Chapter 11
She was pretty good at finding lost people. Usually, they were bail jumpers, so a sixty-year-old and his five-year-old grandson might be a smidgen easier.
But sunlight this time of year fought them and, frankly, Harley just had to compartmentalize. Focus. Ignore Sunni’s drawn face and the way Gabe paced and . . . think.
Harley leaned over the topo maps spread across the Bowmans’ kitchen table, her fingers tracing elevation lines.
The farmhouse kitchen smelled of coffee and fear.
Mrs. Bowman—or Winnie, as she’d asked Harley to call her—hadn’t stopped making pots since they’d arrived, her hands shaking as she measured out grounds.
That was, of course, after she’d shaken off the so-called shock of seeing Gabe. It didn’t take long—not with her husband and grandson missing. And it felt just a little too short-lived to be real.
Maybe because she’d already known the truth?
It couldn’t be that Harley was the only family member shut out from the truth, right?
The Bowman place was exactly what she’d expect from a family who’d homesteaded here forty years ago—a two-story log home with worn pine floors and handmade quilts draped over vintage eighties plaid furniture.
Daniel’s kindergarten artwork covered the fridge, bright crayon drawings held up by moose-shaped magnets.
A half-finished puzzle sprawled across the coffee table in the living room, visible through the open archway.
The walls held decades of family photos—Gregg and Winnie’s wedding, a senior picture of Sunni, little Daniel as a toddler—oh he was adorable with that curly brown hair and rich brown eyes.
She’d had to sort of walk away before something inside her gave way.
Harley would find them, no matter what it took.
Outside, past the frost-etched windows, the barn and greenhouse hunched against the cold, and beyond them, the fields stretched white.
“Talk me through it again,” Deke said to Winnie. He was still wearing his wool cap, his cheeks flushed after a more than cursory search of the area where they’d found the truck. “Every detail.”
“Gregg took Daniel to town yesterday for groceries.” Winnie set another mug down, the coffee sloshing over the rim.
“He usually goes alone on Saturdays, but with Sunni gone, he took Daniel with him.” Her voice cracked.
“They should have been back by three. I’ve been staying over at my sister’s house for the last couple weeks, helping her after she had her hip replaced.
I didn’t even know they didn’t come home until you tracked me down this morning. ”
She wrapped her arms around herself. Her blond hair was pulled back, a little weight on her body. She wore an oversize homemade wool sweater.
Harley liked her. Sort of reminded her of what her mother might have been like today.
The kitchen door opened, letting in a blast of cold air.
Harley looked up to see Orion Starr and his wife Jenni come in.
Snow dusted their parkas, caught in Jenni’s blond hair.
Having them here made sense—their cabin was only about five miles to the north, tucked into the woods.
He and Jenni were the local climbing experts, guided on Denali in the summertime, traveled to Peru in the winter.
And they volunteered for SAR when needed.
“Dodge’s Air One chopper is ten minutes out,” Orion said, stamping snow from his boots. “He says visibility’s good.”
“Good,” Deke said. “Crew’s getting walkies for everyone, and Sully and Malachi are headed over.”
Harley glanced up as a truck pulled into the snowy driveway, Bowie Resorts written on the side. Made her think of Winter’s words—“All you Bowies are the same.”
They weren’t, actually. Jericho had always been the calm, steady rescuer. Sully, the adventurer. Hudson, Mr. Responsible. And, of course, Malachi, the entrepreneur.
Now Jericho stared at the map, quiet.
Maybe too quiet. She refused to read into his stance, the grim look on his face.
Focus.
The afternoon sunlight glinted off the truck as the boys got out, and she looked beyond it to the barn.
Her mind caught on an imagined picture of Daniel making snow angels while his grandpa worked in his workshop. The man built custom cabinetry for half the houses in town.
The guys came through the door, Malachi carrying a duffel bag. He handed it to Jericho. “I brought hand warmers and extra radios.”
“Thanks,” Jericho said.
By the door, Orlando whined, as if itching to get moving. Yeah, buddy, her too.
If anyone could track Daniel and Gregg through the snow it would be a former avalanche dog, right?
Sunni had disappeared and now returned to the kitchen. “Here.” She laid blue mittens with rockets embroidered on them on the table. “They’re Daniel’s. For the scent.”
Harley didn’t want to tell her that they weren’t needed—at least, not after what she’d learned about Orlando’s abilities.
Funny. Neither Malachi nor Sully commented on Gabe’s sudden resurrection. So either Jericho had told them or . . . well, he did look different. Grown and bearded, healthy instead of looking like some drug addict . . .
Maybe he was a new man, just like he’d mentioned that morning over breakfast.
“Okay.” Harley tapped the map. “The truck was found here, in Miller’s ditch. Three miles from the house, on their way home.”
“No signs of impact or mechanical failure,” Crew said. He’d walked in behind Sully and Malachi. His face was wind-chapped, serious. “But the doors were open. Keys still inside. Groceries still in the back, frozen solid now. The blizzard wiped out any sign of being forced off the road.”
“Why would they abandon the truck, especially so close to home? And isn’t there cell service in the area?” This all came from Jenni. Winnie had given her a mug of coffee too. “Certainly they would have called someone—or the police station?”
“Cell reception is spotty around here,” Sunni said, her arms around herself.
Frankly, Harley had to give her props for holding up, staying calm.
“Something had to make them leave. Especially in this weather,” Orion said. “It doesn’t make sense that they’d hike out.”
“No. They wouldn’t,” Malachi cut in. “Not with Daniel in the truck. Gregg has lived here forty years. He knows better than to go out in a storm.”
“Unless they had to,” Gabe said softly.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling wind chimes hanging from the eaves.
Jericho stepped up to the map. “Lost person behavior patterns suggest they’d follow the easiest route through the terrain. The ditch runs parallel to these ridges.” He traced the line. “If they were forced to leave the truck—”
“There’s an old trapper’s cabin up here.” Orion pointed, leaving a smudge of dirt on the paper. “Gregg would know about it. We use it sometimes during hunting season.”
“Two miles through rough country,” Deke said, leaning in. “In the dark, with a five-year-old . . .” He shook his head.
“What about the nearby farm?” Harley pointed to one down a dirt road.
“That’s the Bridgeman place,” Winnie said. “They go to Florida for the winter. No one is there and the place is locked up. He wouldn’t go there for help.”
“What about back toward town?” This from Sully. “The Mulligans live about five clicks down the road.”
“I called them,” Winnie said softly. “Ace hadn’t seen them. He said he’d take out his truck, do a look around, and call me if he found anything.”
“Okay then,” Deke said. “We split up. Two teams follow the ditch in either direction. One team sweeps toward the cabin. Air One can head over toward the farm.”
“Um. What about Orlando?” Jericho said.
Deke glanced at the Bernie. Drew in a breath.
And maybe the sheriff was thinking about the last time they’d sent the dog after Mars. Harley pressed a hand to her ribs. But they were searching for a child. And a grandpa.
“Yeah. You and Harley use the dog.”
She tried not to feel offended for both of them.
Clearly, this was Jericho’s world because he held up a hand. “Wait. The last thing we want to do is miss anything. We need an organized search grid—”
“We’re running out of time,” Winnie said, and Sunni took her hand.
“Sky King One to Base.” Dodge Kingston’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’re leaving Copper Mountain. Shoot me the search grid when you get it.”
Crew lifted his radio. “Copy that, Sky King One. Ground teams deploying now.”
“Okay,” Jericho said. “We’ll follow Deke’s orders, but first, check your radios. Then, track your trek with your GPS. If we don’t locate them by sundown, we’ll need to regroup—”
“We’ll find them.” Harley directed her words to Gabe, ignoring Jericho’s tight jaw.
“Teams, move out,” Deke said. “Check in every fifteen minutes. Light’s burning.”
Jericho said nothing, even after they got into his rented Silverado. Malachi and Sully drove behind them as they headed to the abandoned Ford F150.
“You’re mad,” Harley said.
Orlando sat at his feet, ears perked.
Jericho sighed. “I don’t like to make promises like that.”
That she knew. She didn’t comment, however.
They pulled up and got out, and Harley checked the radio again while Jericho prepped Orlando, checking his vest.
Then, “Oh no.”
She looked over at him. “What?”
He winced, shook his head. “I left his tug ball on the lake. What with the moose and—shoot.”
“You mean this ball?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the toy. “I grabbed it when I closed up the cabin. Sorry. I forgot to mention it.”
He took the ball. “I could kiss you.”
Orlando eyed the ball, his tail wagging. Even whined.
“Okay, buddy. Yep.” Jericho glanced over at Harley, then back to Orlando. Then he pulled out the mitten. Orlando sniffed it. “Find,” he commanded.
Orlando’s entire body changed from play to duty. He put his nose up and circled the area, then took off into the snow, moving into the clean white field.
Sully and Malachi headed east along the ditch, Orion and Jenni struck out toward the cabin.
In the distance, the thrum of Air One’s rotors beat the air.