Deadly Holidays Part 7

"Jennifer shouldn't be alone in this storm," said Blake. "Not with a baby on the way."

"I'll go get her now while the roads are pa.s.sable. Megan would worry herself sick if I didn't take her home." Tim paused for a moment, then said, "Blake, I know you've been trained for these conditions, but be careful out there. This thing will gain strength as the day goes on. You could find yourself in a situation where you have reduced or no visibility, because of the driving snow. Jennifer couldn't handle losing you."

"I know. I have maybe four hours at best to search for Shawn, but I'm not giving up. I'll find him." Blake's voice sounded far more confident than he felt at that moment.

A blast of wind hit the side of the building; the windows rattled in response. Tim couldn't make himself say the words he was thinking, that if Shawn was exposed to this weather, there was little chance he was still alive. h.e.l.l, he couldn't let go of the hope that drove them, any more than Jennifer or Blake. Tim grasped Blake's arm and said, "Promise me you'll come home by dark. Jennifer needs you now more than ever."

Blake looked at Tim, a dozen emotions swimming in his dark eyes. He was a realist and knew if he couldn't find Shawn within the next few hours, there was an excellent chance he'd never find hima"at least not alive. He found it hard to speak. He nodded his head, his voice cracking with emotion. "Yes, sir. I promise."

By the time Lane made it home with the ATV, he was cold and exhausted from breaking a trail through the acc.u.mulating snow drifts from town to his house, which was five miles away. Frankie, three-year-old Ashley, and Hunter met him at the door. Frankie and Ashley began pulling off his snowsuit and other winter garments, throwing them into a heap on the floor. Thinking it was a game, Ashley giggled with delight as she pulled at the fingers of his gloves, as he tried to tickle her. Down to his street clothes, Lane was ushered upstairs by his wife into a hot shower.

Later, he walked down to the kitchen then leaned against the doorframe, watching Frankie stir something in the crock-pot that smelled amazing. He moved behind her, his arms locking around her waist as he kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Is that chili you're cooking?" he asked, as he nibbled on her neck.

"I just put in the ingredients I found on a card in your mom's cookbook. Everything's in the chili except the spice. That's your job, my very hot and spicy man. You take over from here to add just enough chili pepper and spices."

Lane let her go and lifted the lid to stir the mixture with a wooden spoon. "I'm going to miss my parents, but I'm glad they're vacationing for the holidays in Florida and avoiding this blizzard. It's really bad out there."

"That reminds me, your dad called this morning. He and your mom were making some kind of a seafood gumbo. They're taking it to a party tonight."

Lane sprinkled some chili powder, salt and pepper onto the chili, stirred, then replaced the lid on the crock-pot. He looked around the room. then asked, "Where's Ashley?"

"She's in the family room with Hunter, watching the Rudolph DVD for the hundredth time," Frankie answered, rolling her eyes as she pulled some hot rolls from the oven. "Did I tell you I found Ashley with a tube of my red lipstick? She was going to give Hunter a red nose so he could look like Rudolph. Fortunately for Hunter, I caught her just in time."

The mental image of Ashley with the lipstick caused a huge laugh to bubble up in his chest, and he laughed out loud. Frankie tried not to laugh. But she held out for a moment or so before she was snorting with him.

"I love our life," Lane said, moving toward the door. "I think I need some daughter time."

When Lane reached the hallway that led to the family room, he felt a rush of cold air in an otherwise warm area. He quickened his pace until he reached the foyer where the front door was wide-open, and swirls of snow dusted the table, mirror and rug.

"Ashley?"

Looking out the door, Lane saw his little girl, dressed only in a pair of pants and a knit shirt, standing six feet from him, struggling against the wind to stand. She was looking at something in the distance. He rushed outside, picked her up, and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the house. Calling for Frankie, he kicked the door shut with his foot, then carried Ashley, still struggling to get down, close to heat of the roaring blaze in the fireplace.

He set her down, brushing the snow from her hair and clothes. He said, "Ashley, stop it, right now. What's gotten into you?"

Tears spurted from her eyes, and ran down her cheeks. She raced back to the front door and struggled with the doork.n.o.b. Lane, right behind her, picked her up again. "Ashley, it's too cold for you outside." He carried her back to the warmth of the fireplace, ignoring her tiny fists beating against his chest.

Hearing the commotion, Frankie came into the room and asked, "What's going on? Why is it so cold in here?"

Ashley was hysterical by now, sobbing and struggling to get loose from Lane's arms. "Daddy, put me down. Let me go."

"What's wrong with her?" asked Frankie, suddenly alarmed. Her intuition told her something was wrong, but her immediate need was to help her little girl.

Still holding the squirming little girl, Lane responded, "I don't know. I found the front door wide open, and I saw Ashley standing outside in the cold."

Frankie moved closer to them, stroking Ashley's back in an effort to calm her, and realized her clothes were wet from the melting snow. "Lane, her clothes are wet," she said before rushing up the stairs to Ashley's room. From a dresser drawer, she pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas with feet, then grabbed the little girl's thick quilted robe from her bed.

She rushed downstairs. She and Lane undressed Ashley to replace her damp clothing with her pajamas, the little girl still struggling to be freed. She kept pointing at the door, saying she had to go. They managed to get her wet top off and replaced it with the dry flannel pajama top. Then Frankie pulled at her damp pants while Lane held her. Throwing the pants to the floor, she put the pajama pants with feet on Ashley, and pinched the snaps closed at the waist. Then they worked together to get the robe on their child.

"Ashley," said Frankie. "Calm down and tell Mommy and Daddy what's wrong."

Ashley gulped hard, hot tears still slipping down her cheeks as she pointed, "Outside. Outside," she cried. "Ashley, go outside."

"No, honey, you can't go outside," Frankie said softly.

"But..." Ashley broke free and ran to the door, twisting the k.n.o.b, and crying hysterically.

Lane picked Ashley up, tucking her head on his chest, and walked back and forth, rubbing her little back, much like he did when she was a baby with colic. "Shhh, baby-girl," he said comfortingly. "What's out there that you need so badly?"

Frowning, Frankie looked out the front window. Seeing nothing but the blinding snow, she walked back into the living room. A flicker of apprehension swept through her. Where was Hunter? The Giant Schnauzer never left Ashley's side. In all the commotion, she hadn't realized he wasn't in the room.

Returning to the foyer, where Lane still comforted Ashley, Frankie stopped him and asked, "Where's Hunter?"

At the mention of his name, Ashley started screaming and wriggling to get out of her father's grip. She pointed to the door again. "Outside! Hunter outside!"

"Hold her," Frankie said to Lane. She ran to the coat closet and pulled out her coat, scarf and gloves. Whipping on her coat, she wrapped the scarf around her throat, and with her gloves in hand, rushed out the door. Lane held onto Ashley and walked to the window to watch.

Fighting the pounding wind, Frankie called out, "Hunter! Here, Hunter!" Not getting a response, she moved further into the yard toward what she thought was the driveway. How could she tell with all the snow? The freezing snow crept into her shoes, pelted her face, and clung to her eyelashes and hair. Where was Hunter? At times she could only see a few feet in front of her face, but she kept calling for her dog and moving forward. Seconds turned into minutes, her skin was numbing, her toes tingling with pain. Realizing she was not dressed for searching, she headed inside for her snowsuit and gear.

Once inside, she realized Ashley was clinging to the window, and Lane waited for her in the foyer.

"I came in for my snowsuit, and then I'm going back out," she stated as she tore off her coat and scarf.

"No, you're not," said Lane.

For the first time, she really looked at him. He was wearing his snowsuit and was pulling his ski mask over his head. His ski goggles stuck out of one pocket; his gloves out of the other.

"Hunter's out there in the cold. I have to find him," she said.

Lane pulled her into the hallway where Ashley couldn't hear them. "d.a.m.n it, Frankie. Did you forget you're pregnant? I haven't, and I'm the one going outside to look for Hunter. If I there's any visibility at all, I'll fire up the ATV and drive it to search for him."

"But, Lane..." she began "No arguments," he said firmly, his jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed. "You're not the only one who loves Hunter. I love him as much as you and Ashley do. He's a member of our family. I'll find him. But your job now is to go in the other room and comfort our little girl. She thinks it's her fault Hunter ran away."

"Oh, my G.o.d. Why would Ashley think that?"

"Because she was the one who opened the door and let him out."

The swath of windswept snow continued, spreading its artic cold and snow-drifting danger across the area, making for treacherous travel conditions along its path. The blowing snow, low visibilities, and diving temperatures were a hazardous threat to anyone in its way.

His journey toward the downtown area had been difficult, as heavy snowfall shifted the landscape dramatically, burying landmarks, erasing tracks and trails, and making exposure to the storm that much more dangerous.

When Blake arrived in the downtown area, he found it as deserted as a ghost town. Holiday shopping had been cut to a standstill. Shops were closed, and the only reminders of the holidays were the flashing, shimmering lights behind frost-swirled windows. Bracing himself, another hard gust of wind knocked into Blake, threatening to topple the ATV over, and him with it. Power poles swayed, the lines swinging with the rhythm of the wind.

Turning his face away from a bitter blast, Blake stopped the ATV in the middle of the snow-clogged street and thought.

Worst-case scenario, Shawn's body was frozen somewhere after being exposed to the bitterly cold elements for days. Another, equally bad situation was that Shawn was alive, but trapped in the home of a s.e.xual predator, experiencing a living nightmare. Blake brushed these thoughts from his mind as he shook his head. Both scenarios were too much for him to consider, and he would not accept them. Blake had to find him, and he was running out of time and light.

He planned to retrace Shawn's steps from the courthouse one more time. Blake knew that Shawn had walked through the downtown area after the hearing, because Betty Murphy, who owns Murphy's Fantasy Florist Shop, called the hotline to report she saw a small boy of Shawn's description pa.s.s her shop close to noon that day.

Blake drove the ATV to the end of Main Street, which intersected with Washington. Blake realized if he turned left, the road would lead him outside of town to Route 41. If he turned right; he'd still be in the residential area that stretched for at least two to three square miles.

Blake turned right and tried to make his way as flakes pelted his snowsuit and glided across his ski goggles. He drove in the middle of the street to avoid tree limbs and large rocks hidden by the snow. Blake stopped at Oak Street and looked down the line of houses, most with curls of smoke escaping their chimneys. Thinking about Shawn's file, he remembered there was no one on Oak Street that Shawn knew.

Pushing on to the next street, he glanced at the sign and realized he was already at Elm Street, where Shawn's friend, Billy, lived. Stopping the ATV, he twisted around in his seat to look back. From the courthouse to this street was a long walk, but it was not impossible to think that Shawn had made it this far. In addition, after years of being delivered to his babysitter's house every day, it was highly probable Shawn knew the landmarks that led to Elm Street.

Blake's mind raced back to the day he had talked to Billy Collins. The boy was anxious, clinging to his mother, as he answered Blake's questions, and not once did Billy meet his eyes. If the kid knew anything about Shawn's whereabouts, he was about to spill his guts, because Blake wasn't going to leave his house until he did.

On the sofa near the fireplace, Jennifer watched as her dad poked at the fire, then walked around the Victorian house lighting candles. They'd lost electricity an hour before, and for the second time in thirty minutes, Megan tucked the quilt around Jennifer's round belly and down her legs to keep her warm. "Mom, please stop fussing over me," Jennifer muttered, as Megan pulled the quilt over her exposed toes.

"All moms fuss over their daughters. Why should I be the exception?" Sitting down beside her, Megan took her hand and said, "Honey, do you remember that blizzard we had when you were twelve?"

"Yes, no school for a week. Once the snow stopped, we built a snowman, went sledding, and came inside for hot chocolate."

Tim opened the front door, ushering in a flurry of snowflakes. When he returned, he stomped his feet on the rug. Carrying an armful of logs, he set them in the rack by the fireplace. He removed his coat, brushed the snow out of his hair, and asked, "What are you two talking about?"

Megan smiled and said, "We were just reminiscing about building snowmen and going sledding. I'm headed to the kitchen to make us some hot chocolate." She patted Jennifer's hand, then left the room.

Grinning, Tim looked at his daughter and said, "Do you think I should remind your mother that we have no electricity to make hot cocoa?" Impulsively, he hugged Jennifer and kissed the top of her head, and then went to the kitchen.

With both parents out of the room, Jennifer pulled back the covers and crept past her parents' Christmas tree to get to the front window. The falling snow blasted the window, and was so thick she could barely see the end of the driveway at times. The wreath that had once graced the neighbor's door rolled past like a tumbleweed. It was not fit weather for anyone to be out, but Blake was out there, looking for their son.

The baby kicked and Jennifer placed her hand on her baby b.u.mp. Tears welled up in her eyes when she felt another kick, and said aloud, "I know, sweetheart. I'm worried, too, baby, about your daddy and your big brother out alone in this storm."

Blake was out there somewhere, exposed to the cutting wind, drifting snow, and treacherous road conditions. Jennifer hugged herself, not from the cold, but from the thought of Blake not finding Shawn. Even worse, the thought of Blake not returning home to her at all was unbearable. She'd seen so little of him the past few days. He'd come home only to eat and sleep a couple of hours before he headed out to continue his search for the little boy who would become their son. If only Blake could find him.

There were maybe two hours left before the dark of night enveloped the area. Her dad told her that Blake promised to come home to her, with or without Shawn, before dark. Jennifer's stomach clenched, for she knew if Blake arrived without the little boy, they might never find him alive.

Lane searched their property on foot, calling for Hunter, but there was no sign of him. Thanks to the wind and snow obliterating any tracks Hunter might have made, the search was that much more difficult. He had absolutely no idea where the big dog was headed.

Running away was not in the dog's character. Neither he nor Frankie had to use a leash with Hunter in ages. There was no need; the dog clung to them, seemingly having no desire to bound away. Lane didn't understand it. Why would Hunter have left the warmth of their home to run away in this treacherous weather? What was so important for him to leave Ashley's side?

Lane made his way back to the side of the house, boots crunching as he trudged through the drifted snow. He'd decided to use the ATV to search further down the road, but wanted to give Frankie a heads-up before starting out.

After stomping his boots on the outside mat, Lane entered the house where Frankie and Ashley's eyes searched his expression for an answer.

"I haven't found him yet," he began, as disappointment crossed their faces. "Hey, I'm not giving up. I just came in to tell you I'm taking the ATV out to look for him."

Filled with emotion, Frankie flew to Lane, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard. "I love you so much, Lane. You come back to me, you hear? And bring that stupid dog with you." She managed a weak smile.

Tightening his arms around her, he whispered, "Baby, everything is going to be okay." Lane loosened his grip on Frankie and bent down to pick Ashley up, then hugged the two of them. Swallowing hard, he held them silently against his body.

After a moment, Lane relinquished his wife and daughter to open the door, returning to the snowy cold as he fished the ATV keys out of his pocket. There was maybe an hour and a half of light remaining in the day, he thought, as he turned the ignition and flipped on the vehicle's headlights. The winds had picked up, making steering the ATV difficult, and his arms began to ache as he struggled to keep it on the road. Lane stopped frequently, calling out Hunter's name.

It hit him again how odd it was that Hunter took off like he did. Hunter was not just any dog. He was a certified search and rescue dog who'd undergone hours of training to perfect his special skills. If Hunter was begging Ashley to let him out, he had to have a good reason to want to leave their home. But what was it?

When Lane realized he'd driven at least half a mile, he braked again to call for Hunter and look around. Looking back, he couldn't see the lights of his house. Looking ahead, he saw nothing but huge flakes of snow that scooted across his ski goggles, now blowing in powerful gusts that threatened to knock him off the ATV.

Lane drove ahead until he unexpectedly saw something big and black crossing the road ahead. Hunter? He slammed on the accelerator to pick up speed, when suddenly the ATV crashed against something hard enough to propel Lane into the air, until he landed hard on his back in a snowdrift. He lay there stunned for a moment, the wind knocked out of him.

Sucking in the cold air was painful, but he had to fill his lungs. Lane struggled to sit, and then stand up. He looked in every direction. A thick, white cloud surrounded him, blinding him to everything. He could see nothing. Lane had no idea which direction to take. Where was the ATV? He took a deep breath to calm himself. By his estimation, he was thrown maybe four or five feet. But in which direction?

Fighting the violent gust of wind, he trudged through the snow toward what he hoped was the road. Minutes later, which seemed like hours, Lane found the ATV slammed against a fence, lying on its side. He pushed on the vehicle as hard as he could until he could upright it. He leapt onto the snow-covered seat and turned the ignition. Nothing. It wouldn't start.

Lane cursed and kicked the side of the vehicle. He then headed down the road in a direction that he prayed would lead him home. After a long, cold and exhausting walk, Lane saw the lights of his house, and prepared himself to tell Frankie and Ashley he had not found Hunter, and the weather had turned too bad to go out again to search for him, at least until tomorrow.

Blake drove the ATV down Elm Street, pa.s.sing a couple of houses that could have been Billy Collins' house. He stopped at each, but unsure he had the right address, moved forward. The reduced visibility sp.a.w.ned by the storm made it increasingly difficult to identify the right house. He had Billy's address with his house number written on a piece of paper in a file that now lay on his desk back at his office.

The front porch at the next house looked familiar. With its porch light blazing, there were red and green twinkling holiday lights hung in the large front picture window that lay beneath a transom window made of etched and leaded gla.s.s. This was the Collins' home. Blake had admired that transom window from his car, he'd know it anywhere.

He stopped the ATV, turned off the ignition, and trudged through snowdrifts, at times reaching his knees, as he made his way to the house. Blake had made it to the front porch and was about to ring the doorbell, when he noticed a large, dark, furry ma.s.s lying against the side of the house. Approaching it, he pulled his flashlight from his pocket, shining it into the face of a huge, black dog that wore glistening flakes of snow all over his body. Stroking the dog's head, he pulled at its collar until he found the identification tag that read "Hunter." It was Frankie and Lane's search-and-rescue dog.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing this far from home, Hunter?" Blake asked, as he brushed the snow from Hunter's coat. The dog leaned into him for warmth and whined as Blake pulled him closer. Blake fished out his cell phone from his pocket to call Lane, but soon discovered there was no service. He had no choice but to keep the big dog with him until he could interview Billy Collins again. Then he'd take Hunter home to the Brennan's house with him in the ATV.

Blake moved to the front door to ring the doorbell, with Hunter pressed against his leg. No one answered, but that did not deter Blake. He opened the screen door and pounded on the front door.

Soon he heard footfalls, the twist of the k.n.o.b, and the door opened to reveal a surprised Tom Collins. "What in the world are you doing out in this storm, detective?" he asked.

Tom had barely asked the question when Hunter bounded inside, with Blake calling after him. "Hunter, stop."

"Is that your dog?"

"No, he belongs to my boss and his wife."

The men followed the Giant Schnauzer, who was sniffing the sofa, chair, then rug, racing from one to the other.

"What's he doing?" asked Tom as he watched.

"Not sure. He's a search-and-rescue dog. This is the way he behaves when he's on the job."

Hunter sat on his haunches and barked as if to communicate his frustration. He then ran down a short hall into the kitchen, where Blake could hear a woman and a small boy scream in alarm.

"Hunter, come back here," Blake shouted as he raced toward the room. Terrified that a strange and huge dog had entered their kitchen, both Cheryl and Billy Collins were standing on kitchen chairs when Blake and Tom arrived.

"It's okay," Blake began. "You can get down. This is Hunter. As soon as I can catch him, I'll put him outside."

Tom helped his wife and son down from the chairs, as Hunter, still sniffing wildly, headed back toward the front of the house. By the time Blake reached him, Hunter sat before a door in the hallway in an alert position that Blake had seen many times when the dog found the person they were looking for.