by Webb, Peggy
“I don’t want to take him off lead yet and send him into that.” Maggie nodded toward the massive piles of snow on the leeward side of the bluff. “Let’s head windward.”
His wife’s sensible call sent a rush of relief through Joe. This morning after breakfast, Maggie had become an emotional mess. Her hands shook as she fastened her backpack, and tears sprang to her eyes when she turned to him.
“I’m not a rock star, Joe. I’m scared to death I’ll let Kate down.”
“We’re in this together, Mags. Why don’t I handle Jefferson today and give you a breather? He’ll work with me.”
That’d she’d even considered the idea showed the depth of her turmoil. Finally she’d assured him that she could do it, she was fine.
Was she all right, or was this another case of Maggie saying fine when she meant exactly the opposite.
Now, Joe studied his wife.
She’s going to make it. She’s strong.
He turned his attention to the avalanche. As expected, it had moved west to east, sweeping up the loose snow and chunks of ice and pushing it along in front. Though the west side of the bluff wouldn’t be the shortest route up, it would be the least hazardous.
While they worked their way west around the bluff, it was obvious Jefferson had caught a scent—and equally obvious he knew what he was doing. As if Maggie had read Joe’s mind, she let the big Lab off lead. He loped off, a streak of mahogany against the glaring white of new snow under the first rays of morning light. If you didn’t know the life and death nature of his mission, you’d be awestruck by the majesty and beauty of his search.
They didn’t catch up with him until they were at the top of the bluff. Maggie moved ahead and disappeared around the corner of a natural wall created by a large boulder.
“In here, Joe,” she called.
He found her just inside the small opening of a cave, holding something that glinted gold in her gloved hand. Maggie was too overcome to talk, but her face said everything.
She handed him the object, a thin chain of gold with a heart-shaped disc at its center. His heart squeezing with both fear and hope, he stepped outside to catch the rays of sunlight. The letters KMC were etched there. Kathryn Margaret Carter. His Katie.
He imagined her climbing the bluff while a killer chased her. He pictured her hiding in the cave, waiting for the right moment to run. Kate had a level head. She wouldn’t take off running out of fright. She’d consider the problem and find the best solution before she acted.
The anklet had been Joe and Maggie’s gift on her eighteenth birthday.
“I’m never taking it off,” she’d said.
He remembered the joy in her face, the way her eyes shone with both fierce love and steely determination.
What had been going through his daughter’s mind when she parted with this prized piece of jewelry? What quirk of nature had pushed the snow downhill to cover half the trading post and leave the cave open for its discovery? What gift, what unutterable prayer had made it possible for her parents to find yet another sign that Katie had been alive at this spot?
The anklet was proof she’d been clear-headed and determined, two of the biggest factors that would play into whether they found her dead or alive.
Maggie moved out the cave and into the sunrise, blinking at the change of light.
“It has her initials, Mags.”
“I knew the minute I picked it up.” Maggie shaded her eyes and swiveled around, looking into the distance. Suddenly, she pointed. “Look, Joe. Do you see that?”
In the distance were the lakes, glinting silver in the rising sun. Beyond was a small clearing. And miracles of miracles, what appeared to be a cabin.
Excitement and pride exploded through Joe. “Katie came here to hide, but she also came here to search.”
“Yes, she did.” Turning to him, her eyes glistening with tears, Maggie leaned briefly against his chest.
Another time, another place, it would have been a moment to savor. But Maggie pulled back to give Jefferson the search command. Then they raced back down the cliff and into the storm-battered wilderness.
Jefferson was slowing now, working crosswind patterns, while Joe and Maggie both strained their eyes into the blinding distance.
There were no further signs from Kate. Had the killer been too close for her to pause and leave a broken branch? Or had her signs been obliterated when Holly roared through, ripping and uprooting trees, slamming them around so they now littered the forest floor like so many matchsticks?
Even now, the wind was still strong enough to create random eddies. Though swirling snow no longer obscured an entire landscape, it played havoc with their ability to see a trail, fresh or otherwise.
Thank God for Jefferson. As he picked up speed, Maggie forged ahead, keeping pace with her dog. Soon she was barely visible, and her Lab was too far ahead to see.
Around him lay a wasteland of blinding white. Joe fought against a creeping sense of discouragement.
Suddenly his wife trotted back. “Have you seen any signs, Joe?”
“No. But we can’t make anything of it because of Holly.”
“I know. Still…” Maggie went silent and bit her lower lip.
“Mags, Jefferson’s still on her trail. We’re going to find her.”
Neither of them dared say what was on their minds.
Will we find her alive?
Chapter Twenty-Three
9:00 a.m.
From the distance, Maggie could see Jefferson circling around what appeared to be a snowmobile.
“Joe!” She raced toward her Lab as she yelled for her husband. “He’s got something!”
She squatted beside her dog. “Good boy. Good Jefferson.”
Still heaping praise and treats on him, she studied the scene. What was left of the snowmobile lay on its side against a small boulder. Random parts lay scattered around the wrecked snowmobile, half hidden by fresh snow.
Jefferson started to dig, unearthing more machine parts.
As her husband raced toward her, Maggie flashed back to the snowmobile tracks that had converged with her daughter’s trail, and to the horrible woman at the farmhouse whose shifty eyes revealed she was lying about her son being inside.
Joe came alongside her and leaned over to catch his breath. It struck Maggie that they were no longer young. They didn’t have forever to make things right between them. If the monster had already caught Kate, she would die thinking her parents hated each other.
Don’t go there.
“It’s his, Joe.” She didn’t need proof. Jefferson had alerted here and she felt it in her bones. “I’m glad he wrecked it.”
“He’ll never catch Kate on foot. She’s too fast.”
To her right, Jefferson alerted once more then started digging with a fury. Maggie trotted over and squatted beside him.
There. In the hole. A single arrow.
Terror seized her.
Her mind swung wildly back to the frozen girls, each felled by a single arrow in the heart. The sign of an expert marksman. The sign of a depraved murderer. He wanted the world to know he’d killed for love. In case they didn’t get the message, he’d arranged wedding veils on his victims’ heads. The purest symbol of love, a woman’s virginal head-covering, worn on the day she pledges herself to her husband.
She felt the weight of Joe’s hand on her shoulder, the utter relief of his solid presence at her side. It wasn’t until he knelt beside her and gathered her close that Maggie realized she was crying.
The madman who had wrecked his snowmobile was hunting her daughter with a bow. The unexpected hatred and cold resolve filling her was so shocking, she no longer even knew who she was.
“When Jefferson finds him, I’m going to kill him.”
“Shh.” Joe pulled her close. “Kate’s going to be all right, Maggie. We have to believe that.”
Her radio crackled to life, jerking Maggie out of her nightmarish thoughts.
“Maggie?�
� It was Roger, coming through a thin stream of static. “Are you and Joe all right?”
She shook her head and handed her radio to Joe.
“We made it through the storm,” Joe told him. “How about you?”
“We got lucky. Lost some trees, but otherwise we’re fine.” Roger’s voice faded in a brief burst of static, then came through again. “Joe, I’m here at the Westberg house. Our prime suspect is not here.”
“He was here.” Joe gave his location and described the wreckage, including the arrow.
“If it matches the arrows found in the Olsen and Stephenson girls and we can get prints, we’ve caught a lucky break. I’ll send a forensics team.”
“We think the killer’s still out here somewhere, chasing Kate. We’ve got to find her before he does.”
“Be careful. He’s cagey and he’s dangerous. We found the dead girls’ licenses in the shed out back.”
The thought of her daughter in that house sent a fresh wave of terror through Maggie. “What about that horrible woman?”
“Storm got the entire back wall of her house, Maggie. And Betty Westberg, too. Or what’s left of her. Looks like a cougar got to her. We found its tracks and scat in the corner.”
Maggie wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, not so much from cold but from the grisly news. The search for Kate had taken a gory turn. She didn’t even want to consider what that might mean for her daughter.
She was trying to hold down her breakfast when someone on the other end yelled, “Hey, Johnson!” Male voice. One she didn’t recognize. “Over here! Behind the wall!’
“Gotta go,” Roger said. “They’ve found something.”
He signed off, and Maggie set off once more with her husband and her dog.
Don’t give up, Kate. I’m coming.
* * *
10:30 a.m.
The endless vista of glaring white was so disheartening, Maggie felt as if she were on the surface of the moon. In the freezing cold and the surreal setting, she fought to keep her grip on reality.
Where was Jefferson? Where was Kate?
Maggie’s head felt like a helium-filled balloon. Was she losing it?
A hand on her arm pulled her back from the brink of a dark mental abyss. It was Joe, offering water.
“We need a break. Call him in.”
Within minutes of her call, she saw the flash of her loyal dog’s SAR vest. When he trotted to her side, gratitude poured through her, easing out the fear, nosing aside the horror. While Joe watered him, she buried her hands in Jefferson’s fur. Clinging to a hundred plus pounds of muscle and pure love, it was impossible to consider revenge, unthinkable to plan pay-back death.
“Are you all right, Mags?”
“Yes,” she said, and meant it. She had to be okay. As she re-hydrated herself with water, she filled herself back up with resolve. If she lost courage, she’d lose Kate, too.
Maggie assessed her dog, searching for any signs she should pull him from the search for a longer break. Jefferson stared back at her in the unsettling way that made her think he could read her mind. There was a deep well of kindness in his eyes, total trust and an empathy that felt uncanny.
“Good boy, Jefferson. Good boy.” She bent over to hug her dog, as much for herself as for him. Then she straightened up and took command. “Search, Jefferson. Find Kate.”
Fifteen minutes later came the Lab’s alert. Two arrows in the snow, less than ten feet apart.
Maggie felt as if someone had stuck a cattle prod to her heart. Here, the monster was still alive. Chasing Kate.
She surveyed the area for tracks.
Nothing. Just ground snow rising and falling in the wind, teasing her, leaving her with more questions than answers.
Had the killer lost the arrows in the heat of the chase? Or had they blown free in yesterday’s storm and by some freak of nature landed in a spot swept clear by swirling winds?
Even worse, had they landed here after the storm? While he was shooting at her daughter?
“Joe!”
As her husband hurried toward her, Jefferson leaned against her legs, sensing her mood and offering comfort. She hooked up his lead, not out of necessity but from a need to control at least one detail of this heart-wrenching search.
Joe spotted the arrows and immediately sank to his knees. He was so still, he might have been praying or mourning. Or both.
Finally he said, “The arrow’s the same as the one at the snowmobile wreckage.”
Joe would know. He sold them at Carter’s Trading Post, and he made it his business to know his merchandise. The bookshelves in his office at the house and the one at the trading post were lined with biographies of famous fishermen and hunters, trackers and climbers, field guides, histories of outdoor equipment and weapons of every kind, including bows and arrows.
“See this shaft.” He pointed, but Maggie had no clue what she was looking at. “It’s Forgewood. Bill Sweet of Oregon created this compressed design to strengthen the arrow.”
Easier to bring down a six-point buck—or a nineteen-year-old girl you’d lured off to torture and kill.
Had the monster taken Kate by surprise, or had he enticed her in some way? What sick combination of love and hate had driven him to chase her daughter through the wilderness with a bow and arrow?
Maggie thought she’d be sick on the spot.
Joe pointed out the other characteristics that made the arrow distinctive. It had three feathers, and the one leaning to the right was called a cock feather.
All she could do was picture the sort of man cocky enough to believe that her brilliant, educated, talented daughter would ever become his wife. She wanted to scream.
Joe got on his radio to report the details of their location and latest find.
“Looks like this is our man,” Roger said. “Great work, you two.”
Maggie saw nothing to celebrate. Not one single thing. She felt like taking off her gloves and giving somebody the one-fingered salute. Just about anybody would do.
“Jefferson is the real hero, here,” Joe said.
At last, something she could agree with. Still, she wished they’d wind up the conversation. Kate was still out there, and they were wasting precious time.
“No argument from me.”
“It looks like he’s still alive, Roger. Maybe close. And still after Kate.”
“When you find him, don’t attempt to handle the situation yourself. You got that, Joe?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“If he’s still got her hostage, he could kill her. We’ll send a chopper.” Static covered Roger’s voice, and Maggie mouthed, Let’s go.
Joe nodded, and suddenly Roger’s voice came through loud and clear. “Joe, these people are extremely dangerous. We’ve got another body here at the house. Bones in a barrel we found in a closet or pantry of some sort, boarded up at the back of the kitchen. Storm uncovered it.”
Horror filled Maggie. “Another girl?” she asked.
“From the size of the bones, looks like an adult male. I’m telling you. When you find the Westberg guy, stay put till we can get a chopper out there.”
“Will do,” she told him.
Thankfully, Joe signed off before Roger could say anything else.
As Maggie took Jefferson off lead once more and gave him the search command, she told herself she hadn’t really made Roger a promise. Nothing that would bind her, make her feel guilty later. More like a vague statement that could be taken either way. Something to give her wiggle room.
When Jefferson found where the monster held Kate captive, she didn’t know if she’d have the discipline to wait for backup.
Powered by adrenalin, willpower and a mother’s love, Maggie pushed forward through the relentless landscape, trying to keep close pace with her dog. A pale sun pushed through the clouds, increasing the glare.
When she saw the cabin in the distance, she could hardly believe her eyes. Mirage? Wishful thinking?
J
efferson was streaking now, a rich brown blur against the snow. He stopped briefly to alert—another arrow in the snow. Then he was off again, tail waving like a flag.
Maggie was aware of her husband, somewhere behind her, stopping to check the arrow; of her beloved chocolate Lab, moving with purpose; of the cabin, closer now, so close she could see the fallen tree that had taken down half the front porch.
Smoke wafted from the chimney. Someone was in there.
Suddenly Jefferson came to a halt. Maggie’s heart stopped beating. Her dog was still standing.
Please, let him keep standing.
She waited, holding her breath.
Jefferson gave one bark. Dogspeak for found.
He was not only still standing, but was now making happy circles. Found alive.
Her daughter was alive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
11:00 a.m.
The bark pounded through Jonathan’s head like a thousand drums. It was a huge sound, deep and forceful, the kind made by big dogs who think they’re the king of the hill.
The monster dog had found him. Just wait till Jonathan got his hand on his bow and arrows. He’d put a hole big as a fist right through the stupid dog’s head.
And Maggie Carter’s, too. He pictured her. Out there in the snow. Gloating. Her belly full of food like that freeze-dried trash he’d found in the kitchen.
His own stomach growled, and self-pity welled up inside. He would do just about anything for a steak. He was starving to death.
And it was all Kate’s fault. Stupid girl. He should have killed her right there on the road beside her car. Probably would have if he’d known she could be so much trouble. Definitely would have if he’d known she would turn out to be so selfish.
He deserved a better wife than Kate. A sweet girl who would appreciate his big heart and handsome looks. Of course, it would take a while for his face to get back to normal. But he was the kind of man who could overcome frostbite and hornet spray. Not to mention a few cuts and bruises from the trunk.
