It was amazing they’d lived through the avalanche.
He wasn’t sure he could handle another minute out in this cold. Instead of running around to the driver’s side and trying to wedge the door open so close to the upward slant of the mountain, Peter clambered into his truck behind Alanna and Chance. His limbs were clumsy from the cold. He slammed the door shut behind him, pressing awkwardly against the dog until Chance leaped into the back to get out of the way. Then, Alanna scooted into the driver’s seat, giving him a little space.
He’d left the truck running with the heat blasting, but he could barely feel it now. He turned it up all the way, then yanked off his sopping wet gloves. He reached up to take off his hat and discovered it was gone. His short hair was iced over and when he ran his hand through it, ice and water flew across the seat. Thrusting his hands in front of the heater, he glanced at Alanna, who’d slumped against the seat and closed her eyes.
“Come on,” he told her and started unzipping her thick coat, which was definitely made for an Alaskan winter but not for getting buried in an avalanche. His fingers felt too big, swollen beyond their normal size and clumsy. But at least he could feel them, the stinging pain assuring him the nerves still worked.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, but the question had no heat. Her eyes opened, then drifted closed again.
“We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” he muttered, running his tongue over his lip, which was way past chapped and split open as he spoke. “Come on,” he said again, and this time, Chance pitched in.
The St. Bernard pressed his big head through the space between the seats and grabbed Alanna’s sleeve with his mouth, tugging on it until she opened her eyes again.
She turned toward him sluggishly. “You okay, Chance?”
“He saved us,” Peter said, giving the dog a quick pat on the head. “I guess he knows St. Bernards are snow rescue dogs.”
Chance let go of Alanna’s coat long enough to give a brief bark, which made Peter laugh and startled Alanna, finally seeming to focus her.
“It’s so cold,” she said, trying to tug the zipper back up on her coat.
“Nope.” Peter ignored the squelch of his own uncomfortable, freezing clothes as he shifted to get closer to her. He yanked her gloves off and tossed them on the floor behind them, then awkwardly pulled off her coat. At least she could feel the cold. Her hands were bright red, which was definitely better than being unnaturally white, but they both needed to warm up fast.
Grunting at the uncomfortable angle and his aching body, he leaned over her and unlaced her boots, tugging them off her feet. Then came her thick socks. Her toes were too white and he rubbed them for a minute, then shoved her feet underneath the floor heaters.
When he came back up, she was shivering. A good sign.
“Get the rest of your clothes off,” he said, slipping out of his own coat and dumping it on the floor behind him, careful not to drop it on Chance.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, leaning over the dog as he grabbed the stack of blankets he always kept in the vehicle in case of an emergency. Getting stalled out in Desparre could mean death if you weren’t prepared.
He set most of the stack between him and Alanna, then tossed one over Chance, rubbing down the dog’s back to dry some of the dampness.
Realizing Alanna was just staring at him, he yanked off his sweater and snapped, “Hurry up.”
She flushed, a different shade of red flooding along her cheeks and neck, and quickly averted her gaze.
She was only five years younger than him, but he suddenly felt much older. He’d been inside war zones for years, lost most of the hearing in one ear and experienced huge change to his professional and personal life as a result. And her?
He realized he was still staring at her as she tried to cover herself with one of the blankets and shimmy out of her soaking jeans at the same time, so he turned the other way. Then he yanked off his boots and socks, sighing as the blast of heat hit his bare toes.
She’d been kidnapped at five years old and, if news reports could be believed, she’d lived a pretty sheltered life with the Altiers. What had her life been like since she’d returned home to Chicago? Had her real family smothered her, too, afraid to let her out of their sight again? Had she ever ventured out on her own before this?
Resisting the urge to glance at her again, he yanked off the rest of his clothes, shivering as the hot air hit his wet skin. There wasn’t much space in the passenger seat, but he managed to get the itchy wool blanket wrapped all the way around him. Then he closed his eyes and let the warmth inside the truck seep into him.
Alanna was on his bad ear’s side, but in the close confines of the truck, it didn’t matter. All too easily, he could hear her moving around, presumably still in the process of undressing. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, suddenly picturing the paleness of her skin, the long, lean legs that had been encased in jeans earlier. Things he had no business imagining.
When the noise finally stopped, he asked tightly, “You covered?”
“Yes.”
He opened his eyes, trying not to actually glance at her. But he couldn’t help himself.
She was wrapped tightly in the dark wool blanket, covered up to her chin with her drenched hair draped over the front of the blanket and sticking to the seat behind her. Her cheeks were still a patchy red, but it was the bright red of standing outside in Alaska too long, not from embarrassment or shyness.
“You okay?” he asked, staring into her deep brown eyes. It suddenly hit him how beautiful she was.
He hadn’t noticed it before, not really. He’d been far too busy trying to figure out how she’d gone from kidnap victim to accomplice, enabler and defender of criminals.
But she wasn’t out here, risking her life, just for Darcy. She was here for those kids, too, kids she probably identified with because she’d once been in exactly their position. She had to be.
One of her hands slipped free from the mounds of wool and squeezed his arm. “Thank you for coming after me.”
“It’s lucky I happened to be following you around.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but she laughed.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you mean what you said earlier? About working together to find those kids?”
Tiny lines appeared between her graceful eyebrows. “Of course.”
He leaned closer to her, glancing at the gas gauge, and relaxed when he saw that they still had plenty in the tank. They could sit here and warm up a little bit longer. Then again...
He leaned over her, angling so he was looking upward out the window. Being parked around the bend from where the avalanche had hit was a safer spot. The mountain above didn’t come down at quite the same sharp angle. It was less prone to avalanches. Still, if the snow above was unstable, he didn’t want to sit here and discover he was wrong.
Alanna had squeezed against the back of her seat and he could practically feel her holding her breath until he sat back and put some distance between them.
“We should probably move.”
She twisted in her seat, giving him a glance of bare shoulder as she smiled at Chance, who’d shaken free of the blanket and lay down on the back seat, looking far more relaxed than he should have after digging them out of an avalanche.
“You okay, Chance?”
Her dog lifted his big head, strained forward and licked her cheek.
“Guess so,” she said, laughing as she turned forward again. She squirmed inside the blanket until she had it wrapped around her more like a towel, her arms and shoulders bare. Then she twisted and tucked it around her knees and gripped the wheel. “I’m not running around the truck to change seats and I think climbing over each other will be a disaster. So, how about I drive?”
He blinked back at her, suddenly conjuring an image of the two of them tangled together, wool blankets awkwardly between them and nothing else. “You drive and I’ll direct. Let’s go to my house and figure out a plan.”
She stared at him a long minute, the air suddenly tense between them, until finally she gave a short nod and shifted the truck into Drive. She made a careful turn and they headed back up the mountain, past the Altiers’ old home, and then downward again, back to Desparre’s downtown.
With every mile, he snuck glances at her, her hands tense on the wheel, her hair slowly drying and curling slightly against the wool blanket. She seemed more serious in profile, older somehow, and Peter wondered which Alanna was the real one.
The woman who’d held tight to her dog, even at the risk of being tossed over the edge of the mountain by the avalanche? Who’d offered to help the police catch someone she obviously still cared about? Who’d blushed when he stripped his sweater off, even when she should have been more concerned about her own physical well-being?
Or was she the person who’d defended the couple who’d kidnapped her? Still the child who’d been molded by two kidnappers, who’d had her emotions manipulated for so long that her loyalty would always lie in the wrong place?
By keeping her close, he could keep her safe. But would he just be putting himself back in the same position he had two years ago, risking his own safety for someone who was beyond saving?
ALANNA MORGAN LOOKED good in his house, looked good in his clothes.
Peter scowled at the ridiculous thought as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee and settled on the chair across from her, Chance on the floor between them. He’d started a fire as soon as they’d walked through the door. Now it was blazing, almost too hot, but it felt good after being buried in the snow. He took a long sip of his coffee, making a mental note to grab their clothes from his truck soon and toss them all in the dryer. The sooner she was back in her own clothes, the better it would be for his focus.
He still had his suspicions about Alanna, still wondered how much he could trust her, but now sympathy was mixed in with those other emotions. She had to be carrying so many conflicting feelings about her past, about Darcy, about her future. He knew that territory well, and he wanted to reassure her that she could make it through just as he had done.
The drive to his house had been quiet. All of Alanna’s attention had been on navigating the Alaskan roads and she’d handled them better than most of the locals. It reminded him of something else he’d heard through the rumor mill: the Altiers had taught the kids they’d kidnapped all kinds of survival skills. He knew she could lose a tail better than most police officers. Still, when it came to searching for Darcy, she’d acted with emotion rather than intellect. Both he and Alanna should have known those back mountain roads could be dangerous, and still, they’d persisted.
Was it a mistake to bring her here? A mistake to let her get too close? Because even though she might help him find Darcy and those kids, Alanna was still a threat, too. Maybe not intentionally, but when it came right down to it, who would she choose to help? Those kids and a police officer she’d just met, or a woman who’d raised her for most of her life?
Right now she was glancing around his home with open curiosity. It was cozy in a definably Alaskan way, with big windows that showcased the wilderness outside, exposed wooden beams and huge, open living spaces. She took in the long row of black-and-white photographs on one wall. They were images from his time overseas, mostly inside war zones. Images his family always complained about when they came over, images they’d pushed him to take down as his nieces and nephews started asking about them. Images he still kept up so he’d never forget. There was only one photo he’d never hung, one that had appeared in newspapers across the country. He touched his bad ear, scowled when he realized what he was doing and refocused on Alanna.
She frowned slightly at the photos, then turned her gaze out the window as he studied her.
Five years ago, he’d been too caught up in his own life to pay a lot of attention to a group of kids, ages six to twenty-three, rescued from kidnappers so near his hometown. But when he’d first come home, feeling totally adrift and with no idea what he’d do with the rest of his life, he’d read a lot about the story. He’d scoffed at statements made by the victims saying they’d been loved and well-treated. But admittedly, he’d been biased by his own experiences. He still was.
“Tell me about life with the Altiers.”
She shifted to face him, her suspicion of his motives all over her face. Still, she answered softly, earnestly, “I don’t know why she’s doing this, but Darcy would never hurt those kids.”
“She already has,” Peter snapped, regretting the words as he spoke them but unable to call them back. “She kidnapped them. Don’t you remember how that felt?” Way to get beyond his own biases. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, not wanting to tell her about his own past but wondering if that was the best way to reach her.
Before he could, she set down her coffee and leaned toward him. Chance’s head popped up, glancing between them, obviously sensing the tension. “I do remember. I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I know you don’t understand how I can—” she took an audible breath, then stared him straight in the eyes as she finished “—love them.”
“I do understand that.” Or at least, he understood that she thought what she felt was love, instead of a complicated mix of fear and dependency, multiplied over fourteen years. “The attachment you can develop for someone who holds you against your will is real. It can be necessary for survival and then it gets ingrained. It’s—”
Her snort of disbelief cut him off. She looked offended when she replied, “I got a psychology degree after I left Alaska. I understand why you think that’s what’s happening here, but don’t forget—I’m the one who turned them in. They both went to jail because I left that note. My... Julian died because of me.”
Peter frowned, scooting to the edge of his seat, wanting to reach for her hand across the coffee table and assure her that none of it was her fault. But he’d done that once before in his life as a war reporter, and it was amazing he’d come out of that situation with only lost hearing.
She squeezed her eyes briefly shut, then continued, “I know what they did was wrong. I think they know what they did was wrong. But I lived almost my whole childhood with that family. They were the ones who held me when I cried, who made me laugh with their silly jokes, who cheered for me when I accomplished something. The only thing they ever did to hurt me was take me from my family.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Peter asked, straining to keep his voice neutral.
“That’s how my family feels,” Alanna said, her hands clasping together so tightly that her knuckles went white. “But how much do you remember from before you were five? If you’d gone to live with someone else for most of your childhood, how many memories would you have of your family before that?”
Probably sensing her distress, Chance stood and went to her, plopping his big head in her lap and making a brief smile spread across her lips. It faded as soon as Peter spoke.
“You’re telling me you hardly remembered your family?” He tried to imagine that, being ripped from his family as a kindergartener by two people who then called themselves his parents, who treated him well and raised him with love. An ache twisted in his heart at the idea. Worse, he could suddenly picture it, could understand why she’d grown to love them and probably forgot more and more of life with her real family as the years went on.
“I remembered enough,” Alanna answered, her voice softer now, as if she knew she was getting through to him. “But sometimes, love is irrational. And sometimes years of good actions start to outweigh one bad one, no matter how terrible that moment was.”
“And still, you turned them in. Why?” What had changed after fourteen years to make her write that note?
“I didn’t want to go the rest of my life without ever knowing the parents I vaguely remembered, the sister and brother I’d had.”
Something passed over her face, a wave of sadness that told him she’d sacrificed a lot to fulfill that wish. More than just the loss of two people who’d acted like her parents most of her childhood, but also four other kids she’d loved as siblings. Four other kids who, from all accounts, had also felt loved in that household. Who probably missed Alanna as much as she missed them.
“Have you seen Darcy and Julian since they went to jail?”
She stiffened, straightened in a way that made his internal lie detector go off.
“No.”
“But you’ve talked to them?” he guessed.
“No.”
Was she lying? He couldn’t tell. But if she wasn’t... “Alanna, you need to be careful. I know Darcy and Julian loved you once. But you did turn them in. You said what Darcy’s doing now makes no sense. Maybe she changed in prison.”
He frowned, knowing that in terms of the investigation, it was a mistake to say any more, but he needed her to recognize the threat against her, to keep herself safe, too. She’d agreed to work with him, but theirs was a tentative truce, at best. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, even if he was beginning to sympathize with her. Even if he was starting to like her as a person.
That was a mistake, too, but one he couldn’t seem to help. These days, it was his job to risk his life to protect others, even if they put him in danger.
He touched his bad ear again, watched her gaze narrow as she followed his movement.
“Darcy would never hurt me,” Alanna said, but her voice lacked confidence.
“You can’t know that,” Peter insisted. “So, let’s make a deal. You want to work together to find those kids? I’m in. But I’m law enforcement, so you’re going to let me keep you safe. No more going off on your own to search for her. We stick together from here on out. Deal?”
She looked ready to argue, but after a long moment, she simply nodded.
“Now, where were you going today?”
“I think I have some ideas about where Darcy might go. Julian had backup hiding spots.”
Anger flooded through him at the realization that she’d kept this to herself. She’d been gunning for one of those hiding spots and if he hadn’t been following her, that information would have been lost. Those kids might have been lost. Maybe for fourteen long years, like she had been. Maybe longer.
This time, he held his anger inside and asked, “Where are these hiding spots?”
Panic rushed over her face and she leaped to her feet, making Chance jump up, too. The pair of them ran to his garage, and Alanna yanked open the back door of his truck, climbing inside as he caught up to them.
When Chance tried to climb in with her, Alanna put up a hand. “Stay, Chance.”
The St. Bernard promptly sat, but he looked back at Peter as if to say, Can’t I go, too?
“We’re not going anywhere, Chance,” Peter told him as Alanna climbed back out, unzipping an interior pocket of her bright red coat.
The coat was still sopping wet and so was the small piece of paper she pulled out of the pocket.
She unfolded it with infinite care, then swore as she looked back up at him, dismay in her eyes. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“The list of locations I found at the house. All the places Darcy might be hiding.”