Anne Duquette - The Replacement

“No.”

“Why not?”

Lindsey exhaled with annoyance. “I know you’re under a lot of stress, Naomi, so I’m making allowances. But do me a favor, would you? Back off.”

Naomi’s brows rushed together just as her twin brother’s did when he was upset. “Someone’s got to make you see sense!”

“Your timing’s lousy. I have to go out into that blizzard—with a crazy gunman somewhere nearby. Excuse me if my mind’s on my job right now.”

“Spare me the dedicated ranger act, Lindsey. I know you better than that.” Naomi paused. “I thought we were friends.”

Lindsey straightened, her eyes narrowed. “We were never friends.”

The other woman’s flushed cheeks acknowledged the truth of Lindsey’s words. “No, but later on, I wanted to be. I know I went about things wrong, but I needed my twin! I swear, Lindsey, I never meant for my relationship with Eric to damage yours. Or to cause bad blood between the two of us.”

Lindsey held up a restraining hand. “Naomi, I didn’t come back here to assign blame. Eric didn’t trust me. Whatever you said to him made no difference in that department.”

Dear Reader,

Many of you know that I love to write about my country’s national parks. Each park has its own traits—its own character. While some places are definitely “user-friendly,” others are not. The setting of this story, Yosemite Park in the dead of winter, can be formidable.

Yosemite is located in the four-hundred-mile-long Sierra Nevada. This is the main freshwater source for San Francisco and the Central Valley. But the huge volume of snow that ultimately provides water for California’s coastal population is also the scene of deadly winters. California isn’t all beaches and sunshine.

Only two parks in the United States have rangers who live in total isolation due to winter weather conditions. Yosemite is one; Alaska is the other. The heavy loss of life sustained by the Donner Party members is only one of many tragedies to occur in this snow-locked area. During the winter, these mountains are just as inaccessible today as they were in the 1840s, the time of the Donners.

I have taken some liberties by making the existing town of Lee Vining larger than it is and setting a fictional hospital, municipal airport and ranger office there. And in reality, Yosemite has only two rangers on duty in the winter, not four.

Today’s rangers must be mentally and physically self-sufficient to survive in a winter climate so harsh that—as in the Antarctic—even snowmobiles and helicopters can’t be relied upon. Rangers must also be able to protect and, if needed, rescue any visitors to the parks. Rangers who hold these jobs are very special people.

I hope you enjoy my story about Lindsey Nelson and Eric Kincaide. Welcome to winter in Yosemite! (And please visit my Web site at www.annemarieduq.com.)

Anne Marie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my fraternal-twin nephews, Richard and Patrick Ferraro. And to all cancer survivors, especially those in my own family.

Although this is a work of fiction, any resemblance to my old dog Ginger and my sister’s dog Rocky is purely intentional!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Yosemite National Park, California

WINTER SNOW…FEBRUARY SNOW…killing snow continued to fall throughout the High Sierra as the rescue party advanced. Aluminum poles in hand, the three rangers probed the white depths in a straight grid pattern, searching for their missing fourth. Seconds ticked mercilessly away, even as the lead ranger, Eric Kincaide, listened to his homing beacon, trying to zero in on the battery-powered locating device all rangers were required to wear.

Neither he nor the other two rangers spoke of the irony of the situation. Tomorrow, following Eric’s orders, Keith Arroyo, alias “TNT” Arroyo, planned to set charges in this very area to trigger a controlled avalanche.

Controlled avalanche. Now, that was an oxymoron. Like walking corpse…or buried alive…

Eric glanced toward his twin, Naomi. The ranger team’s emergency medical technician had bitten through her lip. Eric noticed the tiny bloodred bead glittering under the noon sun, contrasting with the bronze of her cheeks. Naomi didn’t look up at his scrutiny. Her eyes remained focused on the massive amounts of snow beneath her probing pole.

Keith, however, lifted his head. “Of all the stupid things to do!” He spoke in a hissed whisper to avoid triggering any other slides. “Bad enough we’re supposed to find an armed felon and the child he’s kidnapped. Eva knew better than to use this shortcut! She’s probably got the dog killed, too. How are we supposed to find the missing girl now? Or find Eva without her dog?”

“Shut up!” Naomi hissed back. “Just—shut up!”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Eric checked his watch again, unable to help himself. The first ten minutes of searching were the most crucial for any avalanche victim. Sometimes you were given fifteen or maybe twenty, if the victim managed to make an air pocket around his or her face. After that, victims suffocated—if they weren’t already crushed to death by the weight of the snow…snow that could pack to the weight and density of thick, wet cement.

It’s been thirteen minutes already! Dammit, Eva, why couldn’t you follow the rules? This whole area was an avalanche waiting to happen! Keith and I both warned you to go around.

His tracking device pinged more loudly, the pings suddenly rushing closer together until they chimed a single urgent note.

At the same time Keith’s pole hit something firm. “Here! Here!”

Immediately the other two dropped their poles, fell to their knees and started digging. With gloved hands and folding aluminum shovels, all three followed Keith’s pole down into the cruel cold.

“It’s Ginger!” Naomi cried. The sandy-colored fur of Ginger, Eva’s specially trained search-and-rescue dog, contrasted sharply with the snow’s virgin white.

“I’ve got her collar,” Eric said after digging around the dog’s head. “I’ll pull, you two lift.”

The three braced, lifted and pulled. The golden retriever emerged from the snow, whimpering and coughing.

“She’s alive! You pedigreed bitch, you’re alive!” Keith brushed snow from the dog’s face as Naomi quickly shed her gloves and ran her hand expertly down the animal’s legs and across the body.

“Eyes and tongue look good!” Naomi grinned. “She’s had plenty of oxygen.”

“Come on, girl, let’s find your owner,” Keith urged.

“Ginger, search,” Eric commanded. “Find Eva.”

Ginger stood fast, signaled her find with a single whimper, then shook some of the snow from her coat.

“Come on, everyone, dig!” Naomi said, pulling her glove back on and bending over the hole with her folding aluminum shovel.

As Eric followed her example, premonition hit hard. His stomach lurched. Even before the three dug farther down to the motionless blue of Eva’s favorite jacket, even before Ginger sat and pointed her nose to the heavens to keen her death howl, Eric knew.

Eva Jenkins, the fourth member of their winter ranger team, was dead.