Chapter 5 Louise
LOUISE
“This must be it.”
My headlights bounced off a line of parked trucks, a squad car, and a search-and-rescue van crammed along a rutted dirt path.
Though calling it a road would’ve been generous—it was more like a trail carved out by hunters and time.
We were deep in the mountains now, far beyond the reach of pavement or cell towers.
The thick canopy overhead blotted out the sky. No moonlight, no stars. Just an endless sweep of black pressing in on us from all sides. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever known a darker night.
I eased Ansel in behind the last truck, a low-hanging branch squeaking down the passenger side. When I cut the engine, the silence that followed was stark and heavy. No one in the vehicle moved.
I glanced into the back seat. “You guys ready?”
Miles groaned and pushed open his door, muttering something I didn’t catch as a gust of cold air rushed in. Austin and Margie followed suit, boots crunching into the slushy gravel. The subtle ping of sleet tapping on metal surrounded us, like a thousand tiny needles falling from the sky.
Off in the woods, a soft glow flickered through the trees. Flashlights, maybe lanterns. Voices drifted toward us, distorted by distance and wind. That had to be the meeting point.
I threw on my backpack and checked my phone one last time, praying for a missed call. A text from Kara.
Just two words. I’m okay.
I clicked off my phone and slid it into my pocket.
“God, it’s cold,” Miles said through chattering teeth as he tugged a beanie lower over his ears.
Margie adjusted her glossy white backpack, her scarf pulled tight around her neck.
Austin stood beside her, a mountain of a man, scanning the woods like he was ready to clear them with his bare hands.
He was quiet, unreadable, a coil of tension wrapped in flannel and tactical gear.
The kind of guy you’re glad is on your side.
I checked my watch. “We’re five minutes late, crew. Let’s move.”
Four flashlights flicked on, cutting through the darkness with sharp beams. The narrow trail forced us into a single-file line—me in front, then Miles, followed by Margie and Austin taking up the rear.
The sleet had softened into flurries, fine powder swirling in the beams of our lights.
It dusted our shoulders, clung to our hair.
The forest around us creaked and groaned, trees shifting in the cold. Every footstep echoed off frozen earth and dead pine needles, crunching like brittle paper underfoot. My breath puffed white into the air, each exhale snatched away by the breeze.
No one spoke. The silence was weighted, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.
The trail curved.
Up ahead, the woods began to thin, and warm light spilled between the trees like a beacon. Lanterns. Flashlights. A fire maybe. Figures moved beyond the trunks—silhouettes in puffy coats and high-beam headlamps.
The meeting point.
A few people turned as we stepped into the clearing, their faces tight with concern, eyes glassy from cold or exhaustion. Maybe both.
Off to the side, two brown horses stood tied to a pine tree, heads bowed beneath the falling flurries. Their thick manes lifted in the wind, breath fogging in slow, weary puffs. Even from a distance, they looked solemn—burdened, as if they carried the collective grief of the people around them.
Volunteers gathered in small, silent groups near the tables, faces drawn and pale in the artificial light.
The hopeful energy that had buzzed through the crowd the night before was gone.
Replaced now by something heavier. The second day of a search always hit harder.
Reality set in. Fatigue too. The adrenaline from Day One faded, replaced by aches, doubt, and quiet dread.
The group had thinned as well. Fewer cowboy hats and yoga pants tonight. Most of the curious locals, weekend warriors, and social media do-gooders had gone home—either to warm beds or better things to do. The ones who remained were here for one reason only.
To find Kara. Dead or alive.
And the coldest night of the year was just getting started.
I was the one who filed the missing person’s report for Kara Meyers.
Because she wasn’t a local, had a DUI and a couple of indecent exposures on her record, no one took her disappearance seriously.
Not at first. I’d been questioned like a suspect, left out of the investigation, and warned not to seek out witnesses on my own—especially not at 3 a.m., which, for the record, will get you a free ride in the back of a cop car.
Still, I’d done everything I could. Camped outside the station. Hounded every officer I could find. Pushed past the forty-eight-hour mark when most cases went cold.
I wasn’t giving up. Not on Kara.
“I figured there’d be more people,” Miles whispered as he stepped next to me.
“There were only a few more than this last night. I’m telling you, no one around here cares that an out-of-towner with a rap sheet is missing.”
“Well, at least they’re searching, right?”
The search effort had three parts.
First, the official search-and-rescue team, led by Aaron Roth—a dirt-covered, no-nonsense guy with a braided ponytail and sharp eyes. He was backed by two silent types: one inked to his knuckles, the other permanently chewing dip.
Second, the local PD—understaffed, underpaid, and rotating shifts like a fast-food kitchen. Chief McCord ran point.
Third, the volunteers—untrained, mostly half-drunk, but well-meaning.
Heads turned in our direction as we crossed the clearing.
We were waylaid by a woman requesting our names on the sign-in log. I spotted McCord’s balding head and paunchy stomach bent over the first folding table. A few others gathered around him.
I signed in, then handed the pen to Miles. “Chief McCord . . .”
The moment the chief of police heard my voice, he swallowed the chuckle he was in the middle of. He despised me, probably because I’d been so committed to the case.
McCord turned away from a sparkling blonde in full makeup who was wearing a fur-trimmed jacket, and matching ski pants. The sales tag hung from her left elbow.
“Miss Sloane, glad you could make it,” he said, although his tone suggested otherwise.
I squared my shoulders. “This is Miles, Austin, and Margie, volunteers from Ponco, Kara’s hometown.”
The chief dipped his chin, his gaze lingering on Margie. “Pleasure to meet y’all.”
Austin broke off, meeting Aaron Roth in the middle of the clearing and shaking hands. The two appeared to know each other.
“Hi there.” The Pamela Anderson lookalike stepped forward, stretching out freshly manicured fingers.
We shook hands. “I’m Tabitha Raines with NAR News.
We finally meet. Have you received my voice mails?
I was hoping to chat with someone who knew Kara personally.
I’d love to get some coffee together, and maybe we can—”
“Maybe later.” I pulled my hand from her limp grip and shifted my focus to the chief. “I thought we were supposed to have tracking dogs for this search. Where are they?”
“It’s detection dogs, and they’ll be here within the hour. They’re finishing up searching the other site now. Sunny Harper, their handler, found some caves on the west end of Devils Cove. It’s taking more time than expected.”
My stomach dropped to my feet. Caves. I hadn’t even considered searching caves.
“Have you heard from Kara?” He asked.
“No.”
Margie whispered something to Miles, and the two stepped aside.
“Well . . .” I shrugged out of my backpack and unzipped the top, the zipper catching on the frayed fabric.
My cheeks burned as I wrestled with the faded red JanSport I’d gotten on the discount shelf at Walmart years earlier.
Get. New. Backpack, I inwardly demanded of myself as they stared at me.
Finally, with a swift jerk that almost sent me off balance, the zipper released.
I pulled a folder from the pocket, ripping the edges as I did so.
I cleared my throat.
“I printed flyers with Kara’s picture today and posted them around town.” When the chief didn’t take them from my hands, I shoved the folder at him. “Maybe your team can put some up first thing in the morning?”
I’d never felt so useless in my life. I was a fish out of water, doing anything and everything I could to help in a situation that was as foreign to me as designer ski coats and fake eyelashes.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked.
McCord glanced at his watch. “Supposed to have a few more folks for this search.”
“Why can’t everyone else get started?”
“We’re pairing up. Rough terrain, and on account of the weather.”
The sharp scent of mothballs carried on the wind as a cross-wearing elderly woman stepped up, eyeing me like someone might an injured wolf. A pitying smile crossed her face. I could handle the repeated questions, the whispers, and the doubt, but not the looks of pity. Pity meant hope was gone.
“Louise, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Hammonds. Clara was born and raised in these mountains. She knows the area, and is eager to help.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hammonds, but I’m going to search alone this evening.” As I had the night before. As I would continue to do.
McCord nodded in a way that a parent might to a misbehaving toddler. “Suit yourself.”
A chorus of claps pulled our attention to folding table number two.
“All right, folks,” Aaron, the search-and-rescue leader hollered. “Everyone, come here. We’re about to get going.”