Page 77 of Wind Valley

“I’ll round up some backup. Bear, Murph, Sam, Martha, whoever’s around,” said Gunnar eagerly.

“Martha?” Lachlan asked in surprise, since as far as he knew, she was a sheep farmer and longtime pacifist.

“She’s the best shot in town. Won’t shoot a person, but she’ll shoot any animal that threatens her flock. We can have an armada of Skidoos out that way in about an hour.”

“We can’t wait that long,” said Maura, clearly beside herself with worry. “But please come as soon as you can, and be careful. If it’s the stalker, he’s extremely unpredictable.”

“You got it.” Gunnar directed them to a trail that would take them back to Pinky’s without going past the checkpoint, and they zoomed off into the backwoods.

Lachlan waited until they were far enough from town to slow down and ask Maura how she was doing.

“I’m good. Let’s just get there.” Then she burst out, “No, I’m angry! Who would go after an old man like Pinky? Why do people think they can just trample over other people to get what they want? What is wrong with the world?”

“If you figure out the answer to that, let me know. But maybe we should see what’s going on before we jump to conclusions.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “You’re right. That’s the scientific way, right? Don’t assume. Test and verify.” That last word came out a little shaky.

“Hey. You’re worried. That’s okay.”

“I know it’s okay,” she snapped, that anger flaring up again. “You don’t have to tell me that. It’s patronizing. I’m a grown woman, I can feel whatever the fuck I want.”

He clenched his jaw tight and without another word, he opened the throttle and continued down the trail. She was scared and angry, he got that. Nothing he could say would make a difference.

Behind him, he felt Maura vibrating with anger. She took deep breaths to calm herself, and when she spoke again, she was back in control of herself. “I’m sorry.”

Even though her words were nearly snatched away by the wind against their faces, he could just make them out.

“None of this is your fault. I’m not mad at you. You’ve been great. You’ve been perfect. It’s me. I’m still so angry at that motherfucker.”

She screamed the last word into the forest. Only the trees and the snow could hear her—and him.

That must have felt good to her, because she let out a stream-of-consciousness flow of curse words that pierced the peaceful snowy scene. He tuned them out, feeling instinctively that they weren’t meant for him. He was just a bystander here as she wrestled with the fury and the fear of the last few months of her life.

When she finally went quiet, and the only sound was the high drone of the engine, he gave a quick glance at her over his shoulder. Her face was covered with tears that the wind froze to her cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, apparently all out of curse words. “How many people I love are going to get dragged into this mess? Fuck him!”

And she let out a scream, like a primal wail into the wilderness.

They said no more until they reached Pinky’s place. Sure enough, a sleek, expensive snowmobile was parked right in front of the door, in the space they’d painstakingly shoveled. Lachlan was still stuck on her phrasing—“how many people I love.” Was she including him in that category? Could he stop time and pin her down on that?

As they reached the house, Maura slid off the snowmobile and ran down the driveway between the towering piles of snow. As he ran after her, he noticed a pair of backcountry skis stuck in the snowbank outside the front door. Had someone else skied over to check on Pinky when they’d heard the radio call?

“Maura,” he called after her as he jumped off the Skidoo. “Wait…”

Before he could even finish, the door swung open. She stopped dead, staring at something Lachlan couldn’t see. “What the hell?—”

Someone reach out, pulled her inside and closed the door behind her.

Lachlan ran after her and pounded on the door. No answer from anyone inside, although he heard bumping noises and a loud squeal that sounded like Pinky.

He ducked under the closest window to peer inside. Pinky sat tied to a chair with a bungee cord, a rag tied around his mouth. Over by the door, Maura had her hands in the air as she faced off with—a woman.

Not SS. A woman. She was wearing an expensive ski suit, with goggles shoved to the top of her head. Brown hair, late thirties.

Dr. Reed’s ex-wife, Andrea?

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