last night. There’s another rolling in.”
“Uncle Paul’s a survivor,” she snapped. “He’s had wilderness training. He knows how to make a snow cave. He taughtme when Dad was away on business.” She was dismayed to hear her voice crack.
Luca put a hand out toward her shoulder, but he did not make contact. It was probably the stiffness in her posture that told him his touch was not welcome. She found she regretted his restraint, wondering what the stroke of his fingers on her skin would feel like. Don’t let him charm you. He’s only here for treasure.
She gritted her teeth and guided the car up the mountain, finally pulling as close as she was able to the barricade the police had erected at the top of the ridge. She hadn’t expected to get any closer. Climbing out she headed toward Sergeant Towers, who stood at the top of the slope, radio in hand, breath puffed white in the cold air.
He did not look surprised to see her. “Good afternoon,Ms. Stanton. Hello, Luca.”
“What have you found?” Ava said, her eyes scanning the whitened ravine below.
“Some scorch marks indicate the snowmobile slid about twenty feet before it impacted a rock shelf and broke apart.”
She swallowed hard, waiting.
“We’ve got people rappelling down to the bottom now, but there’s been about a foot of new snow. The dogs can’t get down there.”
“Have they found my uncle?” she said, forcing the words out.
After what seemed an eternity, he answered, “No.” He eyed the sky. “We’re going to have to call it in about an hour.”
“You can’t,” she said. “He’s alive. I know it.”
Sergeant Towers’s calm demeanor did not change, but there might have been a softening in his dark eyes. “You were ski patrol. You know how it works. Wecan’t risk the safety of our people. We’ll start again first thing in the morning.”
Ava wanted to scream. Instead, she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Towers shot a look toward her car, noting the skis. “If you’ve got any ideas about searching on your own, don’t. Unstable snow and darkness are a lethal combination.”
“I know these slopes, and I know the dangers.”
“Thenyou know I don’t have the resources to conduct two rescues.” Sergeant Towers spoke calmly, but the words had a whisper of steel in them.
“You’re not in rescue mode. You’re looking for bodies.” She wished she hadn’t said it, but the officer did not seem to take offense.
Luca stepped closer. “Did you get anything off the Taser tags?”
“Not yet. We’ve been busy and this is a small department,not like San Francisco.” The sly dig was evident in spite of the pleasant inflection. Towers used binoculars to scan below where a rescuer in a yellow vest made his way down a spine of rocks that projected above the snow. The phone clipped to his belt beeped, and he excused himself to answer it.
Ava did not waste time. She headed back to the car. Luca had to jog to catch up.
She easedthe car back down the trail until she came to a spot where she could manage a turn. The tires spurted snow as she guided the vehicle a half mile down the road, ignoring Luca’s barrage of questions.
She drove up toward a rocky promontory, a splayed section of granite cliff, broad and flat like a smooth, outstretched palm. She parked the car on the road and buckled on Uncle Paul’s old snowshoes,her throat thickening unexpectedly as her fingers ran over the graceful ash frames and the rawhide lacing. Uncle Paul made the snowshoes himself as a teen, whiling away hours in the Maine woods.
“I’d give you the shirt off my back, Ava, but not my snowshoes,” he’d say with that infectious grin.
Luca had paused a moment in between snapping on his high-tech aluminum snowshoes.
“Iremember hearing about Uncle Paul’s snowshoes from your father,” he said softly. “Those the ones that almost sent Mack Dog to the pound?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Yes. He chewed the rawhide
“Uncle Paul’s a survivor,” she snapped. “He’s had wilderness training. He knows how to make a snow cave. He taughtme when Dad was away on business.” She was dismayed to hear her voice crack.
Luca put a hand out toward her shoulder, but he did not make contact. It was probably the stiffness in her posture that told him his touch was not welcome. She found she regretted his restraint, wondering what the stroke of his fingers on her skin would feel like. Don’t let him charm you. He’s only here for treasure.
She gritted her teeth and guided the car up the mountain, finally pulling as close as she was able to the barricade the police had erected at the top of the ridge. She hadn’t expected to get any closer. Climbing out she headed toward Sergeant Towers, who stood at the top of the slope, radio in hand, breath puffed white in the cold air.
He did not look surprised to see her. “Good afternoon,Ms. Stanton. Hello, Luca.”
“What have you found?” Ava said, her eyes scanning the whitened ravine below.
“Some scorch marks indicate the snowmobile slid about twenty feet before it impacted a rock shelf and broke apart.”
She swallowed hard, waiting.
“We’ve got people rappelling down to the bottom now, but there’s been about a foot of new snow. The dogs can’t get down there.”
“Have they found my uncle?” she said, forcing the words out.
After what seemed an eternity, he answered, “No.” He eyed the sky. “We’re going to have to call it in about an hour.”
“You can’t,” she said. “He’s alive. I know it.”
Sergeant Towers’s calm demeanor did not change, but there might have been a softening in his dark eyes. “You were ski patrol. You know how it works. Wecan’t risk the safety of our people. We’ll start again first thing in the morning.”
Ava wanted to scream. Instead, she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Towers shot a look toward her car, noting the skis. “If you’ve got any ideas about searching on your own, don’t. Unstable snow and darkness are a lethal combination.”
“I know these slopes, and I know the dangers.”
“Thenyou know I don’t have the resources to conduct two rescues.” Sergeant Towers spoke calmly, but the words had a whisper of steel in them.
“You’re not in rescue mode. You’re looking for bodies.” She wished she hadn’t said it, but the officer did not seem to take offense.
Luca stepped closer. “Did you get anything off the Taser tags?”
“Not yet. We’ve been busy and this is a small department,not like San Francisco.” The sly dig was evident in spite of the pleasant inflection. Towers used binoculars to scan below where a rescuer in a yellow vest made his way down a spine of rocks that projected above the snow. The phone clipped to his belt beeped, and he excused himself to answer it.
Ava did not waste time. She headed back to the car. Luca had to jog to catch up.
She easedthe car back down the trail until she came to a spot where she could manage a turn. The tires spurted snow as she guided the vehicle a half mile down the road, ignoring Luca’s barrage of questions.
She drove up toward a rocky promontory, a splayed section of granite cliff, broad and flat like a smooth, outstretched palm. She parked the car on the road and buckled on Uncle Paul’s old snowshoes,her throat thickening unexpectedly as her fingers ran over the graceful ash frames and the rawhide lacing. Uncle Paul made the snowshoes himself as a teen, whiling away hours in the Maine woods.
“I’d give you the shirt off my back, Ava, but not my snowshoes,” he’d say with that infectious grin.
Luca had paused a moment in between snapping on his high-tech aluminum snowshoes.
“Iremember hearing about Uncle Paul’s snowshoes from your father,” he said softly. “Those the ones that almost sent Mack Dog to the pound?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Yes. He chewed the rawhide
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