by Jen Blood
Contents
Your Free Books
Copyright
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
All the Blue-Eyed Angels
Prologue
Chapter 1
Your Free Books
The Erin Solomon Series
More from Jen Blood
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Thank You For
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Copyright © 2018 by Jen Blood
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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INSIDE THE ECHO
The Flint K-9 Search and Rescue Mysteries
Book 2
Jen Blood
For Ben.
Who makes home my favorite place to be.
Chapter 1
WildFire Expeditions
Mahoosuc Mountains, Maine
February 4, 1:30 a.m.
MEGAN HUNTER SAT in front of the campfire, a Malamute curled in the snow a couple of feet from her side. Though night had long since fallen, the combination of a full moon, snowy landscape, and the raging fire kept the darkness at bay. Megan had a tin cup of coffee warming her gloved hands, a belly full of franks and beans, and seven other dogs – some Malamute, some husky, some mutts from gods knew where – on a picket line just to the north of their campsite. A birthday card lay in her lap, read so many times in the past week that it was already getting faded.
The others had gone to bed hours ago: nine women including Megan’s younger sister, who was running this expedition alongside her. The participants in the group ranged in age from early twenties to late fifties. All strong, reasonably fit, damned determined…and most of them here because they’d dug deep and somehow found the gumption to leave abusive partners within the past six months. Now, they were out to prove to themselves that if they could handle the wilds of Western Maine in the dead of winter, they could handle anything.
Including the spouse or partner they’d recently left behind.
Megan picked up the card and read it again, feeling like a fool.
Here’s hoping 40 brings the wheel dog of your dreams and all the ice cream you can handle.
I’ll watch the kids till you come home.
Love, H
She’d been obsessing over the words ever since she’d gotten the card, one week ago today. Love, H. He signed it ‘love.’ It would seem at forty that a woman could stop worrying about what the hell a man meant when he used that word, but here she was again, having the same debate she’d had at fifteen when Rick Cheney signed her valentine that year Love, The Cheenster. It turned out that the Cheenster had signed every girl’s valentine with love that year – and had a lot of fun reaping the benefits come spring. Nate Hogan, on the other hand, didn’t seem like the kind of man to just toss the L-word around.
Megan was still focused on the card when Recluse, the Malamute by her side, woke with a start, his tufted ears pricked forward. The other dogs followed his lead, on their feet in an instant.
“What is it, Rec?” Megan asked, peering into the darkness. Against her will, she felt a shiver of unease. A byproduct of the horror stories the women had shared around the fire earlier that night. Or so Megan told herself.
The dogs’ barking got louder, their attention directed toward that single point in the trees. The long line that held them would keep them all from going far, but Recluse could run if he wanted. Instead, he edged closer to Megan.
A rustling in the trees had the whole team of dogs lunging, while Megan’s hand slipped toward the holster strapped to her side. There, she kept her secret weapon: an emergency transponder, which would send a signal for help along with GPS coordinates with the touch of a button.
Before she reached it, the beast from the forest emerged.
“Violet?” Megan said. Fear gave way to embarrassment at her overreaction, but that was quickly replaced by annoyance. She stowed the card from Hogan into her pocket, told Recluse to stay, and stalked across an icy expanse of snow to reach the woman. “You’re not supposed to go in the woods alone at night. We’ve talked about this. If you need to use the bathroom—”
“I know,” Violet said, waving her off. Violet was tall, willowy, and blond, with refined features and a delicate way about her. Megan was just as tall and nearly as blond, but willowy or refined would never be used to describe her. Of the women in the group, Violet was the only one who wasn’t coming directly from an abusive home, there instead doing research for her dissertation on the long-term impact of fear on women in abusive relationships. Speaking from experience, Megan could have told her exactly what the long-term impact of fear was: it wasn’t good.
“I didn’t want to go, but I was looking for Gabby and Ava,” Violet continued. “Gabby wasn’t feeling well, so the two went together to use the bathroom. I fell asleep. When I woke up, it didn’t look like either of them ever came back.”
Megan thought quickly, immediately concerned. Ava was a Cuban-American woman who’d recently taken her three sons and fled Miami, running from a violent husband who, according to her, had ties to the mob. Gabby was a model originally from Spain who had moved to the U.S. with her husband, a well-known and highly paid quarterback with the NFL. As it turned out, a quarterback with anger issues and little to no impulse control. Neither Ava nor Gabby spoke fluent English, but had arrived on the expedition determined to make it through. Surviving winter in Maine was hardly a skillset in either of their repertoires, however.
“What time did they go?” Megan asked Violet.
“Ten past eleven,” Violet said without hesitation. “I looked at my clock, because I was thinking that I hoped I wouldn’t have a hard time getting back to sleep. Big day tomorrow and all.”
“Right,” Megan said hollowly.
Violet was scheduled to drive the dogsled in the morning. The group was led by Megan and her sister Heather, but there was only one sled for the lot of them. That mean
t Megan and two different students manned the sled each day, while Heather led the other six women on cross country skis. It was Violet’s turn at the helm tomorrow, something Megan knew she’d been looking forward to.
On the horizon, the moon hung high over Old Speck, the highest peak in Maine’s Mahoosuc Mountains. Megan surveyed the area, aware of Recluse watching her. The rest of the dogs were raucous, sensing that something was up. At the noise, the other women had started to emerge from their tents.
“Go get suited up,” Megan told Violet. “I’ll get Heather, and we’ll start searching.”
Violet nodded. She and Megan had been best friends since college, and Megan had always admired her cool head. Violet didn’t look like the kind of woman who could handle a crisis, but as a social worker in inner-city D.C., Megan had seen her do exactly that more than once. She looked spooked now, though, like this was somehow bigger than a couple of people in their group simply wandering off. Which it wasn’t, Megan told herself firmly. They would find Ava and Gabby. The women weren’t idiots; they wouldn’t have gone far.
Megan went back to their tent to wake her sister, already formulating a plan. Find Gabby and Ava, get another few hours of sleep, make breakfast, hit the trail. Simple as pie.
Right.
#
“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Heather asked wearily, after Megan had given her the story of the women’s disappearance. Heather rubbed her eyes, clearly disoriented.
Three years younger than Megan, Heather had always been the cute one of the sisters. Both had curly blond hair and freckles, but Heather was slender, while Megan had more curves than she knew what to do with. Given a choice between the two, Heather was always the one men gravitated to – there was something innately approachable about her. Being woken from a dead sleep in the middle of the night notwithstanding.
“I mean they’re gone,” Megan said impatiently. “We’ll need to gear up to find them.”
“Have you called Abe to let him know?”
“Why would I do that?” Megan asked, before she could stop herself. Abe was Heather’s husband, a filmmaker who was almost always lost in the hills somewhere, chipping away at a documentary he’d been working on for as long as Megan had known him. So far, no one but Abe had seen any footage. Megan was beginning to doubt the thing existed.
At the words, Heather frowned. “We need to keep him posted, especially if we’re going to get off schedule. He’s part of the team.”
“We don’t know that we’ll get off schedule yet,” Megan replied. “Just give it half an hour of searching, and then we’ll make the call.”
“Fine,” Heather said, then added, “It might not hurt to give Hogan a call too, you know. See what he says about this.”
Megan felt the color rise in her cheeks, and glared at her sister. “Shut up.”
“What?” Heather said, all wide-eyed innocence. “He is a warden, right? And a damn fine-looking one, at that. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to have him around.”
She swung her legs off her camp cot, wincing at the movement, and her hand went to her stomach automatically. Instantly, Megan felt a twinge of guilt.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m six months’ pregnant,” Heather said. “I’m host to an alien parasite feeding off me while simultaneously trying to tear me apart from the inside out. Apart from that, I’m fine.”
“You’re the one who wanted a kid,” Megan said, though not without sympathy. “Why don’t you stay here while we go out? I can go look with the others, and we’ll be back soon.”
Heather stood. Her belly still wasn’t huge, but there was an unmistakable swell there. Despite her complaints, she seemed to be taking the changes in stride. Those changes were seriously messing with Megan’s head, though.
“I’m fine, Meg,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “And I’m sure you’re right. They can’t have gone far. We look for half an hour, and then give Abe a call if we don’t have any luck.”
“Deal,” Megan agreed.
Recluse had come into the tent with her, while outside the other dogs on the team were still barking their heads off. Megan made for the entrance, mildly annoyed when Recluse barred her way rather than letting her through.
“I know it’s warmer in here,” she told the dog. “And God knows it’s quieter. But we’ve got work to do.”
She took a step forward. Recluse blocked the exit with his body, growling slightly. Fear pricked its way up her spine – though not of the dog. She looked at Heather, who was watching Recluse’s actions with the same confusion.
“What’s up with him?” Heather asked.
“No idea,” Megan said. She crouched beside the dog and he met her head on, his own head bowed to hers. “What’s the problem, buddy? All this weirdness have you spooked, too?”
“Maybe I should give Abe a call now,” Heather said. “Just in case.”
“Just give it a couple of minutes,” Megan said. Her pulse had ticked up a notch, a reaction that annoyed her. What the hell was going on?
Finally, she managed to get Recluse back in hand. She pushed past the Malamute and stepped into the open. The smell of snow was in the air, their insular world of canned light and humming activity in stark contrast to the wilds that lay just beyond. The other dogs were still barking and pacing on the picket line. Megan was pleased to see that Violet had rallied the troops, most of the women already dressed and ready to begin the search.
She took another step forward. Suddenly, there was a sound from the trees just to their right – a ratcheting of steel that was familiar to her, though out of context she had a hard time placing it. Megan turned. If possible it seemed darker out now, the black broken by the ethereal glow of snow and moon and the lanterns their group shared.
Something was in the forest.
The fear that had rankled her earlier returned. Recluse growled again, so low she could barely hear him. Women were talking to her, but she didn’t listen. What was out there? Her hand shifted automatically to her holster, going for the transponder. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should start carrying a gun, then dismissed the idea. With two women unaccounted for, the last thing she wanted to do was overreact and inadvertently shoot one of them.
She paused when her fingers brushed the pocket where she kept the transponder; she’d designed the thing herself, specifically for that purpose. For the first time that she could remember, the pocket was empty.
Panicked, she moved to reach for her radio instead.
She was too late.
Suddenly, an explosion shattered the stillness – a sound so real, so hard, that Megan felt as much as heard it. Recluse’s growl became a snarl, his focus on the point where the shot originated. Without warning, he slammed his furry body against Megan’s so hard that she stumbled. Women screamed. Dogs howled. A second shot came from the same spot in the woods.
Heather started to come out of the tent, but Megan screamed at her. “Stay inside! Call Hogan – get him out here.”
“What’s happening?” Heather called back.
“Just stay where you are. Tell Hogan there’s a shooter.”
Recluse was almost on top of Megan, his warm body shielding her, and she fought to order her thoughts. There was blood on his fur. Oh, God. Someone had shot him. The bastard shot Recluse.
The Malamute turned wet brown eyes on her, and started to get up. She reached for his flank, trying to keep him down; trying to find the wound. She couldn’t, though. Couldn’t figure out where or how badly he was injured. She ran her hands over him once more, but came away with no more blood.
Then, she felt the fire in her own side. She looked down. Ran her hand along a tacky patch at the side of her parka. Only then did she realize, just as another shot tore through the snowy landscape:
The blood was hers.
Chapter 2
Flint K-9 Search and Rescue
Windfall Island, Maine
February 4, 7:30 a.m.
“Tess,” I repeated. “Phantom found her. She’s fine.” Beside me, my nine-year-old German shepherd raised her head upon hearing her name.
“Good,” Bear said. “So that’s the last of the cows. That means we’ve just got the goats to find.”
“They’re the ones who opened the gate in the first place,” I pointed out. “If they wanted to be free so much, maybe we should just let them get a taste of what it’s like out here on their own.”
“Very funny,” Bear said. “It’s not their fault they like to cause trouble. They’re goats; this is kind of what they do. We can’t punish them for being what they are.”
The beasts in question – Randy, Rowdy, and Piper, so-named by Bear – were raggedy-looking pygmy mixes who were way too smart for their own good. Early this morning, for example, we caught the action on our security camera as the trio used each other as a stepladder so they could climb over our six-foot fence. Once Piper was on the other side, she came back and unlocked the gate all on her own. At which point, our donkey, two llamas, three cows, six sheep, and the aforementioned goats, all headed for the hills.
Bear was right, of course. No matter how much I might be tempted, clearly leaving the goats out wasn’t a viable option. There wasn’t another storm in the forecast for at least the next day, but in the meantime high winds off the Atlantic had driven the temperature down well below freezing. We’d been out for the better part of the past three hours trying to round up the animals, a motley crew of farm rescues Bear had taken in over the course of the past few months.
“All right, fine. They must be on the island somewhere,” I said. “Get word to Ren to come in and regroup in the galley.”
