Chapter 14
ALEX
The tree line where the vehicle disappeared is still empty when I steer Kendall through the door.
Her wrist is white where her fingers dug in, the marks already fading.
I memorize the shape of them. I pull the door shut and turn the deadbolt, hand flat against the frame.
The sound of the lock carries through the mudroom. She hears it. She doesn't comment.
In the main room, the fire has burned low.
Embers glow in the stone hearth, throwing copper light across the floor.
Kendall crosses to the kitchen and pours coffee with the focused steadiness of someone who needs something to do with her hands.
She sets the pot down, pulls a notepad from the counter drawer, and starts writing.
Her handwriting is fast and tight. She's making a list before I can ask what kind.
I go to the office.
The satellite phone is where I left it, charging cradle plugged into the backup battery. The storm has broken, and Bryan said the pass should be clean any time now. Once it is, anyone with a vehicle and a direction can reach the lodge.
I close the door partway, enough to muffle my voice from the main room but not enough to lose the sounds of the lodge. The habit is my father's. He ran this property with doors cracked instead of closed, one ear always on the building.
Picking up the phone, I dial Ray Osgood at the Glacier Creek fuel station.
Ray has been pumping gas and selling jerky on the road to the ridge for longer than I've been alive.
His station sits at the junction where the highway turns into the access road, and nothing moves toward Sawyer's Ridge without passing his pumps.
He picks up on the second ring. "Sawyer."
"Ray. How's business?"
"Slow. Storm chased everyone south. Starting to pick up.
" He pauses. Ray checks who's in earshot before he commits to anything.
"Had two fellas in yesterday. Morning. Rental SUV, Anchorage plates.
They topped off the tank and bought coffee and asked the kind of questions people ask when they're looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. "
The words land flat and hard. I sit on the edge of the desk.
"What kind of questions?"
"Polite ones. That was what caught my attention. Too polite for the road. Dressed for it, boots and coats, but the clothes were new. The boots hadn't been broken in. One of them asked if I'd seen a woman come through, maybe a week or two back. Driving alone. He had a photo on his phone."
"Describe her."
"I didn't look too long. But what I saw could've matched the woman I noticed riding with Cameron through the junction a while back. He kept the photo close, like he didn't want me studying it."
My hand tightens on the phone.
"Which direction did they go?"
"North. Toward the ridge. Slow about it, too. They sat in the parking lot for a while before they pulled out, like they were waiting on a call or checking a map."
North. Toward the ridge. Yesterday morning, south of here at the junction. By afternoon they could have been in town. By today, on the road. Two men who don't belong on this mountain are asking questions about the woman who does.
"Did they give names?"
"Didn't ask for any. The polite one did most of the talking. The quiet one watched the road the whole time. He had a look I recognized."
"What look?"
"Checks exits before he sits down."
Professionals. Gary Simmons didn't send amateurs.
I thank Ray and hang up. Two more calls give me the rest of the picture. Pete Hoskins at the airstrip has seen no unfamiliar planes, no overflights, no charters from Anchorage. Ground approach only, which makes the road the choke point.
Linda Marsh at the general store confirms the same two men came in yesterday afternoon asking about seasonal lodges. She gave them nothing and called Amberly, who assumed Cameron already knew. Cameron didn't, because the timing fell between his runs.
A gap. A few hours between Cameron's runs, and two men moved through my town asking questions about the woman sleeping in my bed. That gap ends today.
I put the phone down and walk through the main room. Kendall is at the side table with the notepad, writing in the same tight hand I saw in the kitchen. She doesn't look up.
In the kitchen, Bryan is already at the table. He's cleaning a pistol he cleaned the day before, the cloth moving in measured strokes. Bryan doesn't need to be told. The pressure changed when I walked out of the office, and he calibrated before I opened my mouth.
Cameron comes through the mudroom shortly after, stamping snow off his boots. He's carrying a thermos and a folded map, and he sets both on the table without being asked.
Dash arrives last. He leans in the doorway with his arms crossed, the casual posture undercut by the stillness in his hands. When Dash goes still, the room should pay attention. The energy that usually radiates off him has been pulled inward, redirected into focus.
Kendall appears in the kitchen doorway before I open my mouth. Notepad in one hand, coffee in the other. She pulls out the chair beside Bryan and sits. Nobody questions it. She saw the same vehicle I did. She belongs at this table, and she knows it.
"Two men," I say. "Rental SUV out of Anchorage. Asking about a woman traveling alone. They showed a photo at Glacier Creek yesterday morning and hit the general store that afternoon. Ray says the quiet one checks exits before he sits down."
Bryan sets the pistol down. "How far out?"
"Ray saw them yesterday morning heading north from the junction. Linda had them in town by afternoon. If they kept moving, they could've been the vehicle on the road today. If they stopped for the night, they're close."
Cameron unfolds the map. The topographical survey of the ridge and surrounding valley, marked with access points I've been monitoring since the storm broke. He spreads it flat and weighs a corner down with his thermos.
"The road's the only vehicle access," Cameron says. "South switchbacks are the narrowest section. If they're coming by vehicle, they come through there."
"The old logging road on the east side washed out last spring," Dash adds. "But a motivated person on foot could make it through the culvert section. Steep but passable."
Bryan leans forward. "How many men does Simmons have access to?"
I'd given them his name after I found it. Bryan filed it the way he files everything: silently, completely, ready to use.
"The background check pulled up his business. Corporate security consulting, based out of Anchorage." I'd had the information since before Kendall told me her name. "The firm employs ex-law enforcement and private contractors. He has resources."
"Two men is reconnaissance." Kendall's voice is level, and every head at the table turns toward her.
"I heard him on the phone enough times to know how he works.
Gary doesn't send two to retrieve. He sends two to find, then sends more once they've confirmed.
If they're still asking questions, they haven't pinned me down yet.
" She pauses. "The photo is new. When I left, he didn't have a recent one.
I made sure of that. If he's circulating a photo, he had one made.
Enhanced from something older, maybe security footage. "
The table is quiet. Bryan's eyes move from Kendall to me. The look says one thing: she knows more about this man than we do.
"What else does he do?" I ask her.
"He monitors credit card activity, which is why I use cash.
He runs searches on my real name, which is why I use a different one.
He'll have contacted hospitals and urgent care facilities, any place that files insurance or reports to a database.
" She drinks the coffee. Her hands are steady.
"Gary is patient. He doesn't rush. He prefers to locate, confirm, then apply pressure slowly.
He'll want to isolate me before he makes contact.
Separate me from anyone who might interfere. "
'Anyone who might interfere.'
"He won't isolate you," I say.
"I know."
The silence around the table has weight. Cameron studies the map, his fingers tracing the contour lines of the access road. Bryan's hands are flat on the table. Dash hasn't moved from the doorway.
We've done this before. For others, before Kendall. Hunters who wandered too close to someone's claim. A woman a while back whose ex followed her to a cabin rental on the south ridge. A pair of repo men who came looking for a truck that belonged to a friend of my father's and left without it.
The coordination between us runs deeper than this situation, and the fact that it activates without discussion tells me my brothers have already decided the same thing I have. Kendall stays. Whatever comes up that road leaves.
"Cameron, I want you on the road. Morning and evening aren't enough anymore. If you see that SUV, plate numbers, occupant count, direction of travel. Don't engage. Don't let them see you looking."
Cameron nods.
"Bryan, south overlook. Best sight line on the switchbacks. Take the long rifle and a radio."
"Already on it." Bryan's voice is flat, economical. This is the version of my brother that other people never see.
"Dash, east side. The logging road and the tree line past the equipment shed. If anyone comes through on foot, I want to know before they reach the clearing."
Dash straightens in the doorway. The grin is gone. The face underneath it is harder than he'd like and sharper than most people expect.
"What about Amberly?" Dash asks.
"I'll call her. She stays in town. If they come back to the store or the clinic, she calls me directly. Not Cameron. Me."
Cameron folds the map. Bryan picks up the pistol and slides it into the holster he's been wearing under his coat, which means he's been carrying since before I called the meeting. Dash pushes off the doorway and heads for the mudroom.