* * *
FROM THE MOMENT they’d set foot in Alaska, Darcy and Julian had loved the mountains. So Alanna wasn’t surprised when Peter slowed the truck near the location she’d identified and it was at the base of the mountain they’d driven on last night.
When they’d settled in Desparre, Darcy and Julian had built their home at the edge of the mountaintop, with the natural protection of a steep slope at their back. Here, apparently, they’d done the same thing in reverse. Only this time, there was just Darcy.
The cabin was much smaller than the one in Desparre. It looked like a single-room shack and if anyone drove close enough to see it through the trees, it seemed deserted.
Alanna’s shoulders dropped as she peered through the windshield. “What if I’m wrong?” There had been four other locations on that list, but although she’d tried to recall the other symbols and decode them, nothing she’d worked out in the little notebook Peter had given her made sense yet. She wasn’t sure it ever would.
Peter’s hands were resting lightly on the wheel, but there was an excitement in his gaze that told her how much he loved chasing leads. “What’s the likelihood that there’d be a cabin at the exact longitude and latitude you decoded?”
He was right about that. Like a lot of Alaska, the towns of Desparre and Luna were more open land than homes or businesses. Her discouragement turned to anxiety. “Maybe I should go up to the door alone. If she’s there, I might be able to talk her into giving herself up.”
“We agreed we’d go together,” Peter replied, then turned into the driveway.
“If she’s here, you’re going to scare her o—”
The words died on her lips as the cabin’s front door opened and Darcy stepped halfway through the threshold, backlit by a light inside that had been blocked by the heavy curtains on the windows.
Shock jolted through Alanna. She’d come all the way to Alaska to find Darcy, but after five years, on some level, she’d never expected to see her again. All the letters Darcy and Julian had sent from prison had gone unanswered, mostly because Alanna knew how much it would hurt her biological parents for her to respond, how badly they needed her to make a clean break. She couldn’t bring herself to cut off her “siblings,” so she’d made the choice to cut off Darcy and Julian. Every letter had been returned, unopened.
All these years later, it still physically hurt to wonder what Darcy and Julian had written her. Had they been letters of remorse, letters of love? Or had their love turned to hate over the note she had written and left in Jasper’s General Store in an attempt to go home to the Morgans?
Darcy had been sentenced to sixty-two years in prison without the possibility of parole. Julian had gotten sixty-three years, and if he hadn’t been killed in prison, he would still have died there. Since the moment she’d chosen not to communicate with them, Alanna had hardened herself to the idea of never seeing Darcy or Julian again. In so many ways, it had felt like the right thing to do, the only thing she could do. A penance she had to make for fourteen years of silence.
The Darcy in front of her was thinner, her hair almost entirely gray and lackluster. Her once stick-straight posture was now slumped, defeated. Every day she’d spent in prison seemed to show in the new lines on her face.
Alanna couldn’t take her gaze off Darcy as she climbed out of Peter’s truck and took a step up the driveway. Behind her, she heard Chance leap over the seat and out the door.
Across the thirty feet separating them, Darcy’s eyes seemed to widen comically, then her gaze darted right. Toward Peter. Her eyes narrowed, her lips twisting into an angry scowl. When she stepped fully outside, there was a pistol tucked into her belt at her hip and a shotgun clutched in her hand.
It was a nightmare right out of her memory. Five years seemed to disappear, and instead of Peter beside her, it was Kensie, who had found her after so many years lost. She could see Darcy lifting that shotgun and firing at the truck where Kensie and Colter sat. Alanna heard the echoes of her own screams from back then in her ears as she threw her hands wide and ran toward Darcy.
This time, although Darcy’s gaze kept darting toward Peter—and then toward the street, like she expected backup to come flying in, sirens blaring, at any second—she never lifted her gun. Instead, as Alanna got closer, slowing to a walk until she stood still a few feet away, Darcy shook her head and whispered, “Why?”
Up close, the lines on Darcy’s face were even more pronounced, the dark circles under her eyes more hollow. Anger lurked just underneath the hurt that flashed in her eyes. The pain and betrayal she felt were as obvious in her voice as the tears she was trying to blink back. “Why?” she demanded again, this time almost a scream.
Chance stepped up beside Alanna and she reached for him fast, put a steadying hand on his head to assure him she wasn’t in danger.
Darcy’s gaze shifted to Chance and her lips shifted into a strange semblance of a smile, an echo of what it had once been. Too quickly, it dropped away. “When you were little, you always wanted a dog.” She looked back at Alanna, blinking rapidly. “Guess you got everything you wanted.”
Then somehow Peter was beside her, his hand gripping her arm too hard, keeping her in place. His other hand was on the butt of his weapon. “We just want the kids. That’s it. You hand them over and we walk away.”
Darcy did little more than smirk at Peter’s offer, her hand shifting on the shotgun with an ease that told Alanna she might look older and weaker, but Darcy still had an unexpected strength. Then her gaze was back on Alanna.
“Who is this? Why is he here?”
“He’s my friend, Peter,” Alanna said, glad that it was common in Alaska for people to carry weapons. It didn’t immediately mark him as law enforcement. “He drove me out here.”
“How did you find me?”
“This is where we were headed five years ago, isn’t it?” Alanna asked instead of answering.
Darcy’s slight nod, as if she couldn’t stop herself from responding, was enough to tell Alanna it was true.
Her own anger flared up, the unfairness of it all, the blame she felt from all directions no matter what choices she made. “And then what was the plan? To keep running, go back to what we did when I was little?”
“We wouldn’t have needed to do that if you hadn’t left that note. We were good to you. We loved you.” Darcy shook her head, as if she still didn’t understand it.
Alanna’s gut clenched at Darcy’s use of the past tense, but as much as it hurt, this moment wasn’t about her. It was about those two kids who had to be in the cabin behind Darcy, probably terrified and confused like Alanna had been in those early days with the Altiers.
“There was another family out there who loved me, too.” On some level, Darcy had to know what she’d done was wrong. Didn’t she? “How do you think it felt, knowing I’d never get to see them again?”
Something flashed in Darcy’s eyes, some mix of guilt and sorrow that was gone so fast Alanna wondered if she’d imagined it. Then Darcy’s attention veered left, into the woods at the base of the mountain. Was that where she’d hidden her vehicle? Was she thinking about making a run for it?
“Please,” Alanna whispered. “It’s not too late to do the right thing.”
A spasm of emotion passed over Darcy’s face and for a moment, Alanna thought she’d gotten through to her. Then Darcy swung the shotgun up, past Alanna and Peter, high over the woods to her left.
Alanna’s hand darted out to grab Peter, to prevent him from pulling his own weapon. What was Darcy doing? Trying to scare them? Had she lost her mind when she’d lost her “kids”?
The boom boom boom of the shotgun firing repeatedly echoed, followed by a louder, heavier rumble that made Alanna’s heart seem to drop to her stomach. She recognized that sound, had felt the weight of the snow burying her only yesterday.
Her gaze traveled up
the side of the mountain, to the weak spot where Darcy had aimed, an overhang of snow that was now rushing downward. It was far enough away that it was unlikely to reach them, so Peter’s scream to watch out startled her, made her jump.
Then, suddenly, everything around her was noise and motion.
Peter raced toward the oncoming snow, Chance at his heels, as shapes emerged from behind the trees, people trying to escape the avalanche. People who shouldn’t have been there at all. People who weren’t moving fast enough.
Darcy’s gaze lingered on Alanna for a drawn-out moment, then she darted the other way, back into the cabin, slamming the door behind her.
Alanna glanced toward Peter and Chance and the police officers who’d been hiding in the woods, who were being overrun by the snow. Then she glanced back at the cabin, where Darcy was hiding with two young children.
And she made her choice.
Chapter Nine
For the second time in two days, Peter was running toward an avalanche.
He’d lived in Alaska for most of his life and managed to never get caught up in one before this past week. Like most people who lived this far north, he had a healthy respect for the power of nature but he’d always taken precautions, so he’d never feared it. The way his heart was thundering in his chest now, that had changed.
This time, he wasn’t in any real danger of being buried in it. The snow had already stopped falling from above and the rush through the woods was slowing. That was both good and bad. The trees acting as a natural blockade for some of the snow meant it wouldn’t spill over to the cabin, where he assumed those kids were being held. But it also meant more of it was piled higher in the exact location he’d last spotted his fellow officers. Including his partner.
“Tate!” he yelled. Now that the thundering of snow was quieting, his voice echoed along the mountain base, taunting him with the lack of response.
He slowed to a stop before he reached the snow, realizing he should have run to his truck instead to grab the collapsible snow shovel most people who lived in these parts always carried. He spun back even as Chance raced past him, right into the snow.
His call for Alanna to grab his shovel died on his lips. He scanned the area around the cabin. But there were only woods and an empty driveway. She must have followed Darcy inside.
Pain clamped in his chest as he glanced back to the snow, where Chance was frantically digging, then over to the silent cabin. He ran back the way he’d come, heading for his truck and shovel.
He had to pray that Alanna was right and Darcy wouldn’t hurt her. He had to pray that Alanna would be able to talk Darcy into handing over the kids without hurting anyone.
There was no mistaking that the woman still loved Alanna like a daughter. It was equally obvious that she felt deeply betrayed and probably blamed Alanna for the years she’d spent in jail, maybe even for her husband’s death. Peter could imagine things going shockingly well, that he might turn back and see Alanna ushering out two relieved kids and a sobbing Darcy. Or he might hear a series of shotgun blasts and then Darcy fleeing for safety alone.
Right now he had to trust that Alanna was right. That the love Darcy still felt for her was stronger than the hate. That the education in psychology Alanna had earned and her experience working with vulnerable people would have taught her how to navigate such a volatile situation. One thing he did know: Darcy hadn’t fired that shotgun at him before because Alanna had called him her friend. If he burst through that cabin door as an officer, Darcy would shoot.
Alanna had a chance. But his teammates didn’t. No way could Chance dig all of them out alone before someone suffocated.
Peter holstered his gun, grabbing his shovel and dialing his phone as he ran. “Chief,” he huffed when Chief Hernandez answered, “I need help out here fast. Avalanche.” He didn’t wait for her response, just tucked his phone back in his pocket and started digging beside Chance.
The big dog had already uncovered the legs of an officer who was facedown. “Good boy, Chance,” said Peter. The dog gave a quick bark, then left Peter to finish digging the man out. He bounded a few feet over and started digging again, his big paws sending snow flying, his strong nose right on target as another pair of boots appeared.
“Come on,” Peter muttered, trading the shovel for his thinly gloved hands as he got close to the man’s face. The fact that he hadn’t moved the whole time Peter and Chance had been digging him out was a bad sign, but as Peter swept snow off the back of his head, he suddenly groaned and rolled partway over.
Charlie Quinn was a longtime member of the force, someone Peter had overheard more than once complaining about working with “the pity-hire who can’t hear.” But when Peter had asked for backup, he’d shown up without complaint.
“You okay?” Peter asked, helping him to a sitting position.
Charlie put a shaky hand to his head, nodding.
“More help is coming,” Peter told him, leaving him there so he could go dig out the next officer Chance had found.
As soon as Peter got there, Chance gave him an encouraging woof and was off again, sniffing his way to a new spot.
“You’re amazing,” Peter breathed as he paused a second to watch the St. Bernard. Then he looked back at the partly uncovered officer in front of him and went to work. His hands, arms, and even his face stung as he shoveled snow aside and the cold seeped into him. Finally, he shoved enough snow away to identify the officer.
This wasn’t Tate either, but Nate Dreymond. He was the second-newest officer on the force, a twenty-year-old who’d been hired six months before Peter. He was already moving around, flailing and trying to get free of the snow.
“I’ve got you,” Peter said, dropping the shovel and pushing a heavy pile of snow off the young officer, who broke free of the rest covering him so fast and hard that he knocked Peter over.
Nate was gasping, tears and snot mixed with the snow he was raking off his face with bare fingers so pale Peter knew he couldn’t feel them.
“Be careful,” Peter said, pulling Nate’s hands free to reveal he’d scraped up his own face. “Go over there.” He pointed toward Charlie. “Help get him into my truck. The heat is on.”
As Nate stumbled that way, unsteady on his feet, Peter warned, “There might still be an armed fugitive in the cabin.”
Nate didn’t show any sign of hearing him, but Charlie looked up sharply, his hand already on the butt of his pistol. He nodded confidently at Peter, pushing to his feet with a grunt. Then the two of them were leaning on each other and moving toward the truck.
Peter spun away from them again, trudging after Chance, the snow up way past the top of his boots now. He was soaked almost to his hips, the cold making him shiver violently. Ignoring it, he took over from Chance’s latest dig and the dog was off again, toward an area of snow that was moving, someone clearly fighting to get free.
Yet again, the man Peter finished digging out wasn’t Tate. It was Lorenzo Riera, another veteran. As soon as he was freed enough from the snow to speak, he demanded, “Rook?” It was his nickname for Nate, who was his partner.
“He’s okay,” Peter assured him, glancing over at where Chance was digging away, praying his own partner was under there. How many officers had come to back him up today? How many were hurt right now because of a decision he’d made?
“Peter!”
Peter glanced back as a police SUV screeched to a halt at the edge of the woods, windows down and Chief Hernandez steering one-handed as she leaned partway out the window. The fact that she’d gotten here so fast meant she must have already been out somewhere on the edges of Desparre on a call.
“Status!” she demanded.
“We’ve got three dug out,” Peter called back. “Not sure how many more officers were out here. Presumably Darcy Altier is still in the cabin, armed, with the kids and now Alanna.”
The
chief was scowling as she slammed the SUV door shut. She had her weapon out of the holster before the door was closed and she nodded at the two officers who stepped out of the back of the vehicle, both in bulletproof vests and helmets.
“Luna police are sending backup. The state police sniper and hostage negotiator are both on another call. We’re going to have to breach.”
“No!” Peter took two steps toward her, then glanced back at Chance, still digging.
The big dog looked over at him once, let out a long howl, then went back to work.
“Just wait,” Peter begged Chief Hernandez. “Give Alanna a chance.”
As he pivoted toward Chance and whoever was still buried in the snow, Lorenzo stumbled over next to him to help.
“It’s just Tate left. That must be him.”
Peter fell to his knees next to Chance, not even bothering to run back for the shovel he’d dropped. He started digging with his hands, shoving snow away from Tate, who’d been moving before but wasn’t any longer.
When an arm fell free, Peter tugged on it, trying to pull Tate out of the snow. His head appeared and while Lorenzo and Chance continued to dig around the rest of him, Peter cleared snow off his face.
Tate looked abnormally pale and his lips had a bluish tinge, but when Peter leaned close to listen for his breathing, Tate gasped in a large breath. Lorenzo cleared a big chunk of snow off his back and Peter helped pull Tate to his feet.
“We should have stayed on the road instead of hiding in the woods,” Tate choked out, which made Lorenzo let out a relieved laugh.
Peter threw his arms around his friend, hugging him tight. Then he dropped to his knees and hugged Chance. “Good boy,” he whispered, and got a big, slobbery kiss on the cheek in return.
Standing, he told Tate, “Now we need to get Alanna out of that cabin safely.”
The look on his partner’s face—one of dread and sorrow—made him spin to face the cabin.
Alaska Mountain Rescue Page 9
