Final Resort (6 page)

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. We
can’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.”

“Then
you 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 eased
the 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.

“I
remember 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 webbing, and I’ve never seen Uncle Paul as mad as he was then. Mack Dog had to bunk in my room for three days until Uncle Paul forgave him.”

Luca reached out a hand, his fingers grazing her
own, momentarily bridging the chasm that separated them and sending a jolt of electricity through her bones. “You didn’t buckle this one right.”

“Thanks.” She pulled her hand away, ignoring the tingling his touch left behind, and fixed the strap. “Let’s go. The view from up there is the best vantage point,” she said more to herself than him.

They waddled their way upslope, crunching
over the snow. The air was so cold it made her eyes sting. Pines rustled above them. The sergeant was right. A storm was coming.

She increased her pace until she was breathing hard, ribs complaining and one knee beginning to stiffen. Months of teaching every available ski lesson and taking numerous shifts on ski patrol had gotten her no closer to saving Whisper Mountain, but it had taken
a toll on her body. The near drowning had only added more pain to the load. She forced herself to move faster until Luca was panting in his effort to keep up.

Odd projections of granite protruded through the snow. A bird, feathers puffed against the breeze pecked among the rocks, oblivious to the snow which had begun to fall.

Ava crunched as close as she could to the edge of the rocky
plateau until the scenery played out beneath her. She was struck by the beauty of it in spite of the fear that bubbled in her gut. How could she be witness to something so grand? A glittering landscape so beautiful it could only have been made by God Himself? It made an ache inside her for a moment, a longing she couldn’t describe until darker thoughts took over.

God wasn’t welcome in her
world anymore.

She would not let Him back into her life. She would put Him away in that painful place inside her, boxed up with memories so anguished they must be contained so they would not cut her to shreds with their razor-sharp edges. She blew out a breath to clear her mind.

A nudge on her arm startled her out of her reverie.

Luca held a pair of binoculars out to her. “They
were in the front seat of your car.”

She scanned until she picked out the yellow vests of the search and rescue team. But it was not the ravine that drew her attention as much as the area spreading out along either side, a gentle ribbon of ground that hosted a trickling stream in the summer. Now it was frozen under piles of snow, shrouded by pine and fir trees.

If he was alive, Uncle
Paul would make his way there, screened by trees and sheltered from the wind.

If he’d survived the crash.

If.

She’d never realized before how such a tiny word could hold such a world of hope wrapped up inside it.

If you’re alive, I’ll find you.

Ignoring the cold that had begun to seep through her jacket, Ava set off away from the promontory, into the curtain of falling
snow.

SIX

L
uca concentrated on keeping pace with Ava. He tried to push other thoughts from his mind, but they crowded in anyway. He’d flown over these mountains many times in his years of piloting a helicopter. Rugged terrain, made more inhospitable by winter conditions. He knew they would not find Uncle Paul alive. That left more grisly options to churn through his gut as they began
the arduous descent.

The Sierras were home to black bears who, contrary to popular belief, did not fall into the dead sleep of hibernation. They emerged from their dens periodically and not in the most complacent of moods. He’d encountered one particularly angry female while backpacking with his brother. The mother bear did not appreciate their proximity to her sleeping cubs. Never underestimate
the power of a determined female protecting her family. He shot a look at Ava and then the sky, estimating the temperature to be somewhere in the low teens. The previous night had similar temps, but with the wind chill and active snowfall, it would have been dangerous to be trapped outside, even for someone who hadn’t recently been injured and abducted.

The list unrolled in his mind: shock,
internal bleeding, exposure, hypothermia, head injury.

And an abductor ready to finish Paul off?

Where did that factor into the list? Nothing changed his earlier certainty that their mission would not have a happy ending. The best they could do would be to figure out who was after Paul’s treasure. It would help her find closure, but there would not be a happy ending for Ava. He rolled
his shoulders to ease a sudden pain in his chest.

She stopped so suddenly that he almost plowed into the back of her.

“I thought I heard something.”

They both listened. He picked up what might have been a shout from far away, the direction where the rescuers were working. Now he detected only the rustle of the wind in the pine needles.

He did a slow half circle, taking in the
green black pines and the dazzle of crystalline snow. A glint from a nearby ridge made him do a retake, but although he stared until his eyes burned, he could not see anything amiss.

Ava continued on, and he followed.

They’d been traveling for an hour since they’d strapped on the snowshoes, their trek keeping pace with the sun as it began its descent. He looked back up at the ridge where
Ava’s car was parked. The return trip would take twice as long. He’d have to stop her, and he didn’t relish the thought.

You should end it now. This is futile, and you know it.

She had already moved forward into the thick screen of trees. He plodded after her pushing by branches and wiping the spray out of his eyes. They emerged on the frozen creek bed.

“Uncle Paul would have followed
the creek to find a place to hole up that was sheltered from the wind.” She scanned up and down. “There’s plenty of snow here to make a cave and it’s far enough away from where the snowmobile went over that he could escape the kidnapper.”

She couldn’t recognize the flaw in her own hopeful logic. If Paul survived the crash unscathed, the kidnapper would likely have, too, following right along
behind. There would be no hiding from the guy, whoever he was.

Ava continued, undaunted. “He’d pick a spot with deep snow. The opening would face the leeward side to keep the wind out.”

He checked the forecast on this phone. No change. The storm was still barreling toward them.

“Ava...”

“And there would be a ventilation hole if he had time to make one. Maybe he cut branches
to lie on.” She began to examine the pine trees, looking for broken twigs.

The snow fell harder as she continued to move farther away from their route out. He scanned the far side of the bank, keeping an eye on the clouds that now seemed to absorb the sunlight.

“Ava, we have to go back. We can’t get caught here when that storm comes in.”

“A few more minutes,” she called, stopping
at a dome of snow. He watched as she shoved a stick down into the bowl of white, hating the sad look on her face when she straightened. She’d have to face the truth. He wondered why the thought bothered him so much.

Flakes collected on her hat, spangling her hair. Her cheeks were pink, eyes glittering feverishly. “Maybe a little farther down. He could have made it that far.”

She’d made
it two more steps when he caught up, turning her to face him. His fingers easily encircled her wrist, so delicate.

“We’ve got to go back. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, sending snowflakes dancing back to the ground. “He might be out here.”

He didn’t let her look away this time, instead putting his hand to her cheek and directing her gaze to his. “He’s not. He could not have made
it this far from the crash site.”

“But...”

He took hold of both her gloved hands and moved her closer, feeling his heart thump unsteadily. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

The air seemed to go out of her and she pulled her hands away, shoulders slumped.

After one last look down the frozen creek bed, she followed him back the way they had come.

He felt like he was somehow responsible.
She was giving up. Would a few minutes more of searching have hurt? A couple more moments for her to decide for herself that it was time to go?

Uncertainty was not natural to him, and he wondered why this one small woman seemed to awaken it in him.

He was going for his phone, to check one more time to see if the storm had altered course, weakened somehow, when Ava let out a yelp and
surged forward, moving faster in her snowshoes than he would have thought possible.

“What is it?” he yelled.

She didn’t answer, just kept hurrying toward a tangle of trees up the bank.

He applied himself to following along, his own progress much more clumsy.

She charged through the falling snow which was now flowing in a silent curtain down on them. “I saw something. Right
up here.”

He struggled to keep up as she started up a snowbank.

“Something red,” she puffed. “Uncle Paul was wearing a red cap. I knew he came this way. I knew it.”

Foreboding took root in Luca’s gut as Ava shoved her hands into the shrubs, pushing aside the iced branches.

“I’ll help,” he said, stripping off his gloves, ignoring the frigid temperatures that bit at his skin.
The sooner she ended the wild goose hunt the better.

He had only begun to paw through the branches when Ava let out a whoop of joy. She thrust out a hand and pulled out a bit of red cloth. “I...”

The triumph slowly faded away as she looked closer. It was a torn glove, one finger missing and unraveling at the bottom. It was a child’s glove, no doubt left behind from a tobogganing adventure,
the worn condition indicating it had been there for some time.

“I thought...” she began.

She did not cry. He wished she had. The disappointment and grief that filled her eyes was far worse. He could not tell if it was sorrow or the passing clouds that turned the iridescent blue irises dark and flat. In that moment he would have done anything, said anything to bring the spark back.

“I’m sorry” was all he could think to say.

She turned away quickly, too quickly, and her snowshoes got tangled underneath her. She fell on her knees, sinking down into the snow. He dragged her up again and for a moment, wrapped her in his arms, pressed his cheek to her forehead. She was fighting hard not to cry.

She whispered, voice ragged. “Luca, do you think my uncle is really dead?”

He held her there, willing comfort and warmth back into her frame at the same time his body relished the feel of her next to him. “The police will know soon.”

She gathered herself then, the shutter falling into place, as she pulled out of his arms.

“We should go see if they’ve found anything.”

He led the way this time, grateful that she could not see his worry. Ava was strong,
strong enough to survive her mother’s suicide, but it seemed the loss had piled a greater weight on her soul and darkened her spirit, blotting out the irrepressible joie de vivre he remembered. How would she survive this new blow?

It’s not your problem, Luca. She made that clear.
Ava wasn’t his business, but his heart and body did not seem to be getting the message.

The clouds cast strange
shadows on the snow as they made their awkward way back to the car. At the top, something made him pause and turn back to the frozen riverbed. He looked again for the strange gleam that he’d imagined earlier.

There was nothing but the howl of the quickening wind.

* * *

Ava stripped off the snowshoes and placed them carefully in the trunk. Uncle Paul’s snowshoes, his pride and joy.
Cold seemed to infuse her from the inside out. She’d been so sure she would find him. He would creep out from some cleverly constructed snow cave, flash that grin at her and they would face the challenge of selling Whisper Mountain together.

The wind murmured in her ears.

He’s gone.

She fought an urge to scream into the sky.

Stop taking everything away.

I cannot endure
any more pain.

“Stop,” she whispered.

Luca looked up from the fender where he’d sat to remove his snowshoes. “What did you say?”

She had not realized she’d uttered it aloud. Tucked inside his words was an undercurrent so gentle that she did not trust herself to answer. The threads holding her heart together were fragile, like the strands of ice glazing the delicate pine needles
above them. One shift, one gust of wind and they would shatter. Somehow instinct told her to keep Luca away, far away. She waved him off and headed toward the driver’s seat.

He stopped her with a touch on her forearm. “Why don’t I drive back?”

No energy to argue. No reason to resist. She handed him the keys.

He turned over the engine just as his phone rang.

“Hey, Stephanie.
We’re heading back now.” Luca shot a quick glance at Ava. “No. Nothing to report.” He listened intently for a moment before turning to her. “Do you know a Sue Agnoti? Her name sounds familiar.”

Ava nodded. “She’s been a caretaker at Whisper for years. We’ve been paying her and her husband a little to keep up the place. They live there now.”

“She’s been calling the trailer every few hours.
She’s coming to talk to you.”

“Twenty-plus years ago she was Uncle Paul’s girlfriend. That’s how she came to Whisper in the first place.” Ava heaved a sigh. “Uncle Paul messed things up of course, but they’ve been friends for decades anyway. What will she say when I tell her he’s...” Ava clamped her mouth shut tight.

“I’ll tell her, if you’d like me to.”

“No, thank you. I’ll do
it.”

“You also got a call from a Charlie Goren, a friend of your uncle.”

“I don’t know him, but at least someone thinks of Uncle Paul as a friend.”

Ava tuned out as Luca finished the conversation with Stephanie. He guided the car back toward the main road, making it only a few feet when the text from Sergeant Towers came in.

Luca stopped the car to read from the screen. “They’re
suspending the search until morning,” he told her.

She nodded, leaning her head back against the seat, eyes turned toward the ridgeline. Was he lying there now? Buried under an immovable mass of ice? Had he suffered?

Imagination began to play cruel havoc. Many a time she had wondered if her mother had suffered, sinking into the excruciating cold of Melody Lake. She went over the well-worn
path in her mind. Was there one moment, one split second of regret when her mother had reconsidered, struggling to turn toward the shore? Had she gone to her death with regret or relief?

It doesn’t matter. It’s done. She’s gone. Uncle Paul is gone.

I’m alone.

Luca reached over and adjusted the air vents to allow the heat to blow on her, but it did not help. There was no relief.
She doubted there ever would be.

“I’m not...sure what to do here,” Luca said.

She blinked. “There’s nothing for you to do.”

“There will be details to deal with. Things that need taking care of,” he returned, voice soft.

“I’ll do it.”

“I can help. Steph and Tate also.” He shifted, his bulk seeming too big for the small front seat. “We’ll interface with the police.” His
posture relaxed slightly, and she knew he was relieved to have constructed a plan of action. She felt suddenly angry.

“You can’t fix this, Luca.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you try? Why are you here now?”

“I already told you.”

She wanted to shake him out of the horrible poise. “You aren’t staying here for the treasure. You’re doing this for my father and because you feel
guilty leaving me alone now that Uncle Paul is probably dead.”

He gazed out the window as if he was a tourist, taking in the sparkling view. “You need help right now, Ava. It’s not a crime to admit that. I...I want to help.”

The words rushed out in a furious hiss. “I don’t need you.”

“Your business is failing, you are dealing with the loss of a loved one and this place reminds you
of your mother’s suicide. You need help. Your father agrees.” He turned sober green eyes on her and let out a breath. “I’m sorry. That was not kind of me to say.”

He was right. She wondered why it hurt so much to have all the darkness pulled out and put on display. “If my life is such a mess,” she said through clenched teeth, “then why would you want to stay here and be involved?”

“Because...”
His voice trailed off and then he cleared his throat. “For whatever reason, our paths crossed and you need help. We’ll stay until the treasure business is wrapped up. Then I’m gone.”

Cold. Detached. All business.

How could he know what she was feeling? This man from a perfect family who never struggled with how to pay the electric bills? Who moved through the world with the confidence
born of living in a stable family with loving siblings and a strong parent?

“Forget it.” Ava turned away, staring out the window at the furious storm clouds marching in like soldiers across the dome of sky, the interlocking branches above sending bits of ice raining down on them.