Chapter Thirteen
Lily froze, heart pounding painfully. Someone was shooting at them?
“Turn off your headlamp,” Scott whispered, and his own light went out.
“I can’t move,” she said.
Scott slid off of her to lie beside her. He was breathing hard, and he kept one hand firmly on her back, as if prepared to shove her down once more. “Turn it off now,” he whispered.
She did so. “Why is someone shooting at us?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“I don’t know. But they came too close to hitting us for me to think it was a random shot. They could have a night vision scope or goggles or something.”
She started to ask him how he knew that, then remembered he had been in the military. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We can’t just lie here and wait for him to find us.”
“We’re going to have to crawl.” He turned his head to one side, then pointed in that direction. “Over that way. The tree cover is more dense.”
The trees were growing so close together they had to squeeze through them, negotiating an obstacle course of tree roots, trunks, rocks and thick snow.
By the time they reached the massive trunk of a fallen lodgepole pine, she was sodden with melted snow and shivering from the cold.
“When I give the word, vault over this log and flatten yourself behind it,” Scott said.
“Okay.” She tensed, waiting. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, he said, “Now!”
She pulled herself up onto the log, while he pushed from behind. On the other side, she flattened herself to the ground, pushing up under the tree for a few inches. Scott landed just past her and did the same.
She strained her ears to hear the sound of anyone approaching, but her head was too full of her own ragged breathing and the pounding of her heartbeat. “I don’t hear anyone,” Scott said after a long moment.
“I don’t either.” Then a terrifying thought made her raise her head. “Where are the dogs?”
Scott shoved her down once more. “Stay down!”
“Where are the dogs?” she asked again. “If whoever that was shot Shelby or Hunter…”
“They both ran off when the gunshot was fired,” he said. “It probably terrified them.”
The shot had terrified her. But now she was just angry. “If he hurt my dog…”
“I know,” Scott said. “Don’t think about that now.”
She lay with her face to the ground, shivering hard now, colder than she had ever been in her life. “He won’t have to shoot us,” she muttered. “We’ll freeze to death, lying here.”
“Shhh. Someone’s coming.”
Panic squeezed at her, and she had to bite her lip hard enough to taste blood in order to keep from crying out. Something was definitely shuffling toward them, but it didn’t sound like a person exactly. More like an animal. Or a couple of animals.
Shelby, then Hunter, climbed over the fallen tree and began licking their faces, tails wagging. Lily pulled Shelby down beside her and held the squirming dog tightly, imagining at any moment that another bullet would come their way.
But all was silent.
Hunter lay beside Scott, panting softly. After a long while, Scott raised one ski pole into the air. Then the other. Nothing happened. He raised a hand. Nothing.
Finally, he sat up. “I think whoever was out there left.”
“Why did they leave?” She wanted to stay down, safe, but feared freezing to death almost as much as she feared the person with the gun. Stiffly, she pushed into a sitting position. Shelby jumped up and shook.
“Maybe they realized we weren’t who they were after,” Scott said.
It took a moment before her fear-and-frost-numbed brain realized what he meant. “Do you think he’s looking for Jackson?”
“Maybe you aren’t the only one who didn’t believe he died in that avalanche.”
“Oh.” The single syllable came out like a moan. “Jackson’s dad said he thinks people from another country might be behind all this.”
“If that’s true, they could be really dangerous,” Scott said. “But why does he think that?”
“They’ve contacted him before. Two people beat him up the night I was babysitting. That’s how he got the black eye. They told him if he didn’t hand over the information they wanted they would kill him. But when he didn’t back down, they kidnapped Jackson.”
“What do they want?”
“I can’t tell you—I promised. He said it was top secret.”
“Why didn’t he tell the sheriff this?” Scott asked.
“He doesn’t trust the sheriff’s department. But he doesn’t want to involve the FBI, either.”
“Why not?”
She rubbed her hands together, trying to get circulation into her numb fingers. “He wouldn’t say, but I wonder if it isn’t because he’s thinking he’ll have to cooperate with the kidnappers to get his son back. He doesn’t want to, but he would do anything to save Jackson. What parent wouldn’t?”
“Does Endicott know who is behind this?” Scott asked. “Specific people, I mean.”
“No. But this morning when I picked up the satellite phone he told me he’s afraid it might be someone in his household. Or someone who works for him. Otherwise, how did they know Jackson would be skiing the day he was taken?”
“They could have had someone watching the house,” Scott said. “It’s easy enough to see people loading up and driving away with skis on top of the vehicle.”
“That’s true. He’s being careful, all the same.”
“I don’t blame him for that.” He stood, then held out his hand. “Come on. We need to get moving and warm up. We should think about where we’re going to spend the night.”
She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Exhaustion had rolled in as the fear receded. She was shivering with cold and clumsy with stiffness.
“Here.” Scott shoved something into her hands. “Eat this.”
“I’m okay,” she said, and tried to push him away.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked.
“I had a protein bar a few hours ago,” she said.
“Your blood sugar is probably dropping. Eat.”
She looked at the item in your hand. “A candy bar? Really?”
“It has nuts in it and chocolate. Quick sugar. Eat it.”
“Sheesh. You are so bossy!” But she peeled off the wrapper and took a bite, and had to suppress a groan. When had anything tasted so good?
While she ate, he gave the dogs treats and consulted his phone. “Looks like we’re headed toward Pandora,” he said.
“The tracks seemed to be leading that way.”
He looked around them, at the impenetrable darkness. “Jackson has a forty-eight-hour head start on us. He could be at Pandora by now.”
She finished the last of the candy bar, crumpled the wrapper and tucked it into the pocket of her parka. “If he thought of heading to Pandora, don’t you think whoever is after him thought of that, too?”
“Maybe. But we can’t do anything about that tonight. Right now, we need to find a place to spend the night.”
“What about right here?” She looked at the flattened space where they had been lying. “I don’t want to lose Jackson’s trail.”
He looked around. “I’d feel better if we moved into denser brush,” he said. “We need a fire to try to warm up, but we need to keep it hidden.”
“Fine. Just remember where the trail is so we can pick it up in the morning.”
She followed him into a section of woods choked with scrub oak and service berry, the dense network of twigs and branches grabbing at her clothing like bony fingers.
They came to a bowl-shaped depression maybe six feet in diameter.
“This should do,” he said. He dropped his pack, pulled out a knife, and began hacking at the scrub around them.
“I’ll build a shelter. See if you can gather some wood for a fire. ”
She was so exhausted all she wanted to do was drop where she stood, but she made herself turn away in search of wood.
Everything she found was wet with snow, but by digging into the undergrowth she was able to snag a few drier pieces.
By the time she returned, Scott had constructed a lean-to and spread a tarp on the ground in its shelter.
He was arranging rocks in a circle for a fire ring.
She dropped the wood she had collected beside him, removed her pack, and took out her sleeping bag and a pair of dry socks.
With dry feet, and seated on the insulating sleeping bag, she began to feel better.
Scott got a fire going, using a lighter and fire starters from his pack, then he set snow to melt in a small coffeepot.
She dug into her pack and pulled out the food she had brought with her and contributed to the pile of provisions he had unearthed from his own supplies.
The dogs moved in close, sniffing at everything with interest.
“You were prepared to spend the night out,” he said.
“I didn’t want to, but I knew I would if I thought I was close to finding Jackson.”
He nodded and fed each dog a piece of jerky. Shelby brought hers over to the sleeping bag and lay beside Lily. “I take it Mr. Endicott thinks more than one person is involved in the kidnapping—not just the man who was killed?” Scott asked.
“It looks that way.” She took off one glove and buried her hand in the dog’s thick ruff of fur. “Especially if whoever was shooting at us was after Jackson.”
“We don’t know that.”
“No, but how many other criminals are out here in the wilderness?”
He fed larger branches into the fire. “What could be so important a whole group of people would take such a big risk? They’re bound to know everyone will be searching for a missing kid.”
“You and I are the only ones searching for Jackson right now.”
“I thought Endicott was a software developer. What could kidnappers want from that?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I’m just trying to make sense of things.”
“Endicott Industries has a lot of government contracts,” she said.
He looked at her. The light from the fire lit one side of his face with an orange glow, highlighting the hard line of his jaw and the strong jut of his nose. The other half of his face was all darkness, his expression unreadable. “Are they military contracts?” he asked.
“I can’t say.”
He nodded. “I get the picture. What else did Endicott tell you?”
“He said Jackson had gone fishing and hiking and stuff like that, but nothing more.” She stared out into the darkness. There were so many ways to get hurt out here—the cold, a fall, attacks by animals—both four- and two-legged.
“He’s a nine-year-old kid,” Scott said.
“A really smart kid.”
“But a kid.”
“Why are you like this?”
He sat up straighter. “Like what?”
“Always assuming the worst. Why can’t you wait to pronounce him done for until we know for sure?”
“You can’t go around blind to reality. Most of the time things don’t turn out for the best.”
“But sometimes they do. I’m not naive, but I’m not going to give up too soon.”
He said nothing, but turned to the stack of provisions. “I’m going to make us something hot to drink. We’ll both feel a lot better when we’ve had some food.”
He made hot chocolate and filled two mugs, then they ate ham and cheese sandwiches. The cocoa and the food did make her feel better. “Thanks for pushing me down earlier,” she said. “You probably saved my life.”
“Sorry if I was too rough.”
“You didn’t hurt me. I guess you recognized gunfire right away because of your experiences in the war.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you ever have, like, flashbacks?” Was that too personal a question to ask?
“Not in a long time.”
Had war made him cynical? Or was that just his nature? He wasn’t the first person to accuse her of being too optimistic—that was her nature.
He repacked the rest of their provisions and rinsed the mugs with hot water from the kettle. She stared into the fire, sleep dragging at her. She was trying to work up the energy to say good night and crawl into her sleeping bag when he said, “I’m sorry I was so hard on you yesterday.”
The apology startled her awake. “I’m not some fragile flower who’s going to wilt when someone yells at me,” she said.
“Did I yell?”
“No. You were just a little…brusque.”
“Sorry.” He smoothed his hand down Hunter’s side. Both dogs were already asleep, curled by the fire and snoring. “I’ve always been better with dogs than people.”
“Maybe when I’ve been doing this work as long as you have, I’ll be more cynical, too,” she said. “But I’m not there yet.”
“This work didn’t make me cynical. Not really.”
“What did?”
He didn’t answer. Maybe that was the question that was too personal to answer.
“Maybe it’s just my disposition,” he said. “Or the war—I lost people I cared about over there. And then I lost Clark.”
“Your friend who died in the avalanche.”
“Yeah. Add that I’ve never pulled a live person from a snowslide, and I guess that has made me cynical.”
“I get it. You don’t have to apologize. And neither do I.” She shrugged. “We feel what we feel.”
“I hope you’re the one who’s right in this case. About Jackson, I mean.”
“Yeah, me too.” She crawled into her sleeping bag and lay down, waiting for warmth and sleep. She thought of Jackson, and sent up a silent prayer that he was somewhere warm and safe. And that tomorrow they would find him, and everything would be all right.