She had no coat. No hat. No gloves.
Shivering, she looked around for a place to hide. Some place he couldn’t find her.
“It’s over!” a deep voice shouted. “You can’t escape.”
No...she silently screamed. She had to get away. Instincts told her he’d kill her if he caught her.
Ice clung to her hands and clothes as she shoved herself up. One foot. Another. She trudged forward. Ahead, a path wound to the left. Up a hill. Maybe it led to the road. Or at least to a shelter. A place to hide.
An animal howled in the distance. A coyote? Bobcat?
Bears also roamed these mountains.
Another foot. Another. Her boot caught in a pile of weeds. Her ankle twisted and she lost her footing. She swayed and clawed for something to hold on to. Her nails dug into the bark of a thin pine, and she hugged it, gasping for breath.
Another howl. Louder. Closer. A wolf?
Trembling, she peered through the trees. There it was. A large gray wolf perched on a boulder ahead, its nose in the air, sniffing. Beady eyes darted across the land, searching for prey.
Terror shot through her. If the man didn’t get her, the wolf might.
Forcing herself to remain still so as not to invite an attack, she eased back a step. Clung to the trees. Footfalls light. Another step. Then another. No sound.
Only the shrill wind again, and the wolf pawing at the rock.
Tears clogged her throat. She had to stay calm. Breathe in and out. Keep moving. A few steps more, and she ducked behind a cluster of rocks to hide. Maybe she could wait him out.
But the echo of footsteps crunched ice and brush again. She pushed up to run, but two gloved hands grabbed her. A big body behind her. Rough clothes. The scent of a man’s musky odor.
“Let me go.” Determined to fight, she raised her arm and swung her elbow backward at an angle, but she missed.
“I warned you that you couldn’t escape.” Something sharp and hard hit the back of her head. A gunshot followed, ringing in her ears.
Pain ricocheted through her temple. Then the world went black, and she fell into the darkness.
ALL FLETCHER—FLETCH—MAVERICK wanted to do was enjoy a little bro time and then hit the sack. He’d been working double shifts the last two days. Ever since the big snowstorm had hit Whistler and the mountains, his search and rescue team had been on the clock.
Warnings had been issued. People had been advised to stay in. Cancel their plans for hiking the trails. Stock up on food.
That part the locals had listened to. The grocery stores had run out of milk, bread and bottled water. Battery pack phone chargers, generators, flashlights and batteries had flown off the shelves.
Larry’s Liquor store had lines backed out the door.
Still some people refused to stay home. As if the predicted five feet of snow and windchill temperatures below zero was propaganda the meteorologists had fabricated to stir up a frenzy at the stores.
This time the weather forecasters had nailed it, though. Clouds started unleashing snow the night before, and it had been a constant downfall of white ever since.
Trouble was weather forecasters missed so often that people didn’t pay attention or just blew them off. School closings for possible snow that turned into rain made the South a laughingstock in the national news.
But this one was for real and had only just begun.
Fletch sank onto a barstool at the high top across from his brothers, Jacob, Griff and Liam. He was so bone-weary he could barely muster a smile.
“You look like hell,” the firefighter of the four, Griff, said.
“I feel like it, too,” Fletch muttered as Liam poured him a beer from the pitcher on the table. Liam was with the FBI.
Fletch’s mouth watered as his fingers gripped the mug. The beer was an IPA. His favorite.
Jacob, the oldest of the four and Whistler’s sheriff, pounded Fletch’s back. “Good work finding those hikers yesterday.”
Fletch took a sip from his mug, then snagged a wing from the platter and bit into it. “Glad we found them when we did.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Man broke his leg and needed medical assistance.”
He reached for his beer again, but before he could take another swig, his phone buzzed on his hip. A quick glance at the number and he cursed. “Work.”
His brothers traded grim looks as Fletch answered the call. “A family has been reported missing on the trail,” his boss, Captain Hanley, said. “I know you just got off duty, Fletch, but we’re slammed. Had two other calls. I need you to come in.”
Fletch pushed his beer away, stood and clipped his phone back onto his belt. “Be right there.”
“You have to go in?” Jacob asked.
Fletch nodded. “Missing family.”
Liam motioned for the waitress and asked her to bring a to-go box and a large sweet tea. “At least take some food with you. I know how these things go.”
Fletch accepted the take-out food and tea, knowing his brother was right, then headed to the door.
Thirty minutes later, he was geared up with his pack, and he and two fellow rangers, Todd and Danny, met at the beginning of the trail leading to Whistler Falls, where the family was supposed to be hiking.
“Family’s named Patterson. A father, two boys, ages seven and nine,” Todd said. “They’re from south Georgia.”
Where it was sunny and warm. They were definitely out of their element in this frigid mess.
The family’s white Expedition was parked in the lot. The Appalachian Trail consisted of over two thousand miles of trails through the wilderness running from Georgia to Maine. Designated spots where hikers began their trek still required parking and hiking in. Throughout the states, lean-to shelters had been built to provide accommodations for emergencies, but
