Chapter Forty
By the time Sam and May caught sight of his cabin, dusk was closing in. They’d had to wait until the storm had let up to even set out. Sam had found Hopkins’s ancient snowshoes—fortunately he still had his late wife’s shoes stored away as well—and showed May how to strap them on. Then it’d just been a matter of walking to his cabin. But snowshoeing, though effective on deep snow, was slow going. It’d taken them hours, and May had started lagging the last mile or so, her face tired and drawn.
All in all, he was damned happy to see his front door.
Some of the sled dogs staked out in his yard stood and greeted them with yaps, though most didn’t bother uncurling from their balls of warm fur. He could hear Otter, though, inside the house, racing to the door and barking his head off.
“We’ll get some hot soup in you,” Sam murmured to May as he led her to the door. “And a shower. That’ll warm you up.”
She only nodded at him, which made him worry more, because a May without a snappy comeback was a very cold and tired May.
He tried the handle to his own door, realized it was locked, realized further that he hadn’t brought his keys on the raid on Beridze, and knocked.
The door cracked and Karl and a shotgun barrel peered out.
“It’s us,” Sam said, too tired to even protest being held at gunpoint on his own front step.
“Oh, thank God, dude!” Karl said and flung open the door.
Sam helped May in, an arm around her shoulders, as Otter leaped at his knees. The little dog was nearly beside himself, panting anxiously as Sam gently shoved him aside so he could shut the door.
“We didn’t know what was up when you didn’t come back,” Karl said, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Doug’s been shot.”
“Yeah, I know.” Sam helped May take off her snowshoes, propping them next to his by the door. There was a big duffel that hadn’t been there before, and he stared at it a moment before leading May into the kitchen and sat her on one of the stools by the island.
Becky, Haley Anne, and Molly were already gathered. Ilya glanced up from where he slumped in one of the chairs by the windows. In the chair next to him was Jim Gustafson of all people. Becky took one look at them and put a kettle on.
“What’re you doing here, Jim?” Sam asked
Jim shrugged. “I was in town at Sarah Milton’s place. We… ah, we have kind of a thing going.”
“Yeah?” Karl asked, sounding interested.
Jim turned a little red. “Yeah, so we heard the shooting and the phone lines were down this morning.” Jim shrugged. “Thought I should come see what was going on. If Sam needed help or anything.”
“Appreciate that,” Sam said. “May lost her skis and we got caught by the storm. Had to hole up in Tony Hopkins’s cabin.”
“Thank God you made it there,” Becky said quietly. She was sticking something in the microwave to heat.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Everyone else make it back?”
Becky nodded to the downstairs bedroom. “They’re all in there, still sleeping. We patched Doug up, but he needs a doctor. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“What about Doc?”
The lines deepened in her face. “He’s got a low fever. I think he’s okay for now, but we need to get him to a hospital as soon as we can, Sam.”
“Noted,” Sam said grimly as he shucked his parka. He threw it over a chair. “How’d you get here, Jim?”
“Snowmobile,” Jim said, short and succinct.
Sam nodded. “Anyone try the phones?”
“Still not working,” Becky answered.
The microwave beeped at the same time the kettle began whistling, and Sam walked around the island to help get out some silverware. He noticed then that a big grey-and-black sled dog was curled on Otter’s dog bed, a bandage on her side. The bandage was bleeding through and Otter had gone to sniff at it. The bigger dog opened her eyes and lifted her lip in a silent snarl to warn Otter. He sat on his butt and lowered his head to the floor in submission.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“That’s Cookie, my lead dog,” Karl said from behind him. “Got shot. She’s…”
“She’s not doing well,” Molly said gravely, her eyes on Karl. “But she’s strong. She’ll last until we can get her to a vet.”
She put her hand on Karl’s shoulder and he looked at her gratefully.
A toilet flushed and Walkingtall came out of the downstairs bathroom. “Did they tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Sam frowned as he took down a package of herbal tea from the cupboard. It was left over from an old girlfriend and was probably two years old or more, but it would be hot.
“George is gone.”
Sam froze, his hand on the teakettle. He looked at May.
She’d straightened, her face stricken. “What? What do you mean?”
For a second Sam wished he could’ve just decked Walkingtall.
Karl looked like he had the same idea. “Apparently one of the SUVs showed up down the road, cruising slow like it was searching. Fortunately, Becky was watching with your binoculars, Sam. She spotted them before they got too close and saw the tracks out front of your house.”
“What happened to my uncle?” May asked. Her face had gone white.
Becky brought over two plates of some kind of casserole with canned green beans on the side. “George said he was going out to talk to them before they came closer down the lane and figured out which cabin we were in. He took one of the suitcases, went out the back, and walked through the woods by the lake before coming out on the road.”
Karl nodded. “Becky saw him get in the SUV. Next thing we knew they were gone.”
“Oh, God,” May said.
Tears sparkled in her eyes and Sam went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She sagged against him and that more than anything worried the hell out of him. May wasn’t a quitter. She never gave up, never gave in. She was tough as nails and as ornery as a mad badger, and it made him sick to see her head bowed into his shoulder.
Sam looked at Stu. “So George kept them from discovering you all.”
Stu nodded grimly.
“That was brave of him,” Sam said. He looked at Karl. “When was this?”
But it was Stu who replied. “Before the storm.” He closed the door to the downstairs bedroom quietly behind him. “We got back just after.”
Karl shook his head. “No way they could’ve made it back to town before the storm hit. They were moving slow—it’s a wonder they could get that SUV through the snow at all. Might’ve stuck on the way back for all we know.”
May inhaled.
Sam squeezed her shoulder. “That’s a good thing. If they’ve gotten stuck or had to stop, they’re vulnerable.”
May stood, her stool screeching back behind her. “We have to go after them.”
She was still wearing her parka so Sam unzipped her and pulled it from her shoulders. He placed the parka over a kitchen chair, and as he did so he felt the lump in her right pocket.
Karl glanced out the window. “It’s dark.”
May looked as well, and as she did so, Sam took the diamonds out of her parka pocket and slipped them in his jeans pocket.
Stu shook his big, shaggy head. “No way. It’s too dangerous. We don’t know the route they took back to town, and besides, the dogs are pooped. They need to rest before they go out again.”
Jim Gustafson stirred. “I’ve got my snowmobile.”
Stu shot him a look.
Jim shrugged. “But, yeah, it’d be stupid to go out now. Might get lost. Freeze to death.”
May turned on Sam fiercely. “I’ll go after Dyadya myself if you won’t go. You don’t understand. He testified at Beridze’s uncle’s trial. Dyadya is the reason his uncle will be in prison for the rest of his life. Beridze can’t get his hands on Dyadya!”
Sam gripped her shoulders, trying to tamp down his own worry, trying to channel all his strength and calm through his hands into her body. “It’s dark and we’re tired. We can’t go up against them without a plan.”
She wrenched against his hands, trying to fly away. “You don’t understand—”
“I do understand,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “He means the world to you. He’s the father you never had. You can’t lose him.”
She stopped and stared up at him, her eyes wide.
He rubbed her arms with his thumbs. “I understand, May, I do, and I promise, I promise on everything I hold dear—on this town and us—I promise I’ll get your uncle back for you.”