Mountain Hostage

by Hope White

  The kidnapper had lost his hostage.

  Yet Shannon had been unable to find her way to safety or call for assistance. That puzzled Jack. Perhaps she didn’t want to return home, fearing the repercussions of her drug dealing activity?

  He’d never forget the look on Zoe’s face when Jeanie dropped that bomb. It was like Zoe hadn’t understood what the girl was saying, that the prospect of Shannon dealing drugs was completely nonsensical.

  A lot of things seemed nonsensical to Jack these past forty-eight hours, the least of which were Zoe’s inconsistent reactions.

  A young woman threatens her; she forgives her.

  Jack confesses his worst failure; she “holds space” for him.

  And then there was her question about Jack missing SAR once he sold his company and went traveling.

  His plan had always been to conquer one goal and move on to the next. Develop a successful company and sell it. Go traveling and explore places he’d never been. It seemed like a worthwhile plan.

  Zoe’s comment about missing SAR bothered him. He hadn’t considered the human element in his plans. He never had to consider anyone else but himself. So why did her comment set his mind spinning like a hard drive gone bad?

  He embraced order and sense, something not often found in relationships. He puzzled over his new acquaintance, Zoe Pratt, especially the fact that he liked being around her. Perhaps a good reason to distance himself. Being fascinated by something he didn’t understand didn’t mean he had to embrace it.

  Overthinking again.

  “I think I see tracks up ahead,” Sally said.

  Command had assembled two teams. Jack had been paired with Sally and her dog, Butch, plus Deputies Hauf and Ortman, who had hiking and even climbing experience. The second team was approaching from the north end of the red zone, as they’d named it.

  Hauf and Ortman scanned their surroundings for anything suspicious, while Sally, Jack and their dogs focused on tracking the missing woman.

  Romeo stopped and stuck his nose in the air. At least this area was relatively flat, and Jack wouldn’t have to worry about Romeo sliding over the edge of a cliff.

  His dog took off, and Butch joined in, the dogs racing up ahead and out of sight.

  “Where’d they go?” Deputy Hauf said.

  “They’ll be back.”

  Jack picked up his pace, but Romeo didn’t return to pull at the toggle at Jack’s belt. Neither did Butch. Jack and Sally shared a look, not sure what to make of the unusual behavior.

  “What?” Deputy Hauf said.

  “Something’s not—”

  The crack of a gunshot echoed across the canyon.

  EIGHT

  The deputies and Sally hit the ground.

  Jack took off, the only thought in his head that he had get to Romeo. The dog had been a stabilizing force in his life, a good friend. A searing pain slashed through his chest to think Romeo had been hurt by a coward with a gun.

  “Get down!” one of the deputies called after him.

  Jack’s leg muscles burned as he raced through the snow in almost slow motion, fighting the heaviness as it collected on his boots. He reached a sharp turn and didn’t even hesitate to forge ahead around the blind corner.

  Another shot rang out. Was it close? Far away? There was no way to know due to the vastness of the mountains and their echoes. Jack choose to ignore the threat.

  A third shot. This one hit a boulder not twenty feet from Jack’s position.

  He had to get to—

  Romeo sprang from the nearby forest and dove at Jack. Jack caught him and went down, scrambling behind the boulder for cover.

  “You okay, buddy?”

  The dog whined and released a few yelps. Jack ripped off his gloves with his teeth and ran his hands over the dog’s fur. No blood. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Barking echoed in the distance. Butch was still out there, and knowing that Lab’s attitude, Butch was probably trying to disarm the shooter. This was one instance when Jack was appreciative of the Bernese blood running through Romeo’s veins. Like his name, Romeo was a lover, not a fighter. Butch, on the other hand...

  “Hey!” Sally said, coming around the back of the boulder.

  The deputies were close behind. “I told you to stay back,” Deputy Hauf said to both Jack and Sally.

  “Our dogs are like an appendage, so save the lecture,” Sally said, then looked at Jack. “Butch?”

  “I hear him, but haven’t seen him.”

  “He never knows when to back down, stupid dog,” Sally said.

  Jack sensed she used the word stupid because she was hurting for her dog, worried about his well-being.

  “Try the whistle,” Jack said.

  With a nod, Sally pulled out the specialized whistle that only a dog could hear. She blew, and Romeo immediately started barking.

  It took less than ten seconds and Butch came racing through the white snow toward the group. He rushed up to Sally and she hugged him.

  “You stinker, stop picking fights.” She looked at Jack and nodded her thanks.

  “They found something that disturbed them,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, but we can’t get to it,” Sally said.

  “Base, do you copy, over?” Deputy Hauf said into his radio.

  “Go ahead, over.”

  “This is Deputy Hauf. We’re taking fire, over.”

  “Can you retreat, over?”

  “Questionable, over.”

  “We can assemble a backup team, but it might take a while to get to you, over.”

  “Roger that,” Hauf said.

  “We may not have a while,” Deputy Ortman muttered, clutching his gun in his hand.

  “They’re awfully bold to be shooting at police,” Hauf said.

  “The kidnapper wants to get her back before we find her,” Jack said.

  “You think the dogs found her?” Ortman said.

  “Doubtful, or they would have returned to us and pulled on the toggles,” Jack said.

  “What do you think?” Deputy Ortman said.

  “We wait for backup,” Hauf ordered.

  * * *

  Twenty-seven minutes later they got a call from base that they were sending backup, but it would take at least an hour.

  The shooter had been quiet in those twenty-seven minutes, which made Jack wonder if he was still present.

  “What should we do?” Ortman asked Deputy Hauf.

  “Cover me.”

  “Wait, what—”

  “Return fire if he shoots.” Hauf got into a position and Ortman knelt beside him.

  Hauf ran up the trail, dodging behind trees and snowdrifts to stay out of range.

  No shots were fired.

  It was a good assumption that the shooter had left the scene. He’d probably fled to avoid getting caught by police. But had he found Shannon Banks?

  Hauf went higher, then disappeared out of sight. Deputy Ortman was still aiming his gun at the ridge above.

  The buzz of silence was deafening.

  Jack pulled out his binoculars and scrutinized the area where Deputy Hauf had disappeared. Had the shooter been quietly waiting for one of them to come looking for him?

  Ortman’s radio crackled with the sound of Hauf’s voice.

  “All clear. Get up here.”

  Jack spotted Deputy Hauf wave from the top of the ridge.

  “You stay back,” Ortman said to Jack and Sally.

  As he climbed up the trail to join his partner, Sally and Jack looked at each other. They shook their heads and followed the deputy. The dogs anticipated the plan and ran ahead of them, straight back to what had intrigued them before. Sally and Jack got to the top of the ridge and found the deputies standing over an odd site: an orange jacket stretched across a stick, a
lmost like a scarecrow.

  “What on earth is that?” Sally said.

  “Perhaps Shannon’s pumpkin coat,” Jack offered.

  The deputies looked at him.

  “Apparently she owns a jacket that color.”

  “What is this, some kind of game?” Deputy Hauf said.

  “Looks like,” Ortman said. “But why draw us out here?”

  “It’s a distraction,” Jack said. It was the most logical explanation.

  “And shooting at us?” Ortman said.

  “To keep us engaged.” The reality of what was happening flooded Jack’s chest with dread.

  “Because they didn’t want us to find Shannon?” Sally asked.

  “He went to a lot of trouble to bring us out here, why?” Deputy Ortman said.

  “To keep us occupied because...” Jack hesitated. “Zoe.” He motioned for Romeo and headed back to the trail.

  “Where are you going?” Sally asked.

  “Back to town. They’re after Zoe Pratt.”

  Jack never should have left her alone.

  * * *

  Zoe spent a few hours at the inn reading Shannon’s journal and making notes. She had a pretty good idea about what to do next, who to talk to. She’d continue speaking with work associates, then people from church.

  She flopped back on the bed and sighed. Please, Lord, let them find Shannon.

  As she lay there praying, trying to relax and get out of fight-or-flight mode, something Jeanie said popped into the forefront of her mind: On Fridays I’d leave cash beneath the bear statue out back and she’d put drugs in my backpack.

  They’d made the exchange anonymously. Anyone could have been selling Jeanie drugs and claiming to be Shannon.

  “I still don’t believe it.” Zoe sat up, determined. She needed to do something besides hide out in this room and pray.

  But she didn’t have her car, or know anyone who could drive her. Her driver was otherwise indisposed by his real work: finding Shannon.

  Glancing at the clock, she realized it was nearly six. Marsha, the innkeeper, said she and her husband would put out light refreshments from four to six. Hopefully they hadn’t been cleared away.

  Zoe brushed her hair in the private bathroom, put on a fleece in case it was chilly downstairs and went in search of food.

  A crackling fire warmed the main living area. Beside the fireplace was a serving table with a pot of coffee, tea and snacks. She approached the table and her mouth watered at the sight of a cheese and fruit plate, scones and butter cookies.

  “Hello?” she said, wanting to share her thanks. No one responded. She seemed to be completely alone.

  When Zoe checked in, Marsha had said she might go out for supplies, but Zoe had hoped she’d be available for an afternoon chat. Zoe wouldn’t mind the distraction of light conversation, otherwise she’d keep worrying about Jack, Shannon and the mission.

  She poured tea into a purple-and-pink-floral china cup, put grapes and strawberries on a plate and plucked a scone from the serving tray.

  As she took a bite of the scone, the lights went out, plunging her into darkness. She stifled a gasp.

  They’d found her.

  Instinct drove her to crouch behind a Queen Anne chair for cover, although it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to find her back there. Staying out of sight, she quietly set her plate and cup on the floor. She wished she had something with which to defend herself, but how could she have known going for snacks would put her in danger?

  Then again, she should assume she was always in danger until they found Shannon.

  The click of a door echoed from the kitchen.

  She held her breath. Don’t make a sound.

  She carefully slipped off her shoes. Waited.

  Floorboards creaked, announcing someone’s presence. If it was one of the innkeepers, or even a guest, they’d speak out, right?

  Creak, creak.

  The sound moved from the back of the house to the front, toward the stairs.

  She could hear soft footsteps climbing the stairs to the second floor. She glanced up at the ceiling.

  The intruder was upstairs.

  This was her chance.

  She grabbed her shoes and tiptoed toward the back of the house, through the kitchen and out the door. She wished she had her jacket, but there was no time for that now. Slipping on her shoes, she eyed the surrounding property, looking for a spot to hide and call 911.

  Thankfully the sidewalk out back had been cleared of snow. She rushed toward the garage and darted behind it, then peeked up at the house.

  And saw a man in a black jacket pass by the window as he searched her room.

  The journal. She’d left it upstairs.

  She’d tucked it beneath the pillow, but if the guy tried hard enough, he’d find it.

  The same man who’d kidnapped Shannon? But if Shan had escaped and search teams went to find her, why was this creep down below when he should be up in the mountains looking for her?

  Because he was after Zoe.

  He stepped into view as he passed by the window. Hugging herself against the chill, she squinted to see if it was the same guy who’d kidnapped Shan.

  It wasn’t.

  It was the man who’d broken into Shannon’s house that first night.

  He peered out the window and she darted out of view. Had he seen her?

  She turned and tore off, racing down the partially shoveled sidewalks toward a house with lights on. Surely someone would let her in. Then she considered how she appeared right now, terrified, without a jacket and probably wild-eyed. She needed to calm down before she knocked on a stranger’s door asking for help.

  Help. She hadn’t called 911 yet. Needed to do that—

  The sound of a door slamming shot fear down her spine. He’d seen her and was coming after her.

  She ran faster, panic ringing in her ears. She got to the corner and turned, scanning the surrounding homes. Spotted one with Christmas lights still up, more than a month after the holiday.

  A car engine started behind her. Was he going to run her down?

  She glanced over her shoulder. The beam of headlights made her squint. Instinct drove her to veer right, up a sidewalk to the closest front door. But this house was dark. No one was home.

  Heading toward the neighbor’s yard, she stumbled through the juniper bushes. She’d make it to the house with the Christmas lights. She’d get help there, she’d—

  A tall form stepped into her path up ahead. She spun around and ran back the other direction. There were two of them? Since she didn’t have her purse, she didn’t have the pepper spray.

  She should’ve called 911. Now she was racing through the neighborhood, and no one knew where she was, no one would know what had happened to her.

  “Stop.” A hand gripped her shoulder.

  She started swinging, fully expecting the assailant to grab her wrists or toss her over his shoulder.

  “It’s Jack.”

  She froze. Opened her eyes, and looked up into his handsome face, lit by the ambient glow of a streetlight.

  “Come on,” he said in a soft, gentle tone.

  He took her hand, the contact warm and comforting. Jack led her toward an evergreen tree and they climbed beneath the apron for shelter.

  From this vantage point, Zoe had a clear view of the street. An SUV cruised by, a piercing spotlight flickering as it pointed at the houses across the street.

  “Shhh,” Jack whispered, shielding her from view.

  She realized his dark green jacket would blend in with the trees, whereas she was wearing a light-colored fleece. She automatically leaned into him and focused on slow and steady breathing. Inhale on the count of five, exhale on the count of five.

  As seconds stretched by, she realized Jack was hol
ding her firmly against his chest.

  Both she and Jack turned their heads away from view so their faces wouldn’t be seen by the driver of the SUV. Maybe twenty or thirty seconds later Jack glanced up and so did she. The car was gone.

  “Did you call 911?” he whispered.

  She shook her head.

  “Call them.” He started to get up, but she couldn’t let go of his jacket.

  “Good idea. Here.” He removed her grip, took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Got your phone?”

  She nodded and pulled it out of her back pocket.

  “Call 911.”

  “Okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want him to leave her alone in the tree.

  He started to get up and she gripped his sweater sleeve.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and gave her hand a squeeze.

  She released him, trusting his word. This was Jack Monroe, a man incapable of lying. A man who was honest to a fault. If he said he’d be back, then he would.

  “Call.” He nodded at the phone in her hand and climbed out from beneath the cover.

  * * *

  It took every ounce of self-control not to wrap his arms around Zoe again and stay hidden with her. The look of fear and vulnerability on her face struck something deep in his chest, something that argued staying with and protecting her was more important than getting the license plate and description of the SUV that was stalking her.

  But in order to put an end to the danger constantly threatening her, Jack had to get more information. He would help authorities identify the assailant that had nearly taken Zoe.

  Because Jack hadn’t been there to protect her.

  He rushed down a driveway to the street in time to see taillights disappear around a corner. Gone. Jack had nothing but a vague description of a tan-colored SUV. He turned to go back to Zoe and found himself facing off with a middle-aged man with a beard.

  Pointing a rifle at Jack’s chest.

  Jack raised his hands, a myriad of thoughts racing through his brain.

  Stay hidden, Zoe.