Part 3
The SUV stopped short of the clearing.
Grant closed the laptop and slid the memory card into the inside pocket of his shirt beside Claire’s note. He had already lost one chance to reach help. He would not wait inside the cabin while Dean decided how much force to use the second time.
He moved quickly without rushing. Noah went beneath his parka in the cloth sling, protected by layers of dry blankets. Grant filled a small pack with formula, diapers, medical supplies, Claire’s documents, and two days of food.
Sadie limped toward the front door.
“Not that way.”
She followed him through the back room without hesitation. The puppy hurried after her, stumbling over the loose end of a blanket until Grant scooped him up and tucked him beneath one arm.
A hard knock struck the front door.
“Mercer,” Dean called. “We need to finish our conversation.”
Grant froze for half a second. Dean knew his name now. He had either searched the property or found records before coming back.
Another knock followed.
“Claire is dead,” Dean said through the wood. “You can’t help her. You can only decide how much trouble you want for yourself.”
Sadie turned toward the voice, but Grant touched her collar and guided her away. The rear entrance opened into a narrow stand of pine behind the woodshed. Fifty yards beyond it, hidden beneath a canvas cover, stood an old utility snowmobile Grant used to haul firewood when the drifts became too deep for his truck.
The machine’s engine would announce their departure, but not until they crossed the first ridge.
Grant led the dogs into the trees on foot. Snow muffled their movement. Noah stirred against his chest, his face warm beneath Grant’s hand.
From the cabin came the crack of splintering wood.
Grant did not look back.
He reached the snowmobile and settled Sadie into the cargo sled. She tried to climb out, unwilling to be carried, but her hind legs buckled beneath her.
“You’ve done enough,” Grant told her.
The puppy curled against her side. Grant secured the wind cover, started the engine, and guided the machine between the trees toward an abandoned Forest Service trail.
Behind them, a man shouted.
The trail divided twice before reaching the ridge. Grant chose the narrower branch, one he had cleared the previous summer but rarely used. The route added several miles, yet it avoided the service road and descended toward Alder Creek from the north.
For the first mile, Grant heard another engine behind him.
Then it faded.
The temperature remained well below freezing, and Noah’s condition worried him more than the men. Grant stopped beneath a rock overhang after twenty minutes and checked the baby carefully. Noah’s breathing was steady, but his skin felt cooler than Grant wanted.
Sadie lifted her head from the sled.
“We’re close,” Grant said, though they were still four miles from town.
The puppy crawled over her shoulder and licked Noah’s blanket. Grant moved him back gently.
“You need a name.”
The puppy sneezed into Grant’s glove.
“Tucker,” Grant decided. “Because you keep tucking yourself into places you don’t belong.”
Sadie’s ears shifted at the sound, and Tucker immediately tried to climb into Grant’s lap.
They continued down the mountain.
Alder Creek was little more than a main road, a gas station, a diner, and several streets clustered around the county highway. After major storms, the volunteer fire station became an unofficial warming center. Grant saw lights burning through its tall front windows.
He drove the snowmobile directly to the open bay.
A woman in navy medical scrubs stepped outside before he cut the engine. She wore a winter coat over the scrubs and had dark brown hair twisted into a loose knot.
“What happened?”
“Newborn exposure,” Grant said. “Possibly several hours. He’s been warmed gradually and took formula, but he needs proper evaluation.”
Her attention sharpened. “Bring him inside.”
She introduced herself as Mara Ellison, an emergency-room nurse who had been stranded in town when the highway closed. Two volunteer firefighters helped Grant move Sadie and Tucker into the heated equipment room while Mara carried Noah to a folding cot beneath the brightest light.
Grant remained beside her as she checked the baby. She asked direct questions, and he answered each one: estimated time found, feeding, breathing, skin color, wet clothing, response to warming.
“You know what you’re doing,” Mara said.
“I used to be a medic.”
“Military?”
“Army.”
She nodded and returned her attention to Noah. “He’s cold and exhausted, but his breathing is better than I expected. We need the county clinic open and a physician on the phone.”
A firefighter went to make the calls.
Grant stood with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. In the cabin, every decision had belonged to him. Now he had to step back and let someone else touch the child Claire had carried through the storm.
Mara seemed to notice the struggle. “You kept him alive.”
“He’s not safe yet.”
“No,” she agreed. “But he’s closer.”
Deputy Elena Ruiz arrived twenty minutes later in a county SUV. She was in her late thirties, compact and steady, with snow still melting across the shoulders of her uniform. Grant had met her once after a black bear damaged a nearby property, though he doubted she remembered.
She did.
“Mercer. Start at the beginning.”
He told her everything. He described Sadie dragging the sled, Claire’s body beneath the pine, the note, Dean’s visit, Cole’s silence, the cut radio cable, and the memory card.
Ruiz did not interrupt except to clarify locations and times. When Grant gave her Claire’s note, she placed it in an evidence sleeve. The memory card went into another.
“You watched one video?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you change or copy anything?”
“No.”
“That helps.”
Ruiz called the sheriff’s office, state investigators, and a search team. She also contacted Lena Ortiz using the number on the business card.
Lena answered on the third attempt.
Even through the speakerphone, Grant could hear the fear in her voice when Ruiz said Claire’s name.
“She was supposed to meet me yesterday morning,” Lena said. “She never arrived.”
“What is Haven House?” Ruiz asked.
“A private residence for pregnant women. It presents itself as a religious charity. We’ve had complaints, but the women usually leave without their IDs or records, and they’re terrified to testify.”
“Dean Hollis?”
“Transport and security. He tells people he’s family, a driver, a counselor—whatever gets him through the door.”
Ruiz looked at Grant. “Could Claire have been carrying evidence?”
“She told me she copied their files,” Lena replied. “I didn’t know she had actually done it.”
The search team found Claire shortly after noon, exactly where Grant had marked the trail. They preserved the scene and transported her body to the county medical examiner.
Her abandoned van was discovered two miles away, partly concealed in a ditch. The damage to its side and the tire marks in the snow suggested another vehicle had forced it from the road.
Claire had survived the crash, taken Noah, harnessed Sadie to the sled, and walked into the storm.
She had kept moving until she could no longer feel her feet.
By late afternoon, a physician at the county clinic had examined Noah. His body temperature had stabilized. He was dehydrated and needed monitoring, but Mara told Grant the child had a strong chance of recovering without lasting injury.
Grant sat beside the portable crib while Sadie slept beneath it. Tucker lay across the toes of Grant’s boots, twitching in a dream.
A woman in a charcoal coat entered with Deputy Ruiz. She carried a county identification badge and a thick folder.
“This is Talia Brooks from child and family services,” Ruiz said.
Grant stood.
Talia’s expression was kind, but she did not soften the truth. – “You did everything right,” she told him. “But once Noah is medically cleared, you can’t take him home…”
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