Chapter 13 #3
Hudson said nothing for a moment. Then, “And you and Dad have an open conversation to finish.”
He bowed his head, closed his eyes.
“Okay, bro.” Hudson put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”
Jericho glanced at him. “No, it’s okay—”
Hudson held up his hands in front of him. “Listen, God’s always provided. It’ll work out.”
Jericho sighed. “Dad would be proud of you, Hud. You done good.”
Funny, the expression that cast over his brother’s face. Almost, well, like he had gotten praise from their dad.
Huh.
Light slanted through the tall windows, catching dust motes in their beams. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m in over my head here,” Hudson said finally. “I’m not sure I can make this place what Dad saw it could be. I let it go for so long.”
“You’ve been busy running the Bowie empire.”
Beyond the double-paned glass, sun spilled over Copper Mountain’s slopes. “Sometimes I think about it.”
“About what?”
“Running.” Hudson’s reflection ghosted against the window. “Walking away from all this. The lodge. The resort.” He pressed his palm to the cold glass. “Some mornings I wake up feeling the weight of it. Like I’m buried under this place, suffocating.”
Something cold slithered down Jericho’s spine. His throat closed.
Hudson must have caught his expression in the glass. “Hey, sorry. Bad choice of words.”
“No.” Jericho’s voice came rough. “I get it.” He watched a snowboarder catch air off a jump. “Truth is, I’m still there, sometimes.”
The lift chairs swung empty against the deepening blue sky.
“The nightmares are . . . fewer. But they still happen.” He sighed.
“And they’re almost all the same. I’m back on that mountain, freezing, searching, Orlando circling.
I know Gunther is under all that snow. I can see his beacon signal blinking.
Only . . .” He swallowed. “Only I can’t reach him.
The snow keeps getting deeper, and my probe never hits, and Orlando’s barking somewhere in the distance, but I can’t—”
His chest squeezed. Even now, he could smell the sharp pine-and-snow scent of that day, feel the hammering of his heart as they’d searched.
“We never found him.”
Hudson turned. “Oh no. You’re kidding.”
“Too much snow. And he got separated from his beacon . . .” He watched as a family skied down the lower runs, into the trees.
“Orlando couldn’t find him, and I think .
. . well, I sort of stopped trusting him.
” His gaze fell on the ridge above the bowl, the thick rim of snow.
“Maybe he doesn’t trust me either. I don’t know. ”
“Could be that’s the problem. He won’t follow, because you won’t lead.”
Jericho raised an eyebrow.
His brother lifted a shoulder. “I remember you once telling me that emotion travels down a dog’s lead. If you are scared to lead, he’s going to be unsure too.”
Huh. Jericho watched a final skier carve down the slope, their form silhouetted against the darkening sky.
“Maybe you’re right.” He turned to face Hudson.
“Fact is, if I take a close look, I’ve been sort of leading myself in circles for a while now.
Maybe . . . well, what was it that Pastor Neil said today? ”
Hudson cocked his head. “Um, that the men’s Bible study is meeting at his house this week?”
Jericho gave him a look. “No, the sermon.”
“From Ezekiel—the bit about God promising to replace our hearts of stone with hearts of flesh and a new spirit?”
Right, he remembered that too. But, “No, something about a rock.”
“Oh. Psalm 61:2. ‘From the end of the earth I call to You, when my heart is overwhelmed and weak; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.’”
“Impressive.”
“It’s what happens when you go to church.” Hudson clapped him on the shoulder. “Actually, that was one of Mom’s verses. She had it in the kitchen, in the window that overlooked Denali.”
Now he remembered.
“But you’re right. Maybe that’s the answer,” Hudson said.
“To what?”
“To being overwhelmed—to look up.”
Right. “Now you sound like Dad,” Jericho said.
“He’d be glad you’re home.” Hudson glanced at him. “You are home, right? This isn’t just about finding Mars.”
“It started that way. Personal, I guess. But now it feels bigger. Dad used to say that if we let small evils win, eventually they become big evil. And I guess I’m tired of running.”
“Is that what you think you did?”
“I know I did. I was”—he made a wry face—“scared of living a life I didn’t think was for me. And I think the fight with the Sorros brothers just gave it legs. If Sully hadn’t intervened, I think they would have killed me.”
Hudson’s expression turned solemn. He nodded.
“And it shook me, I think.”
“It shook all of us.”
Jericho met his gaze. “What if I stick around and help you.”
Hudson blinked. Then, “Seriously?”
“Don’t get too excited. I think you probably know a lot more about furnaces than I do.”
“And Harley?”
And Harley. “I’m hoping she’ll figure out that she can stay too.”
Hudson grinned, nodding.
“What?”
“We’re just cheering for you, is all.”
“Great.” He smiled. “So, any lead on your missing truck?”
“Yep.” Hudson’s eyes lit with that familiar gleam that usually preceded either brilliance or trouble. “After the equipment theft last month, I installed cameras. High-def, motion-activated, cloud storage. Come on.”
He led the way to his office—their father’s old office. The old oak desk remained, but now three monitors dominated its surface. Hudson dropped into the chair, typed something, then turned the screen toward Jericho.
“There.” He pulled up footage from three days ago. “Watch.”
The grainy image showed Summit’s storage yard at night. Two figures in black moved between the equipment, stopping at the beige pickup.
“That’s Mars. Same build,” Jericho said.
And as he said it, the man looked at the camera. Hudson stopped the tape.
“That’s a pretty face,” Hudson said.
“Yeah. And this guy is definitely the hunter from the mountain.” Jericho pointed to the other man.
“Jer, that’s not a hunter. That’s Sloan Sorros.”
“Who?”
“Their cousin. He runs Summit Construction.”
“I don’t know him.”
“He circled back into town a few years ago. Ex-military. Slick. And clearly at the helm of whatever Sorros is up to.”
“How many other projects does Summit Construction have in the area?”
“I don’t know. A few, I guess.”
“Any way we can get into Summit’s office? Maybe they have a list.”
Hudson hesitated. “They have an office unit. But Jericho—”
“You have a key?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then, let’s go.”
THE SHED SAT behind the lodge, its metal walls reflecting the backside shadows of the day.
Hudson worked the lock. “This feels wrong.”
“Wrong like someone stealing your equipment?” Jericho’s voice came out harder than he meant it. “Like someone maybe trying to kill my dog, kidnap a kid, maybe shoot Harley?”
The lock clicked.
“Take a breath, J, we’re in.”
Inside, filing cabinets lined the walls. Hudson walked over to a metal desk, riffled through the papers there. “Nothing. Just lists of deliveries and schedules of shipments.” He handed them over to Jericho, who snapped photos of the files with his phone.
And that’s when he saw it—three missed calls from Harley. He’d silenced his phone during church, never turned the volume back on.
He went cold as he opened his messages.
One text from Harley, sent after the calls.
At Pete Barrow’s place. He’s dead.
What? She did not. “No, no, no . . .” He hit dial. It rang and rang. Voicemail. He hung up. “I’m going to kill her.” He headed for the door.
“What’s wrong?” Hudson, rushing after him.
“Pete Barrow’s dead.” His voice sounded strange in his ears. “And Harley”—he tried her number again, listening to the ring—“she found him.” Voicemail.
Hudson stared at him.
“Yeah. I’ll bet she went to his house—oh, she said she’d wait for me.” He made a fist, nearly banged it into the wall of the shed. “We need to go.” He slammed his way outside, toward his truck, Hudson on his tail.
“Jericho. Just calm down—”
“This?” Jericho held up his phone, hands shaking. “This is as calm as I’m going to get.” He shook his head. “She just cannot, cannot stay out of trouble!”
Hudson grabbed his arm, slowed him down, turned him.
“What?”
“She’s a PI, man. It’s what she does. I think the ‘stay out of trouble’ ship has sailed there, bro.”
Jericho had nothing. Because, shoot—his brother was right.
And there it was, wasn’t it? The terrible, awful, unsurmountable truth between them.
He felt it like a fist, right to his soul.
She ran into danger.
And he was left to pick up the pieces.
But, later. Right now—“Are you coming or not?”
“Of course I am. But I’m driving. I’d like to live, please.”
Jericho narrowed his eyes.
“And I know a shortcut.”
Jericho slapped the keys into his hand.