Chapter Fourteen
Scott woke next to Lily, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
The floral scent of her hair teased him to consciousness, then he became aware of the hard line of her spine, pressed against him, and the soft curve of her bottom.
She was curled into a fetal position, buried deep in her sleeping bag, a ball of warmth in the frigid predawn.
Shelby lay on Lily’s other side, so that she was sandwiched between his warmth and the dog’s.
Not that he was very warm. Hunter had moved to lie beside what was left of the campfire. Scott couldn’t feel his toes or his fingers, and every few minutes a violent shiver rocked him.
He carefully extricated himself from around her. She stirred. “You okay?” he asked.
The sleeping bag wriggled and shifted, then her head emerged. Her face was puffy, hair a wild tangle hiding half her features. She looked soft and vulnerable and younger than her years. “I’m cold.”
“Yeah. I’ll get the fire started.”
When he had a blaze going, she fought the rest of the way out of her sleeping bag and staggered to her feet. “Be right back,” she mumbled, and shuffled off into the woods.
By the time she returned, he had the kettle over the flames and both dogs were eating the kibble he had packed. “I’m going to give them the first water I melt,” he said. “Then I’ll heat some for us.”
“I’ve got instant coffee crystals,” she said. “And oatmeal and peanut butter.”
“I’ve got boiled eggs.”
She made a face. “Don’t those get crushed in your pack?”
He shrugged. “They’re good protein. And I don’t care what they look like. I’m going to eat them anyway.”
The coffee, when it was finally ready, was scalding hot. The warmth spread through him, driving the last of the sleep from his brain and making him feel halfway human. They ate, the cold making them ravenous. Even oatmeal—not his favorite—tasted good when he was this hungry.
Breakfast over, he stood. “If you’ll pack up everything, I’m going to look around a little bit,” he said.
“What are you looking for?”
“I want to see if I can find some sign of whoever was shooting at us.”
He moved away from the clearing where they had sheltered, both dogs accompanying him.
He crossed over the trail they had been following yesterday.
The brush thinned, giving way to thick stands of aspens, slender white trunks all leaning slightly to one side, like grass bent by the wind.
He studied the snow, which was thinner here, until he found what he was looking for—a single boot print.
Not a ski boot, but with lug soles, like a hiking or work boot.
Another partial print farther on. He moved more slowly now, carefully placing each step, trying to be as silent as possible.
The rising sun slanting through the trees glinted on something at the base of one aspen trunk.
Scott bent to look and found two brass shell casings.
Forty-five caliber. A new cold slithered up his spine.
Too close for comfort. Had the shooter spent the night nearby?
He could have killed them in their sleep.
He took out his phone, intending to note the GPS coordinates of this location, but the device had switched itself off and refused to power up again.
He swore to himself. Why hadn’t he remembered that cold drained batteries?
He should have slept with the phone next to him in his sleeping bag instead of stuffed into the side of his pack. He hoped Lily had been smarter.
He went a little farther, but saw no more boot prints or shell casings. No sign of a camp. The shooter must have moved on after he had determined they weren’t a threat. Maybe he had decided they were a couple of hikers or skiers out for adventure. Maybe he decided to leave before they spotted him.
He returned to camp. Lily had packed up their belongings and was scooping snow over the fire to douse it. “Did you find anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. He’d keep the information about the bullets to himself for now. “Let’s keep heading toward Pandora,” he said. “Maybe we’ll find Jackson there.”
“It’s a week today since he was taken,” she said. “That’s a long time to be out in this cold.”
“The kidnapper was probably taking care of him before he was killed,” Scott said. “We found their camp, with a fire and shelter.”
“But now Jackson is out here without a pack or anyone to help.”
“Don’t think about that,” he said. “Just focus on finding him.”
They picked up where they had left off, following the trail of disturbed snow.
It could have been a trail made by a boy, but it could have just as easily been a path followed by wildlife—mule deer or elk or even moose.
They saw no more boot prints, nothing to tell them for sure that they were on the right track.
The trail ended abruptly, at the base of a large pine, the furrowed reddish bark bright against the paler aspen and white snow. Shelby barked, then planted her front feet against the trunk of the tree. The dog stared up into the limbs, then barked again.
“What is it, girl?” Lily asked.
Scott craned his head to look up into the tree. The branches were thick, a tangle of needles so dark they were almost black. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Maybe she treed a squirrel. Come on, Hunter.” He turned to move on.
“Wait!” Lily said. She shifted position, craning her neck. “Jackson, is that you? It’s me, Lily.”
The tree limbs shifted and a pale face—familiar to Scott from the posters stuck up everywhere around the resort—poked out. “Lily! What are you doing here?”
“We’re looking for you,” she said. “We’ve come to take you home.”
The boy started crying. He was sobbing so hard Scott was afraid he was going to fall out of the tree. “Do you need help getting down from there?” Scott asked.
The boy sniffed and frowned at Scott. “Who are you?”
“This is Scott Linden,” Lily said. “He’s head of ski patrol. Remember? I introduced you one time.”
Shelby barked again. Hunter came to stand beside them and he started barking also. “You’d better come down,” Lily said. “The dogs aren’t going to quiet down until you do.”
“Let me help.” Scott reached up toward the boy.
“I can do it.” Jackson slowly began climbing down.
When he reached the ground, he turned to face them.
Strands of blond hair stuck out from beneath his ski helmet.
His cheeks were red and streaked with dirt.
His blue parka was dirty, too, with a jagged rip in the front.
Lily pulled him into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “We were so worried.”
He squirmed, and she loosened her hold on him and stepped back. “Oh my gosh—you’re bleeding!” She pointed to his hand.
The boy looked down at the bare hand, at the gash on the web of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He flexed his fingers. “It’s not that bad,” he said.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “Why do you only have one glove?”
“I dropped the other one somewhere.”
“We found your pack,” she said. “Why did you leave it behind?”
He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting, not fixing on any one point. “I can tell you all of that later. Can we get out of here now?”
“We’ll go,” Scott said. “But you need a couple of things first.” He removed his pack and dug out a spare pair of gloves and another candy bar. He passed these items, and a bottle of water, over to Jackson.
“Thanks.” Jackson tore into the candy bar and ate it in four bites, then chugged the water. He handed the empty bottle to Scott. “When I realized I’d dropped a glove, I wanted to go back and look for it, but I was too afraid. I was terrified they’d find it and be able to track me.”
“Who would find it?” Lily asked.
“The people who’ve been after me. One of them even took a couple of shots at me last night. That was before I went up the tree. I guess they lost my trail in the dark and didn’t see me up there.”
“Come on.” Scott put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
The kid’s story was making him nervous. “Let’s get moving.
” He wanted to put some distance between Jackson’s hiding place and themselves, in case the kidnappers were tracking him again in daylight.
Which they would surely do. It sounded like they’d been pretty stubborn about keeping after the kid.
He led the way, Jackson behind him and Lily bringing up the rear, the dogs ranged between them. They were leaving a pretty big track through the woods that would be easy to follow. He glanced over his shoulder at Jackson. “How many people are after you?” he asked.
“Just the one guy, now that DJ is dead. But I’m pretty sure there are others. DJ was taking me somewhere, I just don’t know where.”
“Who is DJ?” Scott asked.
“The guy who grabbed me at the ski resort. That’s what he told me to call him. I don’t know what DJ stands for.”
“He died in the avalanche?” Lily asked.
“Yeah. He triggered the avalanche when we were crossing this big snowfield. I guess I was lucky—I was on the very edge of the slide and it kind of tossed me off into the woods.”
“You left your backpack behind,” Lily said.
“I didn’t want to, but I figured I had to. I knew DJ had friends. He had been in touch with them a couple of times on a satellite telephone. I thought if they came looking and found my backpack, they would think I had died in the avalanche, too.”
“What was DJ doing with you out here in the wilderness all this time?” Lily asked.
Scott had been wondering this, too. Even given the weather and the terrain, Jackson and his captor should have been able to reach Pandora in two or three days at most. Or they could have hiked to a road, where an accomplice could pick them up.