Mountain Hostage

by Hope White

  Low murmurs drifted through the wood door from the living room. She washed up and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She opened the bedroom door to a four strangers with backpacks and bedrolls. She’d been so exhausted last night that she hadn’t heard the team members show up and lay out their sleeping bags on the floor.

  “Good morning,” she said, searching the room for Jack, but didn’t see him.

  A woman in her fifties greeted her. “Hi, Zoe, I’m Sally Frick.” They shook hands. “Sorry if we woke you.”

  “You didn’t. So, you’re the heroes who stayed over to protect me last night?”

  “Hero, I like that,” said a man in his thirties.

  An older man gave him a playful shove. “Who says she was talking about you? Come on, let’s move.”

  “Weather conditions have changed,” Sally said to Zoe. “We’re meeting law enforcement personnel and heading back up Mt. Stevens to search for your friend.”

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “He got an early start with the first team. Sergeant Peterson posted a deputy outside to keep watch of the house, although I think Peterson would prefer you to find another place to stay temporarily given what happened last night. We may not be back for a few days. Weather is looking good.”

  “Oh, okay. Be careful.”

  “Thanks, we will,” Sally said.

  The group of two men, two women and three dogs headed out. Zoe watched them through the window, wishing she could have seen Jack this morning to thank him.

  For coming back last night and saving her.

  For going out this morning to find Shannon.

  For being a grounding presence in her life.

  Whoa, back up. The trauma of the last eighteen hours and possibly the concussion must be messing with her cognitive ability. It wasn’t like her to rely on a man for stability, especially a man with such opposite views on life.

  Jack Monroe was an IT genius who planned to sell his business and travel the world. Where was the stability in that? She had endured too much instability growing up and had made herself a promise never to feel unsettled again. Wasn’t that why she and Tim had ultimately broken up? Because his obsession with climbing the corporate ladder and constant, last-minute canceling of their plans left her feeling untethered? She wanted to be able to count on something, someone. Tim wasn’t the guy.

  And neither was a man like Jack Monroe.

  This was definitely her concussion talking. She barely knew the man and had no business thinking of him in those terms.

  She turned toward the kitchen a little too quickly, her body aching from the fall yesterday. Well, that and perhaps being yanked around by the creep in the leather jacket last night.

  Frustration burned in her gut, as if she’d ingested a handful of chili peppers. While teams were out searching for Shannon, Zoe was stuck in the house doing absolutely nothing.

  A familiar feeling of helplessness spread through her chest.

  “Oh no, I’m stepping off that one,” she said, referring to an expression called the victim triangle that her counseling mentor had taught her years ago.

  Deciding to be proactive, not reactive, Zoe fixed herself peanut butter on toast for sustenance. As she ate, a plan formed in her mind. She’d search the house for clues, insights into Shannon’s state of mind, and maybe even prove that police were way off base suspecting Shan of being involved with drugs. The nerve.

  Opening a small, cherrywood nightstand beside Shan’s bed, Zoe spotted a pale blue journal. She turned to the first page, her gaze settling on her friend’s fluid handwriting.

  She quickly snapped it shut. This felt wrong, like she was violating her friend’s trust.

  But if it was the only way to gain insight into Shan’s life...

  “I’m sorry, Shannon.” Zoe opened it again and began reading, first the usual stuff—frustration at work, pressure from her parents to move back home—then stories from Shannon’s work as a volunteer counselor at a local youth center.

  Zoe flipped another page and landed on an entry titled “Randy and Kelly.”

  I can’t believe what’s happening. I trusted them with my heart and they betrayed me. Isn’t there anyone who loves me and will protect my heart?

  “Me, I’ll protect your heart,” Zoe whispered. She flipped the page.

  And saw her own name.

  Zoe is coming to visit. I don’t know if I have enough energy for her, if I have the strength to comfort her when my own heart is breaking.

  Was that how she felt about Zoe? That she was an energy-sucking friend who needed comforting, a friend who sapped Shannon’s emotional strength?

  “I can’t think about that now.” Zoe found renewed strength in her determination for answers, especially about Randy and Kelly.

  She decided to call Kelly, be pleasant and set up a meeting where Zoe could confront her face-to-face about what she’d read.

  “Hello?” Kelly answered.

  “Hi, it’s Zoe. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m actually at the SAR command center prepping food for the team. Why don’t you come by and help?”

  “Okay.”

  Kelly gave her the location. “See you soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zoe left the house and spotted a police officer parked out front. She thanked him for being there, and told him where she was going.

  As she drove off, she tamped down her anger so she’d be rational when she questioned Kelly. She considered the possibilities in her mind and landed on the most obvious: Kelly and Randy had a relationship behind Shannon’s back.

  How could they betray her like that?

  She punched the address Kelly had given for the command center into her phone and pulled her compact car onto the main road. She planned what she’d say, intent on being calm, not accusatory. She’d never get answers that way.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Zoe pulled up to the command center and approached the food tent. Kelly spotted her and smiled. “Hi, Zoe.”

  Zoe couldn’t bring herself to smile back. As she was about to question Kelly about the journal entry, a middle-aged man with jet-black hair stepped up beside Kelly. Zoe did not want an audience.

  “Zoe?” the man said. “As in Shannon’s friend?”

  “Yes,” Zoe said.

  “I’m Curt Underwood, Shannon’s boss at Mt. Stevens Resort.” He extended his hand. “I’m sick about all this. She’s one of my best employees. Please, if there’s anything I can do while you’re in town. How about I comp a room for you at the resort?”

  “Thanks, but I’m staying at Shannon’s place.”

  Curt pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Call anytime, if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” Zoe turned to Kelly. “Could I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” Kelly motioned to Curt. “Can you take over packing the sandwiches for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  Zoe led Kelly away from the group.

  “What’s wrong?” Kelly said.

  Once they were out of earshot, Zoe turned. “I know about you and Randy.”

  “Me and Randy?”

  Someone touched Zoe’s arm. She glanced over her shoulder at Jack. “Jack? I thought you were up searching for Shannon.”

  “I was.” He broke eye contact.

  Dread filled her chest. “You mean...?”

  She glanced behind him at two men carrying a body bag.

  FOUR

  Buzzing echoed in Zoe’s ears. It was so incredibly loud that she wanted to cry out in pain but couldn’t find her voice. Her legs buckled and she went down.

  “I’ve got her,” a deep voice said.

  And then she was floating, drifting. Unable to hear anything clearly but the rumblings of low voices, her name interspersed b
etween unintelligible words.

  It was as if she were having an out-of-body experience, like in a dream when you’re watching the situation unfold from the corner of the room, but you’re also an active participant in the action.

  She blinked against a bright white light glaring directly at her. No, she knew it wasn’t her time to meet the Lord. The light faded, and she could see more clearly—she’d been carried under a tent, worried faces of strangers hovered above.

  Jack’s face. His eyes, usually warm blue, were dark and cold. He looked...angry. Why would he be angry?

  Then the muted sounds grew crisp and clear, as if someone had cranked up the volume on the radio.

  “Please step back,” a man on her left said to Jack. “I need to examine her.”

  “Go ahead and examine her.” Jack didn’t move. Dark blue eyes pinned her in place.

  A woman stepped up beside him. “Give him space, Jack.”

  Zoe squeezed his hand tighter. Wouldn’t let go. “Jack,” she said in a small, strained voice.

  “Hi,” he responded. “You just fainted.”

  “Zoe, I’d like to examine you.”

  She glanced to her left. A man in his sixties with a graying beard and warm smile looked down at her.

  “I just fainted,” she repeated Jack’s words.

  “That’s probably true, but I’d like to be sure it’s not more serious.”

  She started to feel Jack loosen his grip and she clung tighter. “Jack...stay.”

  The doctor nodded that it was okay. He took her pulse and watched her breathing, then listened to her heartbeat with his stethoscope.

  “Look straight ahead for me.”

  “She’s suffering from a concussion,” Jack offered.

  “Then it’s a good thing you caught her.” The doctor checked her eyes with a penlight. “We need to protect that head of yours.” He clicked off the light. “Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

  “Peanut butter on toast. Nothing to drink.”

  “Water,” he ordered someone out of view. A minute later she was presented with a bottle of water and the doctor helped her sit up.

  “Stay hydrated,” he said. “I think you’re okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  The doctor left her and Jack alone. Jack’s dark eyes had warmed slightly.

  “The body bag,” she started, “was it...?”

  “We haven’t identified the body yet.”

  “Surely you could tell from her clothes?”

  He glanced down at his hand, still holding hers.

  “She had no clothes?”

  “She was wearing clothes, but she’d stripped off her outerwear.”

  “If she was cold, why would she—”

  “In the last stages of hypothermia, something called paradoxical undressing can occur. You think you’re hot when in fact you’re losing the feeling in your limbs.”

  She nodded, trying to make sense of what he’d said. “The body you found, it was a woman?”

  Jack nodded.

  Zoe closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

  “It could be someone else,” he said. “Not your friend.”

  She opened her eyes and sighed. “Have there been other missing hikers reported in the last twenty-four hours?”

  He didn’t answer, which meant no. Yet he was trying to keep Zoe’s hope alive. It was a kind thing to do.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  She shrugged. “For catching me when I fainted, for being a friend.”

  His brow furrowed slightly, and she guessed he was processing her use of the word friend in this scenario.

  “Why are you here this morning?” he said.

  “I found something in Shannon’s diary that disturbed me.”

  “Her diary?”

  She nodded. “I know, diaries are private, and I shouldn’t have gone snooping, but I needed to figure out what is going on.”

  “What did you find?”

  “She felt betrayed by her boyfriend, Randy, and her friend Kelly. They did something that hurt Shan deeply.”

  “Something, like...?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to meet with Kelly, to question her.”

  “You still want to do that?”

  “You don’t think I should?” Zoe snapped.

  His eyebrows furrowed again, as if puzzled by her reaction.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m a little raw right now. I can’t believe Shannon is gone.”

  “The body hasn’t been identified yet.”

  “I... I should be the one to do that.”

  “You may not want to see her like that, bruised from the fall.”

  She clenched her jaw against another possible fainting episode. She would not be a wimp about this. “I don’t have to identify her by her face, only her right wrist.”

  “How?”

  Zoe hiked her jacket sleeve up to expose the tattoo she and Shannon shared of a cross with a heart. “We figured our parents couldn’t be too upset with us for getting tattoos symbolizing our love of God and our eternal friendship. We started with matching bracelets, but you can lose a bracelet, we rationalized. I think Shan still wears hers. Anyway, we got the tattoos.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “Yes.” Well, she was 50 percent sure anyway. “Is the body...?” She glanced past Jack.

  “They’ve already transported it to the medical examiner’s office.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  * * *

  Zoe Pratt was more puzzling than trying to figure out a sophisticated DDoS attack, Jack thought as he pulled into the medical center parking lot. One minute she fainted at the thought of her best friend being dead, the next she was intent on identifying the body.

  How could someone so fragile be concurrently strong? Or maybe her strength was a pretense to cover her grief.

  He parked and got out to open the door for Zoe. Romeo paced in the back seat. “We won’t be long,” Jack said to the dog, cracking the back windows.

  It would only take seconds to examine the victim’s wrist and confirm her identity as Zoe’s friend.

  And Jack would be ready to catch her again.

  As Zoe and Jack headed for the building, Romeo let Jack know he wasn’t pleased about being left behind. Jack pointed a finger at the truck. “Quiet.” Romeo complied.

  “Romeo seems a little bossy today,” Zoe said.

  “That’s the border collie part of him.”

  “And the other part?”

  Jack wondered if she made small talk as a distraction from what was about to happen. “Bernese mountain dogs are gentle giants,” he said. “All about love and affection.”

  “Which mellows out the bossy border collie part?”

  “Border collies aren’t bossy, they’re intelligent. If intelligence is not channeled properly it can be...” he hesitated “...troublesome.”

  “Not just in dogs.”

  Was she referring to Jack? There was no way she could know him that well, could she?

  “Some of my most challenging clients are teenagers who are off-the-charts smart,” she said. “I think intelligence, or even creativity for that matter, can turn sour inside of a person if they don’t express it.”

  “Is it interesting work, being a counselor?” he said.

  “Some days. Other days it’s...sad.”

  They paused at the front door to the medical building and he looked at her, about to ask if she really wanted to do this.

  “I’m sure,” she said, without even hearing the question.

  With a nod, he opened the door.

  * * *

  A young receptionist with copper-streaked hair greeted them. She
called into the back where they examined bodies and did autopsies. “We have someone here to identify the body found by Search and Rescue... Okay, sure.” She hung up the phone and addressed Jack. “They need a few minutes. You can wait over there.” She pointed to a small waiting area.

  “Thank you,” Zoe said, pretending to be sure of herself, pretending to be strong.

  Thankfully Jack played along with her mindless conversation, actually asking a question or two, which must have been hard for him. She needed to keep her mind off the dread threatening to consume her. If she looked at the woman’s wrist and saw the beloved tattoo...she would be devastated.

  Struggling to remain strong, she kept talking as Jack led her to a waiting area with green chairs.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to exchange phone numbers,” Jack said. “In case we need to communicate.”

  “Sure.” She handed him her phone.

  “I also thought we could activate location services. That way you can track me when I’m on a mission if the reception is good.”

  And Jack would know where Zoe was, in case trouble found her again.

  “Oh, great, thanks,” she said.

  He added his number to her phone and vice versa, then handed her phone back.

  “How hard was it to train Romeo?” she asked.

  “Not hard. He has a high play drive and more energy than a toddler. Not that I’ve been around many toddlers, but I’ve heard things.”

  “And why Romeo?”

  “You mean the name?”

  She nodded.

  “Chick magnet.”

  She almost smiled. “Excuse me?”

  “When I first got him, I couldn’t decide on a name right away. The vet recommended exposing him to as many people as possible as a puppy and it became clear rather quickly that he was a charming sort of guy. My friend referred to him as a chick magnet, so I named him Romeo.”

  “Cute.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “No, it makes sense. He certainly has won my heart. What about all his other names?”

  “Albert is for Albert Einstein and Garrett is for Garrett Morgan, a famous inventor who invented the smoke hood.”