Maggie Black - Rescue At Cedar Lake

They ran for the back door and pushed out into the snow. It was already up to their calves and growing deeper by the second. She followed him down the driveway and into a small, wooden storage shed.

“The snow’s gotten bad.” Theresa shook the flakes from her hair.

“It’s going to get a lot worse,” Alex said. What had fallen so far was only a small taste of the deluge the forecast was predicting. He took the spare helmet off the back of the snowmobile and gave it to her. “My truck is back at my cottage. So, the plan is we head to my cottage, I’ll call Daniel with my laptop, fill him in and we’ll figure out our next move. Hopefully the power will still be on when we get there and Zoe will be sitting there with Mandy, waiting for us.”

He closed his eyes. Lord, I just pray that wherever Zoe is, she’s all right. She’s strong and she’s fierce. But she might be out in a snowstorm with a client I’m not sure I trust and killers on the loose.

When he opened his eyes, Theresa was looking at him. Strands of dark hair had slipped from the furry hood of her ski jacket. Even now, in the gloomy light of the shed, with flakes swirling like a meteor shower behind her, he had to admit he’d never seen anything like her. It was hard to put into words, but in a world of unstable and transient things, Theresa had always been like a tree, a willow tree, maybe, with roots so long and deep he knew if he just stayed close enough to her he could ride out any storm.

Until she’d cut him off, and left him rootless and drifting.

“I know you’re worried about Zoe.” Theresa’s hand brushed his arm. “She’s going to be okay. She’s smart. If she made it to town and saw the weather forecast before the storm hit, she probably just found a coffee shop or restaurant to ride it out in.”

“I hope so.” He waited as she put the helmet on then climbed on the snowmobile. Her long legs slid over the back of it behind him. She hesitated. Then her hands slid about his waist, in a gesture somehow both so familiar and foreign that he felt his brain almost short-circuit for a moment as he reached for the ignition. “Hold tight. This could get rough.”

The engine turned over.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure in a ski mask stepped into the open doorway, blocking their way to freedom. There was a small, automatic handgun in his hand. “You two aren’t going anywhere.”

THREE

Fear washed over Theresa’s body. Instinctively her arms tightened around Alex’s body.

It was Castor. It had to be. His dark, masked form stood silhouetted against the snow. But the voice and stance were unmistakable. The head of the gang of kidnappers and killers who’d raided the cottage was back, filling the doorway and blocking their escape.

“I said, get off the snowmobile!” He stretched his arm out to its full length and tilted the gun sideways, like some kind of television gangster. “Both of you. Now. With your hands up.”

There was no way past him. They were stuck in a tiny little shed and he was about to shoot them at point-blank range. Her limbs began to shake. Her grip loosened on Alex’s body. Tears choked in the back of her throat and mingled with prayer.

Alex gunned the engine.

The snowmobile shot forward. Her body bounced back hard against the seat. The weapon fired. The snowmobile swerved hard to the right and she clung to Alex so tightly her arms ached. A second bullet split the air. Then she felt wind and snow smacking her body again. She opened her eyes. The snowmobile was flying through the woods. Bullets echoed behind them in the trees. Then the sound faded and all she could hear was the rush of the engine beneath her and the beating of her own heart in her chest. Trees grew thick around them, pressing in on all sides. Jagged rocks seemed to burst through the snow. Flakes filled her eyes like they were shooting through a galaxy of stars. She held on.

What was he thinking driving straight at Castor like that? Yes, Alex had saved their lives. Again. But he’d done so by risking getting shot. Something about that made her feel almost indignant. Alex was the kind of guy who’d just free-fall through life, trusting things would work out okay. Sure, he was right most of the time. In fact, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was safer on the back of Alex’s snowmobile than she would be with anyone else in the world driving at this kind of speed, through these woods, in the snow. But did that mean he had what it took to be anybody’s bodyguard? Who’d pick up the pieces if, the next time he launched himself into danger, he was wrong?

As a teenager, the strong, daring young man with sun-bleached hair and dazzling blue eyes had always seemed like something out of a teenage heartthrob fantasy. She’d had a girlhood crush on him long before the day he’d dashingly rescued her from the capsized sailboat. Wakeboarding, water skiing, diving off the cliffs—it had seemed like there was nothing he couldn’t do. Except plan or think for more than two seconds ahead. There was a world of difference between instinctively leaping into action to rescue someone from a capsized boat and impulsively dropping out of college. She hadn’t been sure back then that Alex knew the difference. She’d lost count of how many times Zoe had recently tried to convince her that Alex had grown up and wasn’t that reckless guy anymore. Maybe. But she had yet to see it.

God, forgive me for sounding ungrateful. I’m thankful that Alex rescued me. Thank You that we both got out of there alive. But please, help him be wise and actually think through what we’re going to do next, to find Zoe and Mandy, and get us all home safe and alive.

The snowmobile was slowing already. She sat back. They’d left the Rhodes family cottage only a few minutes ago, but now another building loomed ahead of them out of the snow. A moment later she recognized the shape. It was Number Seven Cedar Lake, the Pattersons’ cottage. Despite the size of the lake, its wild and rugged landscape meant there were only eleven cottages dotted around it, like the numbers on a misshapen clock. They were owned by five different extended families, now that her family had sold their cottage: the Rhodes, the Deans, the Pattersons, the Mullocks and the Wrights.

John and Judith Patterson were a sweet, elderly couple who spent their summers at their small, nonwinterized cottage and every winter at their condo in Florida. Their son, Don, was a widower who’d built a large A-frame for himself and his children, Natalie and Corey, after his wife had died tragically. It had probably been twenty years ago now, and she’d been just a kid at the time, but still she remembered how everyone came together to help.

Then Don had been the first one to leap to her parents’ aid, years later, when they’d lost their business, buying up what remained of their inventory and taking over the lease on their store for his lumber business. Sudden sadness filled her chest so sharply it hurt. The little Cedar Lake community had been like a second, extended family who looked out for one another. One that she’d lost the summer she’d lost Alex.

The snowmobile slid smoothly around the far side of the cottage under the side awning. Alex cut the motor and they sat there for a half a breath, hearing nothing but the wind shaking the trees and snow buffeting the awning above them. Then, slowly, she pulled her arms from around his waist. He slid his visor up and looked back over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

The depth of genuine concern in his tone was probably the only thing that kept her from asking if he had any idea what he was doing. At least now they’d have a moment to regroup.

She slid her visor up, too. “Yes, I’m okay. That man in the mask was Castor. I’m pretty sure of it.”