Ice (5 page)

Gabriel McQueen.

By the time Gabriel reached the turn off the main road, the combination of rain and low clouds had deepened to the point that he needed his headlights on to see. The wind had picked up, too, tossing the trees and whistling around the truck. Wind was bad; it would make the limbs and trees begin coming down just that much sooner.

He would much rather have been with Sam, but he never once thought of turning around and simply telling his dad that he hadn’t been able to make it up the mountain. Giving up wasn’t in his DNA; he’d fetch Lolly off the mountain if he had to drag her down by the hair, which probably wasn’t what his father had had in mind when he sent Gabriel on this
mission, but then the sheriff didn’t know Lolly the way Gabriel knew Lolly.

She’d always been a spoiled brat, nose in the air, convinced she was better than anyone else. Some kids took teasing well; Lolly wasn’t one of them. Hostility had rolled off her in waves. Once she’d looked at him with complete disdain and said, “Worm!” He’d hidden his reaction, but inside he’d been furious that she’d dismissed him so completely with that one word. He was the sheriff’s son, he was popular and athletic and invited everywhere, and she thought he was a
worm?
Who the hell did she think she was? Oh, right, she was a
Helton
, and she didn’t associate with people like him.

She had held herself separate from everyone else, not part of a crowd, never at any of the parties. Looking back, Gabriel wondered now if she’d ever been invited to any of the parties. Probably—but only because she was the mayor’s daughter. None of the kids had liked her, and wouldn’t have willingly invited her anywhere. He didn’t know if that had bothered her, because she certainly hadn’t been a joiner. The only school activity she’d been involved in was keeping her nose buried in a book, if that counted.

He wondered if she was still that way—different, and alone. From the distance of years, he could now also wonder which had come first: her attitude, or the teasing. His own parents seemed to like her well enough. Would his dad have bothered to send him on this errand if it had been anyone other than Lolly
Helton who was out of cell range and possibly unaware of what was coming? Harlan McQueen had been lifelong friends with the Heltons, and that hadn’t changed just because the Heltons had moved to Florida, trading ice storms and snow for the occasional hurricane.

Meeting up with her again after all these years should be interesting. He just hoped she wouldn’t give him any grief about coming back to town with him.

A new weather bulletin came on the radio, and he turned up the volume to listen; evidently it looked as if the storm was going to take a turn for the worst, and faster than expected. He slowed down, looking at the trees, checking for icing. Surely even Lolly would see the wisdom of getting off this mountain before she got stuck here for possibly weeks, without electricity. Unless she had laid in a lot of provisions, she’d be out of food, too. If enough ice coated the trees some of them would come down, blocking the road. Clearing this road wouldn’t be a high priority for the county, because the Helton house was the only one on it. Once there had been a couple of other houses, but one of them had burned years ago, and the other had been so neglected the county had condemned it and had it torn down.

One way or another, he didn’t want to waste even an extra minute of time on this assignment. He was going to do as he’d been told, then get his ass off the mountain while he could. He missed Sam every day,
but at the base he could bury himself in work. Now, with the kid so close, being away from him was an almost physical pain.

The road took a sharp curve, and curled upward in a steep grade. His tires skidded on the pavement and he took his foot off the gas pedal, letting the truck slow to a crawl. Was the road icy already, or had he skidded simply because of the steepness of the wet pavement? His snow tires weren’t worth a damn on ice; nothing was, except chains, but even here in Maine not many people had chains. If the weather was that bad, the smart thing to do was park your ass and wait it out, not go out for a Sunday drive.

Damn her, why couldn’t she stay in a house that was more accessible? This damn road wasn’t much wider than his truck, and trees overhung the pavement in a way that made him wary as he eyed them. Not only would they be deadly if the ice got bad, but they made the road even darker by blocking out whatever light was left.

The temperature gauge on his truck said the outside temp was thirty-two degrees now. Great. Just fucking great. Even as he watched, the digital readout changed to thirty-one. As the road climbed higher, the temp was dropping like a rock. That was ice on the road, all right. He slowed down even more, letting the weight of the truck provide what traction it could.

Turning around wasn’t even an option; his truck was too big, the road was too narrow, and the left side was nothing but a steep drop-off. The first place where
he’d be able to turn around was at Lolly’s house. He was as stuck as a rat on a treadmill, with no way to get off.

His frustration and temper ratcheted up a few notches. If he got up there and no one was home, if Lolly had left town that afternoon and the sheriff just hadn’t realized it, Gabriel was going to be royally pissed. He couldn’t be mad at his dad, but Lolly was another matter. He might even make a point of hunting her down to tell her what a thoughtless bitch she was.

Odds were he’d find her right where she was supposed to be, though, as cool and detached as always, surprised that he’d show up at her door in the middle of a fucking ice storm when he could be sitting at home with his kid. Hell, he was risking his life to get to her, and that made him even angrier, because he had to stay alive for Sam; his little boy had already lost his mother, and that had been a lot for a four-year-old to get through. Thank God they’d had each other when Mariane died; he couldn’t imagine how he’d have made it without Sam. What would Sam do if something happened to him, now? Gabriel couldn’t make his mind go there.

The truck powered slowly up the hilly road, but he could feel the tires spinning some, feel the truck sliding to the right as the surface became slicker. The higher he got, the worse it was going to be.

That thought had just formed when he eased into a right-hand curve and suddenly the truck began sliding
to the right. This wasn’t just the tires skidding; the entire truck moved sideways, the banking in the road, as slight as it was, taking him toward the inside of the curve. As soon as his right tires left the asphalt and hit the shoulder they grabbed traction and began slewing him around, throwing him toward the outside edge where there was nothing but a long drop.

Gabriel shoved the gear into neutral, stopping the tires from grabbing, and let the truck slide back toward the inside. He had no traction, so braking wasn’t an option; instead he worked with the truck’s momentum and steered away from the edge, toward the mountain side. With a thump, the right front tire crossed the shallow ditch that ran along the inside of the road and his bumper dug into the soft dirt of the bank, bringing him to a stop.

Swearing a blue streak, he stared through the icy windshield at the road ahead.

No way was his truck going to make it up that hill, and no way was he even going to try it. The rain was still falling, a wickedly gentle rain that wasn’t heavy enough to run off, which would at least reduce the amount of ice that could form on the trees. No, this was the worst possible rain, a slow, light rain that the cold air would freeze before it could slide off the leaves and branches, and had now made the road impossible to drive. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he looked over his shoulder at the road behind him, remembering some of the hills and curves he’d already maneuvered.

Damn it, fuck, and son of a bitch!
If he’d arrived in town an hour earlier, he would’ve been able to make it to the Helton house and back with no problem. If he’d arrived an hour later, it would’ve already been impossible to make it even this far. Instead he’d arrived just in time to get his ass stuck a little more than halfway up the mountain.

Shit. He’d have to walk the rest of the way.

He switched his all-weather cap for a knit cap that he could pull down over his ears, wrestled himself into the hooded poncho his mother had given him—the Ford was a big truck, but he was a big guy, and he needed a lot of room—then tugged on his gloves. His boots were waterproof and warm, too, so at least he was dressed okay for the weather.

He grabbed the flashlight and got out of the truck, slamming the door with a vengeance, still swearing. He used all the words and variations he’d learned during his years in the army, which was a lot. Why not? No one could hear him, because everyone in their right minds was indoors, preparing for the storm. Not him. No, he had to be out in the damn storm, playing Dudley Fucking Do-Right.

He put his head down, pulled his knit cap down low to protect his ears, and tightened the drawstring of the poncho hood so the wind wouldn’t blow it back. The last thing he needed was for his head to get wet. Moving to the side of the road where the narrow, weedy shoulder gave him a better surface for walking than the slick road, he plodded forward, realizing
with a boulder in his gut that he was going to have to spend the night at the Helton house. No way was he getting down the mountain now, not unless he decided to walk it—and walking back to town in an ice storm would be damn near suicidal, at least right now. After the rain stopped, walking would be more feasible. Spending the night with Lolly Helton, who would probably be blindly ungrateful, was the better option … barely. Even then, only the thought of Sam tipped the balance toward staying.

The footing, even on the shoulder, was more precarious than he’d realized. Hell, how had he made it as far as he had without going off the road? Several times, when his feet slipped, he had to grab one of the overhanging tree limbs to keep himself upright. A sense of foreboding seized him when he played the flashlight beam along the branches and saw the layer of ice that already coated them.

At last he made it to the top of the hill. The road dipped there, then curved once again, but when he looked ahead he saw the lights of the Helton house. So, she was there after all, and hadn’t made an escape earlier in the day. He didn’t know if he was glad his fool’s trip hadn’t been in vain, or angry that he’d had to make it at all. Both, probably. He was pissed, and he intended to stay pissed.

Even though he could see the lights, the house was still almost two hundred yards away, sitting on the right in a clearing that was surrounded on three sides by the woods. Now that he was at the top, almost, he
realized how much the mountain itself had been shielding him from the icy blast of wind, because it hammered at him with such force he almost staggered back. Then it eased, before another gust pounded him. Despite his layers of clothing and the poncho that kept him dry, the wind leached his body heat away and he shivered.

He’d left the two thermos bottles in the truck. Great. He’d give a lot for a cup of coffee pretty damn soon, but no way was he going back for it. He wiped the wind-blown ice crystals from his face. Maybe Lollipop would have coffee. If she did, it would probably be some flavored shit, but if it was hot he’d drink it.

That’s assuming she’d let him inside.

As Gabriel neared the house he pulled his anger in, a little. A lot of years had passed since Lolly had been the spoiled stuck-up brat teenager he remembered. He wasn’t the same, and she probably wouldn’t be either. It wasn’t her fault the sheriff was a control freak where his people were concerned. Most lawmen would’ve been content to assume his constituents could take care of themselves, until informed otherwise. Not Harlan McQueen.

All the lights in the downstairs appeared to be on, as was one light upstairs, in the front room on the right. There was a Mercedes SUV parked beside the front porch, and behind was an old, beat-up Blazer. He could see Lolly driving the Mercedes, but who the hell did the Blazer belong to?

Shit, maybe she had some kind of romantic rendezvous going on. What was he supposed to do now? She wouldn’t want to be interrupted, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do any interrupting. His only other option, though, was to walk back to the truck and spend the night there, hoping that there was enough gas in the tank to keep the truck running most of the night so he wouldn’t freeze to death, at the same time praying that he—and the truck—didn’t get crushed by a falling tree limb. So he guessed Lollipop would have to be pissed.

Tough shit.

Then he frowned at the two vehicles. That was weird. Why was the Mercedes parked out in an ice storm, when the garage was right there at the rear of the house? Why hadn’t she parked in there, to protect her vehicle?

Instinctively he switched off his flashlight.

Before he stepped onto the porch steps, Gabriel slipped into a deep shadow and came to a dead stop. Ice danced around him, peppered his face, stuck to his coat and boots and gloves. Something wasn’t right. He’d spent a long time in law enforcement, albeit the military version, and he’d learned to listen to his instincts. Right now, everything in him was telling him to approach with caution. Maybe there was nothing going on other than some screwing, but he wanted to make certain before he knocked on that door. At the very least, his dad had been wrong about Lolly being up here all alone.

Keeping to the shadows, Gabriel moved to the end of the porch and up the steps. It was an old wooden porch, and he stepped carefully, keeping to the edge of the planks where it was less likely there would be any squeaks. He didn’t approach any of the windows, but shifted around until he could look past the partially open curtains into the living room where several lights burned, illuminating the man and the woman there.

The man looked as if he belonged to the truck. He was scruffy, thin, rough-looking, and dressed in clothes that bagged on him, as if he’d lost weight—either that, or they weren’t his. The woman, who Gabriel could only see from behind, was painfully thin herself. Stringy dark hair fell down her back. Faded jeans bagged where her ass should be.