Chapter Thirteen
Connor and Stacy were dressed and waiting when George arrived.
Even Farley had gotten out of bed to greet the older man at the door.
“This place reminds me of my first apartment,” George said as he shed hat, parka and gloves.
“Except for the skis. I had posters of motorcycles. Never had the bike, just lots of posters.”
“Like some guys and supermodels,” Connor said.
“Just like that.” George walked over and hugged Stacy. “It’s going to be all right,” he said and patted her back.
“Thanks, Dad, but I’m not six with a broken toy. You can’t fix everything.”
“I’m crushed.” George looked to Connor. “Where’s that coffee?”
“In here.” Connor led the way to the kitchen and filled three mugs. They gathered around the table.
“I can’t believe Anthony showed up here like this,” Stacy said. “At night.”
“Apparently, someone lit a fire under the Bureau over this.” George took a long drink of coffee.
“Would Doug do that?” Stacy asked. “Call and complain about me?”
“It was probably one of Doug’s bosses,” Connor said. “They’re allergic to bad publicity. An inbounds avalanche and a dead snowboarder on the same day probably has them in a terror.”
“Did Anthony say what’s going to happen to me?” Stacy asked.
“They probably want you to return to Denver,” George said. “Or maybe you’ll be told to assist Agent Anthony.”
Stacy scowled, then looked at Connor. “Remember I told you some in the FBI think female agents should limit themselves to transcribing interviews and making coffee? Anthony is one of them.”
“How does he get away with that in this day and age?” George asked.
“He’s got bosses willing to look the other way,” she said.
“We just need to figure out how to outsmart him,” George said.
“Damien Anthony may be a horrible chauvinist, but he isn’t stupid,” she said.
“When he came to the condo looking for you, I told him you were undercover at the moment, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with you,” George said.
“That was quick thinking.” Connor stood to get more coffee.
“That was lying,” Stacy said. “And he’s going to find out it’s a lie as soon as he learns that I was at the resort today—both after the avalanche and after Jace’s body was found.”
“You went undercover tonight.” George slid his mug forward for a refill. “Because you had a lead on who was responsible for the theft of those explosives.”
“But I don’t have a lead. That’s the whole problem.”
“What happened when you and Connor visited Shane?” George asked. “I want more details than you blew me off with when you came home that night.”
“He said he wanted Connor to help him with a fireworks show on Martin Luther King weekend,” Stacy said. “Then he showed us boxes of fireworks in his garage.”
“Was anyone else with him?”
“There could have been someone in another part of the house,” Connor said. “But we didn’t meet anyone else.”
“He lives on a ranch, right? Big property, lots of land and outbuildings?”
“I guess so,” Stacy said. “We didn’t get a tour, and it was too dark to see much.”
“We need to go back to Shane’s house and look around,” George said. “Maybe fireworks aren’t the only explosives at the place.”
“We don’t have a warrant,” Stacy said.
“If we see anything interesting, we’ll leave it there and figure out how to get a warrant.”
“Dad, there are so many ways that could go wrong.”
“I think George is right,” Connor said. “When I was in the Rangers, sometimes we had to go a little out of bounds to get the results we needed.”
“I don’t even want to hear this.” She clapped her hands over her ears.
George leaned across the table toward her. “If we go out to Shane’s house and find evidence to implicate him in the thefts, you’ll have solved the case and Anthony can go back to making his own coffee,” he said.
She lowered her hands to the table once more. “That’s a very big if.”
“I have faith in you.”
Her expression softened. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He straightened. “I do. Plus, I’m going with you.”
“I’ll come, too,” Connor said.
George shook his head. “Not a good idea. If you suddenly disappear, people will ask questions.”
“You have responsibilities here,” Stacy said. “Plus, you can let us know if there are any new developments at the resort.”
She was trying to let him down gently. But she also spoke the truth. He needed to be at the resort at 5:30 to begin avalanche mitigation, and patrol had a long list of things to do to prepare for the holiday weekend crowds. “Check in with me when you can,” he said.
George pushed back from the table. “Let’s all try to get a few hours’ sleep. We’ll set out at dawn.”
George had declared it too risky to return to Stacy’s rental, in case Anthony decided to come back there to look for her. Instead, he bedded down on the sofa and said nothing when she disappeared into Connor’s room.
But she lay awake next to Connor, alternately fuming over Damien Anthony’s arrival and reviewing every aspect of the case, trying to see anything she had missed. Connor was restless, too. After a while, she rolled toward him, and he gathered her close.
“Are you ever afraid of getting caught in an avalanche?” she asked.
“Not afraid, necessarily,” he said. “Aware. Every time we’re doing mitigation work, you know there are places where a slide could come down on you any time. It’s an adrenaline rush—keeps you on your toes.”
“It’s like that sometimes with my work, too, when I’m walking into a situation where there could be a person with a gun or a bomb who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.”
“You accept the risk, but you do the work anyway,” he said.
“Yes.” The work had to be done, and if she was being honest, the risk was part of the attraction—the chance to test the odds over and over again and come out on top, alive. Until the day the odds won. She wasn’t going to think about that. She lay her head on his chest, closed her eyes and slept.
Too soon, the alarm blared, and they all roused and met, bleary-eyed and unspeaking, in the kitchen over coffee. Connor and Farley left first. Stacy and George followed him out, down to a dirty green Jeep with a dented front fender.
“Dad, where did you get this?” Stacy asked as George unlocked the vehicle.
“I rented it from a guy down-valley.” He opened the back of the Jeep and leaned inside. “I’ve got a bunch of supplies we might need back here. We can spend a couple of nights out if we have to.”
“Where is my rental?” she asked.
“I parked it in a storage lot a few miles away,” George said. “Anthony isn’t likely to find it there, but if he does, for all he knows you put it there before you went undercover.”
“You didn’t want to use the SUV because it was too recognizable?”
“I wouldn’t put it past the Bureau to have tracking software on it.” He shut the hatch of the Jeep. “Better to have a vehicle they know nothing about.”
She buckled into the passenger seat and gave her dad directions to Shane Greer’s ranch.
The sky had begun to lighten, but the sun was still an hour from showing itself.
They drove through quiet streets, passing only a single shuttle bus and a cluster of three people—tourists, judging from their bright parkas and hats—outside a coffee truck.
George cleared his throat. “So you and Connor are an item?”
“Dad.”
“None of my business, I know. But he seems like a good man.”
“You’re giving him your approval?” She couldn’t hide her amusement.
“I’d rather see you with him than involved with another agent.”
“For someone who was with the Bureau for forty years, you certainly have a low opinion of the organization.”
“It can be a good career, with the right people,” he said. “But it’s a hard life. Especially with a family.”
“We had a good life, Dad. I never felt deprived. And you’ve always been there for me when I needed you.”
The silence between them was easier after that. Neither spoke until she pointed out the turnoff to the ranch. “I’m going to drive past and find someplace to stash the Jeep,” he said. “We’ll walk from there.”
The sun was painting the clouds pink by the time they started through the woods toward the ranch house. They hadn’t gone far when Stacy spotted someone in the woods. A man stood before a campfire, next to a tent.
She and her father ducked behind a fat juniper and watched. As the sky lightened, she could make out more tents, a van and one truck camper amid the trees.
Her father tugged at her sleeve and indicated they should retreat. When they were back from the campers a hundred yards, George asked, “Were those campers there when you and Connor visited?”
“No. I’m sure we would have seen them when we drove up to the house. Some of them are really close to the driveway. I don’t know why they’re here.”
“Maybe Shane’s idea to advertise for help with the protests paid off.”
“Maybe.” A tingle rose along the back of her neck. “They could be from the Freedom Fighters.” The people the Bureau had been after for months.
“Whoever they are, we’ve got to get past them to reach the ranch house,” George said. “We need to find another way in.” He pulled off his pack.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’ve got maps.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. He laughed at her astonished look. “Sometimes old school is still best. Let’s take a look and plan our route.”
Snow had piled up all day and night on the ridges above the resort.
Ski patrol was out before dawn Wednesday, launching charges.
At first light, Connor went up in the resort helicopter to drop bombs on a more difficult-to-reach cornice.
The higher elevation lifts, including Ten, opened on a delayed schedule, but by eleven o’clock every lift was turning and skiers streamed down the mountain.