“The sheriff said they’re bringing heavy equipment out to dig tomorrow. They’re looking for more evidence. Maybe he means the pack.”
“Maybe they’ll find Jackson’s body,” she said. “As awful as that is for his family, not knowing for sure what happened to him must be worse.”
When they reached the townhomes where they both lived, Lily had to wake Shelby to get her out of the back seat. “Oh honey, I’m sorry.” Lily knelt and hugged the dog. “I shouldn’t have let you work so long.”
“She’ll be okay,” Scott said. “She’s young, and she doesn’t appear to be limping.”
She kept her cheek pressed to the dog’s fur, not looking at him. “You’re not going to kick me out of the avy dog program because of this, are you?”
“No! What made you think that?”
“You were so furious with me. And I understand why. A big part of our training is protecting our dogs, and I wasn’t doing that.”
“We all make mistakes,” he said. “The lessons we learn by screwing up are the ones that really stick.” He hadn’t been wrong to correct her, though maybe he could have been gentler. The anguish he had heard behind her question made him feel like the worst kind of heel. “I know I wasn’t exactly welcoming, but I’m glad you’re in the program. And you and Shelby did a good job today. She found Jackson’s pack.”
“I wish she had found Jackson.”
“We all wish that.” He patted her shoulder. She looked up at him, and his gaze shifted to her lips. She appeared delicate, buthe had seen how strong she could be. Her lips were soft like her, but they would be strong, too. Expressive. Communicating what they wanted.
He took a step back. “Good night.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried off toward his apartment. He was Lily’s supervisor. He had no business kissing her, especially when she was exhausted and vulnerable.
He prided himself on always doing the right thing. But why was the right thing so hard this time?
Chapter Ten
Scott slept fitfully, reliving the afternoon’s search for Jackson Endicott over and over again. Then the search for Jackson morphed into the search for Clark—the frantic probing and digging, the desperate effort to cling to hope, the surrender to despair. And then the waiting and not knowing, trying not to think about the suffering Clark might have endured in his last moments, and everything Scott might have done to save his friend.
He rose early Thursday and tried to banish the nightmares with a shower and hot coffee, but the gray mood clung to him like a second skin as he rode into the silent ski village just as the sun rose. On his way to the ski patrol office he saw the light was on in Doug’s office. He detoured there and found the resort director behind his desk, looking like a Ralph Lauren ad, in a Nordic sweater and dark jeans, the scent of some expensive cologne hovering around him. He looked up when Scott tapped on the door. “Come in, Scott,” Doug said. “What can you tell me about the avalanche yesterday?”
Scott sank into a chair in front of Doug’s desk. “Hunter found a body. Maybe the kidnapper.”
“Alleged kidnapper,” Doug said. “They still haven’t identified him. And we don’t know for sure he was the person who took Jackson.”
“You sound like a lawyer,” Scott said.
“Only a man who was married to one. Do you want coffee?”
Scott shook his head. “Have you heard anything else from the sheriff? Besides the fact that they don’t have an identity for the dead man?”
“I had to meet them here at six a.m. so they could collect every recording from every camera in the resort,” Doug said. “They’re looking for images of the man.”
“I thought they already looked at the footage,” Scott said.
“Not everything. And when they viewed the video before, they were focused on Jackson and anyone he might have talked to. This time they have a specific face they’re trying to find.”
“Too bad finding him doesn’t help us locate Jackson.”
“The sheriff said it’s pretty certain the kid’s dead,” Doug said.
Scott winced. “We found his backpack. At the edge of the avalanche field. Until we find a body, we won’t know for sure what happened to him.”
“You think there’s a chance he escaped? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. And he’s probably dead.” He didn’t like saying it, but there was no sense ignoring harsh reality.
“They’re still conducting air searches,” Doug said.
“They are?”
