“Mom, wake up!”
“Come on, Mom, open your eyes!”
Jordan went from deep slumber to instant alert—a survival mechanism of all mothers who sensed their offspring needed them. From being curled up in the passenger seat with a parka tucked around her shoulders, she jolted awake. Her fingers drew into fists, ready for battle. Her posture straightened, and her feet planted on the floorboards. The car was parked at the side of a road with the headlights cutting through a thick wall of ponderosa pine and boulders.
She blinked. The skies above the horizon were streaked with magenta and coral. Almost nightfall. When did that happen? I must have been asleep for hours. The last thing she remembered was a lunch break at a taco shack in Fruita near Grand Junction.
The interior light in the Suburban went on. She saw Blake behind the steering wheel, then she peered into the back seat where her five-year-old twins were rolling their eyes like teenagers and giving her a hard time about being a lazybones. She cleared her throat. “Where are we?”
“Colorado,” the boys shouted in unison. “In a forest. On a mountain.”
“Ice Mountain,” Cooper said, ever vigilant in reporting the details.
Squinting at Blake, she asked, “Why are we stopped?”
“We’re less than a mile away from the cabin.”
A chorus of cheers erupted from the back seat. Cooper said, “You’ve got to see this place. Blake’s built it himself.”
“Is that so?” She knew he hadn’t.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “A man’s home is his castle.”
“Did Blake teach you that?”
Before the boys could answer, he interrupted. “I called ahead to my buddy, Chester, who lives across the lake. Do you remember him?”
“Of course, I do.” A friend of the family who’d known Blake since childhood, Chester had encouraged him to join the US Marine Corps and to purchase this cabin with another friend. She thought of Chester as a father figure for Blake, replacing his biological father who left before he was five.
Absent fathers seemed to be a recurring theme in her life, and she experienced a stab of guilt for causing her twins the same pain she’d felt. Her own dad had died when she was eleven. She shook her shoulders, not needing to think about death in the family...or among dear friends. “Why did you call Chester?”
“To get the cabin ready for us. I didn’t want to walk into any surprises.”
Her brain clicked into gear, and she realized that he was talking about a possible ambush. They’d already discussed his connection to this hideaway. Eleven years ago—just after his first deployment—Blake bought the cabin in partnership with a guy who put his name on the deed. His partner had been killed earlier this year. He left his share of the cabin to Blake who kept the taxes paid and managed the upkeep with help from his neighbor Chester but had never gotten around to legally changing the deed, which meant there was no official record of his ownership. No one, other than very close friends, knew about Blake’s connection to this property on Ice Mountain. “And what did Chester tell you?”
“He opened up the cabin, and everything is A-OK. The toilet flushes. The heat is turned on. And he stocked the fridge with some basic groceries.”
When she looked into the back seat, a genuine smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “What do you say, boys? Should we check out the cabin?”
While the kids shouted agreement, Blake eased the Suburban forward on the narrow, curving road through the forest. Excitement from the twins infected her as well. They were almost home safe. She’d pulled off the first part of her escape from Hugh and his minions, and that wasn’t the only reason she was glad to be back to the cabin on Ice Mountain. It was here, seven years ago, that she’d spent an idyllic five days with Blake. They’d made love every night, talked about their dreams, laughed and hiked through the pine-scented forest until they were exhausted. She had seriously considered marrying him.
When the Suburban rounded a final curve, the shadows parted to reveal a two-story log cabin with a gently slanted, gabled roof of faded red shingles. The porch light cast a golden glow onto a covered porch that stretched across the first floor. Red hummingbird feeders dangled above the porch railings, and the tinkling sounds of wind chimes serenaded them.
He parked in the gravel drive to the right of the porch. The twins unfastened their seat belts but stayed in the boosters.
“Mom, Mom, Mom, can we get out?”
“Can we go, can we go?”
“Wait for us outside the front door,” she said, “but yeah, you can go.”
The back doors flung open, and they dashed through the trees.
“Why did you tell them to wait?” Blake asked.
“I seem to recall several security measures at this cabin, and I wanted to be sure the front door wouldn’t explode when it was touched by unauthorized little fingers.”
“Good point.”
“There’s a lot of other stuff I remember. Good stuff.”
“Me, too.” He gave her a grin. “During the five days and four nights we stayed here, I proposed marriage three times. Why did you turn me down, Jordan?”
“As you know, men and women are different.”
“Agreed.”
“When men fall in love, they’re more romantic and less realistic than women. Most of the stories of unrequited love are about men who are pining away for the first woman they ever kissed or a great beauty seen from afar. On the other hand, women are down-to-earth and practical. They like to see bank statements and evidence of steady employment.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” he said. “Did you write an article on the topic?”
She bobbed her head. “An interview with two sex therapists—a man and a woman. I agreed with the woman.”
“Not surprised.”
“Like her, I’m pragmatic. I looked at our relationship and evaluated. The sex was amazing. The same was true for the camaraderie. It was great to be with someone who could always make me laugh. However, we were both defined by our careers. I couldn’t ask you to give up being a marine. And vice versa for me and journalism.”
He pushed open his car door. “Things are different now.”
What does that mean? Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time for a deep discussion. On the porch, the boys were bouncing back and forth between the railing and the side of the log cabin. “We’d better let those two jumping beans go inside before they break the door down.”
“FYI, there are no weird locking devices, but it’ll take a minute for them to figure out the keypad system. If they get it wrong, we get blasted with an earsplitting alarm.”
She fell into step behind him. “Did the kids drive you up a wall while I was sleeping?”
“We were cool. I gave them a history lesson about Indigenous people and pioneers coming west. Cooper had a couple of stories I’ve never heard. Mostly from educational television.”
He unlocked the front door and disabled the alarm using the keypad, which he promptly reactivated when they were inside. When she was here before, she had questioned him about the need for security, and he explained that since the cabin was vacant for long periods of time, he needed the alarm to scare off burglars. Any break-in also sent a phone notification to Chester, who could be at his front door in ten minutes. If she’d come here without him, the alarm would have been a problem, but now the precautions reassured her. Every extra ounce of protection was welcome.
Blake strode through the front room with the moss rock fireplace, a sofa, comfy chairs for reading and a long walnut dinner table with eight chairs. He directed the boys. “The kitchen is back there. My office is tucked away on the other side of the staircase, and the bathroom and washing machine are there, too. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms.”
The floor plan took a moment to register in her mind. Two bedrooms meant one for the twins and a master for her and Blake. One bedroom, and she remembered one very comfortable king-size bed. When she’d first initiated this escape plan, he hadn’t been part of the picture. Now, Blake stood front and center.
They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements, and she didn’t know what to say or how to react. Was it too soon for them to dive into the sack together? Was she expecting too much, pushing their relationship forward too fast? On the other hand, if they didn’t sleep together very soon, she’d be overwhelmed by some very uncharacteristic leanings toward romantic love. Hah! That’s what I get for claiming I’m immune and don’t get carried away. She’d been so glib about her cool, pragmatic nature. In truth, the idea of lying beside him on the great, big bed sparked a fire in her belly. If she didn’t get herself under control, she’d melt into a sloppy little puddle of unrequited lust.
BLAKE BELONGED HERE in his cabin on Ice Mountain. This was home.
He loved his mom and two half sisters, but their contact was minimal, and he hadn’t lived with his family since he went to college on a football scholarship. With the twins walking on either side, he showed off the kitchen and returned to the staircase near the front door where their mother stood, frozen in thought. Her stillness worried him, and he was glad when she drifted toward the kitchen.
To the boys, he said, “Your bedroom is upstairs.”
“Can we see it?”
“Sure, knock yourself out.”
“I love this place,” Alex announced as he clambered up the stairs.
“Me, too.” Though he hadn’t built the cabin, despite what Cooper thought, he’d added a two-car garage and done a ton of work on the septic system and the well. Running water and a flush toilet were two of the major reasons Chester had advised him to buy this three-acre property when it came on the market. Way back then, Blake hadn’t understood the importance of water rights in Colorado and a well that could provide a steady flow. He’d grown up in Illinois, in cities where water was a given. Proudly, he continued the grand tour as the kids rejoined him and they went to the bathroom/laundry room.
“How come there’s no bathtub?” Cooper asked.
“Real men like showers,” Alex said.
From the front room, Jordan spoke up. “I like showers, too.”
Instead of debating the question of which method got you cleaner, Blake launched into a lecture on water conservation that included not using too much water when you brushed your teeth, not washing clothes until you’ve got a full load and not taking a shower every day. “Not unless you’re really dirty.”
“Got it. Really dirty.” Alex nodded. “I’m going to like living here.”
Jordan appeared in the doorway. “It’s a fantastic bathroom, but I like the kitchen better. Chester left us a selection of ham and cheese for sandwiches. And chips.”
The boys ran toward the kitchen, and he joined Jordan in the narrow hallway. “Does the cabin live up to your memories?”
She gave him a quick hug and stepped back, putting distance between them. “I thought you were going to take down the wall between the kitchen and dining room to make a counter.”
“A pending project.” There was always something. “I’ll unpack the car and put it away in the garage while you feed the kids.”
“And then, we have something important to talk about.”
He guessed she wanted to discuss plans for the investigation into her ex-husband’s affairs. “You’re going to start making lists, aren’t you?”
“I always do. I need lists and schedules to stay on target.”
“What’s the number one item?”
“After dinner and getting settled, there’s only one task for tonight.” She turned her face away from him and studied a watercolor painting of a mountain lake that hung on the wall between the bathroom and the study. “We can talk about it later.”
Obviously, she was hedging, and her unwillingness to bring up a troublesome issue bothered him. “Tell me now.”
“Sleeping arrangements.” She refused to look him in the eye. “There’s only one king-size bed in the master bedroom, right?”
“Correct.” He couldn’t believe this was a big deal. Did she think he was going to jump her? Force her to have sex as payment for using his cabin? He shoved open the door to his study and pointed to the full-size, foldout sleeper sofa against the wall. “I’ll bunk there.”
Relief splashed across her face. Apparently, the idea of sleeping with him freaked her out. “That doesn’t seem fair. I should take the sleeper. It’s not long enough for your legs.”
“I’ll manage.”
Her phone dinged, and she took it from her pocket. “A text from Spike.”
The computer genius had taken his time getting back to her. For a moment, Blake dared to hope the message would be good news about Abigail’s accident.
As Jordan stared at the screen on the cell phone, her face crumpled and a tear leaked from her eye. “She’s dead.”
Don’t cry. Damn it, don’t. Other tears spilled down her cheeks, breaking through barriers he wasn’t aware he’d built and making him feel helpless. He hated to see her—or anybody else—weep. When he heard the twins yelling from the kitchen about sandwiches, he was grateful for the distraction. They’d found a bag of corn chips and bottles of a strawberry-flavored drink. He took a step in their direction. “Should I make sandwiches?”
“Stay with me.” She passed him the phone. “My eyes won’t focus. Read the rest of the text for me.”
The tiny print covered most of the screen and dribbled onto another. Spike’s precise details about contusions, concussions and internal brain bleed sounded like a medical examiner’s report and made him wonder how an outside computer guy managed to access those records.
He skipped the painful details of her physical condition and summarized from the police report. “Her BMW broke through a guardrail and flew off the mountain road. Not wearing her seat belt, she was thrown from the car. Her injuries were fatal. She smelled like booze.”
Jordan hiccupped a sob.
He continued, “The state highway patrol and the Flagstaff PD will investigate. As of now, they’re calling her death an accident, possibly a DUI.”
“What?” She swabbed at her eyes. “Abigail wasn’t a heavy drinker. How could they make that kind of mistake?”
Blake suspected the police had been influenced by Waltham and his many contacts. In his mind, he could almost hear the smooth politico talking about the tragedy and bemoaning Abigail’s heavy alcohol consumption. “Spike has two more bits of unrelated information. I’m not sure how he taps into this stuff, but he’s incredible.”
“What does he say?”
“Number one: Hugh’s security team, led by Gorilla Gruber, is working with Khaled. They’re looking for the Prius in Las Vegas but haven’t found the car.”
“Nothing about Harvey? Or Emily and the chopper?”
“Not a peep.”
“That’s good. They haven’t figured out how we left town.” She dabbed at her eyes again. The tears were gone. “Do they mention San Francisco?”
“Spike says no.”
“You said there were two bits.”
“I don’t know what this means.” He held up the phone and read verbatim. “Retired squirrel makes nest in Aspen—a multi-million-dollar house is pricey for Rockwell from Flagstaff.”
“I’ll explain later,” she said.
Before his eyes, her expression transformed. No more crying, her gaze hardened. She was a fierce huntress who had sighted prey. He almost felt sorry for Rockwell from Flagstaff...whoever that was.