“Back at the other cabin, when I chased after her, I was so sure I could catch her. I thought if it was just the two of us, I could talk her down.”
“I know,” Peter said, peeling her fingers away. He pulled out his weapon again, glancing at her before he moved to slip out the door. The pink flush of emotion across her pale cheeks and the sadness in her dark eyes were a split-second image he knew would stick with him long after she was gone.
He’d risked his career for her. Risked his life for her. He had no regrets about that, but he’d still been wrong tonight.
If he’d let his team in on what he was doing, he would have had backup right now. There would have been a team waiting outside the cabin, ready to surround Darcy and talk her down, or follow at a distance until they could bring in reinforcements to take her out and protect the little girl.
Instead, Darcy was gone again. He and Alanna had the boy, but what about the little girl?
Peter forced himself not to look back at Alanna, at the sorrow and regret in her eyes. He closed the door behind him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He hoped it wasn’t already too late, but his gut told him it was.
He’d sacrificed his job thinking he was doing the right thing for everyone, Alanna in particular. But had his mistake just cost a little girl the chance to grow up with her real family?
Chapter Thirteen
The subtle clack clack clack of metal against metal echoed through the woods and Peter froze, his arms tense as they supported his pistol. The noise was coming from his right, in the direction of where he’d parked.
In an instant, he realized what it was. The sound of someone trying to open the door to his police SUV. He didn’t pause to wonder why Darcy would be trying to get into his vehicle instead of racing for her own. He just started running.
The deeper he went into the woods, the icier the top layer of snow got, crunching as he set each foot down, trying to suck his boots off as he lifted them back up. His breath puffed out in front of him in frigid blasts of air, his lungs feeling every degree that had dropped in the past few hours, every moment he’d spent earlier today digging his friends out of the snow.
As he got closer to the SUV, he slowed, knowing his heavy footsteps in the snow were telegraphing his approach. He couldn’t hear Darcy anymore. But was it because she’d gone silent, listening to his approach and trying to line him up in her sights in the darkness? Or just because his hearing wasn’t good enough to make out the soft noise of her slinking away over his own footsteps?
He ducked against the shelter of a big tree trunk just before the boom of a gun rang out. The muzzle flash told him she was standing behind his vehicle, using it as cover.
His heart thumped at the near miss, then with a realization. Darcy had run the wrong way out of the cabin. Unless he’d totally missed it, there was no other vehicle out this way. She must have left her car in the other direction. To get to it, she’d have to slip past him. Instead of taking the risk, she’d tried to take his vehicle.
He didn’t need to rush her now, try to get close through the threat of more bullets. He just needed to pin her there, prevent her from flanking him and returning to her own vehicle. Then he could wait her out, because the rest of his team was on their way. With sirens and lights, they should arrive in less than ten minutes.
Sliding farther behind the tree trunk, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his hearing. He angled his good ear toward the vehicle, straining to hear any sound that would indicate Darcy was on the move. But he heard nothing.
The muzzle flash had left a temporary mark on his retinas and he waited, listening, until it went away. Then he opened his eyes again and shapes that had been indistinct before became identifiable. A stray branch, broken and dangling from the tree in front of him. Holes in the snow, distinctly paw-shaped, where Chance had stalked alongside him on the way to the cabin. Bigger holes where his boots had broken through in his frantic rush to get to Alanna.
Peter leaned slightly around the edge of the tree, leading with his gun, because if his eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, surely Darcy’s had, too.
There was nothing. No top of her head peeking over the vehicle, no outstretched hand clutching a pistol, shifting to take aim. No crying little girl, cold and afraid.
A curse formed on his lips as he turned his head, angling his right side the other way to listen for Darcy. Had she given up on her vehicle to head deeper into the woods? Or maybe she had just kept going past his car and to the road, hoping to hitch a ride from someone who didn’t recognize her? Was she able to move through the snow more quietly than he could, his hearing loss too great to detect her?
He didn’t hear her. But suddenly, he heard sirens, approaching fast.
Then Darcy was racing away from his vehicle, desperation in the extended length of her strides, in the way the child was clutched in her arms.
She held the girl tight with both hands, Peter realized. It meant she didn’t have a hand free to aim and fire.
He moved away from the protection of the tree to pursue her. He was taller than her, with longer strides, and he was quickly closing the gap between them. But he couldn’t fire without risking the girl, so he holstered his gun.
Darcy glanced back, saw him gaining and put on a new burst of speed.
It wasn’t going to be enough, though, and she must have known it, because she halted suddenly, spinning toward him, her arms shifting to juggle the girl and pull her gun.
He leaped toward her, going for her gun hand. He grabbed it before her finger could slip under the trigger guard and then he was tossing the weapon aside, twisting her arm up and back.
She yelped and the girl, still caught in her other arm, started to cry.
“Hand her over,” Peter demanded. Then the sirens were suddenly on top of them, the flashing blue and red lights sweeping over Darcy’s face and illuminating the tears there, too.
Chief Hernandez and Tate were running through the woods to meet them, weapons out. Peter felt a wash of relief to see his partner had been discharged from the hospital.
“She’s unarmed,” he yelled, even though as he said it, he realized he couldn’t be sure she didn’t have another weapon on her.
Still, he had a hard grip on her arm, had it twisted at such an angle that there was no way for her to move it without causing a break. If she wanted to go for a weapon, she’d have to drop the child. Staring at her now, at her tear-filled eyes, wide and panicked, he knew she wouldn’t do it. Because even as she shook her head at the approaching cops, she made soothing shh noises under her breath to the child, slightly rocking her. Trying to comfort her.
“Hand her over,” Peter repeated, softer this time, as the chief stepped forward, holstering her weapon and holding out her arms. “It will be okay. We’ll take care of her. I promise.”
Then he heard the crunching of ice behind him, the sound of someone dashing toward them.
Tate shifted his weapon up and over, then returned his aim to Darcy.
Peter glanced over his shoulder and cursed as he saw that it was Alanna. Chance and the boy weren’t with her, which meant she’d left them in the cabin. She’d probably heard the sirens, heard him yell to his teammates that Darcy wasn’t armed anymore.
Darcy’s gaze locked on Alanna and guilt flashed across her face before she dipped her head. Then her shoulders slumped. She stretched her arm with the girl in it toward Chief Hernandez.
The girl clung to Darcy’s neck and Chief Hernandez peeled her arms free, tried to soothe her as she cried. The chief stepped backward, unzipping her coat and tucking the child into it as she nodded at Peter.
He grabbed Darcy’s other hand and handcuffed her. Then he pushed her against a tree trunk and moved her legs slightly apart with his foot so he could pat her down for additional weapons. “I tossed a pistol that way,” he told Tate, gesturing with the
jerk of his head the area where he’d knocked it away from Darcy.
Alanna reached them just as he’d confirmed Darcy didn’t have any other weapons on her. Alanna was panting from exertion, her gaze darting to Tate, to the pistol he still held as he swept the discarded one out of the snow, and tucked it into his belt.
Peter’s partner didn’t train his weapon at Alanna, but as he straightened, he locked eyes with her, ready to take action if she rushed to help Darcy.
“She’s no threat,” Peter told Tate, hoping it was true. “The boy is in the cabin with Chance.”
His partner gave him a tense nod.
Peter had definitely destroyed some trust tonight.
“Why did you run?” Alanna demanded, her focus entirely on Darcy. She stepped forward, getting too close, and Peter forced Darcy backward, toward the police car.
Tate holstered his gun and stepped in front of her, preventing Alanna from getting any closer to Darcy.
Chief Hernandez told Peter, “Put Darcy in my vehicle. You’ll bring the kids back to the station. Take Tate with you.” Her words were clipped and angry, telling Peter there was a reckoning to come.
Peter nodded and pushed Darcy toward the open door of the police vehicle at the edge of the road.
Alanna’s voice trailed after them, gaining volume as she demanded over and over, “Why? Why? Why?”
Darcy didn’t respond, didn’t look back once as Peter put her in the SUV and slammed the door shut.
Then he turned back to the scene behind him. He took in Chief Hernandez smoothing her hand over the girl’s hair, whispering quiet words as the girl stared up at her, her tears slowly drying. His gaze skipped to his partner next. Tate stood in front of Alanna, feet braced hip-width apart as if he expected he’d need to forcibly stop her from chasing after them. And then there was Alanna herself, frozen in place, her lips still parted from her last screamed question. The pain on her face was hard to see, but at least their chase was over.
Her methods might not have been ideal, but she’d helped them find Darcy. Ultimately, she was the reason they’d been able to rescue these kids. Without her knowledge of Darcy and how to decode symbols that had looked like nonsense to whoever had gone through the Altiers’ home years ago, they never would have found this place.
The kids would be reunited with their families now. Alanna could go home to the family who’d waited so long for her return.
It was where she belonged. Back in Chicago, a town he’d never visited, never wanted to.
He belonged in Desparre, fighting for a job that had given him back his passion. For a team he’d grown to respect, a partnership that had become a friendship. A calling that spoke to him even more than being a reporter. A job that now might be beyond saving.
He hadn’t even known Alanna for a full week and they’d spent most of that time at odds. He’d broken her trust by calling in his team at the cabin in Luna. She’d broken his by going after Darcy alone after the woman had caused an avalanche. But he had the sense that Alanna understood his actions, as he did hers. After everything they’d been through, he felt a connection to her that was undeniable.
It had been fast, and yet, he couldn’t imagine her leaving. Couldn’t imagine losing something he’d only just begun to realize he wanted in his life.
Chapter Fourteen
Alanna drove slowly through downtown Desparre, taking in the snow-lined streets bracketed by a handful of buildings, looking like a postcard for peace and solitude. She was in a new rental car; her forgiving rental company had apparently lost other vehicles to avalanches. And yes, maybe they’d also been angling for juicy details of the new kidnappings from the mouth of someone whose involvement was still a mystery.
The police had given a statement to the press first thing this morning. Alanna had watched it in the darkness of her hotel room after a fitful night of sleeplessness. They’d announced Darcy’s arrest and the rescue of the kids. When reporters demanded to know whether Alanna was still at large, the police chief had briskly shared that Alanna was no longer a person of interest, that she hadn’t been involved in the kidnappings. Then she’d left the podium, ignoring the reporters’ follow-up questions.
Technically, Alanna had been cleared of any wrongdoing. But she knew how this worked. The lack of details meant reporters would be clamoring to talk to her again. They’d start showing up on her doorstep, using creative methods to get into her building, asking invasive questions about her life and her emotions.
After watching the press conference, it had taken another hour for Alanna to get up the courage to leave the hotel and drive into town. But she wanted to see Desparre once more before she went home. She needed to make one stop before she drove to the airport and left Alaska behind, probably for good.
When she’d lived in Desparre, she’d only seen the downtown’s main street from the back seat of a car. The Altiers had deemed it too risky to let her or her “siblings” walk around the more populated parts of Desparre, even if “more populated” meant seeing a dozen people.
The small town was beautiful, comforting. It was similar to the smaller section of streets nearer to the cabin where they’d lived, where she had been allowed to walk around sometimes. In a lot of ways, Desparre still felt more like her home than Chicago.
But it wasn’t. And it was time to leave again.
Five years ago, when she’d stepped onto that plane with Kensie, she’d been terrified of what the future held. Terrified to leave behind everything she’d known for most of her life. But deep down, she’d known she’d done the right thing. This time, she wasn’t so sure.
Yes, the kids were safe. But would it have happened sooner if she’d been more open with the police?
From the passenger seat, Chance leaned over and nudged her arm with his wet nose.
When she glanced at him with a fond smile, he gave her a forceful woof, like he knew what was going on in her mind and wanted her to forgive herself.
Darcy was back behind bars. This time, the woman who’d raised her had refused to see her. The children she’d kidnapped had been taken to the hospital to be evaluated. Their parents were flying in to be with them, joyous reunions that would get the reporters clamoring again.
They were safe. And they were young enough, the extent of their kidnappings short enough that they wouldn’t attract the same kind of sustained media attention she’d faced.
There was nothing left for her here, no more guilt-ridden mission to fulfill. No reason to remain in Desparre any longer. If Darcy wouldn’t see her, after everything that had happened, maybe that was for the best. And yet, Alanna felt unsettled, as if she still had unfinished business.
One last apology, she reminded herself, pulling into the parking lot alongside the Desparre police station. One last goodbye.
As if he could read her mind—and didn’t like it—Chance gave a soft whine as she opened the door.
“I’m going to miss him, too,” she whispered softly, realizing what was causing her anxiety. It wasn’t the awkward apology, the thought of all those judging eyes inside the station. She was expecting that; she’d had practice dealing with it. No matter what the official line was, Alanna knew most of the police force was angry with her. For her part in leading them to the site where Darcy had started the avalanche. For going off on her own afterward. For whatever role she’d played in Peter’s decision to come to her aid alone.
None of those things were making her heart beat too fast, making dread lodge in her chest. It was the thought of never seeing Peter again.
“We have to do it,” she told Chance, forcing herself to get out of the car. She was grateful there weren’t any reporters camped out at the police station like they’d been at her hotel; she had needed to slip out the service entrance. But why would there be? They wouldn’t expect her to come here.
She owed the whole station an apology. Her intenti
ons might have been good, but when they’d come to help, someone she loved had tried to kill them.
She owed Peter an apology most of all. Even though they had never really been anything except reluctant partners in a search for a kidnapper, it felt like they’d created a friendship. It felt like they’d been on the path to something more.
Chance leaped out of the car to follow her up to the police station the way he’d done the first day she’d returned to Desparre. Had it only been five days ago?
When they’d arrived, his tail had been wagging at the adventure. He’d strode along beside her, then raced off briefly to pounce in the fluffy snow before returning to her side.
Today, his tail faced downward and even his chin was angled to the ground. Either he was catching her mood or he was sad to be leaving this place, too.
“We’ll be home soon,” she tried to reassure him. “You’ll get to play with Rebel.”
At the mention of Kensie and Colter’s dog, Chance’s tail gave a quick wag, but then he was staring ahead again, intent and serious.
Alanna took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to relax. But her usual method for coping with anxiety didn’t work. Instead, she pictured Peter’s face, in turns furious, betrayed and understanding. She could almost feel his long fingers sliding through hers, offering comfort, even as distrust flickered in his eyes.
What might have happened between them if she had a reason to stay longer? If she’d come here for a different purpose entirely? If they were both different people, him without the trauma of standing too close to a hostage who’d blown herself up, her without the baggage of growing up with people who’d kidnapped her?
Maybe nothing. Maybe it was their pasts that had drawn them together, made them both understanding and wary of one another. Maybe the same thing that had created the spark between them would have ultimately destroyed it.
“I guess I’ll never know,” Alanna whispered, pushing open the door to the station.
The moment she was led into the bullpen where the officers worked, a dozen gazes flicked her way, started to turn back, then fixated on her. Angry, suspicious gazes from officers who’d dug their way out of an avalanche yesterday. Officers who, at minimum, thought she’d wanted a kidnapper to get away and at worst, thought she’d been helping Darcy all along.
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