Chapter 7 #2
“Now I know you can’t make people love you.” The words tasted like ashes, however. “And you can’t make people make the choices you want.”
“Like Gabe?”
“Yeah.” Harley swallowed hard. “He was clean for almost two years. Then Mars showed up with that laced heroin and . . .” She closed her eyes. “One mistake. That’s all it took.”
Kennedy’s hand covered hers. “That’s why you became a cop?”
“No. That’s when I quit being a cop. But yeah, I’ve always needed to fight for something.
To make things right.” She met Kennedy’s gaze.
“Your story, with Sully? That kind of hope . . . I used to believe in it. My parents did. They never missed a Sunday at Copper Mountain Community Church. They believed in God, even when he wasn’t answering their prayers. ”
“But you stopped believing?”
“I realized I had to take care of myself.” The words felt hollow. “No. That’s not true. I realized that way before they died.”
Kennedy leaned against the counter, waiting.
“I was ten.” The memory rose, sharp as broken glass. “Gabe and I were building a tree fort in the woods. He was supposed to meet me after school, but he never showed. Later I found out he’d gotten in a fight with some kids.”
She set down her fork. Sighed. “I got trapped up there after dark. Too scared to climb down, too proud to call for help. When I finally made it home, my parents were just getting back from the police station. They hadn’t even noticed I was gone.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
She lifted a shoulder. “The worst part? I didn’t tell them. Just went to my room and pretended everything was fine.” She laughed, but it caught in her throat. “I got pretty good at that. At being fine.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?”
Before Harley could answer, a whine interrupted them. Orlando padded into the kitchen, his nails clicking on the hardwood. He walked over to her, set his muzzle on her knee.
“He’s so sweet.” Harley scratched behind his ears.
“You talking about me?”
She looked up and, of course, Jericho filled the doorway, barefoot in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair still mussed from sleep. Those hazel-blue eyes caught hers, held.
For a moment, she wanted to say yes. Wanted to reach across the years between them, tell him how she’d carried the memory of his laugh, his touch, parked it inside.
But his words echoed in her head. “Today was a good warning of what I don’t want.”
“I should head back to the dome.” She stood, ignoring the protest in her ribs. “Get out of your hair.”
He blocked the doorway. “In this weather? Not happening.”
“I’m fine—”
“And you have pancakes,” Kennedy said.
She turned. “Right.”
The satellite phone’s harsh ring cut through the tension. Jericho grabbed it from the counter. “Bowie residence.”
His face hardened. “What? When?” He looked at Harley, and his expression had her stilling. “Where?”
He walked to the fridge, opened the door and pulled out a bag. Closed it. “Yeah, I can be ready in twenty.”
He hung up, then set the phone back on its stand. Opened up the bag and filled Orlando’s bowl. Stood, a pained expression on his face.
Harley lowered herself back onto the stool. “What?”
“That was Deke. They’ve got a plane down near Ghost Glacier.”
Her breath caught. “Whose plane?”
He looked at her, and his jaw tightened. “Winter’s.”
She froze. No. Please—“I’m going with you.”
“Over my dead body. You took a shot to the chest yesterday.”
“And I’m fine today.” She met his glare. “Guess what, she’s my best friend.”
“And that’s why—”
“I’m going, Jericho.” She slid off the chair.
Something flashed in his eyes, but she didn’t stick around to unpack it. “I’ll be down in five.”
She brushed past him, but he caught her arm. She stopped, looked up at him, ready to—
“Then at least eat breakfast,” he said.
Oh. She sighed. “Fine.” She returned to her chair, slid onto it. “I guess I’ll need more coffee too.”
Kennedy filled her mug.
She turned as she heard Jericho leave, saw him head down the hall. “Apparently he doesn’t like pancakes,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s clearly it.” Kennedy turned away and poured out a fresh batch of batter onto the griddle.
THIS WAS A BAD IDEA, Jericho knew it in his gut. What power did Harley possess that just kept making him say yes?
Or at least kept him from throwing her over his shoulder and locking her in the guest room?
Yeah, he was an idiot, especially when she winced getting out of his truck at the sheriff’s office. She wore a borrowed SAR jacket, but now, if she was hurting—and she had to be—it didn’t show in her posture. She’d pulled her blond hair back in a neat French braid, ready for action.
He hated himself a little for the way he’d folded.
Harley veered off to grab coffee, but as he walked into the conference room, Orlando on his heels, Jericho kept his gaze firmly away from the wall-mounted map of yesterday’s manhunt. Away from the red circle where everything had gone wrong. Where he’d nearly lost—
“Winter’s last location.” Deke stabbed a finger at one of the topographical maps spread across the conference table. Ghost Glacier loomed in shades of white and gray, its frozen lake leading to an equally frozen river carving through the Copper Range and down to the valley.
Orlando, sprawled at Jericho’s feet, lifted his head at Harley’s approach. His tail thumped against the wooden floor. She handed Jericho a cup of coffee. “You didn’t eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“Last radio contact was here, about three hours ago.” Deke traced a path along the western edge of the glacier. “Not far from the lake. My guess is that she put down there.”
“What was the Mayday for?”
“Not a Mayday, just high winds reported, then nothing. Starr Air called this morning. She took off early with two passengers. Sheldon is down in Anchorage with their other plane, and they’re worried. They have GPS on the plane, and it hasn’t moved since this morning.”
Harley leaned over the map, close enough that Jericho caught the faint scent of lavender shampoo. “That’s Broken Tooth Lake.” Her finger traced the oval of blue. “It freezes solid every winter. It could work. My parents had their cabin out that way.”
“It’s the only flat space for miles,” Jericho said. “Question is, why hasn’t Winter radioed since?”
“The radio towers on Devil’s Peak have been sketchy since that ice storm last week,” Deke said. “So yeah, maybe she was just preemptive, in case she couldn’t contact us later.”
“Plus, there’s no cell service out there.” Harley straightened, pulled something from her pocket. Orlando’s red rubber ball. Where did she even—? The Bernie’s ears pricked as she rolled it across the floor.
The ball bounced off the wall. Orlando bounded after it, but instead of bringing it back to Jericho, he dropped it at Harley’s feet.
Traitor.
“The cabin’s still there.” She tossed the ball again. “Dad always made sure there were supplies. I leased it to High Country Tours, a local guiding service. I’m sure they stocked it with a generator, supplies, emergency radio.”
“And the terrain?” Deke asked. “It’s pretty rough up there.”
She moved toward the wall map, traced a path with her finger. “Broken Tooth sits in this valley, but there’s an access trail that runs along the ridgeline. The cabin’s about a hundred yards northeast of the lake, just below tree line.”
“There’s a small window in the weather,” Deke said. “Dodge can chopper us in. I called Moose, but his team’s socked in down in Anchorage. Earliest they could get here is tomorrow.”
“I’ll get the gear,” Jericho said.
“Me too.” Harley turned to follow him, but he stepped into her path.
“You were shot just, when was it? Oh yeah—yesterday.”
“I’m fine. And I know that terrain better than anyone. I spent every hunting season in that cabin from age eight to eighteen.”
He sighed. And still wanted to punch something when Deke said, “She’s right. But Dodge’s bird isn’t big enough for all of us, Winter and her passengers, so I’ll need to stay.”
Orlando punctuated the statement by dropping his ball at Harley’s feet again. Wagged his tail. His dark eyes held an eagerness Jericho hadn’t seen in weeks. “Fine. I’ll get my gear bag from the truck. We’ll radio when we have eyes on the plane.”
“Good,” Harley said. “Because we need to get moving. There’s another blizzard headed this way.”
MAIN STREET had already surrendered to the forecast, it seemed, with the storefronts battened down. Snow drifted against the deck of Starlight Pizza, and even Bowie Mountain Gear sat closed, both Malachi and Hudson back at the resort. The town felt haunted, almost.
They passed Mulligan’s Hardware, its windows showcasing snow blowers and rock salt, then the Midnight Sun Saloon, where Hudson had mentioned running into Dodge and Echo and heard about baby number two on the way.
About how Echo was craving pickled herring and ice cream, how Dodge was already planning to add a nursery to their house out at Sky King Ranch.
The kind of normal, everyday life Jericho had thought he wanted . . . once.
Maybe.
Harley had gotten in front, and Orlando curled up beneath her legs, his head on her lap, instead of taking his usual alert position by the window.
What kind of magic had she worked on his dog?
Jericho adjusted the rearview mirror, then caught a glimpse of Harley scratching behind the Bernie’s ears.
Aw, it was diabolical. First she’d take his dog.
Then his heart.
Aw, maybe she already had it.
The airport access road wound through stands of snow-laden spruce. Orlando sat up and pressed his nose to the window, then turned back to Harley, like he couldn’t quite decide which view interested him more.
The small FBO huddled against the weather, its sign proclaiming Copper Mountain Municipal Airport in faded blue letters.
But the Sky King Alaska Air Rescue Bell 429 that was parked on the pad looked anything but municipal.
The helicopter’s deep blue body gleamed even in the flat morning light, its black trim distinctive against the snow.