In The Arms of a Stranger (13 page)

L
uke stood on the side of the mountain, squinting into the glare as he watched the slow progress of the crews. The sight of the yellow equipment was startling against the backdrop of the snow, as was the strip of clean black asphalt that trailed behind the road crews. Luke was tremendously relieved to see the road cleared, despite the lingering sense of loss. The road represented safety and freedom, not just for Dana and the baby, but also for countless others trapped by the storm.

Luke's thoughts went to his grandfather. The old man had weathered worse situations and was well stocked with food, water and firewood, thanks to Luke. But it was a relief to know that he and his men could soon get to his grandfather and the other residents of Sweetwater.

He gingerly touched the wound at the back of his head, remembering his first attempt to reach the accident site. Hopefully, this time would be vastly different. Ben Allen was directing the effort, and Luke felt a surge of pride in
the young lieutenant, as he did all his men. They didn't know, and probably didn't care, how much he respected them.

He spotted several landmarks along the road—a large oak that curled away from the ledge, as if trying to escape the pull of the void below, a hairpin curve and a guardrail that had seen one too many impacts—and realized that the crews were actually beyond the accident site. But without knowing where to look and what to look for, the accident had gone undetected. Luke cupped his hands and let out a welcoming yell, waving his arms as he descended the mountain toward them.

One of the men spotted Luke and directed the road crews to kill the equipment's engines. Every muscle in Luke's body was aching and his breathing was labored by the time he dragged his heavy boots through the last of the melting slush.

“Chief!” Ben Allen and several others shook his hand and slapped him good-naturedly on the back. “Glad to see you're okay.”

“Not as glad as I am to see you guys.” He caught his breath. “Give me an update.”

“Well, if the temperature continues to rise, we may be home free soon. If not, the slush will freeze again tonight and it'll be tomorrow before we get any relief.” Ben looked over his shoulder at another officer. “Pete, get the chief some coffee. There's a thermos full in the front seat of my cruiser.”

“Thanks.” Luke watched the officer lumber off to retrieve the thermos, and his mouth watered at the thought. “How are conditions in town?”

“Clear. North to the bridge is good and south of town is passable, including the roads to Waterford.”

Waterford was the only exclusive neighborhood in Sweet
water. His father and Camille owned the biggest house on the highest crest, surrounded by the lesser homes of junior executives employed by the factory. His father's power was never more evident than in Waterford Crest and, in Luke's opinion, never more repulsive.

“Speaking of Waterford, Chief, your father called again this morning.”

Luke felt his blood pressure rise, sensing there was more. “And?”

Ben Allen nodded in the direction of the young officer who was bringing the coffee. “Pete Guthrie told him that you'd been snowbound with an accident victim and that we'd have you out by today. I'm sorry I didn't intercept the call.”

Luke bit back a curse as Pete returned. Ben's unspoken apology was obvious, as was the fact that his strained relationship with his father and stepmother was not anyone else's fault.

“Is that all he told them?”

“I relayed your orders to keep quiet about the fatality. Folks sure have been panicked.”

“Good call,” Luke said. “Have there been any missing-person reports that fit the victim's description?”

“No, there haven't. Seems strange, doesn't it?”

“Yeah.” Luke glanced around the remote setting. There wasn't much north of them. Just a few rental cabins like the one Dana was headed toward and a few permanent residents like his grandfather. But beyond that the road took a winding path down the other side of the mountain and eventually ended up crossing the state line. There were definitely more direct routes. “I'd like to know where she was headed.”

“I don't get it, Chief. Why would someone be traipsing around these mountain roads in the middle of a blizzard?”

Pete Guthrie returned and extended the thermos to Luke
like a peace offering. He accepted with a nod of thanks. Unscrewing the lid, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the aroma of the coffee. His stomach growled with a pang of hunger, reminding him that he normally ate more than canned pears. Luke filled the plastic lid with the steaming liquid and took a sip.

The coffee was black, hot and slid down his throat like a long-lost friend. The simple indulgence punctuated the isolation he'd experienced and reminded him that he still had responsibilities beyond Dana and the baby. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and surveyed the area with fresh resolve.

“I need the road crews to continue what they're doing.” He pointed up the mountain. “Ben, you're in charge of overseeing their efforts. Get the access road to the ranger's station cleared first, then have them head on up the mountain to Ashton's Gap. Check in with my grandfather to see if he needs anything before you come back down the mountain.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben Allen responded.

“Radio the station and have one of the men purchase baby formula. It needs to be on hand by the time the crews get to the ranger's station.” He paused. “He's accustomed to the powdered kind. Get that.” Luke challenged the amusement in Ben's eyes with a firm stare. “We'll also need sterile water, a new bottle and a car seat. Oh—and diapers.” He recalled the growing pile of disposable diapers outside the cabin door. “The kind you throw away,” he added.

“Sure thing.”

“Leave Pete with me. I'm going to rappel down to the accident site, and I'll need someone standing by.” He pointed down the mountain, toward a sharp curve in the road. “The vehicle left the road there.”

Ben's face registered surprise. “Damn. We worked right past it.”

“It's almost impossible to spot without knowing where to look.” Luke felt a wave of sadness for the baby's mother but forced himself to remain detached. “If we're successful in retrieving the body, it will need to be transported to the morgue. I'll radio in a request.”

“There's rappelling equipment in my cruiser. I'll leave Pete and the vehicle with you.” Ben waved his arms at the crews. “Let's go!” he yelled. “Anything else, Chief?”

His thoughts returned to Dana, suddenly warmed by the idea of providing her an indulgence, however small. What would she want? Luke realized that there were a million things he didn't know about her, despite what they'd shared. A woman like Dana probably ate dainty, healthy food, he reasoned. But then again looks could be deceiving.

She'd certainly had an appetite last night.

Memories flooded his mind and he suppressed a revealing smile. “Get a chef's salad and slice of chocolate cake from the deli for Miss Langston,” he finally answered. “Oh—and add a mocha latte and a can of dog food to the list.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, but any clever comment he might have made was interrupted by the sound of cranking engines as the road crews engaged their equipment.

 

The rappelling equipment tightened effectively over his hips as Luke stepped backward off the cliff and began his descent. Despite the rise in temperature, it was still cold. Moisture from the melting snow penetrated his hair and clothing and hung in the air itself, ironically packing just as much bone-numbing cold as the Arctic air that had brought the storm front. He stopped the feed of rope to survey the area below him. He could see the outline of the vehicle
beneath his dangling feet and felt icy fingers of dread up and down his spine.

Determined to get the grizzly job over with, he released the line and lowered himself to the ledge. The ledge faced eastward and its exposed rock had obviously soaked up the warmth from the rising sun, erasing all but a few stubborn patches of the ice and snow. The first thing Luke noticed was that the scene was precisely as Dana described it.

A broken bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey lay on its side, its contents long since spilled. Luke peered over the edge of the cliff, easily spotting the vehicle tenuously suspended on the mountain face below. The sun had melted most of the snow from its faded blue exterior. Again, just as Dana had described.

Precisely.

He stepped back when a gust of wind hit the mountainside, unexpectedly rising from the valley below. Luke un-clipped the support belt and stepped free of the rappelling equipment, walking carefully toward the whiskey bottle. Instinct gnawed at his gut, telling him not to disturb the scene as he knelt and examined it.

“Are you okay, Chief?” Pete called from above.

Luke squinted, spotting Pete's silhouette. “Yeah. I'm going down to the vehicle.”

He stepped back into the rappelling equipment and fastened the safety hooks, then double-checked every aspect of the equipment before lowering himself over the edge. Luke took advantage of his aerial view as he slowly rappelled downward, his gaze scanning every inch of the car. The back windshield was blocked with what appeared to be blankets and clothing, just as Dana had described. The front windshield was shattered and Luke noticed the telltale spider's web pattern that told him the driver's head had im
pacted. He could see that the back door was slightly ajar, probably the side Dana had entered to retrieve the baby.

An invisible fist of fear hit him in the gut. Dana could have easily been pulled down the mountain with the car, dragged across the jagged rocks to her death. Nausea tightened his throat. But without her heroic effort, Daniel would have frozen alongside his dead mother.

Both thoughts were unbearable.

Luke released the feed line and lowered his body until he was almost parallel with the car. What he saw made his blood run cold. Fresh bullet holes riddled the vehicle's back fender well. His gaze shifted slowly to the back right tire.

A jagged hole was ripped in the side.

“Everything okay?” Pete's voice echoed from above.

It took him a moment to find his voice. “Yeah.” The answer was a lie, but the truth eluded him at that moment.

He used his gloved hand to scrape away a thin layer of ice that lingered on the shaded side of the car's side window, and peered inside. The lifeless form of a woman lay askew in the front seat, her head tilted skyward, her blond hair tangled around her.

A violent cut ran diagonally across her face, leaving blood and torn flesh where her features had once been. Luke's gaze shifted to the jagged stub of plastic that had once held the rearview mirror, then to the impact mark on the windshield and prayed that she'd died on impact rather than from her injuries.

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. He'd known what he would find, had done his best to prepare, but death was a part of the job you never became accustomed to.

Especially when it was murder.

The car had come to rest with its nose wedged against a scrubby grove of pine saplings that grew stubbornly from
the cracks in the rock face. Luke knew that even their combined strength wasn't enough to prevent the car from sliding if he wasn't careful.

Luke chose the back door first, since it was already ajar. He tugged on the handle as carefully as possible, sighing with relief when the door began to open. Its hinges creaked and the noise grated against every nerve in his body until it finally swung completely open. Luke lowered himself to the steep mountain face and, using the heels of his boots, dug a foothold. He balanced by leaning his body weight into the rappelling harness as he examined the contents of the car.

Two empty whiskey bottles lay in the floorboard of the back seat. Luke frowned. Two, plus the one that had fallen from the car and onto the upper cliff. That made three bottles of hard liquor consumed by one woman? His gaze shifted reluctantly to the woman. She was obviously petite. The idea of her consuming that much liquor didn't hold. And why the floorboard of the back seat where it was inaccessible?

Because the scene had been carefully staged. The accident was no accident.

“Pete!” Luke yelled, watching the young man's silhouette reappear on the cliff above him.

“Yeah, Chief?”

“Call the GBI for a blood alcohol kit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke knew in his gut that the test would prove negative. The woman had been forced off the cliff rather than driving off of it in a drunken stupor. But who would want to see her dead? The professional in him reasoned that Dana was the only other person known to be involved, and that fact alone made her a suspect. His gut clenched and he dismissed the suspicion. The woman he held in his arms last night was
not capable of murder and would certainly never have put the baby at risk.

The mental and physical strain of the past few days settled on his shoulders, and Luke suddenly felt weary. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to concentrate on the job. Like it or not, he would have to abandon his efforts here for now. The accident scene was now a crime scene and couldn't yet be disturbed. He mentally cursed the fact that the road had been scraped clean, eliminating tire tracks and footprints that might have been helpful in the investigation. When the tedious forensic process of evidence collecting and photographing was complete, he would need additional equipment and manpower to retrieve the car. And the woman's body.

Luke continued to examine the contents of the vehicle from his awkward vantage point, careful not to disturb anything. He frowned. Dana said she'd looked for a purse but hadn't found one. That fact bothered him. It was a rare woman who didn't carry a purse, and most kept it on the seat next to them. He raised his body using the rappelling harness and peered into the front seat. It was entirely possible that the handbag was pinned beneath the woman or had slid beneath the seat. It was also possible that whoever had arranged for her death had also arranged for the purse's disappearance.