Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabriel
Friday, Dawn
Gabriel clipped Whiskey’s lead to her collar, and they walked out the side door. He felt relieved when she turned toward the graveyard.
That meant Sommer was most likely singing, and he could have that chat with her about the dangers posed to the Cerberus teams when she posted her video.
But when they got to the stop sign, which was Whiskey’s singing spot, Whiskey lay down and whimpered.
Gabriel knelt. “Hey, are you crying?”
Whiskey looked at the graveyard, then up the street, then at him, and whimpered pitifully. That, and her woeful mug, pulled at Gabriel’s heart.
“Big bad Cerberus-trained hound, and you’re crying like a baby,” he teased, but a sense of unease came over him as well.
The sensation was big enough that he stood and said, “Come on, Whiskey, let’s go knock on her door.”
Whiskey lumbered up to her feet and started walking toward the cottage.
They stopped at the picket gate, and Gabriel watched a woman on her hands and knees lifting rocks along the flower border, then replacing them.
“Sommer Hayes?” Gabriel called.
She was incredibly, painfully pregnant, and Gabriel wondered if that was why Mourning Notes only videoed herself from the chest up.
“She’s my sister,” the woman said over her shoulder without stopping. “My husband has the key to her house. And usually she hides one outside.”
“Why are you breaking in?” he asked.
“Because she always leaves her hiking plan on the kitchen counter. She’s—” The woman pressed to her knees. “Who are you?”
“Her neighbor, Gabriel Atworth.”
The woman dumped onto her hip, wrapping her arms around her enormous pregnant belly. She was such a tiny woman and, in the position she was sitting, it looked like her stomach was trying to swallow her.
“Sommer’s my identical twin. So I can understand how you’d get us confused.”
“Ma’am—”
“Not ma’am, Sloane. I’m Sloane.”
“Sloane, it’s obviously difficult for you to be crawling around on the ground. Please let me help you up, and from there, I’ll figure out a way to get Sommer’s hiking plan.”
Sloane lifted one hand from her belly and waved him through the gate. Once he got there, he had no idea what to do. It wasn’t like she could bend at the waist.
Whiskey made her way to the end of her leash so she could snuffle the woman, then lick her cheek.
Gabriel snapped his fingers. “Down, stay.” Gabriel was always astonished at the immediate response. And in this instance, Gabriel thought the lady would appreciate not getting pushed by his dog; she looked like a breeze could roll her like a ball.
Sloane pointed over her shoulder. “Go around back and get me under the arms. Then, I’ll get my feet under me, and you’ll need to walk forward as you lift. Sorry about this.”
Gabriel did as requested and found she wasn’t nearly as heavy as he’d anticipated. “How would you have gotten to your feet if I hadn’t come around?”
“I turn over onto all fours, then I’d crawl to the stairs, sit, and bump my butt up to the third step. Then I could use the rail to get myself the rest of the way to my feet.” She turned and shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Crawled in Sommer’s garden? This is a first. But she’s never been in danger like this before.” She grabbed her belly with both hands and let her jaw go slack as she panted.
“Sommer’s in danger?” The visceral reaction he had to that sentence threw Gabriel.
There was an intensity that gripped him.
It was as if he expanded, shapeshifting into a mythical hero facing the monster.
It was a sensation he’d never experienced before and one that might come in handy if there were actual dragons to be slain, villains to vanquish—or in real life, the many times out on the battlefield when the enemy encircled his team, when this sensation would have been appreciated.
Yet this was new to him.
Yeah, this sensation belonged between the pages of an epic novel, perhaps on a movie screen.
But here?
Now?
He didn’t understand it.
Gabriel looked over to Whiskey. She, too, seemed primed if he focused on her eyes and not her face that always looked like she’d been set too close to a heat source and was melting. And he thought that in the most loving way imaginable.
Whiskey was on his team, and they’d handle this together.
Gabriel took Sloane’s elbow. “You should sit on a chair. Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
She pursed her lips and blew out like Gabriel had seen women do on TV when they were dealing with a contraction. “Are you in labor?” he asked, helping her up the stairs and over to a chair. Gabriel knelt so they were eye to eye.
She swatted her hand through the air as if to deny that was the case.
“Sommer’s in danger?”
“She was supposed to be home from her backpacking hike last night.”
“Maybe she wanted to catch a last sunset or went skinny dipping,” he said, though in his gut he knew it was a lie. Maybe it was the energy Sloane was putting out, but Gabriel felt like Sommer was in terrible danger.
“You don’t know her,” Sloane said.
“I know her a little bit,” he said. “She sings with my dog.”
“Oh—oh, yes, you’re Graves and Goth-hound,” she said. “I’m sorry, I should have put it together. What I mean is, if you think for a second that Sommer would deviate from her plan and not call in, then you don’t know her.”
“You were looking for her spare key?” Gabriel’s gaze cast about for the most likely place Sommer might have hidden one.
“My husband took my keys for the SUV because the kids had soccer, and Sommer’s keys are on that ring.
” She was rubbing her belly with both hands in agitation.
“I have pregnancy brain, and I can’t remember which mountain Sommer is on and which trail she was taking so I can reach out to the rangers.
Sommer always leaves her itinerary on the kitchen table and a spare key hidden in her yard.
I need to get in and get it.” And that’s when she started to cry.
Not little sad tears.
Not sniffs and dabs.
But big, sloppy, loud sobs. “Sorry.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a wad of toilet paper. “Pregnant.”
“Did you try the back door?”
Sloane nodded and blew her nose.
“The windows?” he asked.
She patted her belly.
“I’m going to leave you for a minute to go see if there’s anything left open.” He looked down at Whiskey. “I’ll be back. Stay here, Beautiful.”
The kitchen door was, in fact, locked, but Gabriel found an open window and wondered if Good Samaritan laws covered breaking and entering.
He hadn’t broken.
And he’d do as little entering as possible.
It didn’t count if his feet didn’t touch the floor, he reasoned.
With his torso through the kitchen window, and the itinerary just out of reach on the table, Gabriel jumped up until his hips rested on the sill.
Stretching to the fullest length of his arm, Gabriel was just able to make contact with a corner.
Pressing down and curling his fingers under, he was able to inch it closer, then snag it.
Jumping down, closing the window, he read it over.
Four days…
Leaving Wednesday -- driving my car to meet Marna and Abbie. Sterling Pass Ranger Station parking lot. Backpacking White Tail Trail. Thirteen miles to camp at midway point.
Thursday -- Thirteen miles, camp on summit.
Friday -- Loop trail back to midway camp/ same as Wednesday night.
Saturday – back to Ranger Station. Home by dark. I’ll call you when I’m in cell range and again when I’m home.
White Tail Trail, Gabriel had trained on that route. It was advanced, but not intrinsically dangerous. The weather had held steady. There shouldn’t be any new challenges from that direction.
Sloane said she had pregnancy brain; perhaps she was just mistaken about the return date.
But as Gabriel held the paper, rounding toward Sloane, his gut said danger.
Gabriel took the steps onto the porch and took a knee by Sloane’s side, handing her the paper to see how she’d react.
She didn’t look at it. Instead, she looked at him with such determination and conviction that the sense of dread running through Gabriel’s system hummed louder.
“She’s my identical twin.”
“Yes,” he managed.
“I know she’s in terrible danger. I know it.” She tucked the paper by her side.
Gabriel moved to sit next to Whiskey on the lawn and called the ranger station to get a report on the trail. The call went to an answering machine.
He’d already decided he was going after Sommer.
The decision was made before Gabriel rounded the corner to try the back door.
His next call was to Reaper. Gabriel walked away from Sloane’s hearing while he asked Reaper’s advice and to see if any of the Cerberus Operators wanted some practice time on the mountain.
“Under most circumstances,” Reaper said, “I’d take you up on the offer.
It’s all hands on deck right now. I’m not surprised you got an answering machine at the ranger station.
Here’s what’s happening in Virginia today.
Up in the mountains, there’s a massive manhunt going after four missing federal agents. You know about that?”
“I didn’t know they were shaking the bushes, no.”
“Anyone with a badge or who is badge adjacent got the call—federal, state, and local. There’s minimal law enforcement staffing available statewide.
Then a family went missing: mom, dad, four kids under 8 years old.
I was about to call you and see if you could pull yourself free from Foggy Bottom to bring Whiskey. ”
“That’s in the mountains too?”
“They’re in Cyprus Swamp down on the North Carolina border. Teams Alpha and Delta are running part of the mission. I’m at Headquarters for the time being.”
“That family is hours away from the Bureau’s search area; that’s good, at least. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to get on this woman’s trail.
I hope it’s a nothing burger. Then I’ll reach out and see if you need me.
If you do, Whiskey can sleep in the car as I get down to the search site, but my guess is it’ll be at least tomorrow when I’m off the trail.
I’d lend you Whiskey, but I think I’m going to need her. ”