“Possibly straight into an avalanche,” JJ said grimly. “It’s the most likely direction she would’ve gone, since your place is surrounded by so much scrub brush in every other direction.”
“I need you and the other guys,” Chappy said, his voice hitching. “She could be buried! I need help.”
“Already on my way. I’ll call the others. We’re coming, Chappy. But if this woman was stalking Carlise, she’s probably dangerous. Don’t let your guard down.”
Chappy had assumed the same. “I won’t. When you get here, I’ll already be out looking.”
“We’ll find you. She’s going to be all right,” JJ stated.
“You don’t know that,” Chappy said weakly, the words burning like acid on his tongue.
“I know that you’ve been through hell along with the rest of us. There’s no way you found the woman who was meant to be yours, only to lose her now. She’s smart, Chappy. She knew enough not to let anyone get her into that car. She knew her best bet was running. Those are your woods up there. She knew you’d find her.”
Chappy took a deep breath. Damn straight, he’d find her.
Baxter barked loudly.
“Wow. Was that Baxter?”
“Yeah, he wants me to get off the phone and let him outside—bad.”
“He can track her,” JJ said.
Chappy blinked. He hadn’t even thought of that. Baxter adored Carlise. His gaze followed her everywhere, both inside and out of the cabin. And he clearly hadn’t been happy to be locked in the bathroom.
His friend was right, Baxter probably could track Carlise. Hell, he’d found her in the middle of that snowstorm, then led Chappy straight to her. He could do the same now.
“I have to go,” he told JJ.
“Go. We’re on our way. Be careful. I don’t want you to have survived those assholes overseas, only to be taken down by some woman who’s not right in the head.”
“Ten-four. Later.”
JJ hung up without another word. Chappy tucked the phone into the inner pocket of his jacket and headed for the door. “Find her, Baxter. Find Carlise.” Then he opened the door.
The dog leaped outside like a shot. He frantically sniffed around the cabin, obviously trying to pick up Carlise’s scent. He headed for the SUV parked in front of the cabin and put his front paws on the passenger seat.
Then he jumped down and took off into the woods.
“Shit! Hang on, Baxter! Wait for me!”
But the dog wasn’t waiting for anyone. Chappy ran after the pit bull, catching glimpses of him as they weaved in and out of the trees.
The silence all around him was eerie. Usually there were birds chirping, the wind blowing through the trees, some sort of noise. But after the thunder of the avalanche, it was as if the forest was holding its breath.
The lack of sound felt like a heavy blanket on Chappy’s shoulders. He’d rather hear Carlise shouting for help. Something. Anything indicating she was still alive.
“Carlise?” he called out as he ran.
The only thing he heard in return was more oppressive silence. As he followed Baxter through the trees, he prayed the dog knew where he was going.
He’d been running for several minutes when he finally saw them—footprints in the snow. Because of the warmer weather, a lot of the snow had melted, but not all of it. The prints in the snow lifted his spirits. Carlise had gone this way. He’d bet his life on it.
Was betting her life on it.
He saw two sets of prints, and based on the spacing, both people had been running. He assumed Susie had been chasing Carlise, and his resolve hardened. Best friend or not, she was going down. He’d make sure Carlise pressed charges and the woman was put away for as long as possible.
He wouldn’t even entertain the idea that Carlise wasn’t all right. That her friend might have done something drastic.
Chappy ran until the prints stopped. He lost their trail when the relatively flat area he’d been running through changed drastically. There was now a mountain of snow in his path. Snow and rocks from the avalanche.
Carlise and her pursuer had run straight into the path of the slide.
His gut twisted as he stared at the tons of snow that had fallen down the side of Baldpate Mountain.
He heard a bark, and Chappy looked up. Baxter was standing on top of the snow, staring back at him.
Chappy could take out a terrorist at fifty yards. He knew how to kill someone with his bare hands. He’d been tortured and hadn’t let even a moan of pain pass his lips. But this . . .