Deep Freeze

by Lisa Jackson

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well…” She angled her face up to stare at him. “…Just for the record, Sheriff, I didn’t steal my things, okay? Yes, I was driving an old truck with bad taillights, but this week, that’s the extent of my failure to follow the letter of the law.”

  “Oh, God,” Rinda whispered. She braced herself on her seat and turned paler with each exchange between her friends.

  “Good to know.” One thick brow lifted. The sheriff shook her hand in a firm, warm grip but didn’t allow even the hint of a smile to change the contours of his face. Letting go of her fingers, he didn’t seem the least embarrassed that she’d overheard any of the conversation.

  “I told him you wouldn’t take the dress,” Rinda said, some of her color returning.

  “That she did.” His gaze was rock-steady, nearly harsh, dark brown eyes that, she guessed, didn’t miss much. They were set deep in his skull, guarded by black eyebrows and placed above high cheekbones that hinted at a Native American ancestor not too many generations back. His hair was near-black and thick, only a few strands of silver daring to show. “As a matter of fact, Rinda’s been singing your praises to me ever since you moved here.”

  Jenna shot her friend a look guaranteed to cut through stone. Lifting her palms, Rinda shrugged, acting as if the entire direction of the discussion was out of her hands.

  Jenna said, “But you set her straight, right?” She was too tired to rein in her anger and she felt her cheeks flush. Why the hell was this bohunk of a lawman prejudging her? “You saw fit to let her”—Jenna hitched a thumb in Rinda’s direction—“know that I wasn’t all that great, that maybe I couldn’t be trusted.”

  His dark eyes glinted, but beneath his moustache one corner of his mouth twitched as if he were amused at her bluster and bravado. She supposed if he smiled there was a chance he might be handsome. A slim chance. To another woman.

  Carter nodded. “I just want her to remain objective.”

  “Hey!” Rinda cut in. “You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not here!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carter said.

  Jenna almost grinned. So he did have a sense of humor. Not that it mattered. “Look, Sheriff, I know you’re busy,” Jenna said, angling her chin upward in order to study the man. “I think the easiest thing to do would be for me to replace the missing items with other things I’ve got at the house.” Rinda seemed about to argue, but Jenna went on. “And this time we’ll lock them in a closet and only Rinda will have the key.”

  “But the dress and bracelets and—”

  “Maybe they’ll turn up,” Jenna said. “If not, we’ll just make do. I’ve got another dress that will work and lots of costume jewelry.”

  Rinda shoved stiff fingers through her hair. “Oh God, Jenna, I feel awful about this.”

  “It’s not life and death, though.”

  Carter’s jaw hardened, as if somehow she’d insulted him. “Robbery is a crime just the same. I’ll talk to Sergeant Winkle at the city. He’ll send someone over. In the meantime, I’ll look around.” He turned back to Rinda. “Show me where the items were stowed.”

  Celebrities, he thought later as he crossed the street to the café. Who needed them? He’d done his duty for his friend and paid back one of a million favors he owed Rinda, but he was finished with the case of Jenna Hughes’s missing black sheath. Damn, what a waste of time. And the “victim” didn’t even seem to want his help. He’d seen her from a distance a few times in the past year and a half, but had never met her formally. He was surprised not so much at how petite she was, but that despite her small size, there was a presence to her—not what he’d expected.

  In the theater she hadn’t exhibited any of the creeping Hollywood paranoia or demanding-princess attitude that, he supposed, were stereotypes. From the few minutes he spoke with her, she seemed levelheaded, if a bit feisty, bullheaded, and unaware that even without any makeup he could see, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She hadn’t even seemed too pissed off about the ticket. Not that he cared. He stepped over a pile of snow pockmarked with sand and gravel, a reminder that the snowplow had been through earlier. God, it was cold. With no end in sight. In fact, the weather service predicted things would get much worse. There was even talk of the falls freezing solid.

  He didn’t want to think about that, nor the last time the cascading sheets of water had turned to ice and the tragedy that had ensued. In his mind’s eye, he saw David, noticed his feet slipping on the slick sheet of ice…Carter slammed his mind shut to the image and felt the same frozen fear that always accompanied the memory. He glanced up at the sky where snow was falling relentlessly and hoped the weather would break before all the ice-climbing idiots found a way to descend on this place and pull out their picks and ropes and crampons to scale the falls.

  His cell phone blasted and he stepped under the awning of the Canyon Café to take the call, which happened to be about another report of a car sliding off the road. A state trooper was already on the scene and taking care of it. No injuries, just a frightened driver and a totaled Chevy Impala.

  Carter snapped his phone shut. The good news was that while he was in the theater poking around, his cell phone had rung three separate times and no doubt both Rinda and Jenna Hughes had heard his side of the conversation about the serious problems facing the department. Even bullheaded Rinda had seemed to understand that the missing dress would have to wait. Carter had to focus his attention on the life-threatening situations brought on by the storm. Jackknifed semis, kids life-flighted to hospitals, and an unidentified dead woman found up at Catwalk Point took precedence over some ex-Hollywood star’s missing costumes.

  A couple of men in ski wear walked out of the café as Shane strode in. The Canyon Café was small, with only a few booths, a scattering of tables, and a long counter with stools that were usually occupied by locals. The little restaurant had been an institution in Falls Crossing for over fifty years and was known for all-day breakfast, large greasy burgers, onion rings, and thick wedges of home-baked pie.

  Shane ordered a cheeseburger basket and coffee to go, ignored the attempts of the waitress to flirt with him, and once the order was filled, didn’t waste any time, but headed outside where the temperature seemed to have plummeted again. The wind was harsher, its screaming edge raw enough to cut through leather and bone. Icicles hung from the eaves of the buildings—long, clear daggers that reminded him of the day David had suggested they climb the falls.

  Carter had been sixteen at the time and a dumb-ass kid to boot. Both of them had been stupid, full-of-themselves, spot-on cretins, he thought angrily as he climbed the courthouse steps. Jaw tight, he made his way to his office, left his door ajar, then dialed up the city police where he left Wade Winkle a voice mail message about the “crime” at the theater. As he talked, he managed to slide out of his jacket and shoulder holster.

  He wondered what, if anything, Winkle would do.

  Not his problem.

  He’d had as much contact with Jenna Hughes as he wanted.

  After dropping into his chair, he opened the tiny ketchup packets and drizzled ketchup over his small carton of French fries. They were cold and limp, but he was so hungry he didn’t mind. He’d managed to take three bites of his burger when BJ appeared and rapped on the edge of his door before striding in. “Isn’t it a little late for lunch?” she asked, balancing a hip against his desk.

  “I was busy.” He leaned back in his chair, set the burger on its white paper bag in the middle of his desk. “Chasing crime at the Columbia Theater in the Gorge.”

  “At the theater?”

  “Don’t ask,” he said, as an image of Jenna Hughes burned through his mind. Just as she had much too often in the last few hours. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the sack with its nest of fries toward BJ. “Help yourself. Anything new?”

  “The State Police are checking with all the dental alginate and latex suppliers and widening the missin
g persons search. And there’s talk of closing I-84 if there’s not a break in the weather.”

  “I figured.” Things just kept getting worse.

  “A couple of snowboarders are missing up at Meadows Ski Resort,” she said, mentioning the local ski resort as she picked up a fry and plopped it into her mouth.

  He was attacking his burger again, but still listening.

  “Ski patrol is looking, and there’s already power outages in Hampton—the weight of ice on the branches is snapping limbs, taking down wires.”

  “Sounds like the fun is just beginning,” he said, tucking a slice of escaping onion under the top bun.

  “Oh, yeah…we’re in for a blast.” She straightened and stretched, rotating the kinks from her neck as she glanced out the window. “I wonder when this weather is gonna let up.”

  “Never.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said with a mirthless chuckle. “The storm’s gotta break soon.” There was a note of desperation in her voice and Carter understood it. He had the unlikely sensation that until the temperature elevated, things around Falls Crossing were just going to get worse. A lot worse.

  He closed his eyes, felt the tingle of snow against his bare skin. Tiny, frigid flakes that were meant to cool, but heated his blood. He was hard. Rigid. Standing naked in the small clearing, old-growth firs surrounding him, their needles coated in ice and snow, the wind whistling through their heavy branches, he felt the call. The need.

  It was the killing time.

  With each tiny touch of the snow, the ache grew stronger. Pumping through his blood, pounding in his brain, bloodlust that only came in the depths of winter.

  This is my time, he thought, his mind racing ahead to all he’d planned. I’m only really alive when the sheen of rime glazes the road and crystals of ice rain from the sky.

  It had been a long time since the last one, nearly a year. But now, the time was at hand.

  In his mind’s eye he saw her, Jenna Hughes. Remembered spying her in town earlier…

  The woman of his dreams.

  His obsession.

  Oh, how he wanted her.

  Tonight would be perfect.

  He opened his eyes and stared upward, watching the snow fall, keeping his eyelids wide so that the icy little droplets would touch his bare eyeballs and sting just a bit.

  Jenna—beautiful, beautiful woman.

  But the timing wasn’t right. For her. The cold not yet deep enough. The hoarfrost not covering the trees and shrubs and windows. No, he wasn’t prepared for her.

  There were others to be sacrificed for her. They had to come first.

  Paris Knowlton.

  Faye Tyler.

  Marnie Sylvane.

  Zoey Trammel.

  A few of those who would precede her. No matter how much he ached for her, he would force himself to wait.

  And he knew who would be next, he thought, his blood so cold it seemed to congeal in his veins.

  He’d already found her.

  She wasn’t perfect.

  Not like Jenna.

  But she would do.

  For now.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Okay, girls, we’ve got the Jeep back,” Jenna sang as she walked into the kitchen, dropped three bags of groceries onto the counter, then peeled off her jacket. She didn’t add that despite four-wheel drive, the trip home on the icy roads had been unnerving. “Girls?” she repeated when no one answered. She stopped in the center of the kitchen, feeling the snow melt in her hair. “Allie?”

  Why did the house feel so empty?

  She bounded up the stairs and expected to find Cassie, headphones covering her ears, in her room, but the bedroom was empty, the bed unmade. “Cassie? Allie?” She hurried past the bathroom and into Allie’s bedroom, but it, too, was vacated, the television flickering, the volume on mute, her Game Boy left on her rumpled pillows.

  Don’t panic. They’ve got to be here. Where could they go? It’s a blizzard outside.

  “Hey, kids, this isn’t funny!” she said, hurrying down the back stairs again and making a sweep of the den, dining area, and living room. “Allie! Cassie!”

  She stopped near the fireplace and listened. All she heard was the moan of the wind and she wondered how long the lights would last.

  Where’s the dog?

  The hairs on the back of her neck raised. “Critter?”

  No response. The house was empty.

  All the anxiety she’d experienced in the last two days gelled. Fear knotted her stomach. Hadn’t she sensed something wasn’t right? Hadn’t she felt as if she was being watched, even followed? And now the girls…oh, God.

  Get a grip, Jenna. They’re here. Somewhere. Keep searching.

  A truck’s engine caught her attention and she felt a second’s relief. Obviously they had left with someone, that was it, and whoever it was—probably Josh—was returning them. Cassie had probably thought they could come and go before Jenna returned and they would never be caught. They’d taken Allie along so she wouldn’t blab.

  And the dog? Why Critter? She was already hurrying outside.

  Probably Cassie’s doing, she thought, but then realized the truck plowing through the open gate didn’t belong to Josh Sykes. She hurried outside as the big rig parked near the garage and a tall man climbed from behind the wheel. Harrison Brennan emerged from the passenger side. One side of his mouth lifted at the sight of her.

  “Do you have the girls with you?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  Harrison glanced over her shoulder and his smile was suddenly perplexed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Then she knew. She heard the crunch of boots behind her and felt like a fool, an overprotective idiot of a mother.

  “Mom!” Allie’s voice called out, and she turned to find Cassie, Allie, and the dog, breaking a path through the snow from the stable. Allie started running, Critter bounding through the drifts behind her. “We were just checking on the horses.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine,” Cassie said as if she were disgusted. “Hans left plenty of water for them, but The Runt was worried.”

  From beneath the rim of her pink stocking cap, Allie shot her sister a warning glare. “Hans told me to check!”

  “He only left two hours ago!”

  “Hey, it’s all right.” Jenna felt like a fool. She should have seen her daughters’ tracks leading to the stable. What had she been thinking? Why was she so on edge? “Sorry,” she said to Harrison.

  “No problem. This is Seth Whitaker.” He indicated the tall man next to him. “Jenna Hughes.”

  “Glad to meet you,” she said and shook his gloved hand.

  “Seth’s been over at my place working on my furnace and I twisted his arm to come down and check out your pump.”

  “Great.” Jenna flashed him a smile. “So you’re an electrician?”

  Harrison said, “And plumber and regular handyman. A jack of all trades.”

  “And master of none,” the guy said. He was pleasant-looking, a couple of inches taller than Harrison and a bit thicker around the middle. Harrison prided himself in keeping his body in strict military shape, his short, silvery hair not much longer than when he’d been with the Air Force.

  “Between the two of us, we should be able to fix things,” Harrison said.

  “That would be great,” she said. “Hans thinks it’s faulty wiring in the pump house,” she said, pointing in the direction of the small outbuilding.

  “I know where it is.” Harrison turned to Seth. “It’s not locked.”

  “I’ll get my tools.” The taller man walked to the back of the truck and opened the canopy doors while Jenna stared at Harrison.

  “How did you know I don’t lock it?”

  “Because I know you. You don’t lock anything but your doors, your garage, and the front gate, and that’s iffy.” He scowled slightly. “I wish you would take more precautio
ns. I worry about you.” He glanced at the house. “And the girls.”

  “We’re fine,” she said and felt the muscles in the back of her neck tighten. She didn’t need him to be acting the part of her father. “I close the gate when it’s working. No one seems to be able to fix the lock.”

  “Maybe I could find someone.”

  “No!” she said, then heard the tension in her voice. “Look, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, which surprised her. She half-expected him to argue. “I hope so, Jenna,” he said, then added, “Go on inside and warm up—you’re not even wearing a coat.”

  She’d forgotten to put her jacket on in her panic over her children.

  As if he knew, he smiled kindly—or was he patronizing her? Treating her like a china doll? “We’ll handle things from here.”

  “I could help.”

  “We’ll be fine,” he insisted, and she realized she was in no position to argue. The man was helping her, for crying out loud, and she was worried about his attitude. What was it they said about looking a gift horse in the mouth?

  “Then I’ll make us all some coffee,” she said, telling herself she was being sensible and gracious, not a weak, man-dependent woman, like the housewives portrayed in black-and-white sitcoms from the fifties. June Cleaver she was not! “It’s the least I can do.” She nearly choked on the words.

  “That would be great.” Harrison’s grin broadened as he headed toward the back of the truck where Whitaker was already pulling out a large toolbox.

  Jenna suddenly felt the cold through her sweater and headed toward the house. Once inside, she discovered Allie’s jacket and hat thrown over the back of one of the bar stools, the snow that had clung to the material beginning to melt and drip, a small puddle forming on the floor.

  “Ron called,” Cassie said as she came down the stairs. She’d changed into tight jeans and a sweater. “He said he couldn’t make it because of the storm.”