Tess Gerritsen - Ice Cold

“We’ll be traveling with people who do.”

“Can you trust their judgment?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.” He closed the backpack and set it in the corner. “The important thing is that we’re out there with them. They may be too quick to pull the trigger, and Maura’s in the line of fire.”

Jane dropped onto the bed and sighed. “What the hell’s she doing out there, anyway? Her actions don’t make any sense!”

“That’s why you have to stay available on the phone. She called you once. She may try to reach you again.”

“And how will I reach you?”

“Sansone’s bringing a satellite phone. It’s not as if we’re dropping off the face of the earth.”

But it feels that way, she thought as she lay in bed beside him that night. He was about to hike into the wild, yet he slept soundly, untroubled by fears. She was the one who lay awake, fretting that she was neither strong enough nor experienced enough to join him. She thought of herself as any man’s equal, but this time she had to acknowledge the sorry truth. She could not carry that backpack. She could not keep up with Gabriel. After a few miles, she’d probably collapse in the snow, screwing up the expedition and embarrassing herself.

So how will Maura manage to survive?

That question took on more urgency when she woke up before dawn and looked out the window at wind-whipped snow flying across the hotel parking lot. She imagined that wind stinging her eyes, flash-freezing her skin. It was a brutal day to launch a search.

The sun had not yet risen when she, Gabriel, and Sansone drove up to the staging point. A dozen other members of the search team had already arrived, along with the tracking dogs, and the men stood around in the predawn gloom, sipping steaming coffee. Jane could hear the excitement in their voices, could feel the electricity in the air. They were like any cops just before a raid, oozing testosterone and twitching for action.

As Gabriel and Sansone pulled on their backpacks, she heard Sheriff Fahey ask: “Where do you two think you’re going with those packs?”

Gabriel turned to him. “You did ask for search-and-rescue volunteers.”

“We didn’t request a federal agent for the team.”

“I’m a trained hostage negotiator,” said Gabriel. “And I know Maura Isles. She’ll trust me.”

“This is rugged terrain. You have to know what you’re doing.”

“Eight years in the Marine Corps. Winter mountain operations training. Anything else you’d like to know?”

Unable to argue with those qualifications, Fahey turned to Sansone, but the man’s stony expression stopped Fahey cold from even trying to challenge him. With a grunt, Fahey stalked off. “Where’s Monty Loftus?” he yelled. “We can’t wait around for him much longer!”

“Told me he’s not coming,” someone answered.

“After the fuss he threw last night? I thought he’d be here for sure.”

“Maybe he looked in the mirror and remembered he’s seventy-one.”

Amid the laughter that followed, one of the handlers called out: “Dogs have got the scent!”

The search team started into the woods, and Gabriel turned to Jane. They shared a last kiss, an embrace, and then he was on his way. So many times before, she had admired his easy athleticism, the confidence in his gait. Even the heavy backpack did not slow him down. As she stood at the edge of the trees watching him, she could still see the young marine he once was.

“This is not going to come out well,” a voice said.

Jane turned and saw Cathy Weiss shaking her head.

“They’re going to hunt him down like an animal,” said Cathy.

“It’s Maura Isles I’m worried about,” said Jane. “And my husband.”

They stood side by side as the departing search team threaded its way into the woods. Slowly the driveway emptied out as vehicles began to leave, but the two women remained, watching until the men finally vanished among the trees.

“At least he seems like a levelheaded man,” said Cathy.

Jane nodded. “That would describe Gabriel.”

“But the rest of those guys, they’re ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Hell, Bobby could have slipped on the ice and shot himself.” Cathy huffed out a sigh of frustration. “How does anyone know what really happened? No one saw it.”

And there was no video of the shooting, thought Jane. That detail alone deeply bothered her. Martineau’s dash camera had been in perfect working order. It had simply been turned off, in violation of sheriff’s department regulations. The last footage recorded was while Martineau was en route to Doyle Mountain. Moments before he arrived at the house, he had deliberately shut off the camera.

She turned to Cathy. “How well did you know Deputy Martineau?”

“I’ve had dealings with him.” By the tone of her voice, those dealings did not sound cordial.

“Did you ever have any reason not to trust him?”

For a moment Cathy stared at her in the bone-chilling dawn, and the steam from their breaths mingled, coalescing into a vaporous union.

“I was wondering when someone would finally get up the nerve to ask that question,” she said.

“BOBBY MARTINEAU is now considered a hero. And we’re not supposed to speak ill of dead heroes. Even if they deserve it,” said Cathy.

“So you weren’t a fan of his.”

“Between you and me, Bobby was an abusive control freak.” Cathy kept her gaze on the road as she spoke, driving with care on pavement coated in snow and ice. Jane was glad she wasn’t the one navigating these unfamiliar roads, even more glad that they were traveling in Cathy’s rugged four-wheel-drive SUV. “In my line of work,” said Cathy, “you find out pretty quick which families in the county are in trouble. Who’s getting divorced, whose kids are missing too much school. And whose wives are showing up at work with black eyes.”

“Bobby’s?”

“She’s his ex-wife now. It took her long enough to wake up and get out. Two years ago, Patsy finally left him and moved to Oregon. I only wish she’d hung around here to press charges, because guys like Bobby shouldn’t be wearing badges.”

“He beat up his wife, and he was still in uniform?”

“It probably happens in Boston, too, right? People refuse to believe that a fine, upstanding citizen like Bobby would clock his wife.” Cathy snorted. “If the boy really did shoot him, maybe Bobby deserved it.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?”

Cathy looked at her. “Maybe I do. Just a little. I work with victims. I know what years of abuse can do to a kid. To a woman.”

“This is starting to sound personal for you.”

“You see too much of it, and yeah. It becomes personal. No matter how hard you try not to let it.”

“So Bobby was a jerk who beat up his wife. It doesn’t explain why he shut off his dash camera. What was he trying to hide up on Doyle Mountain?”

“I don’t know the answer to that one.”

“Did he know Julian Perkins?”

“Oh sure. The kid’s been picked up by just about every deputy in the county for one offense or another.”

“So they have a history, the two of them.”

Cathy thought about this as she guided her truck up a road where the houses had become few and far between. “Julian didn’t like the police, but that’s a typical teenage boy for you. Cops are the enemy. Still, I don’t think that would explain it. And let’s not forget.” She glanced at Jane. “Bobby shut off the dash camera before he got to Doyle Mountain. Before he knew the kid was up there. Whatever his reason, it had something to do with your friend Maura Isles.”

Whose actions remained the biggest mystery of all.

“Here it is,” said Cathy, and she pulled the SUV to the side of the road. “You wanted to know about Bobby. Well, that’s where he lived.”