Page 4 of One Last Promise

“Nope.”

But the question was always there, wasn’t it? A month of searching—he’d even asked his cousin Dawson, a cop, to look into it. Nothing.

“Maybe she wants to stay gone.”He hadn’t meant to let that tidbit out, and clearly his tone had carried an edge to it, because London had raised an eyebrow.“Just saying—I left a note at the diner weeks ago. If she wanted to get in contact with me, she would.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Maybe I’m just poking my head in where it doesn’t belong.”

“It’s the rescuer in you,”she’d said.“You and Axel are cut from the same cloth.”

Hardly. His brother shone in the limelight. But Moose didn’t care for any of it. He wasn’t the guy to live on the edge, make the papers. Just wanted to keep his head above water.

That could mean letting Tillie go. She had walked away, no foul play suspected. He was simply overreacting to being ghosted.

“Everyone just stay calm,” London said now,her voice confirming exactly that. She was a bit of a mystery to him. When Shep had suggested he bring her aboard the private SAR team, he hadn’t quite expounded on her skills. She could fly planes and choppers, was an expert climber and skier, and spoke at least three languages. What she was doing flying for his tiny SAR outfit, he didn’t know. He just knew he didn’t deserve her.

Didn’t deserve a lot, really. Like this entire gig, the Air One team, his house, even his very life.

So he got it, and didn’t ask questions—of London, or even of God, because he didn’t want to question the goodness of the Lord. He just embraced the grace, frankly, and thanked God every day for it.

Which meant even now, in their snow tomb.God, please save us.

“I’ll see if I can raise the team on the radio,” London said and turned away to speak into the walkie. Static filled the airway.

He wanted to tell her that they were out of range anyway, some thirty miles from Air One HQ.

When she turned back and shook her head, all eyes burned into him.

And that’s when he realized . . .light. By rights, they should be in darkness. He looked up, and indeed, light spilled through from the top of the cavern, possibly where the flow had washed by.

This time of year, end of August, twilight started at nine, so he had a good four hours before it turned pitch dark.

Four hours to freedom. Four hours before the sun set and the ice turned them hypothermic.

Four hours before they all died.

But they weren’t dead yet. He turned back to the wall. He couldn’t believe he’d left his gloves in the chopper. One more thing that had simply dropped out of his brain. “Okay, I’m going to try to dig us out. I need your hat, um?—”

“Stormi,” said the woman and pulled it off her head. Aspen alsohanded him hers.

London walked over. “I’m a better climber.”

He ignored her. Because the last thing he wanted was one of his teammates getting hurt on his watch.

His ride, his responsibility.

He had issued crampons for the glacial trek, and Ridge carried a walking stick, which he handed over. London stood back, her arms crossed over herself. “There are a few handholds at the top, but it’s going to be slick.”

Moose surveyed the wall. It rose some fifteen feet, mostly massive boulders, some smaller jagged pieces of ice. Not a terrible climb, but precarious.

“Ridge, give me a push.” He chipped out footholds, then a handhold, and Ridge got behind Moose and helped balance him as he wedged his foot into a slot between two ice boulders.

“To your right, Moose,” London said, stepping up to catch him.

What was the phrase—pride goeth before the fall?

He found another foothold, but his hands, inside the hats, lacked purchase.

---