work for both.”

“We’ll do that then.” He reaches for my hand. “What happened to them was terrible. Especially Lynn. We didn’t screw up, though. Jerome exploited a flaw in our system, and Rockton had the same one. The only difference is that, in Rockton, he wouldn’t have needed to exploit it. Not if he had enough money to buy his way in.”

I nod, knowing he’s saying this as much for himself as for me. Whatever complaints we had about Rockton, we’ll both admit it was a whole lot easier when we could blame someone else for letting in a dangerous resident… and then pat ourselves on the back for catching them.

“On a much happier subject,” I say, “that is an awesome new sled Kenny built for Rory. I know she’s too young to appreciate walks in the woods, but do you think, if she’s bundled up enough, we can take her with us that way? Or should we stick with the baby pouch?”

“The sled would work. We have plenty of skins to line it with, and it’s not as if we’re going to just drag her along behind and forget she’s…” He trails off, looking to the left and frowning.

“Eric?” I say when he keeps looking.

He pauses and tilts his head to look into the forest. “Slight detour,” he says. “I’m not sure what I’m seeing. It might be more of Lynn’s clothing. Or Yolanda’s.”

“Or my sweatpants, which you guys abandoned back at the lake.”

“You really wanted your pregnancy pants back?”

I pluck at the sweats I’m wearing. “Until this belly goes down, the looser the waistband, the better.”

We’ve veered off the trail into the forest. It’s been a quiet week, weatherwise. Warmer than usual, with bright sun that makes it feel downright balmy. In open areas, the snow glistens as it melts. Here, deeper in the trees, it’s still solid but getting crusty, and each footfall pauses before breaking through with a crunch.

Dalton takes the lead. Storm follows behind me. She’s been quiet, still getting used to our new addition, and a little out of sorts. I’m making sure she gets plenty of attention and playtime. When she makes a noise behind me, I turn and see her sniffing the air. She gives an uncertain whine and looks at me.

“Eric?” I say. “Storm’s picking up something.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” he says from two steps ahead of us. “There’s a campsite. Must be one of the damn miners.”

He means the mining company, who are absolutely not supposed to be on this side of our boundary line.

Dalton strides toward the small clearing. Ahead are the remains of a campfire and a makeshift shelter. One of the miners or guards looking for a little winter camping experience? Whatever the reason, having them this close to Haven’s Rock makes me very nervous.

“We’ll need to take this up with Rogers,” I say. “It’s a clear violation—”

Dalton stops short.

“Eric?”

“This isn’t the miners,” he says.

I start forward, and his hands shoot out as if to stop me. Then he settles for taking out his gun. I do the same, and we move into the campsite. He’s busy scanning the perimeter, as I draw closer to the site, where clothing has been hung above the fire to dry.

I stare at that clothing. It’s Haven’s Rock issue. A pair of jeans, socks, and boxers. There’s a shirt, too, one that isn’t standard issue—a burgundy pullover, the sight of it making something inside me spasm. I’d seen that shirt, complimented the wearer on how nice the color looked on him.

“Jerome,” I whisper. “That’s… that’s his shirt.”

Dalton nods grimly.

I keep looking, my brain racing to process what I’m seeing. “A fire, where he dried his clothing after he… No, that’s not possible. This is just his clothing. Someone must have taken it.”

That doesn’t make sense. No one is removing wet clothing from a corpse. Then I see the duffel on the ground. Dalton glances over to track my gaze to it.

“That’s his,” he says. “It was missing from his room, along with a bunch of his belongings. He stole some supplies, too. Protein bars, an extra canteen, a whole carton of matches. Will and I figured he packed a bag and left it in the woods for later, knowing he wouldn’t be going back to town.”

“He did that before he took Yolanda. Preparing. Someone else found his bag. One of the miners maybe.”

Found Jerome’s duffel and settled in for a campfire? Used his clothing and then hung it to dry? Got bored, wandered off and left it all behind?

My gaze moves from one item to the next. To the canteen hanging from a tree. To the empty wrappers. To the boot prints all around the clearing.

“I didn’t watch,” I whisper. “After he went under the water, I knew I should watch in case he came out, but I blacked out. I thought it was only for a moment…”

“You were in labor,” Dalton says, “and you’d seen him fall in ice-cold water. Even if he got out, he wasn’t going to be in any shape to bother with you.”

“He climbed out,” I whisper. “While I was unconscious. His duffel must have been nearby. Dry clothing. Matches.”

“We need to get back. Now.” Dalton turns to me. “He might be long gone. That fire is cold. But I’ll put together a party and come out to track him.”

I nod, still feeling dazed. Was it possible that Jerome had climbed from the ice and stumbled into the woods and I never noticed? I should say no, but I think back to that moment, and I know it’s entirely possible.

Even after I came to, I’d been deep in labor. I couldn’t hear, could barely see, intent on finding a spot to have my baby.

“I should have said something,” I say as Dalton scans the clearing and grabs an item of clothing for Storm. “I should have told you I wasn’t watching to make sure he went under and stayed there.”

“We never asked. Never checked either. Will and I should have gone back later to look for a body. Or signs he climbed out.”

“But there was a baby and Yolanda and Grant to think about, and we were just all relieved it was over.”

“Yep, so we’re going to skip the blame game and be thankful we found his camp in time. I have a feeling that even if he’s still around, he’ll stay far from Haven’s Rock. But we won’t take any chances. We’ll track him and bring him in.”

“And I’ll stay out of that unless you need me to help with Storm,” I say as we leave the clearing.

“I can be her handler, but we’ll bring you in if there’s a problem.”

Dalton falls in behind me as Storm takes the lead. We both keep our guns out and our senses sharp as we walk. Earlier, I’d found the crunch of the snow reassuring and peaceful. Now each step sounds like a gunshot.

“If he’s around, he’d have already heard us,” Dalton murmurs.

“Is he armed?” I whisper. “I presume Yolanda’s gun went in the water with him.”

“Would it still work?”

“It depends on how long it was under. He only had it shoved in his waistband. I doubt he was making sure he kept it as he hauled himself out, but we still need to be aware he could be armed.”

“Gotta admit,” Dalton mutters, “I liked the idea of him drowning in a frozen lake. Fitting… and saved us from dealing with a new threat.”

“Hopefully, he just calls for help. I’ll notify émilie as soon as we get back so she can prepare—”

Storm stops. She lifts her head, sniffs the air, and then her muzzle swings right and she whines.

I move up beside her as I aim my gun in the direction she’s looking.

She whines again. It’s a different whine than when she scented the campsite. This one’s low and anxious, and when I go to pat her head, she ducks it.

Once Dalton gets close enough, I whisper, “I’ll take lead.”

He hesitates.

“Jerome likes sneaking up from behind,” I say.

A grunt. That reminder will keep Dalton in the rear. I signal for Storm to move forward with care. She does that, as well as a dog her size can. She creeps to the edge of another clearing and then stops and ducks her head again, a whine rippling through her.

The sun doesn’t penetrate this tiny clearing, surrounded by massive pines, and I have to squint to see. There’s something in the middle of it and—

“Oh!” I say, just as Dalton says, “ Fuck .”

My hands fly to my mouth. “Is that…?”

Dalton only grunts and moves past us. I take another step, my gaze fixed on the scene in front of me.

It’s a body, spread-eagled on the snow, limbs tied to trees. There’s… not much left of the corpse. Scavengers have been feasting. One arm is no longer attached to the torso. One leg is gone completely.

The body is naked and lying on its back. It’s a man with a gag in his mouth. His eyes are missing, and something has pecked at his face, but enough remains for a positive identification.

“Jerome,” I whisper. “It’s Jerome.”

We’re back in town. We left Jerome’s body there. We need a witness to confirm how he died.

Once in town, Dalton goes to find Anders while I walk to one particular door.

I find Mathias in his shop, working on a trio of grouses.

“Fresh meat?” I say. “I didn’t think anyone was out hunting.”

“These are from traps.”

“Ah, right. Your traps.”

Last fall Mathias had decided he wanted to take up trapping. We figure it was mostly an excuse to tramp around the woods alone.

“It is good weather for it. The sun comes out, and all the animals peek out from their hidey-holes. Especially the predators.”

“Caught any predators lately?”

“A mink, in fact. I am curing the hide for a new baby. You may have heard we have one.”

I move up to the counter. “We found Marlon.”

“Who?” He looks up. “Ah, him.” His lip curls, and he goes back to his work with the grouse.

I lean against the counter and take a feather, turning it in my fingers. “We thought he drowned under the ice. Seems he escaped and had provisions. But then… well, he must have poked his head from his hidey-hole.”

Mathias only nods and separates a wing from the body.

“He was stripped naked,” I say. “Tied to trees and left to die.”

“Ah.”

“And you have nothing to say about it?”

Mathias tilts his head. “Only that it seems… What is the word in English?” He looks me in the eye. “Fitting.”