Cassie Miles - Frozen Memories

The sound of a ringtone from downstairs pulled her out of her reverie. Spence’s ringtone, it played the opening notes to Camelot. He’d changed it to that theme after they saw a revival of the musical at the Arena Theater.

Vivid images of what happened after they went back to the hotel after curtain call rushed through her. She tasted the fizz of champagne, smelled the scent of fresh roses, felt his huge hands encircling her waist as she opened her mouth for his kiss. The definitive answer to one of her questions became clear. Their relationship was anything but casual. Deep and intense, they were lovers.

Chapter Four

Spence zipped up his parka and took his cell phone outside onto the snow-covered porch that stretched across the front of the cabin. The caller ID displayed: “SA RAMI.” It had to be Special Agent Ramirez calling to let Spence know that the SWAT takedown was successful. But the first words Ramirez said were, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“One of the suspects got away.”

He launched into an explanation of what had happened at the nearby cabin, but Spence stopped him. “That’s enough.”

“You need to understand that—”

“You and a trained team of SWAT officers failed to apprehend four mindless goons in a sneak attack.” In spite of the cold, Spence was steaming. “Spare me the details.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Ramirez complained.

Spence hadn’t forgotten that SA Ramirez was quick to sneer at Angelica’s rookie status. “Is SWAT in pursuit?”

“They are, but this guy got out of his cuffs, grabbed a weapon and—”

“He’s armed?”

“Oh, yeah, he was slick. He took off like a jackrabbit. They aren’t going to catch him.”

And why aren’t you chasing him? Spence had little respect for feds like Ramirez who left the real work of law enforcement to the cops while they stood around posing in their black suits and their FBI windbreakers. Part of Spence’s investigation at NORAD would include checking out Ramirez’s office, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find a mole. Even a half-assed spy wouldn’t have much problem outsmarting the likes of Ramirez. His boss, Supervisory Special Agent Raquel Sheeran, was another story. She was as sharp as a stiletto.

Spence ordered, “Arrange for the three in custody to be delivered to the FBI offices.”

“I already have.”

The escaped thug complicated the situation. Spence couldn’t leave Angelica and the elderly couple unprotected while he hiked back to pick up his vehicle. But he wanted to get Angelica checked out by a doctor as soon as possible. Being in two places at one time wasn’t an option.

Though he hated relying on Ramirez, he needed help. He leaned against the porch banister and peered toward the church next door. Though the storm was pretty much over, a blanket of snow lay heavy on the unplowed road and the parking lot. Night was starting to fall, but it wasn’t totally dark. The glow of starlight filtered through the clouds.

“Ramirez, I want you to drive here. Bring one other man.” Spence gave directional driving instructions and used Pastor Clarence’s address for Ramirez’s GPS. “Do you understand?”

“Got it.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Pastor Clarence came onto the porch. In spite of his age and potbelly, he moved with the stealth of a hunter. “I can help you find that van at the cabin,” he said. “Angelica mentioned a green door. I know exactly where it is.”

The old man wore a red knit cap, again making Spence think of Santa. But the pastor’s red gloves were clutched around his rifle instead of a bag of toys. The parka that was belted around his ample midsection was black.

“I’m getting picked up,” Spence said. “Besides, you need to be here when the ambulance arrives.”

“The sheriff can figure it out. He’s a real crackerjack.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s not winning any prizes as a first responder.” Spence had to consider the possibility that sweet old Clarence hadn’t, in fact, contacted the emergency dispatcher. Santa might be lying. “How long ago did you make that call?”

“A while.” He tugged on his beard. “Something’s fishy. What was your phone call about?”

“There’s a dangerous armed man on the loose. I’ll get Angelica to the hospital. An officer from SWAT will be left behind to protect you and your wife.”

“I can take care of my family.” Clarence puffed out his chest. “I don’t want some SWAT punk hanging around.”

“You need protection.” Spence was fairly sure the old man was hiding something but didn’t have time to dig for the truth. “The punk stays, and that’s an order.”

“Hah!” The pastor threw back his head. “I’ve been retired for fourteen years. I don’t obey orders unless they come from my sovereign.”

“Who’s that?”

Clarence pointed skyward. “My Lord in Heaven.”

Spence gazed across the snowy crossroads toward the dark, impenetrable forest. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the simple cross above the church’s entryway. Clarence was a man of God, but that didn’t mean he was without sin. “What does your Lord say about lying?”

“You know the Commandments.”

“Do you?”

The pastor fidgeted and sputtered, and Spence could see the truth struggling to get out. If he stood here quietly and waited, Clarence would confess whatever he’d been holding back.

The pearly white landscape spread before him, so ethereal and beautiful that he almost ran inside and grabbed Angelica to show her. Better that he didn’t; she might not be enthusiastic about the wonders of snow after being nearly frostbitten to death. The only marks in the unbroken snow were his tracks and Angelica’s. Hers were almost erased by the drifting wind.

At the edge of the forest, he saw movement. It could be deer or elk or his own imagination, but he didn’t think so. He took his night vision goggles from a parka pocket and held them to his eyes.

He saw a man, staggering from the forest. He disappeared behind the church. A moment passed while Spence waited anxiously for the man to reappear.

Beside him, the pastor cleared his throat. “There’s something I ought to tell you, Spence.”

“Not now.”

“It’s important.”

A light shone through an arched window at the far end of the church. The man—the fugitive—had found sanctuary. Or so he thought.

Spence grabbed the pastor’s arm and spun him around. “I saw the fugitive, the man who escaped custody. He’s in the church. When the agent and the SWAT officer get here, send them in that direction.”

“What about me? I could be your backup.”

“Stay here. Protect Trudy and Angelica.”

Spence pivoted and leaped from the porch. His boots hit the snow, and he started running toward the church. The new-fallen snow slipped over the top of his boots and soaked his jeans. He ducked behind a clump of aspen and inhaled a deep, frigid breath. At this elevation, oxygen was scarce.

Between the trees where he was hiding and the front entryway to the church, there wasn’t much cover. If he stood upright and ran, he’d be an obvious target. But there wasn’t time to dash around to the road and come up from the front.

He kept his repeating rifle slung across his back, choosing instead to arm himself with a handgun for easier mobility. His new Glock 17 fit neatly into his hand. Through the specially woven, nonslip fabric of his glove, he hardly felt the cold of the Glock’s handgrip. Keeping his head down and shoulders bent, he tried to make himself small as he rushed toward the front entryway under the cross.

Light continued to shine through the window in the rear part of the building. Was the fugitive standing there, looking out and taking aim? This guy wouldn’t be caught napping; he’d managed to get out of his handcuffs and evade a team of trained officers. Ramirez had called him slick, and Spence agreed.