Snow Angels by Fern Michaels, Rosalind Noonan, Marie Bostwick, Janna McMahan Page B

where her van is, and I’ll be on my way.”
    “Don’t get all whiney on me, man. Look, I’ll drive you to her van. I was about to leave anyway. We’ve got a group of ten-year-olds on the black diamonds today. I want to stay close by, just in case.”
    “Thanks, Eddie.” And when had ten-year-olds started skiing on black-diamond slopes? He’d been at least thirteen before he even dared to ski on such challenging terrain, but when he did, as they say, the rest is history. Three years later he was on the U.S. Ski Team preparing for Olympic tryouts. He didn’t make it that year, but four years later he made Olympic history in Albertville, France, in 1992, when he won all the events in the Alpine competitions. He had five Olympic Gold Medals for his performance on the slopes. After the Olympics, he’d made millions off endorsements. He’d invested most of his earnings, so when he was ready to settle down, money hadn’t been an issue.
    He’d met Kayla while sitting next to her on the ski lift at Maximum Glide. She was there with a group of female police officers from all across the state. She wasn’t like all the other women he’d dated, who wanted nothing more than to be seen with him in hopes their names would wind up on the front page of whatever rag made it their mission to catch “Colorado’s most eligible bachelor” doing something he shouldn’t. That lifestyle got old after a while. When he met Kayla, he was older, wiser, and ready to settle down. Their marriage was nice, easygoing. Max had begged her to quit her job, but she’d refused, telling him that her father and his father were police officers. She said it was in her blood. Feeling the same way about his skiing career, even though his father hadn’t expressed an interest in skiing, Max never asked her to give up her job again. If only he’d been more persistent, Kayla might still be alive. And they would’ve had a son or a daughter, as Kayla had just learned she was three months’ pregnant the week before she was killed.
    If only. There were so many ifs .
    “That’s it,” Eddie said, pointing to a gray Dodge van. “I assume she gave you the keys?”
    “No, she didn’t. I took them this morning. Smart thinking, huh?” Max asked.
    “Smart- ass if you ask me,” Eddie said dryly.
    “I didn’t,” Max commented.
    “Want me to hang around to make sure she starts?”
    “That might be a good idea,” Max said, then went over to the nondescript van, inserted the key in the lock, and opened the driver’s side door. He put the key in the ignition, and the van started up on the first try. “It’s running,” he shouted to Eddie. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”
    Eddie stuck his hand in the air and waved before pulling back onto the road. Max saluted him as he passed.
    Thankful for the front-wheel drive, Max drove the van up the mountain in record time as the roads were all clear. More snow was expected later, but if he were lucky, Grace would be long gone before it hit.
    Something about his conversation with the girls’ mother struck him just then. Just exactly who was Glenn and where had he escaped from? Max was positive the woman had used that word.
    “Escape.”
    Could it be possible this Glenn had escaped from jail or prison? And was it possible his escape was the reason for the roadblocks? The more Max thought about it, the more he knew he was right. He’d lived in the area most of his life. The only time he’d witnessed a roadblock was on I-70 when there was a possible avalanche threat, or bad weather closed the pass.
    Stepping on the accelerator, Max wasted no time plowing up the long drive to his cabin. If he were right, and this man Glenn had escaped, Grace and those two kids could be in grave danger. How or why he knew this, he didn’t know. He did know that if it was in his power to prevent another woman from dying at the hands of another human being, he would do so, no questions asked.
    Racing up the steps to the cabin, Max