A Taste of Tragedy
McMahill
Editing by Jacqueline Hopper
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the permission of Prism Book Group. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published by
Prism Book Group
ISBN-10:1-943104-45-X
ISBN-13:978-1-943104-45-1
First Edition, 2016
Published in the
United States of America
Contact info:
[email protected]
Marked in Mexico
Deadly Exodus
Big Horn Storm
Shrouded in Secrets
Risky Research Series
A Dose of Danger
(Book 1)
A Taste of Tragedy
(Book 2)
To everyone who has supported my writing—family, friends, and fans. I appreciate the reviews, comments, proof reading, research assistance, and encouragement. Thanks for staying faithful. I’d also like to give a special thank you to my editor, Jacqueline, and to my wonderful publisher.
The newly fallen powder fanned out behind Dexter Fowler in a high arch as his skis slammed down at the bottom of each well-formed mogul. His knees bent to absorb the impact from the motion, and he kept his body low over the slope.
He loved the speed he could achieve while careening down the steep grade. The challenge of conquering the most intimidating mountains made him feel alive. The allure of a greater thrill always pushed him further, to the brink of his physical limits, testing the laws of physics.
Mornings like this transported him back to his glory days. He wouldn’t trade a moment of his lost childhood, the grueling training regime he had followed for so many years, the adrenaline rush of competition, more broken bones than he cared to count, or the exhilaration he felt over each victory in his career, for anything in the world. His only regret was missing the Olympics by one hundredth of a second, an eternity in the racing world.
He had given his quest for gold everything he had, mentally and physically, but it hadn’t been enough. Sometimes, things didn’t work out the way a person planned no matter how much effort was expended. The true test of a person’s character came from being able to move on, which he did. He focused on his post-graduate degrees, excelling in academics as much as he had in athletics. He then secured a challenging job as an analyst and researcher, which earned him more than enough to get him out on the best slopes in the country at every possible opportunity.
The morning was especially cold, which he loved. The wind biting at his cheeks made him feel alive, and the slopes were still empty except for the hardiest skiers. The recreationists would gradually start arriving as the day warmed, but for now, he had the area to himself.
He hadn’t seen a single ski patrol yet, not that there were enough to cover this massive mountain anyway. Dexter was truly in his element, and he loved this place. Alta had
challenging terrain, including steeps—slopes with vertical angles that pushed the limit of snow to resist the forces of gravity—and intense tree skiing. The area’s
ban on snowboarders was an extra bonus. The sport had its place, but, thankfully, it wasn’t on this mountain on this morning.
Tomorrow, he would board a plane in Salt Lake City in the valley below and head back to his job in Sacramento.
California
had its positive points, like beautiful beaches, gorgeous women, and surfing, but he knew he’d start itching for snow before his plane even took off. So, he was determined to make the most of his last day on the slopes in
Utah
.
Glancing around and seeing no one, Dexter veered off the black-diamond trail, worn down by countless skiers to form aggressive moguls, and entered the trees where the powder was deep and pristine. Skiing out-of-bounds on ungroomed routes added an extra rush. Weaving in and out of trees on the narrow, precipitous chute required split-second reaction timing and a unique skill set few possessed.
He had gone off course in the area every day this week, so he knew every nuance of the terrain and treated it like a giant slalom course. The grade steepened, and there were several significant natural jumps. The trees got closer together
aways
down, which would eventually force him to return to the main run.
The feeling of weightlessness overcame him as he took air over the last jump. When he hit the ground, his knees took the brunt of the impact. Keeping low, his speed increased. Concentrating on the terrain, he shifted his weight, and using his strength, forced a turn just in time to avoid a tree in his path.
His adrenaline flowed, sending fire through his veins as he wove in and out of the tall pines like gates on a race course. He knew he was getting close to the end of his illegal detour and would have to slow his speed soon to safely reenter the official route. For a minute more, though, he tuned everything else out of his mind except navigating through the trees at the highest rate of speed he could control.
As the marked run came into focus off to his left, he spied another skier ahead on the main route. He wasn’t concerned. Even if the person decided to report him, he’d be long gone by the time anyone with authority could respond.
He came alongside the other skier and glanced over. Dexter was still off course. He and the other skier both wore tinted goggles, but it felt as if for an instant, their eyes locked, and the sensation sent a chill down his spine. Dexter noticed the lack of a glove on one hand. It was too cold to have bare skin exposed for long, but that wasn’t his problem.
Dexter quickly pulled his attention back to the slope. He was going too fast and not yet out of the trees, so losing focus could be deadly. Just as the thought entered his mind, a loud pop reached his ears, and searing pain raced up his legs. His boots detached from his skis and his body flew through the air like a bullet. With no time to react, he knew a collision with a tree was imminent.
He tried to raise his arms to shield his body, but it was too late
.
