Alaskan Mountain Pursuit

by Elizabeth Goddard

  Once again, the tables were uncomfortably turned. Summer had researched this victim and her family but it had never dawned on her they would know details about her life.

  “I was. Yes.”

  “You still are.”

  “Why do you say that?” Why was this woman insisting on talking about Summer?

  “I think it’s a gift God gave you. You can’t just ignore it. It’s still part of who you are.”

  Summer didn’t know what to say.

  Mrs. Hunt smiled slightly. “I just felt like I was supposed to tell you that. Now, let me tell you about my Jenna.”

  For the next ten minutes she shared information about her daughter. Summer didn’t think that all of it was relevant to the investigation, though she supposed there was a chance it could prove useful later. But a lot of what she said did pique her interest. She and Jenna had been in a lot of the same circles, even though they had never met. She ran 5Ks, hiked almost every weekend, rain or shine, and many of her favorite hikes were Summer’s favorites too. She wrote a note to herself in her notebook to follow up on that possible lead. Did they both hike those mountains consistently enough that someone could have targeted them both because of it? And did the other victims share their love for those hikes?

  If anything, this visit was leaving her with more questions than answers, but at least Summer felt like they were making progress. They were on the right track.

  “I appreciate you talking to us today,” Summer said as she finally stood. “It was extremely helpful.”

  “I hope something helps you find who is behind this.” Mrs. Hunt shuddered. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like the world is a safe, good place again, but him not roaming the streets would go a long way toward that.”

  “I understand.” Summer smiled sympathetically. And she did.

  Clay stood also and walked to the door before Summer, to check for threats outside, she assumed. He stepped out before she did and walked down the steps of the front deck, not far but close enough to give her a tiny bit of privacy with the woman she’d felt an unexpected connection with.

  “Dear.” Mrs. Hunt laid a hand on Summer’s arm as Summer started to step through the front door. “Could you do something for me?”

  “If it’s within my capabilities, of course. I really appreciate the information you gave me today.”

  Mrs. Hunt didn’t say anything for a minute. Summer started to prompt her for an answer, since Clay was still walking toward the car in the driveway and she felt she needed to hurry.

  But then the older woman met her eyes. When she did speak, her voice was slow, gentle, firm. “My daughter...she’s with Jesus now. She knew Him. But her time here is finished. Yours isn’t, Summer.”

  Summer’s eyes stung as tears started to gather at the edges.

  “Here is what I’d like you to do for me. For Jenna.” Now Mrs. Hunt’s eyes were watering. She didn’t break her gaze though, kept her eyes straight on Summer’s and Summer couldn’t look away. “I want you to live, dear. Really, truly live without regrets. Fully. Freely.”

  There was no need to ask what she meant, to think about how her life would change if she did that. Summer already knew. Instead, she nodded. She owed it to the woman and the daughter she’d lost.

  To herself. To the tiny unborn baby daughter she had lost three years ago.

  “I promise.”

  TEN

  Summer had been quiet since they’d left the Hunts’ house. Clay had driven her to several more places after that, but so far no one had answered the door. He didn’t know if they were just not responding to people they didn’t know or if they’d left town until the man behind the death of their loved ones had been caught. Either would make sense.

  Someone finally answered at the fourth house they drove to.

  It was the sister of one of the victims. “Who are you?” was the first thing she said when Summer knocked on the door.

  “I’m trying to learn about your sister.”

  The door shut most of the way.

  “The same man who killed her is trying to kill me.”

  Even Clay caught his breath at Summer’s words, at the reality of them and the way they didn’t pull any punches. The woman at the door blinked, opened it wider. “Come in.”

  The conversation that followed was much like the one with Mrs. Hunt, in Clay’s opinion. They didn’t learn anything new, just what they knew already. The woman said that her sister, Amanda, had lived with her, but had been on a camping trip in Chugach State Park, the mountains behind Anchorage, when she’d disappeared, and then her body had been found a few days later.

  “Did she hike often?” Summer asked with a frown.

  “Every weekend and at least two days a week after work in the summer. She loved all outdoorsy kinds of things.” A small smile escaped the woman’s face. “She’d just started to learn stand-up paddleboarding. Amanda was just always outside.” The smile disappeared. “Are the police any closer to discovering who did this?”

  “Aren’t they keeping in touch with you with updates?”

  “They are,” she admitted. “But there haven’t been any lately. I’ve been wondering if they’re even still working on this or if they’ve given up.”

  The frustration in her tone was evident, and Clay guessed that the kind of helplessness she was feeling must be grating.

  “They’ll let you know,” Clay told her with confidence.

  “But you must not trust them to do their jobs, either, if you’re out trying to get clues or other information.”

  Summer looked at Clay. Both of them seemed to be thinking. Summer was the first to shake her head slowly. “No, I do trust them. But I can’t sit by and be nothing more than a victim. I can’t be helpless. I’ve got to do something.”

  “So this is for you.”

  Summer nodded. “It’s for me.”

  It was another glimpse into the kind of person she was, and Clay admired her more for it. To say that she trusted the police—and to mean it, Clay could tell she did—but to also know herself well enough to know when she needed to do something... Summer was thoughtful, self-aware and brave. And beautiful, not that he was supposed to be noticing that.

  If they weren’t in the middle of this case, he might be close to admitting that she intrigued him more than the sister of a friend really should. Might be close to admitting that in normal circumstances, he’d have asked her on a date by now, tried to figure out if she felt the same fascination with him that he did with her.

  “Thanks for your time,” Summer said and they walked back to the car. “Gorgeous view,” she commented before they climbed in.

  They’d driven up to an area of Anchorage that Summer had told him on the way there was called The Hillside. “There are tons of hillsides here. What about those houses, are those on The Hillside?” He’d pointed to a cluster of large, nice homes on a hillside up against the mountains.

  She shook her head. “Stuckagain Heights.”

  “But they’re on a hillside,” he’d teased, and it was one of the lightest moments they’d had in days. They’d needed the levity, both of them. Human beings were only meant to sustain the intensity they’d been running at for short periods of time. They were both dangerously close to running out of steam.

  Now, as Clay maneuvered the car carefully back down the mountainside, he kept his eyes on the road rather than take in the view.

  “Clay.”

  Summer’s voice was tense, short, and he chanced a quick look in her direction before returning his eyes to the road. “What’s wrong?” He couldn’t see any obvious answers. She seemed fine.

  “The car behind us. He keeps getting closer.”

  “Is it a man behind the wheel? Can you see him?” There was still the possibility that the car behind them was an innocent bad driver.

  But if it
wasn’t, at least Clay wanted to know if they could identify him.

  “I can’t really tell, but I think it’s a man.”

  “You can’t tell?”

  “His windshield is tinted, I think? Or maybe it’s the way the sun is hitting. But no, I can’t see anything clearly distinguishing. I’m sorry. Do you think it’s him?”

  “I don’t know.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Summer was right, Clay couldn’t see anything, either, except the fact that someone was in the driver’s seat. “Could be?” He took a left on the next road that would lead them to town, twisting around a hairpin turn.

  Did the car edge closer?

  Clay hit the gas, accelerating a little.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not going to keep going slow and risk him hitting us here.”

  He twisted around the curve, looked down the road that lay head of them. After this stretch of road there was only one more spot where losing control of the car would be truly disastrous.

  He came up to that danger spot, tightened his grip on the wheel and glanced in the rearview.

  The car was accelerating. And Clay had nowhere to go. He didn’t dare risk speeding up here lest he send them careening over the mountainside without any help from whomever was tailing them.

  “Hang on, Summer!”

  The car behind them hit them, lurched them forward, and Clay fought to maintain control as their car slid right, toward the guardrail, barely clipping it. The mountainside dropped off there, and Clay knew if they hit the rail too hard, he wouldn’t be able to keep their car on the road.

  He jerked the wheel hard left, hitting the car that had been behind them as it sped up and disappeared down the road that led down the hillside. He tried to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but all he noticed was that it was an Alaska tag, one of the gold ones with blue numbers, which he couldn’t read because it was covered in mud. That didn’t narrow it down much.

  The threat gone, Clay slowed their car to a stop, pulling as close to the side of the road as he dared. Exhaled.

  Looked at Summer. She was crying.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just ready for this to be over. I don’t understand how someone could want another human being dead, especially not the way this guy does.” She let out a shuddering breath and Clay wanted to hold her hand, maybe pull her to him, tell her it would be okay.

  But he couldn’t. He hadn’t earned the right. And anyway, he couldn’t stay here on the side of the road. They needed to report a crime—and they needed to move away from this location, in case the killer was still watching them.

  But even if they’d had all the time in the world, and he’d had every right to comfort her, he wouldn’t have been able to tell Summer that everything would be okay.

  Because Clay didn’t know if it would be or not.

  He drove straight to the police department, not just because the attack needed to be reported, but also because he knew if their attacker decided to follow them again, he almost certainly wouldn’t follow them to the police department. Clay might not be able to control the madman who was after Summer, nor was he really able to minimize the danger to her nearly as much as he’d like to, but he could give her a few minutes of safety at the police department, a few minutes to catch her breath.

  And then they’d have to face reality again.

  They were met once more by Detective Walters and Clay gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. He motioned for them to follow him to his office again and they both did so. This time another officer appeared and asked if Summer wanted coffee or tea. She asked for tea and when the officer brought it back, Summer held it tightly, like the warmth of the drink in her hand was comforting her.

  Clay had turned down the refreshments. He couldn’t drink anything at a time like this, couldn’t relax in the slightest when the threat level had risen once again. How many more times could Summer weather an attack like that? Statistically speaking, how many close calls could they have before they didn’t escape alive?

  Clay didn’t want to think about it. Instead he made himself think through what needed to be done, starting with other people who could be in danger.

  He looked up at the officer. “Can you send a car over to check on Amanda Holbrook’s sister? We were followed from her house.”

  The officer nodded and left to arrange it. Clay waited with Summer, who was quiet, eyes wide. She took a long sip of tea and then put the cup in front of her again, holding it in both hands and staring straight ahead.

  “What?” It didn’t seem right to ask what was wrong when the answer to that question was unfortunately more obvious than he’d like it to be. But it seemed like something more was bothering her than just the attack itself.

  “I can’t believe we might have put her in danger.” She shook her head.

  “No, we didn’t, you didn’t. No one did except the deranged man who is behind this.” Clay had more he wanted to say, but he kept it short, knowing from experience that direct messages were the best for this situation. She was still too shaken for more detailed explanations.

  Fortunately they soon learned that Amanda Holbrook was safe. APD promised they’d ramp up patrols in her neighborhood also and communicate with her on an even more regular basis given how doubtful she’d been.

  As for Summer, they offered her a safe house in Anchorage, but she refused, as he’d known she would. Clay didn’t know if she didn’t fully grasp the severity of the danger or if she just didn’t want to live that way no matter what. But he understood.

  “Be careful.” One of the officers told him as he left the building with Summer.

  “I will be.”

  I’m running out of time to solve this, God. We all are, I can feel it. Clay prayed as they walked to the car, which was still mechanically sound, just a little dented from their hair-raising ordeal. Help us figure this out before anyone else ends up hurt, or dead.

  He looked over at Summer. Much as he might want to deny it, it wasn’t just professionalism that made him pray that prayer with her in mind specifically.

  His heart couldn’t handle losing her.

  * * *

  Summer closed her eyes in the car, letting Anchorage disappear in the rearview mirror without her paying attention. She felt the curves of the road as the car swung around the Seward Highway between the mountain cliffs and Turnagain Arm. She’d had friends in Anchorage back when she was a competitive mountain runner, and had made the drive many times to visit them and to train on some of the nearby mountains—O’Malley, Wolverine, Ptarmigan and the like.

  Now this drive that was so familiar, which should have been relaxing, was another source of tension for her. She hadn’t put any of it into words for Clay, but the knowledge that there were two hours of no-man’s-land ahead of them scared her—nothing but the road, with no houses, no stores and no cell phone reception.

  There, she’d said it. She was scared of something.

  Scared that the man who wanted her dead would succeed. Scared of how much she was getting used to Clay’s presence. Scared of the fact that one way or another, this arrangement with him as her bodyguard couldn’t last forever, and then what was she going to do? Tell him that despite the fact that she didn’t deserve a man like him, she was starting to...

  What? Fall in love with him?

  She shook the thoughts away. Surely it was too soon for that, even for someone like her who felt so deeply, gave her heart away so freely. Summer would have laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the situation, except she wanted Clay to think she was asleep. She didn’t trust herself to have a normal conversation right then. The sky was dimming as the clouds moved in and it grew closer to midnight. Even though the sun wouldn’t disappear completely, there was something about the end of the day that made her relaxed and vulnerable. Made her want to answer Clay’s u
nspoken questions about why she’d stopped competitive mountain running. About her past.

  And that couldn’t happen.

  It just couldn’t.

  She shifted in her seat slightly so she’d have a view out of the window. The water was calm today. She’d seen it before when the rain was falling and it churned in slate gray that looked more like some kind of molten lava than water. Angry. Thick.

  Today it was calm, the exact opposite of how her heart felt.

  She turned her thoughts somewhere productive, wondering once again who could be after her. Even though she’d been attacked in Moose Haven, it seemed more likely the culprit was someone from Anchorage since his first victims had been from there. What had made him come to Moose Haven? Had he come specifically to target her, or had he found her after he arrived? Which had come first? Knowing that would give them somewhere to start.

  The problem with trying to put together any kind of suspect list was that there was no knowing how the serial killer’s mind worked—what connection he saw between the women he made into his victims. Summer didn’t know if this particular killer was targeting people he knew well—she hoped it wasn’t that one; she only knew a few people in Anchorage, and she couldn’t picture any of them being behind this.

  If he was someone who killed people he’d only seen in passing, then the possibilities were limitless. It could be someone she’d passed at Costco in Anchorage, someone who got gas at a gas station where all of the victims and Summer had been before.

  Another impossibility to think through.

  The third option was the one that intrigued Summer. If the killer was killing acquaintances...that was something she needed to think through. What acquaintances did she have who might have run across the other women as well? She’d been preparing a list to share with law enforcement if they were interested in it, though so far it was limited to mountain running friends and the barista at her favorite coffee shop, who she very much doubted had a mean bone in his body. Not to mention, the body type didn’t match her attacker at all. Summer could probably bench-press the barista—he was tall and thin and the essence of a hipster right to the thick glasses that sat on the end of his nose.