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Gripping the steering wheel even tighter, she worked to keep the car on the road while pumping on the brakes. She couldn’t regain control. She closed her eyes, tensed her body and readied herself for whatever came next. Damn it! This should not be happening. She should be with Rachel, sipping wine and trying to let go of the past while deciding on a new and improved future. She was not supposed to be lost, scared and...
The impact came hard and swift, jarring her body and ending her inner tirade.
In sync with the crash, a loud noise, almost like a gunshot, rang in Meredith’s ears as the airbag deployed and slammed against her chest. An acrid smell, strong and pungent, consumed the interior of the car, along with a powdery dust that coated her face and hair. She might have screamed, if she’d been able to breathe.
Keeping her eyes closed for a minute and then another, she waited for her lungs to kick into gear and her shivers to fade, for her heart to regain its normal rhythm and her stomach to stop sloshing. Finally, when her breathing returned and the starkest edge of her fear ebbed, she opened her eyes. She clenched and unclenched her hands, wiggled her toes and moved her legs.
Okay. Good. All seemed in working order. She hadn’t died yet.
* * *
Where had those dogs gotten off to? Liam Daly swore under his breath and hollered their names—Max and Maggie—uselessly into the wind tunnel the night had become. They didn’t come running, nor could he hear their boisterous barking. Not good.
Not good at all.
It was unusual for them to leave his side in the middle of a storm. Even more unusual for them to do so after he’d been gone for so long.
He’d just returned home after an extended stay in the Aleutian Islands, where he’d photographed a variety of wildlife, including those that lived on the land, flew in the air and swam in the sea. It was a good trip and as always he was thankful for the work, but Lord, he was happy to be back home in Colorado.
He’d be happier if his dogs would show themselves. Max and Maggie were Belgian Tervurens, a shepherding breed closely related to Belgian sheepdogs. They were smart, intuitive, active and more often than not, positioned themselves so close to Liam’s legs that he was lucky not to trip over them. They’d done so when they’d first arrived home, after Liam had picked them up from his sister’s place in Steamboat Springs proper. Fiona always looked after Max and Maggie when Liam was away, and they loved her almost as much as they loved him.
Fiona had asked him to stay in her guest room for the night, to relax and spend some time with her and her foster daughter, Cassie, due to the oncoming storm. He’d thought about it, because he’d missed them both, but the storm could last for days. Frankly, he’d been away long enough, and he knew the mountains like the back of his own hand.
So, he’d promised his sister and niece—because that was how he thought of Cassie—that he’d visit them soon, and as he’d thought, he didn’t have a lick of trouble on the drive home. He’d even made a quick but necessary stop for groceries and still managed to roll into his driveway a solid thirty minutes before the spitting rain had fully turned to sheets of snow-drenched ice.
Knowing his sister would worry, he tried to check in using his mobile, but without a signal, that proved fruitless. And his satellite phone—a necessary piece of technology for assignments in certain remote locations—was pretty much useless with all the trees. Fortunately, and surprisingly, the landline still had service. Wouldn’t last much longer, he’d expect, but he was able to reassure Fiona that he’d made it home in one piece.
The dogs had followed as he’d brought in the groceries, turned on the lights and jacked up the heat. They’d gobbled their kibble lightning fast and had then run in circles outside as he lugged in wood for the fireplace.
He’d gotten the fire going before heading out to make sure everything was in order with the generator, because before the night was through, he’d likely lose power. All was good. He had plenty of firewood, propane and food to outlast a storm of mega proportions. He could last a couple of weeks without issue. Good thing, too.
He had that bone-deep intuition that this storm would be one for the history books.
Trying not to worry about the dogs—they knew this part of the mountains as well as Liam did—he hollered their names again while deciding on his next course of action. Likely, the dogs were fine. Wouldn’t hurt to give them a bit more time to stretch their legs and find their way home before allowing his concern to rule his judgment.
He’d unpack his equipment, get everything set straight and orderly, so that he could buckle in and work for the next long while. He had hundreds upon hundreds of digital photographs to sort through, analyze, decide which were gold and which were not, in addition to the many rolls of film he had to develop in his darkroom.
It was, perhaps, one of Liam’s favorite aspects of his job: the meticulous process of bringing a captured image to life. Oh, he wasn’t opposed to technology. Hell, he friggin’ loved what technology could do and had done for his profession, both in the practical and artistic sense.
He was, however, a stalwart follower in the church of film photography. He would never want to give up either for the other, but if forced to choose...well, he’d say goodbye to technology and every one of his digital cameras, even his newest Canon, in a nanosecond.
And yeah, he’d be sorry to see them go, but everything about film photography—from the cameras themselves, to how they worked and how to coax the best possible shot out of them, to the art of developing the prints—was what had drawn Liam to this profession to begin with. His want for solitude and exploration drove him toward the obvious niche: nature and wildlife.
Well, also that he tended to understand animals far easier than people. Typically, he liked them better, too. And he would always choose just about any remote location over a city. Cities had too many people, and people liked to talk. Something Liam wasn’t all that fond of.
His sister teased him, liked to say that Liam was allergic to other human beings outside of their family network. In a way, he supposed there was some truth to that statement, but his “allergy” was by choice. He was just a guy who did better on his own and had long ago recognized that fact. Other than Fiona and a few friends who didn’t annoy him every time they opened their mouths, he had Max and Maggie. Along with his job, that was all he needed.
Calling out their names once again, he waited to see if they’d show. When they didn’t, Liam shoved his worry to the back burner and returned to his cabin.
He’d built it close to five years ago now, on a secluded plot of land that was situated on an equally secluded area of the mountain. He didn’t have neighbors. He had trees and streams, wildlife and tons of privacy.
Just as he liked it.
Inside, he shrugged off his coat and boots. If the two shepherds weren’t back by the time he was done unpacking his gear, he’d put on his layers of arctic wear and try to track them down. Difficult, maybe impossible, with the current state of the weather, but he would have to try. He wouldn’t be able to relax, otherwise.
Making quick work of the job, Liam hauled the equipment to his office at the back of the cabin, taking care to unpack and organize in his standard methodical fashion.
His rolls of exposed film were in airtight, labeled canisters, which he stacked in the refrigerator he kept in this room for just that purpose. A set of customized shelves sat against the back wall that held moisture-proof containers for his various cameras, along with those meant for other necessary items, such as lenses, straps and memory cards. The longest wall of the room held his desk, computers, monitors and an array of additional storage. Everything had a place.
Liam’s darkroom was attached to the office, but for the moment, he left that door closed. No reason to go in there until he was ready to begin developing his film, which wouldn’t be for another day or two.
With everything more or less put away, he took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom—the only room on the second floor—where he put on the layers of clothing and outerwear appropriate for the howling storm, which was turning into one hell of a blizzard.
Yeah, he had to go after his dogs.
Downstairs, he grabbed a flashlight before opening the front door. Then, having second thoughts, closed it against the torrential slam of wind and snow.
Max and Maggie’s favorite roaming grounds were in the dense cluster of trees directly behind the cabin. They’d go round and round, sniffing out squirrels or rabbits, roughhousing with each other and in warmer temperatures, cooling themselves off in the stream that twisted through the trees. He’d go that route first and hope he could outlast the storm long enough to find them and bring them home.
Exiting through the back door, Liam did his best to ignore the worry gnawing at his gut. This just wasn’t like them. Unless one of them had gotten hurt somehow, maybe a soft spot in the icy stream held one of them captive or...no. He wouldn’t assume worst-case scenario.
They were smart, agile dogs. Excitable and full of energy. Probably, they were happy to be home and, in their canine glee, were ignoring the cold and snow in favor of a frozen romp. Sounded good. Plausible even, to anyone who didn’t know Max and Maggie. Problem was, Liam did know them, and that sort of behavior in this type of weather didn’t ring true.
He’d find them. He had to. They were as much his family as Fiona and Cassie.
Chapter Two (#ua597d059-485f-54a5-bafd-7187224aa6bd)
Within minutes of slamming into a cluster of trees, Meredith realized she no longer heard the comforting hum of the car’s engine or felt the warm flow of heat blowing from the vents. She almost turned the key in the ignition to see if the engine would fire again, but had second thoughts. Better to first check out her surroundings and the car’s condition.
Shoving the now-deflated airbag off of her body, she unclasped her seat belt, opened the driver’s side door and stumbled to her feet. Wind-propelled snow slapped at her face, stinging her skin and making her eyes water. The early evening hung in complete darkness, without so much as a single star shining through to offer even the slimmest ray of light.
In her entire life, she had never felt so alone or unprepared.
She walked the perimeter of where she crashed. Since she couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her, she sniffed the air for signs of a fuel leak. Fortunately, if she could trust her nose, she didn’t smell any gas fumes. Assuming the car would start, would she be able to get it back on the road? Maybe. She’d have to be lucky, though. The path out would need to be fairly straightforward, and the car would have to power through the snowy, icy uphill terrain in reverse.
The wall of never-ending wind almost knocked her over, and she had to brace herself to keep standing, had to force her frozen legs to slog through the snow. Again, she was stunned by the saturating, painful depth of the cold. She swore her bones were shivering.
Reaching the back of the car, Meredith tried to gauge how far off the road she’d gone. She couldn’t tell, not from where she stood. But with so many trees, she couldn’t be too far in. Probably, in the light of day, with or without a storm, she’d be able to see the road from here. As it was, however, attempting to blindly maneuver the car seemed a very bad idea.
Okay, then. Her best course of action was huddling in the Accord for the night. So long as the engine would start, she’d have heat. She had plenty of dry clothes in her suitcase. Oh! She even had a bottle of water and a roll of butter rum–flavored Life Savers. Not the most enjoyable way to spend a night, but it could be worse. A lot worse.
She would be fine.
As she fought her way toward the driver’s side door, she suddenly recalled hearing of a woman who—a year or two ago—had died from carbon monoxide poisoning while waiting out a storm in her car. The tailpipes had become clogged with snow, cutting off oxygen. That poor woman had likely also thought she would be safe and sound in the shelter of her car.
Great. Yet another way that Meredith could die tonight.
She retreated again to check the tailpipes. For the moment, the snow wasn’t quite high enough to reach them, thank God. Though, at this rate, with the direction the wind was blowing, it wouldn’t take too much longer. Then what? She’d have to keep checking.
Satisfied that she’d be safe for the next little while, at least, she finally pushed her frozen, wet and shivering body into the driver’s seat. The dry, still somewhat warm interior, even without blowing heat, immediately offered a blessed reprieve. But she’d feel much better with running heat. So, inhaling a large, hopeful breath, she twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine did not rumble to life. Heck, it didn’t even squawk. Or whimper. It did nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as fervently as she knew how and tried again. Nope. Still nothing. Tears of frustration and fear filled her eyes, but she ignored them.
The good news, she supposed, was that she could cross off carbon monoxide poisoning from tonight’s worry list. But the possibility of freezing to death moved up to number one.
Grabbing her iPhone, Meredith pressed the Home button, hoping that between the crash and now, a miracle had somehow occurred and she’d have a signal. And...no to that, as well. She bit her lip hard to stop the fear from taking complete control and leaving her useless.
“Talk through this,” she said, finding comfort in the sound of her voice. “What are the options?” There weren’t many, so they were easy to count off. “I can stay here, inside the car, out of the storm. Or I can leave and try to find whatever shelter is attached to that light.”
Remaining in the car, shielded from the elements, felt the safer of the two options. She would even bet that was the recommended advice for such a situation. But she didn’t fool herself into thinking another motorist would fatefully come along the exact same path, realize she’d crashed, find her and rescue her or that Rachel would send out help—which, okay, she probably already had, but they wouldn’t begin to know where to look—or even that she could make it until morning if she hung tight. The hours between now and then seemed endless.
If the storm continued with this force, she could be stuck here for longer than overnight. It could be days. Her car could become buried, the brutal winds could cause a tree to fall, shattering her windshield or trapping her inside.
Or worse.
Beyond all those horrific possibilities, the idea of sitting here, merely waiting for the storm to pass and hoping that nothing dire would occur, did not resonate well. It left too much to chance. It took too much out of her control.
Of course, on the other hand, she really did not relish the thought of going back outside.
Leaving the security of the car, no matter how temporary, required her to fight through the storm, that awful cold, the wind and the mounting snow, with the hope of locating a true shelter. She could fall and hit her head or twist an ankle or become even more lost. Even if she escaped those disasters, she would have to be strong enough to keep moving for however long it took to get somewhere safe. Could she do it? Was she that strong?
With a firmness that surprised her, she came to a decision. Her gut insisted that staying in the car would prove to be a mistake, and really, what else could she trust in but her instincts?
She’d find that light, which had to be connected to a house. And it couldn’t be too far away for the glow, as faint as it was, to have made it through the thick, blinding haze of snow.
If she was wrong...no, she wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t be wrong.
In a flurry of adrenaline, Meredith climbed into the back seat and opened her suitcase. She needed dry clothes, layered, something to cover her face, ears and hands. She needed her hiking boots, which would offer a good deal more protection than her perfect-for-traveling, oh-so-cute clogs. And her coat, naturally. On the plus side, she had not packed light.
Sloughing off her wet jeans and sweater—quite the arduous process in the small constraints of the back seat—she put on a pair of leggings she’d planned on sleeping in, followed by one pair of jeans and then another. Over her head, she pulled on a T-shirt, a turtleneck sweater and finally, a long, roomy, extra-thick sweatshirt. Wet socks were replaced with two pairs of warm, dry socks, over which went her hiking boots. Along with her coat, she grabbed another turtleneck, a button-down flannel shirt and two additional pairs of socks.
Before leaving the car, she wrapped the turtleneck around her head and tied the sleeves under her chin. The flannel shirt, she folded and used as a scarf. She hung her purse diagonally over her neck and shoulder, slipped her hands into both pairs of socks and then on top of it all went her coat, which was a struggle of mega proportions to zip.
When all was said and done, she was hot, bulky and uncomfortable, but she thought she’d done a fairly decent job in protecting herself from the elements. Fingers crossed, anyway. As ready as she was going to get, she closed her eyes and breathed. Deeply.
“I will not die out there,” she whispered. Opening her eyes, she stepped once again into the icy maelstrom. “I will be strong. I will find the light, which will be attached to a warm and occupied house, and someday in the future this entire night will be nothing more than an awful, distant memory. A story I will tell over drinks.”
Right. A story and not the end of her life.
Hunching her shoulders against the wind, Meredith trudged away from the car, keeping her head angled downward and focusing on staying upright.
Her pace was slow, almost sluggish, due to the snow and the wind and the layers of clothing she wore weighing her down. While she had no actual sensation of time, it seemed to take forever to break through the trees and reach the road. So long, in fact, she had a moment of chilling fear that perhaps the car had spun again before the collision and she was walking in the exact wrong direction.
Relief centered in the pool of her stomach that this wasn’t the case. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat—the socks she’d used as mittens were already wet, leaving her with frozen fingers—she paused to get her bearings. Here, at least, there was zero doubt as to which route to take. Uphill, the way she’d been driving. She’d continue along until she saw that light again. That light would lead her through the storm to safe ground.
Okay. She could do this.
“I am woman, hear me roar,” she said into the wind. Silly, maybe, but the words gave her another bolt of strength, of courage. Of belief in herself. Whatever worked, right?
She started the trek, walking smack-dab in the middle of the road, using every muscle in her body to stay upright, all the while pretending that she didn’t notice how the cold was seeping through her multiple layers of clothing. Or how her thighs were burning from the exertion. Or how her heart pumped faster, harder, with every labored breath. She kept her gaze glued in the direction she’d seen the light, praying she’d see it again with every step.
So far, just unforgivable darkness.
Had she made a mistake in leaving the car? No. Don’t think like that. If she had made a mistake, there wasn’t a darn thing she could do about that now. What she had to do, all she could do, was keep moving. That was her only job, the only “rule” she needed to follow.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she said.
Time melted into a black hole of nothingness. She could’ve been walking for five hours or five days...she no longer knew. For a good while, her mind remained clear and her focus unfettered by the still-worsening weather or the effect it was having on her body.
But when she realized that it seemed she had gone a farther distance uphill on foot than she had in her car, still with no sign of the glowing light, fear and desperation rode in and took control.
Tears that she’d held back rushed her eyes and clogged her throat. Her legs, frozen and unwieldy, gave in to the demands of the wind and buckled at the knees. She tried to catch herself but couldn’t.
Losing her balance, she toppled backward and landed in a heap in the thick, icy snow. She instantly went to stand, but between the weight of her clothes, the ferocious, sharp bite of the wind, the gales of stinging, slashing snow and the unexpected unresponsiveness of her numb limbs, her attempt was met with failure. As were the next three.
She breathed deeply, searched for and found an inner kernel of strength amidst the fear. Of course she could stand. She’d been able to stand for most of her life. It was second nature. It was easy.
She breathed in again, rolled to her knees and planted her hands deep into the snow, until she felt the ground and then, after counting to three, shoved herself up.
She didn’t waste time feeling relief or in congratulating herself. This was bad. Worse, even, than she’d let herself believe when she’d ventured from the Honda. Yes, she quite possibly had erred in judgment.
Now, her decision to tread through the storm instead of staying put, where she would have had protection from the wind and snow, felt ludicrous and shortsighted and...well, stupid. Because no, she still did not see that light.
She had been so sure, but could she have imagined it? Perhaps. Especially with her deep desire to locate shelter, yeah, it was possible.
Meredith stopped. Should she turn around and try to find the car? Did that even make sense? The return trip was sure to be easier, since the wind would blow against her back and push her forward, but she wasn’t positive she’d be able to locate the car again. Confusion swept in, mixing with her exhaustion and panic, making it nearly impossible to form any decision other than to do just as she was: stand in place. And that...well, that would seal her fate.
Right. Keep moving.
She started to walk again, forcing her body through the unyielding storm, her vision once again aimed in the direction she’d seen the light. If it hadn’t been a mirage, she would see it eventually. But she couldn’t stop again. No matter what, she couldn’t stop.
One step. Two steps. Three, four, five and six.
When she reached ten steps, she started over with one. Anything to keep walking. If she stopped again, that would be that. And she was pretty sure if she fell again, she’d curl up in a ball and close her eyes. Because oh, every ounce of her body yearned for rest.
On her third set of ten steps, acceptance that, yes, she might be facing the last moments of her life seeped in.
How was that possible? How could this be it? How could she be done? What had she accomplished and what would she be remembered for? What dreams had she fulfilled? Did even one person on the face of the earth really know her?
The answer to that last part came swiftly. How could anyone else really know her when she didn’t yet know herself? This trip was supposed to be the official, if belated, start of that journey. A time to make sense of all she’d learned, of what she’d thought was true balanced against the real truth. And then, over the next year, the rest of the pieces would fall into place.
That had been the plan. Not this fight for survival.
Until her early twenties, she hadn’t had to fight for much of anything of importance. She and her two brothers were raised in an affluent household. Their parents were strict but attentive. Her childhood was filled with private schools, extensive travel and chauffeur-driven cars. Extracurricular activities were carefully chosen by her parents, and success in school was demanded more than encouraged.
Meredith’s grades were always exemplary. She liked to learn, so that part of the equation came naturally. And yes, there were moments she wished her parents would loosen their will in favor of hers, but mostly she towed the line. She went to the college of their choosing, majoring in business as they expected. She fed her love of art with a class here and there, trips to various museums and devoting hours of nonstudy time to sketching and painting.
During her final year of college, she fell head over heels for a man who did not fit in her parents’ neat and tidy box of expectations for their only daughter.
