Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

A s if even the weather judged him for his empty assurance to Tillie that Hazel would be safe at his parents’ home, of course Hazel had to go missing under a looming Alaskan storm.

Overhead, the clouds that had parked over the Alaska Range for most of the morning had trucked east on a chilly wind and now took up position over the Mulligan homestead. The wipers on his truck barely kept up with the deluge, the wind casting leaves onto the dirt road.

Beside him, Tillie gripped the door handle as if she might leap from the truck. She’d gone painfully, heart-wrenchingly quiet at the phone call, looking at him with wide eyes when he told his mother they’d be right home.

ASAP.

Which meant that most of the groceries were probably destroyed in the back of the truck, given the way he’d peeled out of town.

The last thing he cared about right now was his mother’s roast.

His pickup spat mud as he turned onto the dirt road to the house. He glanced at Tillie, her whitened hand, her even whiter countenance. “We’ll find her.”

She gave him a tight-lipped nod, and it just about speared him through. Why, again, had he thought it a good idea to leave a seven-year-old alone with his mom while a stalker was on the loose? He wanted to slam his hand on the steering wheel, but that might only jar Tillie.

Tuck it in, bro. Keep it together . Words he’d said to Axel plenty of times.

He blew out a breath and managed not to skid as he stopped in front of the house. The rain pelleted down, soaking him through as he got out and headed through the sopping yard.

His mother stood on the deck, dressed in a raincoat, holding two flashlights and a whistle.

He took a flashlight and the whistle. “What happened?”

Poor woman looked stricken. “We made cookies. I knew it was about to storm, so when she asked to take Kip out, I told her to let him do his business and come right back. I took a load of laundry out, then the cookies from the oven, and ten minutes passed before I realized she hadn’t returned. I went outside and called for her. Nothing.” Her eyes reddened. “I’m sorry, Tillie. I think Kip ran off—and she went after him.”

Tillie had taken the other flashlight. Water plastered her hair to her face.

“She loves dogs.”

Right . Not what either of them was thinking, but maybe she didn’t want to panic his mother. He seemed to be managing that for the both of them. His hand settled on his mom’s shoulder. “You stay here in case she comes back.”

Tillie had already scrambled down the stairs into the yard, calling for Hazel .

“I’m so sorry, Moose?—”

“Mom. I’m sure she’s close. Could be hiding under a tree until the storm passes.”

His mother swallowed, nodded, but when she cast her gaze to the river and back, he felt it too.

His chest tight, he went down the stairs and into the massive yard. Most of it had been cleared, scrub grass and a few weeds making up the greenery, the space edged on both sides by thick forest. Deer paths ran into the woods in both directions, and Tillie headed down one, her light on, no care for the storm.

He headed to the river.

The storm turned the water a deep bullet gray, frothy and violent as it rushed over boulders, rocks, and debris, a churning, roiling mess. The storm pounded against it, raking up a haze, the waves pummeling the shoreline.

Hazel, where are you?

As he stood, a branch cracked upriver, probably torn by the pull of the water, and tumbled into the turbulent water. It bobbed, hitting rocks, its leaves shredding off in the boil, turning it bare. It hung up on a cluster of boulders just beyond the shoreline, the river rising over it, forcing it down. And for a second, it disappeared under the water.

He was turning away when he spotted it bouncing back to the surface farther downstream in the frothy wash, then vanishing as it rode the clutter of waves. Resilient .

“I took the deer path all the way to the neighbors’ house.” Tillie, breathing hard, her voice shaking. “I didn’t see her.”

He glanced past her, downriver to the Shulls’ house. With their eleven children, it seemed possible that Hazel could have found a friend there.

Or . . .

He glanced upriver. “Let’s go.” He held out his hand.

Tillie took it and gripped it hard before she let go and followed him into the woods. He took off at a jog through the hazy forest. “Hazel!”

The deer path wasn’t wide, and he held out his arm, pushing away tree limbs and brush. The river roared to his left, the rain a barrage of pellets on the leaves. “Hazel!”

“Where is the next homestead?” Tillie asked, breathing hard behind him.

“Ten miles north we’ll hit the Starr family lodge. But nothing between here and there except . . .” Oops .

Silence.

“Except?”

He slowed, his strides long. “Except a gorge where a tributary cuts down from the mountain into the river.”

“Certainly she wouldn’t try to cross that.”

Certainly . But he heard the tremor in her voice.

Thunder rolled above, and he hunched his shoulders, the rain spurring a chill through him. They walked on spongy loam, the forest so thick he could barely see the river now. But a little girl chasing a puppy could have easily run under the canopy of branches.

And then there were the other dangers, things he didn’t want to say out loud.

Like the moose Deke had seen. Or bears. Or wolves.

He probably shouldn’t think about them either. “Hazel!” He shone his light into the woods. Tille, too, called out, her light bright.

And then they reached the gorge. Twenty feet down, it dropped into the tributary, which was nothing more than a stream at the height of summer, but the rain had filled it, turned it into a fast-rushing creek.

She searched it, breathing hard.

“I should have brought my walkie. Maybe she came home.”

Tillie looked at him, her eyes wide, stricken.

“We’ll find her,” he said, turning to her, and then he couldn’t stop from pulling her to himself.

She wrapped her arms around him, and her entire body trembled. If he wasn’t careful, they’d both get too cold, and this search party would become an advanced rescue op.

“I have an idea.” He held her away from him. “C’mon. We need to get back to the house.”

“I’m not going back without Hazel!” She backed away from him and nearly stepped off the cliff. He grabbed her arm, yanked her back.

She righted herself, her eyes fierce.

“You need a change of clothes, decent footwear, a terrain map, and a walkie. Even some overnight gear.”

“Overnight gear?”

He met her eyes. “We will find her, Tillie. But the fact that she’s not on either trail says we need to regroup, think through our strategy. Time is fading, and we only have eight hours of daylight left, so we need to use it well. Do you trust me?”

He realized he was repeating the words he’d said to her before, in the yard, and grimaced.

But she nodded, quickly, as if committing before she could change her mind.

“Okay, one more shout, then we’re heading back to the house.”

He stood there for a long moment as she called Hazel’s name, the sound dissipating in the rain.

Then he took her hand. “I’m going to run. Shout if you’re falling too far behind.”

She nodded, a grit to her jaw, and he suddenly saw the strength and determination that had made her an Iron Maiden.

Then he took off down the path. It was slippery, but he wore boots, so his feet found purchase, although the branches slowed him down. One of them hit him across the face, and his mouth burned, tasted tinny.

Behind him, Tillie’s breath came hard.

But she kept up.

They arrived at the yard, and he spotted his mother on the deck, still in her gear, and the fact that Hazel hadn’t returned felt like a punch to the sternum. But he didn’t slow and thundered his way up the stairs.

“Nothing?”

He shook his head, and his mother covered her mouth with her hands.

Tillie came up behind her.

“Mom, get Tillie some rain gear and boots.”

His mother nodded, and his command seemed to embolden her. She headed toward the house, Tillie behind her.

He followed, then pulled off his boots in the entryway and headed up the stairs. On the way, he pulled out his phone and checked the cell service. Finally back in range.

Then he reached for Ridge White’s card on his dresser and dialed, setting it on speaker. He was digging out dry clothes when the man answered.

“Ridge. It’s Moose.”

“Moose! Hey, man, how?—”

“Is Stormi around?”

A beat. “Yeah, right here.”

Stormi came on the line, clearly on speaker. “What’s going on?”

“I have a missing girl. You think Rome can help find her?”

Another beat. “Absolutely. Where?”

“I’ll have my dad pick you up. Be ready in five.”

He pulled on a dry thermal shirt and Gore-Tex pants as he called his father.

“I’m already closing the shop,” his dad said. “I’ll swing by the Samsons’.”

“Perfect. And hurry.”

By the time he was downstairs, Tillie had changed, her hair back in a ponytail and under a wool cap. She sat on a chair, pulling on Gore-Tex pants. His mother had piled a bright yellow jacket on the table and a pair of wool socks and gloves.

Now she closed the closet near the door and set a bag on the table—flares, a space blanket, a couple power bars, matches, and a candle.

“It’s our winter bag,” she said.

Moose grabbed it and shoved it into a backpack near the door. Then he went to the walkie set charging on a stand. “Mom always made us take these when we went out to play.” He turned one on, then another, and checked them. Gave one to Tillie, and put the other on a hook in his jacket pocket.

“Mom, you have the third, and when dad gets here, you give Stormi the last one.”

“Stormi?” his mom said.

“The woman with the dog?” Tillie asked.

“Yes,” Moose said. “She’s on her way with Dad. Rome is a tracking dog. Do you have anything of Hazel’s?—”

“Of course.” Tillie had pulled on the pants and wool socks and now headed down the stairs. She returned with an old, ratty stuffed dog.

“Perfect,” his mother said and pulled it to herself. Closed her eyes.

Praying, probably.

Tillie took a breath and sat, pulling on the boots near her chair. His mother’s hiking boots.

She then grabbed the jacket and the walkie. “Shouldn’t we bring a jacket for Hazel?”

“I’ll wrap her in the blanket and carry her,” Moose said, reaching for the door. “Mom, I’m going to check in every fifteen minutes. You don’t hear from me, you call Axel.”

She gave him a look of chagrin. “I already did that.”

Well, okay then.

He looked at Tillie. “Let’s find Hazel.” Then he headed out the door.

“Great view, huh?” Oaken came up behind him, and Shep turned and took the proffered cup of coffee.

Shep stood at the massive two-story A-frame window of Oaken’s new chalet-style home, staring out at the jewel-colored mountains around him. In the distance, the ski resort with its wide, green slopes, a few peaks at the top chilled with a fresh layer of snow, almost called his name. Ski lifts hung as if frozen, waiting for the first layer of crisp white snow.

How he loved autumn, the sense of anticipation stirring inside him as he waited for the first snowfall. He could already hear the swish of his skis slicing through the snow echoing inside him.

“Thanks for being willing to keep an eye on the place.” Oaken grabbed his own mug of coffee.

“Sacrifices. It’s a tough gig, but someone needs to do it.” Shep held out his mug to Oaken for a toast. “You do know that I’ll have to use the sauna and hot tub.”

“Knock yourself out.” Oaken wore a pair of faded jeans, a flannel shirt, and wool socks. A real Alaskan, apparently, despite his only-recent move north. “I’m glad you told me about this place.”

“Drove by it every day last winter. Seemed perfect for you, and I knew the view would be worth every penny. I’m glad it was still on the market.” He turned back to the window. Glanced at the dark clouds over Denali in the distance, then tried to see if he could spot his place down the road, along the highway. A modern, boxy townhome that sat with other boxes on the side of a mountain. He’d gotten it in foreclosure, gutted it, and remodeled it into something he liked coming home to.

Most of the time.

“Better than living out of a motorhome.”

Oaken looked at him.

“My parents were ski bums in the winter, park guides and climbers in the summer. Well, sort of. My dad was a street preacher too. But we lived an unrooted life, traveling where God led them. It was just me and my older sister. Homeschooled, although I’d call it more like unschooled. We learned a lot about life, though.”

Oaken took a sip of coffee. “Sounds cool. Where are your parents now?”

“The last text I got, they were headed to Snowbasin, in Ogden, Utah.”

“How long have you been with the team? I never asked.” Oaken set his cup down on a nearby glass table. A local interior-design place had furnished the digs. The place had a mix of modern and woodsy, with glass-and-black iron-side tables, deep brown leather sofas, a mix of furry bearskins on the wooden floor, and an oversized coffee table made from the trunk of a redwood, and it all sat in front of a soaring whitewashed stone fireplace.

A couple of contemporary Alaskan animal prints—moose and bear—hung on either side of the fireplace. Oaken picked up the remote control and aimed it at the hearth, causing it to flash into perfectly contained flames.

“Two years. Spent a year on a rescue team in Montana before moving here. Had a cousin who recommended Moose’s team to me. We have relatives that live in Montana.”

Oaken walked over to the kitchen, where a massive leathered black granite island held enough chairs for the first line of a hockey team, and opened the two-door Sub-Zero. “I have some fresh blueberry pie from the Skyport Diner.” He pulled out a box. “Boo and I ate there last night. Want a piece?”

Shep had eaten alone last night at the Tooth after working out, also alone, and trying not to let himself believe that London might be avoiding him.

That was after, of course, getting Axel’s text that Moose was out of the clink and back at home. Shep had given London a ride to the Tooth to pick up her car, then watched her drive away.

No pie for them.

Sheesh , why had he kissed her?

“Yeah, sure,” he said to Oaken’s offer and came over to the island. Oaken pulled out a couple plates from his walnut cupboards and set them on the counter.

“Have you heard from Moose?” Oaken asked. “I haven’t heard anything since Axel texted and said he was going to Copper Mountain.”

“He called, but I was working out. I tried calling him back, but you know how sketchy it is up there—and with the rain?—”

“He has a landline at his house.”

“A landline—what’s that?”

Oaken laughed as he opened the box. “I have a pretty full tour schedule this fall, but I’ll be back in January. I can’t wait to get back up here and do some skiing too.”

“Dude. The beginning of winter is not the greatest time to come to Alaska.”

“I’m not here to sightsee,” Oaken said, and winked.

“You two getting serious?” Shep settled onto a stool.

“I’ve always been serious. But yeah, when you find the one, you know, right? I’m just trying to figure out . . . well, she’s not quite ready to tour with me, so I need to figure out how it’s going to work.”

“You just gotta dive in and make it work. And figure it out as you go.” He didn’t have a clue where that’d come from. He took the pie Oaken shoved at him.

“Dive in, huh?” Oaken said.

Right then, his crazy kiss with London decided to flash in front of his eyes. “Um . . . okay, don’t listen to me. What do I know? I’ve been single so long I’ve forgotten what love feels like.”

“I doubt that. Besides, you’re beginning to sound like a country song.”

Shep was all sorts of lying today, because . . . “Okay, but you don’t see me buying a house to live near the woman I love, so you’re way beyond my life experience.”

“Please.” Oaken dished up his own pie.

“What? Oh, this is good.” Shep washed down his blueberry pie with coffee.

“I know. And you know what I mean?—”

Shep raised an eyebrow.

“For the love—do you seriously think we’re all blind to you and London?”

Shep set his fork down. “There is nothing going on between me and London.”

Oaken brought his pie around, sat down on a stool.

“Fine. Maybe . . . once upon a time there was . . . we . . .”

Oaken cocked his head.

“It was sort of a brief, traumatic meeting. We were caught in an avalanche together for three days.”

Now Oaken put down his fork. “What?”

“It was in the Alps, in Switzerland—long story. The ice nearly won—we were close to dying of hypothermia before they found us. But, yeah, she made . . . an impression.”

“And now she’s here, working with you.” Oaken took his own sip of coffee. Then, “I’m listening.”

Shep shook his head. “Nothing to tell. We were rescued and she went her way, I went mine, and . . .”

“And then she ended up in Alaska with you? C’mon, Shep?—”

Yeah, okay, even he wasn’t buying his flimsy story. “Okay, we sort of kept in touch. Texting now and again. I heard she was . . . between jobs. So I suggested she come here. She did. No biggie.”

Oaken had taken another bite and now nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Really. We’re colleagues, nothing more.”

Shep could choke on his own lies, but perhaps they were just lies from his viewpoint. Maybe that really was all London wanted.

A guy should probably pay attention to that, start feeding himself some honesty.

Silence, and finally Shep looked up to see Oaken studying him. “What?”

“You okay?”

“Yep.” Nope . He sighed. Because suddenly her words to him returned. “I don’t think I’m ready . ” “Actually, London lost someone she loved in the avalanche. So I’m not sure she has any room in her heart for anyone else.”

Oaken said nothing, just nodded. “I get that. But the truth is, you think you don’t have room, and then, suddenly, the right person comes along, and you’ll do anything to make room for that person.”

Maybe he wasn’t the right person. But Shep didn’t say that. Still, it was time to put space between them.

He finished off his pie, then washed off his plate and put it in the dishwasher.

“Thanks,” Oaken said. “I’m taking off for a quick trip to Montana to meet with my producer, but I’ll be back in a couple days. You have the code for the door?”

“I do. Thanks.”

Oaken got up just as Shep’s phone buzzed on the counter.

Shep picked it up.

Of course—London.

London

I figured out the five-letter code. Meet me at the hospital.

He pocketed the phone. “I’m heading to meet London. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Just friends, huh?” Oaken grinned, pointed at him.

Shep lifted a hand and headed for the door. Yes. Just friends .

Under an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot of Alaska Regional Hospital. The clouds had darkened over the far mountains, and a slight wind bullied him as he got out. Winter, pushing into the autumn already.

He found London in the lobby. She wore a pair of leggings, runners, and a pullover. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said. “What did you find?”

“I did some searching, and I think this is a badge number.” She held out her phone. “I finally tracked it down—it’s a number to a retired Miami police detective named Rosalind Turner.”

“Tillie’s friend.”

“Yeah. I got ahold of Axel, and he thought Roz was still in ICU, but when I got here and asked, she’d been moved. I got us passes.” She handed him a sticker with his name.

“Wow. No covert op?”

She frowned. And again he had to check himself. One of these days the gig would be up.

“What’s with you and covert ops?”

“I don’t know, this all seems so . . . like an episode of Chuck .”

She frowned. Then, “I remember that show. That’s a flashback. So, who am I? Sarah Walker?”

“Maybe.”

She laughed. “Okay. Great show. Hated the ending. Let’s go, Chuck.” She hit the elevator button. “Or would you prefer Casey, her ex-partner?”

The doors opened.

“No. I’m the other guy?—”

She walked in, cocked her head at him. “John Casey?”

“No. What floor?”

“Three. And—wait. Do you think . . . you’re Captain Awesome?”

He grinned.

She shook her head as the doors opened. But just like that, the weirdness had vanished.

Except for the fact that he had a suspicion that she was Sarah Walker, or had been . . .

She walked out and down the hallway, flashing her badge at the nurse guarding the station.

Shep followed and they stopped at a room where she knocked, then pushed the door open. “Rosalind Turner?”

A woman lay on the bed, short white bedhead hair, an IV in her arm, pale and half asleep. She roused at London’s voice, her eyes widening.

“We’re friends of Tillie’s,” London said. “She calls you Roz?”

The woman’s features relaxed and she nodded. Reached for the remote and moved her bed to a sitting position.

“I’m Shep. We both work with Moose on the Air One Rescue team.”

“How—” She swallowed and reached for a cup, but London had already grabbed it, pointing the straw toward her. Roz took a sip, and the blankets dropped to her waist.

She winced. Only then did Shep see the massive dressing around her abdomen.

London placed Roz’s cup back on the tray. “Can we get you anything?”

“Is she okay?” Roz managed.

“Yes,” Shep said. “Tillie and Hazel are with Moose. And they’re safe.”

She shuddered. Then she closed her eyes and pressed her hands against her face. Her shoulders shook.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” London said, pulling up a chair to sit by the bed. “They’re going to be fine. ”

Roz shook her head.

London grabbed a tissue and held it out to her. Roz took it, wiped her eyes. “And Rigger?”

“He’s gone,” said London. “Our friend Flynn is looking for him.”

Shep hadn’t heard that.

“Tillie needs to leave town. And keep running.”

Roz’s words hung in the silence of the room. Finally, London asked, “Why?”

Roz shook her head.

London pursed her lips, then dug out the piece of paper. Opened it. “We found this in the suitcase.”

Roz’s eyes widened. “You found the suitcase.”

“We did. What does this mean, Roz? I know it’s your badge number.”

Roz’s jaw tightened, and for a second, she looked exactly like the toughened cop she might have been. “I can only talk to Tillie.”

London sighed and folded up the paper. “We’re just trying to help.”

Roz shook her head. “I don’t think anyone can help.” She reached for the remote and started to lower her bed down, her expression set.

London got up. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Then she gave Roz a smile.

Shep knew that look. The look that said she’d keep her word.

The same one he’d worn when Colt had come to him a year ago with a request.

The same one he glimpsed in the bathroom mirror as they walked out of the room.

Truth was, he’d made promises too. In short, where London went, he went.

And Captain Awesome wasn’t going to let anyone down. “C’mon,” he said as he pulled out his phone.

“Where are we going?” London asked.

“We’re going to your place to get your stuff.” He walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button.

“Why?”

“Because we’re taking a road trip to Copper Mountain.”

So many promises broken, Tillie didn’t know where to start apologizing to Pearl.

I’m sorry, sis. I’m so sorry ? —

The words kept searing through her as Tillie followed Moose into the tangled nightmare that was the Alaskan boreal forest. They’d taken the deer path again, shining their lights through the mess of branches as they walked, scanning for any sign that Hazel had left the path.

A quarter mile from the house, just before they reached the gorge, Moose found a swath of broken branches, trampled grass, and another deer path veering off along the rim of the cliff.

Tillie wanted to weep with relief. Until?—

“Look,” Moose said as they came out to the edge. “Is that Kip’s tug?”

She looked, and she simply wanted to break free and wail at the sight of the purple tug Hazel had used to play with Kip. It hung from a tree branch caught in the bramble along the edge of the gorge, trees and brush growing from the rugged sides.

They stood high on the cliffside, fifty feet above the turbulent, rising creek, and now she moved to the edge, her knees nearly buckling, save for Moose’s hand on her arm.

“It doesn’t mean she’s in the water, Til. Just breathe.”

But breathing felt like the last thing she should be doing. Oh, she’d made such a mess of all this.

No, God had made a mess of it all. He’d chosen the wrong mother to raise Hazel.

“C’mon. Let’s keep following the deer path.”

But she couldn’t move from the edge of the cliff, shining her light into the flood, bracing herself to find Hazel’s body flowing downriver or caught on a boulder or a downed tree or?—

“Tillie. She’s not in the river.”

She rounded on him. “How do you know that, Moose? What, do you have X-ray vision that can see to the bottom? Or psychic powers? How do you know she hasn’t slipped off the cliff and?—”

“I don’t.” His gaze came down hard on hers. “You’re right. But I do have hope. And right now, in the middle of the storm, that’s all I’ve got, so I’m going to hold?—”

A dog barking in the distance made him jerk. Her too.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yes. Let me call it in. See if Stormi is anywhere near us.” He lifted the radio. “Stormi? Come in, this is Moose.”

Crackling. Then, “Moose. Sorry I haven’t checked in. Rome is working the scent in the yard. It’s pretty messy?—”

“It’s not Rome,” Tillie said and took off toward the barking.

“Tillie!”

She kept moving, listening, her heart thundering, shaking away Moose’s words.

She didn’t believe in hope. She believed in action. In not letting life careen out of your control, and if it did, then you probably deserved it.

She probably deserved it.

Hazel, however, did not. She called out Hazel’s name, the sound eaten by the rain and the roar of the creek below.

The deer trail moved away from the river, and she followed it, the voice of the dog obscured by the tangled woods.

Why had she agreed to come to Moose’s house? She should have just taken his truck and . . . and . . .

Aw, it didn’t matter how many crimes she committed, as long as Hazel was safe.

“Hazel!” Moose’s voice thundered, his footsteps hammering up behind Tillie. She glanced at him. “I told Stormi where we were, but I’m not sure if we’re on the right track, so I told her to let Rome work.”

Whatever .

More barking. She froze. Turned. Put a hand out to Moose to stop him.

He stood, breathing hard, the rain pinging around them, dripping off the rim of his raincoat hood.

Another bark.

“It’s back toward the river,” Moose said, pointing through the forest. And then he left the trail and plowed through the bramble, breaking a trail like, well, a moose. Except a moose actually might be more graceful. He left a swath of destruction, pushing away branches, trampling downed logs, crunching brush beneath his massive boots.

Tillie followed the path, nearly pushing him.

He picked up his pace as daylight opened ahead of them, the world a mist of gray, dour shadow. But the barking grew louder. The rushing creek sounded closer too.

And then the sound of crying rippled up into the storm.

Tillie pushed past Moose, running. “Hazel!”

Just like that, the forest stopped. She tried to pull up, but the land had slid down, and with one slippery step, she stepped into midair.

Went over the edge.

Mudslide. The entire cliff had given way, fallen toward the river, a slope of trees and debris that ended in a yawn at the bottom.

She fought the descent, clawing at anything to slow herself, but the rain was a river that caught her up, shot her down the mountainside. She rolled over and snagged herself on a jutting log just before her momentum would have plummeted her over.

She hung, half in, half out of the mouth of a drop.

And when she looked down, there, some twenty feet into the well of the cave, on a ledge, sat Hazel, her knees drawn up, Kip struggling out of her arms to get to the intruder, barking wildly.

Mist rose from the depths below, and a rumble suggested the creek, angry and rising, flowing at the base.

“Hazel!”

“Mom!”

Just as she might have slung her leg up and found purchase, something hit her hold hard and dislodged her.

She dropped like a rock into the cavern, through the mist.

Water closed over her as she splashed down, a thousand icicles spearing her body. She clamped her mouth shut to stifle a scream, then kicked hard.

She didn’t surface—instead, her head banged on a rock, so hard it nearly knocked the breath from her. She put her hands up, fighting, the current yanking her?—

A tunnel. Or a channel. Under the walls of the cavern, tumbling her out into the river, away from Hazel.

No! She kicked, fought, twisted, her hands fighting for a hold on the rock, but the current turned hungry, wedging her into a gnarled, rocky egress?—

Then a grip closed around her wrist and yanked.

It forced her against the current, and when another hand grabbed her jacket and pulled, she broke the surface.

She heaved in hot, razor breaths.

“Breathe, Tillie. You’re okay.”

Air. It smelled of dirt and moss and decay.

Moose had pulled her against him and now put his arm around her waist, kicking to tread water, his other hand gripping the cave wall. Blood trickled from a wound on his temple. Her own head throbbed.

She finally caught her breath. “You nearly killed me! ”

His eyes widened.

“You came down on me?—”

“You pushed me!”

Her mouth opened. But he was right.

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone clipped back, calmer. “We’re okay?—”

“Mom!”

She looked up, and Hazel peered over from the cliff, ten feet above.

“Hazel. Are you okay?”

She nodded, her lips tight, the expression of someone trying not to cry. Good girl .

“I’ll get up to you, I promise.”

Although, how?

Moose seemed to already be asking that question. Tillie had dropped her flashlight in the fall, and apparently, so had he, but enough daylight remained for her to make out their predicament.

“It’s a sink hole. The mudslide only made it bigger. I’ll bet that tunnel under the rock leads out to the main creek.” He hadn’t let her go, and heaven help her, she didn’t move away from him.

He was solid and strong and everything she needed to cling to as the dark water swirled around them. “It’s not big enough to get through. It got tighter the more the current pulled me down.”

“I think I can boost you up onto the ledge. Then you can climb the rest of the way.”

“I got this.” She pushed off from him, swimming hard to the ledge wall. Hazel leaned over from above. She appeared soggy, but not injured, but Tillie wouldn’t know until she scaled the ledge.

Moose came up behind her. “I’m going to plant myself here. You climb on my shoulders, see if you can grab the edge.”

She accidentally dunked him on her first go, her foot slamming him into the water before he had his hold. He came up sputtering.

“Sorry.”

“My bad. Give me a second.”

He wedged one fist into a fissure in the rock, the other hand on a lip, his feet finding holds below the waterline.

She found handholds and managed to get her knees on his shoulders, then used the rock to steady herself. He grunted, and his body shook a little.

“You got this?”

“Can you reach?”

She stretched up, but her fingertips landed six inches from the top.

“You gotta do something quick, Tillie. I’m slipping.”

Right . “Hold on tight, Moose. I need leverage.” Then she crouched and sprang up hard.

One hand caught the ledge, slippery and rough, just long enough to get her other hand on it.

Then she kicked her way up the cliff, Moose’s hand catching her foot to push a moment before he went back into the water.

It gave her enough to get one elbow up, then the other, and she leaned in and edged herself on, rolling onto the cliff.

Hazel launched herself forward. “Mom! Mom !”

Tillie closed her arms around her, clutching Hazel’s body to hers, shaking, trying not to weep, but, “Hazel. You scared me. You really scared me.”

Hazel leaned up, wiped her face—which really meant adding another layer of mud—her tears thick. “I’m sorry—Kip ran off, and I kept chasing him, and I think he thought we were still playing. And then I fell and he fell too and—I landed on this ledge. I hurt my leg. . . .” She showed off a tear in her pants. “I called and called for you.”

“I’m here now, baby. I’m here now.” She sat up.

Moose . She scrambled over to the edge. “Moose!”

She couldn’t find him in the darkness. “ Moose!”

“Over here.”

She wished she could make him out more, but he seemed a hulk, clinging to the edge of the rock.

“Current got me.”

“You okay?”

A beat.

“Moose?”

“I will be. I need to figure out how to get up there.”

“You still have your pack?”

“I do.”

“What about that space blanket? I’ll find something to secure it to. You could pull yourself up.”

“It’ll rip. It’s not strong enough. But the pack is.” He swam over. “If I throw it up, can you secure one of the arms to something? I’ll use the other arm strap for leverage.”

See, this was why he was the rescuer. “Yeah. There’s a lip here—I think that could work.”

He swam over, then shucked off the pack. “Please catch this.”

She stood on the edge.

“Without going back in.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure.”

A chuckle deep inside the cavern, and it found her bones, heated them.

Wow, he had a way of making her feel less afraid, less alone. Probably why she’d longed for his late-night visits at the diner. Such a quiet, lonely place late at night, and then he’d come in, and suddenly her entire world would feel easier.

They just might survive this.

He threw the pack, and she grabbed it out of the air. Then she hooked one side on the edge of the lip, held it there, and dangled the other side down. It covered three feet, but if he jumped . . .

He found a ledge under the water and leaped for it.

Missed, and splashed back into the water. She refused to panic, but it took a chunk out of her, waiting for him to surface.

“The current is getting stronger,” he said, swimming to the edge.

“Try to grab on this time.”

“Thanks for that.” But he smiled, and she smiled back. And that smile rooted inside her. Gave her exactly what she needed when he grabbed the pack on the second lunge and struggled up the edge. She hunkered down on her end, then grabbed his hand and helped haul him over.

He scrambled onto the ledge on his hands and knees, breathing hard. “Thanks.”

She nodded, also scrambling back.

And that’s when her foot slipped out. It kicked the pack.

Which splashed down into the cauldron, sinking.

Silence.

Moose sat down. Rubbed his hand over his mouth. “That adds an element of difficulty to this season of Iron Maiden, Alaska Edition.”

She just stared at him. Then he smiled, and oh , he was handsome. Waterlogged, bleeding, mud in his whiskers, and soggy, but those gray-green eyes latched onto hers, and she simply couldn’t think.

What was this man doing with her? Never mind the cave. Or the mud. Or the fact that they probably had no way out. What was he doing with her , with all her drama and trouble and?—

“I’m sorry, Moose.”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her.

And right then, she didn’t care why. . . . All she knew was that Moose was here.

And if Moose was here, maybe hope was too.