by Loree Lough
Either that, or I might be forced to break out the duct tape, to hold up those size threes I got at my baby shower.”
The women talked recipes and Christmas trees, home décor and the Finley’s decision to buy an Ocean City condo. “You should come down this summer,” Mercy said. “We can laze on the beach and make fun of guys in Speedos.”
“I might just do that,” Honor said, laughing.
“So are you ever going to ask about Matt and the boys?”
“Well, sure.” She couldn’t very well admit they’d been 90 percent of the reason for her call, now could she?
“I don’t get it, Honor. Things seemed to be going really well. Was it your job or his that came between you two?”
“Neither.” It was mostly the truth. “Can’t break up a couple that never really got together …”
Mercy sighed. “Well it’s a shame, is what it is. You’re perfect for each other.”
“Yeah, well, a girl can dream.” She took a big breath and let it out slowly. “So they’re all okay? Nobody has come down with that weird strain of flu that’s going around, I hope.”
“No. They’re fine. Physically. Well, at least the boys are fine.”
Honor gasped. “What’s wrong with Matt? Don’t tell me he went on a mission and hurt himself, or—”
“The only thing wrong with that man is, his heart is breaking.”
Well now, Honor thought, way to shut a girl’s big mouth good and tight.
“Austin said he got like this after Faith died. Sort of.”
Sort of?
“He had the boys to take care of and the house to run. I guess there wasn’t time for a whole lot of wallowing.”
Wallowing? Matt was the last man on earth she could picture wallowing.
“You should have seen him on Thanksgiving.” Mercy groaned. “I’ll bet he didn’t say a dozen words.”
Honor sighed.
“You sure know how to mess a guy up, girl. Until you came along, Matt Phillips was just about the most together man I’d ever met.”
Honor heard the call-waiting signal. Saved by the beep, she thought. “Hey Mercy, can I get back to you? That’s Elton on the other line.”
“Tell him he needs to get over here and meet Austin’s baby girl. If the snow ever melts, that is.”
She pressed the Talk button to switch from Mercy’s line to Elton’s, and she barely recognized his voice when he said, “Honor, I need you. It’s Bethany.”
“Your granddaughter?”
“She was skiing with friends in West Virginia. Blue Ridge something or other. And got off the trail somehow. Nobody has seen her in hours.”
Hours. Depending on where she was in those mountains, it could take Honor a dozen hours to get to her in this weather. “But Elton, I just talked to Mercy, and she said the whole city is shut down. Even if I could get out of New York right now, I’d never be able to—”
“I have this friend who owns a private jet. He owes me, big time. I could call him. Ask him to come get you.”
Fear and worry had muddled his mind. If Elton had been thinking straight, he’d know that even if his friend could fly from Baltimore to New York, he wouldn’t have a safe place to land. She said all that as gently as possible, and then reminded him that Maryland’s SAR teams were some of the best in the world.
“I know that,” he growled. “But I want you on the team.”
“Then … what about a helicopter?”
It didn’t surprise her to hear that Elton had a friend with one of those, too. He told her to get packed; he’d call within the half hour to let her know when and where the copter would pick her up.
The instant he hung up, Honor sat right down to write up a list.
1. Call Buzz.
She’d beg him to take Rerun home with him for a few days, and she had every confidence that he’d say yes. For one thing, he and his wife loved dogs, and it hadn’t been long since they’d put their Lab down. For another, he knew that Rowdy had successfully worked several snow missions and that while he hadn’t been overly fond of airplanes and helicopters, he’d cooperated. “That dog would ride a rocket to the moon if you asked him to,” he’d once joked. In her heart, Honor knew it was true, and while she loved the golden’s dedication to her and the work, getting him to that level meant sacrificing one-onone time with Rowdy. In time, Rerun might become a rescue dog capable of earning medals and awards, but for now, he’d be safer and happier in Buzz’s warm, dry family room.
2. Call Austin and Mercy.
This call would be the toughest because she’d have to get their promise that they’d adopt Rerun if anything happened to her.
3. Pack.
Honor grabbed her biggest duffle and started filling it with cold weather gear. She’d never gone snowboarding in her life, but oh, did those guys know how to dress for ice, snow, and wind. The stuff was waterproof, lightweight, and durable, with lots of pockets—ideal for quick and easy access to flashlights and batteries, radios, energy bars and bottled water, and spare pairs of gloves—and a good way to lighten the load of the pack. Plus, because zippers tended to let cold air in, and Velcro loops
often got clogged with ice and snow, these manufacturers made use of both, perfect for a person headed into cold and snow.
The five-layer clothing system—under, wicking, clothing, insulation, shell—never failed her in the past, and Honor saw no reason to deviate from it. She’d pack a separate bag with everything she’d need to start the search and stow duplicates in her pack, in the unlikely event she got wet. Socks and boots, a warm hat, a hooded jacket and gloves went into both packs. An oilcloth tarp with big, rustproof grommets and 100 feet of marine rope, matches, stowed in a Ziploc bag, and a fully charged cell battery went into the pockets of her jacket and pants.
4. Leave a key in the flowerpot on the front porch so that Buzz could get in to fetch Rerun.
5. Unplug the toaster and coffeemaker, set the timers that controlled the lights, close the blinds, and lock up.
6. Pack White Fang poem and Bible.
One more entry and her list would be complete. Honor’s pen hovered over the number 7; she couldn’t make herself tap out the dot behind the digit, because that item was her reminder to call Matt. Maybe hearing about the mission from her, directly, would help make up for any hurt feelings still left from her failure to keep her Thanksgiving promise.
Like you need a reminder for that one, she thought as the phone rang.
“You ready?”
“You bet.”
“How soon can you get to the Queens Midtown Tunnel?”
“I don’t know … twenty minutes or so if I don’t hit construction traffic. Why?”
“Because there’s a helipad there.” He gave her the address. “My pal’s name is J.R. Kane, and he’ll be flying one of two LongRangers: the Weasel or Eagle Eye.”
“When will you be there?”
“Just as soon as I can talk my son-in-law into gassin’ up his baby. J.R.‘s on his way. You’ll have plenty of time to pick his brain on the way to Spruce Knob.” Then he rattled off J.R.‘s cell number and hung up.
So she was headed to the Monongahela National Forest, where hikers and hunters and cyclists routinely wander off the trails and quickly find themselves disoriented. Bad enough in the summertime. But in the Allegheny Front, where the average snowfall is 180 inches? While she was picking J.R.‘s brain, she’d see if he knew how Elton’s granddaughter got out there in the first place, though the better question was why she’d gone at this time of year.
“C’mon, Rerun,” she said, opening the back door. “Let’s take a final run around your grassy knoll.” It would be an hour or so before Buzz could get there; no point stressing the dog any more than necessary. While Rerun did his business, Honor packed up a big shopping bag. His favorite toys, collar and leash, food and dog treats, and the pillow he liked to cuddle with at night. She stacked everything near the front door, where she’d told Buzz he could find the dog’s things, then sat
at the kitchen table to scratch out a quick note: he doesn’t mind thunder or lightning, but house flies and bees wig him out, and just for fun, she added that strangers don’t bother Rerun … unless they were wearing Pittsburgh Steelers emblems.
She made a list of phone numbers, too: Elton’s. Hers. J.R.‘s, Matt’s, though she didn’t know why. Cross-legged on the floor, Honor gave Rerun a quick massage and a good long hug. “No telling when we’ll get to do this again.” She held his face in her hands and looked deep into his soulful brown eyes. “I’m counting on you to be a good boy for Buzz, you hear?”
Then she kissed the bridge of his nose, grabbed her duffle, and headed for the Midtown Tunnel.
33
Everything about J.R. Kane broke stereotype.
Instead of the grizzled, pot-bellied guy she’d expected, a tall slender man in his mid-to late 50s greeted her. Rather than a traditional one-piece flight suit, he wore a starched white shirt and snug blue jeans, and on his feet, pointy-toed cowboy boots.
So much for her birds of a feather theory.
“You made good time,” he said, hefting her bags into the back.
“When Elton gives an order, people listen.”
“How long have you known that old reprobate?”
“Long enough.” She climbed into the cockpit and buckled up, then adjusted her headset.
“I see you’ve done this before,” he said, flipping switches and planting his feet on the torque pedals as the rotor geared up.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared out of my shoes.”
“Relax, darlin’. I’ve been buzzin’ the skies in one of these babies since before you were born, so you just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Easier said than done, she thought, considering where they were going. And why.
“Elton didn’t tell me you were from Texas.”
“Texas!” he thundered. “Whatever makes you think I’m from the Lone Star State?”
“Oh, I dunno … maybe it’s those boots and jeans and your cowboy drawl?”
J.R.‘s laugh filled the space. “I’ll have you know I was born and raised in Towson, Maryland. Picked up this twang when I went to college in Mississippi. Drives my wife plum loco, and I don’t mind admitting I find that a tad curious, seeing as how this is what I sounded like when she met me, more’n twenty years ago.”
Nodding, Honor held on tight as he pitched the craft upward to clear a building. “So did Elton happen to mention how his granddaughter ended up stranded on a snowy mountaintop, all by herself?”
He thumped the cyclic control, and Honor cringed. It wouldn’t take much to move the stick forward or back, sending them into a roll.
“I’ll tell you what, if that fool young’un was mine, she’d have a hard time sitting, ‘cause every pair of trousers she owns would have my size-ten boot print on ‘em. Never met a child who could get into more trouble than that one.”
He fiddled with a switch above his head, then adjusted his mike. “What kind of fool goes hiking when there are blizzard warnings? All these rescuers, you included, risking your life now to save that little brat?” He harrumphed. “I know it sounds cold and harsh, but given my druthers, I’d druther stop the contaminated DNA right there.”
“I’ve heard it isn’t healthy to hold things in, J.R. You ought to learn to speak your mind. The experts say venting is good for a man.”
And so it went for the next half hour as he hurtled through the darkening sky like a bullet. He put the LongRanger down at the edge of Briery Gap Road, where a dozen ambulances, fire trucks, and squad cars had lined up near Forest Road 104. “They don’t maintain the 104 or the 112 in the wintertime,” J.R. said, handing her the smaller bag, “which is only gonna make the going tougher for the lot of you.” Slinging the big pack over one shoulder, he walked beside her toward the convergence of county and SAR personnel and stood with her as a woman with a reedy voice called out the coordinates. “Lat three eight point seven ought-ought eight degrees north,” she droned as pencils scraped across index cards. “Long seven nine point five three two-two degrees west.”
Everybody took care to note where they’d tucked those cards, because in the unlikely event they got lost, the numbers could very well make the difference between life and death.
After accepting their assigned quadrants and muttering a few good lucks and Godspeeds, the searchers got down to business. J.R. grabbed her elbow as she tightened the cinch of her pack. “Don’t you do anything dumb out there, you hear? You’re more valuable than a little ninny who’d go looking for high adventure without a thought to the outcome.”
“Thanks, J.R.,” she said.
He waved her thanks away. “If you see that old buzzard, you tell him for me that I’m praying for the girl.” And with no warning whatever, he wrapped Honor in a hug. “I’m praying for you, too,” he said, giving her a little shake.
“I’ll be fine. I always am.”
” ‘Course you will.” And with that he turned on his tall slanted heel and headed back to his Bell 212. Honor started walking before it lifted off with a swirl of grit and snow and crisp leaves. She wasn’t cold, because she’d dressed for this weather, so it was more than a little unsettling when a chill snaked down her spine. Having nothing to compare it to, what choice did she have but to shrug it off?
She did a quick head count of all the people who said they’d pray for her—Elton and his wife, J.R., Mercy and Austin, and a handful of family members who’d gathered at the base of Spruce Knob to wait for the searchers to come back and deliver their loved ones or, at the very least, hope that they’d soon be reunited.
“Of course you’ll be fine,” she muttered, gaze scanning the landscape for the one thing that didn’t belong … the thing that might lead them to Elton’s granddaughter. She had to be fine. Who’d make sure Rerun knew how to ride in a Piper Cub or a Bell 212 if she wasn’t?
The snow under her boots drowned out the quiet shudder of fear that prefaced her next thought:
It’s nice to know he’ll have a good home, just in case …
If the boys hadn’t been so keen to go skiing, Matt might just have skipped the trip. No might about it, he thought, because his heart just wasn’t in it this year.
They’d rented a ski-in/ski-out unit, as always. The change up this year was that they had two bedrooms. One for the boys, one for Harriet, and the pullout sofa for Matt and Cash. The place had the same gorgeous views of Wisp’s lifts and trails and a slightly bigger kitchen that came equipped with everything but food and drinks. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, either, but because that, too, had been part of their everyother-Christmas tradition: ski all day, then hunker down for microwave pizza or grilled cheese and tomato soup. Easier to go with the flow, he thought, than explain why you’re so out of it.
Tomorrow, day three of their five-day trip, the boys would go tubing while Harriet played bridge with three other nannies and sitters she’d met in the lobby. If he had his way, Matt wouldn’t leave the room except to walk the dog. He’d brought along a novel and intended to get halfway through it before the troops returned this evening, or die trying.
Well he didn’t die, exactly, but he did conk out at about 10:00 and didn’t wake up until Cash nudged his elbow to let him know it was time for another spin around the potty park. As he stepped into his boots, the TV crawler said Wisp would get a foot of fresh snow by morning. The boys would be thrilled. Matt? He just thanked God they wouldn’t get slammed by the blizzard that was bearing down south and west of them. The resort was certainly equipped to handle the pounding, but roads in and out would shut down for days. And he’d already spent five days in a two-room suite with eleven-year-old twins, an elderly widow, and a skittish dog. Any longer and his patience with family bonding would blow apart at the seams.
He slid into his jacket, but didn’t zip it up. Didn’t comb his hair, either, and it made him grin a little when a couple of teens going the opposite direction gave him a wide berth. If he really gave a
hoot what they thought, he might have explained that he was on vacation. Why clean up to take a slog with the dog and go right back to sprawling on the sofa? At least he’d brushed his teeth, so when two ski bunnies skittered around him, he didn’t feel like a total loser doing his Jack Nicholson impression.
Back at the condo, he’d barely hung up the dog’s leash when his cell phone chirped. If it hadn’t been Liam’s name in the caller ID block, Matt would have let the call go straight to voice mail. “What’s up?” he said on the second chirp.
“Why aren’t you out on the slopes? You didn’t break a leg or something, did you?”
Oh, he’d heard that tone enough times to know what it meant. Pinching his nostrils shut, he said, “This is Matt’s cell phone. If you’re calling to dole out a rush-rush writing assignment, you can just take a hike.” He let go of his nose to add “Be-e-ep.” And then, he waited.
“Are you finished?”
“Liam, du-u-ude, lighten up. Life is short, and so’s this trip, so—”
“I just got a frantic call from Elton Kent.”
“Honor’s old boss? What’s he want with you?”
“Didn’t want me. He was looking for you.”
“Me? What for?”
“Seems his granddaughter went to some far-fetched place in West Virginia. Knobby Spruce or some such and got herself lost.”
“Spruce Knob?”
“Yeah. That’s it. Anyway, so the kid goes up there day before yesterday … get this … hiking with her sorority sisters, and—”
“Hiking? On the Allegheny Front? Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s blond.”
“Man. You’re cold. Did you hear me say the kid went missing?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. But sheesh. What did she expect? It’s winter. In the mountains. Where the average snowfall is, like, fifteen feet a season.”
“Don’t tell me. You know this because you’re a skier.”
“Well, yeah. Why else … But wait a minute, here. What does Elton’s missing granddaughter have to do with me?”
“He sent Honor out to find her.”
Matt’s heart thudded against his ribs, and his legs felt rubbery. He sat on the sofa arm and ran his free hand through his hair. “Is she all right? Did she get hurt bringing the kid home? What, Liam? Spit it out, man!”
