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Quest slowly nodded. “She tried to save her pet rabbit. Did she ever tell you his name?”

  That sounded more and more like a test to determine if she could trust him. “Snowball.”

  A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “His other name, Sheriff. The secret name my mom gave him.”

  This is definitely a test. “Jagger. Your mother liked the Rolling Stones and she’d named her rabbit Jagger.”

  “Grampy hated their music. He still does.”

  Few men had ever intimidated Rich, but Amelia’s father had been one of them. “I can’t say I ever understood your mother’s fascination for Mick Jagger, either.”

  “Do you have a family, Sheriff Morgan? A wife? Kids?”

  The personal inquiry baffled him.

  “No...but if I had a daughter, I’d like her to be just like you.” The pain in his shoulder became more acute, a reminder of what he’d lost. “If they could see you, your mom and dad would be very proud.”

  Tears clouded her eyes. “I miss my mom.”

  “I’ll get you out of here, Quest.” He’d promised Amelia he’d bring her daughter back. Reneging on his promise wasn’t an option. “You can trust me. I—I’m hearing voices. Two men. Angry.”

  Touching his index finger against his lips, he prompted her to be quiet. And he listened.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Thompson, put the injured wolf out of his misery and search the clearing. River and I will look inside the lodge.”

  If Todd was lying somewhere in the snow, Amelia didn’t want his father to be the one who found his body.

  “The lock isn’t on.” River pushed, but the door didn’t budge. “It’s jammed.”

  “Let me help.” As the two of them edged the door ajar, Amelia ventured a look through the narrow gap. “I see a bench...and boots.” The boots were attached to a pair of legs. “Easy River. We have a bench and someone unconscious blocking the doorway. We don’t want to hurt him.”

  A groan traveled to Amelia’s ears. The man is alive. That was the most beautiful sound she’d heard all morning.

  “That...that sounds like my son. Todd? Is that you? We’re here, son. Hold on.” Seemingly invigorated by the promise of an imminent reunion, River gritted his teeth and inched the door farther. The bench screeched as it got dragged onto the floor. “Squeeze in, Colonel.”

  Eyes closed, the younger River lay curled in a thermal blanket. A gunshot resonated from outside the lodge. The boy twitched.

  “You’re safe, Todd. There’s nothing to be alarmed about.” As she crouched by his side, she secured the gun discarded by the bench. “It’s Colonel Matheson. Can you hear me?”

  His face, caked with dry blood, had turned a whitely shade of pale. He blinked at her through two narrow slits. “Co-old.”

  “You’ll be warm in no time.” She spoke loud enough for his father to hear. “Wayne, go get me another blanket.”

  “Be right back.”

  As soon as the door closed, Amelia draped her coat over him. Until she assessed the severity of his injuries, there was no moving him.

  “Stay still while I check your head.”

  Careful not to hurt him, she brushed the matted hair away. Something had grazed his skull without penetrating the skin. Though the wound shed a fair amount of blood, it looked superficial.

  “A bu-bullet. It was a-a bullet.” He was shivering, but coherent. “It-it missed.”

  The boy had been lucky. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No, just a hea-eadache.”

  “Good. Can you sit?” To her relief, he sat on his own. “Let’s get away from the door before your dad returns.”

  Someone knocked. “It’s Wayne. Can I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  Once father and son huddled together under both blankets, Amelia retrieved her coat.

  The gun she’d secured had powder residue. It was fired recently. She suspected it belonged to Richmond, but there was no sign the sheriff had set foot inside the lodge. The boy had stopped shivering.

  “Todd, can you tell me what happened?”

  He gave her a weak nod. “The sheriff...he disappeared...searched for him...it was getting dark...” The words tumbled in short frenzy sentences.

  The boy had been shot. His nerves were probably frayed. Sending him into an agitated state wouldn’t get her any information—and Amelia needed to know what had transpired here.

  “Take a deep breath.” She was pleased to see the blanket ripple and a pinkish hue blush his cheeks. “That’s it. Now start at the beginning. We’re in no rush. Just try to recall as many details as you can. Okay?”

  “I...we got here...the lodge was locked. There was no one here. The sheriff looked around on foot. He told me to stay inside.” The more he talked, the calmer he became. “I was checking the interior for damage...for maintenance next spring. That’s when I heard the gunshot. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stepped on the porch. I called the sheriff. Maybe I shouldn’t have. That’s when the masked man came marching into the clearing. He had a gun. He shot me. Just like that. He didn’t say a word or anything. I woke up in the lodge. I don’t know who carried me inside or how long I was out.

  “After I woke up, I went outside and looked for the sheriff. I saw blood in the snow near some skidoo tracks past the outhouse. I searched the surrounding area for as long as I could, but the storm was getting bad and it was getting dark. I...” His voice faltered. “The engines and the radios were disabled. I was stuck. I grabbed some supplies from the snowmobile and barricaded myself inside the lodge. In the middle of the night, I...I heard something. I thought it was the sheriff. I opened the door...”

  “Take your time, Todd.” A dreadful feeling had enveloped Amelia, testing her mental wall. Richmond. She couldn’t let fear or regret dictate her actions, not when the two people she still loved the most counted on her. “You’re doing great.”

  “I don’t feel so great, ma’am. What if I didn’t see him? What if the wolves got to him? There was a pack of them, prowling around the lodge all night. I emptied the gun on them, but they wouldn’t leave. I...I bundled up behind the door, and...and I must have fallen asleep because next thing I remember, you were talking to me.”

  “The wolves didn’t get Morgan.” Thompson had quietly stepped in and stood guard by the door. “There’s no bone, body, or carcass anywhere in the vicinity. Those wolves didn’t get a snack last night. Probably why they were sticking around.”

  While Amelia agreed with Thompson, it didn’t explain Richmond’s whereabouts. The sheriff didn’t vanish. “Todd, where did you find the gun?”

  “It was under a bench when I woke up. I don’t know how it got here.”

  Amelia presented the weapon to Thompson. “Is it the sheriff’s?”

  The deputy nodded. “The storm erased the shooting. Whoever was involved is long gone. If he left any evidence, it’s buried under six inches of snow.”

  ***

  A frown creased the feisty teenager’s forehead. “What are they saying?”

  Amazed by her ability to modulate her speech with as much ease as she mastered reading him, Rich mouthed a quiet response.

  “They’re arguing about money. You were right about one being named Vince.” The praise resulted in another cheeky smile being thrown in his direction. “Something about paying him. Vince wants more money if he has to wait.” Vince was louder and more vocal than the man Rich believed to be Serpent. The other side of the conversation wasn’t reaching Rich’s ears. “Vince doesn’t want to ride in Serpent’s truck, not without his snowmobile. Serpent promises more money if Vince agrees to leave now.”

  “They’re leaving?” Excitement peaked in her voice.

  “One of them slammed the door.” The house had grown ghostly silent. “They’re gone.”

  Quest bounced off the bed and rushed to the window. The chain rattled with every step she took, incensing him. She blew warm air, and with her fist tucked into her sleeve, she rubbed
the glass to create a viewing gap.

  “Huh...the storm is bad.” Turning back toward him, she grinned. “The cabin is deep into the forest. In that weather, they’ll be gone for at least three, if not four hours. This is our chance to get out of here.”

  “Our chance?” While he didn’t share her optimism, it was commendable. “I take it you have a plan?”

  “Of course, I do. One of us has to save the day, fa—”

  A fleeting look of apprehension crossed her face, catching him off-guard.

  “Quest? What is it?”

  She sighed. “Nothing.”

  ***

  While Wayne helped his son on the snowmobile, Amelia stared at the white landscape painted with new snow.

  “A shot to the head by a masked man?” Standing by her side, Thompson shook his head. “If you ask me, that sounds a lot like an ambush.”

  She couldn’t agree more. “Hey, Chief. How many people knew that Morgan and your son were going to check that lodge?”

  “It was a spur of the moment decision from the sheriff, ma’am. I was the only one who knew where—”

  Todd punched his father in the arm, engendering an inaudible discussion between father and son.

  “Two mechanics were in the maintenance bay. One fixed the sheriff’s snowmobile. Like my son just pointed out, either could have overheard their destination.”

  Those two mechanics had just jumped up the queue to Top Two suspects. If Amelia’s memory was to be trusted, there was a mechanic on Ford’s list. A female mechanic who was handy with a knife. “What are their names?”

  “Marvin McArtnick and Roxy Farrell. Marvin is the one who worked on the sheriff’s engine.” River scratched his hat. “Come to think of it, he had a fresh bruise on his face and he left before his shift was over. I haven’t seen him since.”

  A recently injured man who forgot to come back to work and a woman who served a reduced sentence for stabbing her cheating husband. That was one heck of a suspect list.

  ***

  The slip of her tongue had been unintentional, and Quest had bit her lip before she revealed the truth. Still, for a few seconds, she’d found herself holding her breath.

  That it flew over Morgan’s head like water washed over a duck’s feathers wasn’t poetic justice, it was a cruel twist of fate.

  Except for a few facts, Quest knew very little about her father. Over the years, her mother had mostly provided what she’d called clues. The clues in themselves weren’t sufficient for Quest to hunt him down, but they were supposed to be enough in the unlikely event she ever encountered him.

  The clues don’t appear to extend both ways.

  Her thoughts reeling, she dug under the mattress for the fishing treasures she’d stashed.

  “Phone.” She tossed it on his lap. “Keep it off until we get somewhere with a signal.”

  Quest could sense the sheriff’s gaze on her as she fashioned the lures and hooks into picking tolls. Her grandfather had been the one to teach her how to unlock almost any device. Where he’d learned the tricks, he’d never disclosed. She’d chalked it up on one of those secret missions Grampy and Mom conducted around the world.

  Rust peeled from the shackles as she fiddled with the lock.

  My father is alive. Mom didn’t meet him in Germany. And she never told him he has a daughter. That much Quest knew for a fact.

  Her mother’s scars ran along the right side of her body, from her shoulder all the way down her thigh. Men respected her, liked her, or feared her. Quest had never heard anyone describe her mother as beautiful, and no one outside the military called her Phoenix. In one short sentence, Morgan had managed both. The man had obviously met her mother at one point and been made aware of her accident.

  Quest vented her frustration on the stubborn shackles. Come on...

  Her father had been one of a handful of persons to know about Jagger, her mother’s infamous pet rabbit. There was no chance Morgan knew ducks were her guardian angels. That was hers and her mother’s secret. He had no reason to take Tango from her bed unless the duck held some significance to him. Besides, his name was a perfect match—almost perfect match—to her father’s name. The sheriff had no wife and kids to protect. If he had an affair with her mom, shouldn’t it occur to him that she might be his daughter? That couldn’t all be a coincidence—could it?

  The shackles fell loose on the bed. Free at last, she rubbed her sore ankle. There were bruises, but no bleeding. Time to work her magic on the cuffs.

  As she sat by his side, the sheriff took her hand and gave her a weary smile. “Those are my cuffs. You won’t be able to pick them. Don’t waste your time.”

  “Where’s the key?” Anyone who carried handcuffs also carried a key with them.

  “It was in my back pocket. It’s gone.” His grip tightened. “Listen to me. The door is bolted on the outside, but the hinges are inside. If you can slide the pins out, you’ll be able to wedge the door open.”

  The hinges were so rusty she doubted the pins would budge without the assistance of a can of oil and a crowbar.

  “If you say so...” Using the edge of the fish trophy as a lever, she gave the suggestion a try.

  When it failed, she fell back on plan B.

  She banged on the inside wall with the same fish trophy. Fine white dust flew around her as the drywall crumbled to pieces. Blow after blow, she widened the gap between the studs—and decapitated the fish. She hammered her way through the back drywall. A room onto the other side slowly came into view.

  An empty living room.

  With great effort and lots of contortions, she squeezed her body between the two studs. I’m a biathlete, not a gymnast. A nail scratched her hip, and she winced. If the Serpent man caused her to injure herself and miss the Olympic trials, she’d take her rifle and shoot him herself.

  Almost there...

  She tumbled on the other side and smiled. The sheriff had been right about the latches. She unbolted the bedroom door and opened it wide. Morgan was in bed, looking dazed.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  Her boots and her gloves were in the entryway. She slipped them on and dashed outside. A snowmobile was parked between the log cabin and a wooden shed. The key was in the ignition, but the fuel level was low. The shed was unlocked. Inside, she found a bolt cutter, some bungee cords, and three full gasoline containers. One made of metal, the other two of plastic. She emptied the metal container in the tank before tossing it in the snow. With the bungee cords, she strapped the two plastic containers on each side of the snowmobile. It wasn’t the safest way to transport fuel, but the containers would act as armrests, preventing the sheriff from toppling overboard.

  The storm had already erased the tire threads from Serpent’s truck. Good. She counted on the weather to cover her escape.

  She carried the bolt cutter inside and left it in the entryway while she rummaged through the house.

  In the kitchen, two sets of keys were discarded among the dirty dishes. She grabbed both in case one proved to be an alternative to accidently chopping Morgan’s hand with the bolt cutter. Under the sink, she spotted the tackle box from which she quickly retrieved pliers, knife, compass, and matches. From the cupboards, she stocked up on granola bars.

  The aerodynamic line of her ski outfit didn’t allow room for pockets. She juggled the items into the bedroom and dumped the content on the mattress. “Except for the compass, the rest will go into your pockets.”

  Morgan stared with glassy eyes, looking much worse than he did half an hour ago. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and cringed. His skin was warm. Too warm.

  I’m not such a good doctor after all.

  “Hold on.” She tried both keys. The second one unlocked the cuffs. “Stay in bed. I’ll be back in a few seconds.”

  Before they fled, she needed to pee. Badly. Her male teammates had a definite advantage over her. The toilet had never been washed. Ever. There were traces of blood in
the sink and bloody towels in the shower. This was more disgusting than an outhouse.

  While in the washroom, she searched the medicine cabinet. Aside from an old disposable razor, there was an expired bottle of ibuprofen on the shelf. That’s better than nothing. She took it, grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, and entered the bedroom.

  Seated on the edge of the bed, Morgan rubbed his left wrist. The compass was by his buttocks. All by itself.

  The man had donned his jacket and stuffed the supplies in his bulging pockets.

  “What part of stay in bed didn’t you understand? Swallow this.”

  While he followed her instructions without querying about the medication, she tucked the compass in her sleeve. His compliance concerned her. It seemed out of character.

  “I got us a snowmobile. Can you stand?”

  Using both hands, he pushed himself off the bed. “I think—”

  Wobbling unsteadily on his feet, he fell back onto the mattress. His mouth open, he reached for his injured shoulder.

  Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t need to hear him shriek or scream to know he was in pain. “Hold on to me. It’ll be easier.”

  “Quest. You need to go.” The words flew out of his mouth in slow motion. “This is your chance.”

  “No. I’m not leaving without you.” There was no way she was abandoning him here.

  “Listen, duckling. You’re all your mother has left of your father. I promised her I’d bring you back.” His soft blue-grey eyes stared at her with such intensity, they branded her heart with the word duckling. “Get those feathers of yours into that snowmobile and ride away from here.”

  “No.” Her arms crossed over her chest, she glared with obstinate defiance. “You come or I stay. Your choice.”

  The corners of his lips curled into a grimace. “You’re as stubborn as your mother.”

  She couldn’t hear, but it looked a lot like a compliment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The thorough background investigation Eve was conducting on Marvin McArtnick and Roxy Farrell didn’t entirely distract her mind from Morgan’s fate. No matter how she looked at the events reported by Matheson, it didn’t make any sense for the masked perpetrator to shoot both men only to abandon River and take Morgan. The lack of answers added to Eve’s frustration.