“Shit!” Hunter yelled, furiously whipping the wheel to the right and turning the four-wheeler. The wall of mud and snow pushed them over the cliff, face first.
Tammy Jo slammed against her harness and pressed her hands on the dash, screaming. Terror ripped through her as they slid down the cliffside, close to a massive drop-off she hadn’t seen from above. They were going to die.
“I need to hit a tree,” Hunter gritted out, his hands and feet working wildly to keep the rig pointed down so it wouldn’t roll over.
She couldn’t breathe. The harness cut into her and her butt rose slightly off the seat, while her hair hung forward.
Hunter whipped the steering wheel, and they went into a skid, crashing into two pine trees on the passenger side. Tammy Jo careened against the door, and pain burst through her shoulder. She cried out.
“Hold on.” Hunter grabbed her hand.
She blinked, tears falling down her face. Tree branches, snow, and mud smashed into the rig and went by toward the cliff, but the trees kept them in place.
“We’ll be okay!” Hunter yelled, his body tense. “Just keep still. It’ll pass.”
She gasped out air, trying not to scream.
A branch thumped on the front window and she jumped. Then she looked closer. “Is that . . . ?” It looked like an arm attached to half a hand—with broken off nails.
More mud tumbled the flesh away.
Then a leg. Then another arm.
Finally, the roar of the avalanche died down.
A round object plunked onto the window and rolled to a stop. A skull with stringy blond hair coming out of the scalp stared right at them.
Hunter screamed, high and loud, his voice sounding just like a toddler on a carnival ride.
Chapter One
Laurel Snow swiped through the calendar on her phone while waiting for the flight to DC to board. The worn airport chairs at LAX were as uncomfortable as ever, and she tried to keep her posture straight to prevent the inevitable backache. Christmas music played through the speakers, and an oddly shaped tree took up a corner, its sad-looking branches decorated with what might’ve been strung popcorn. The upcoming week was already busy, and Laurel hoped there wouldn’t be a new case. She stuck in her wireless earbuds to allow an upbeat rock playlist to pound through her ears as she rearranged a couple of meetings.
The phone dinged and she answered while continuing to organize the week. “Snow.”
“Hi, Agent Snow. How did the symposium go?” asked her boss, George McCromby.
“As expected,” she said, swiping a lunch meeting from Thursday to Friday. “I’m not a teacher, and half the time, the audience looked confused. A young woman in the front row had serious daddy issues, and a young man behind her was facing a nervous breakdown. Other than that, one guy in the last row exhibited narcissistic tendencies.”
“For Pete’s sake. We just wanted you to talk about the FBI and help with recruitment. You’re a good face,” George muttered.
Laurel tapped her phone when the Wi-Fi struggled. “My face has nothing to do with my job. I’m not skilled at recruitment or teaching.”
George sighed. “How many people have you seen today who wore red shoes?”
Yeah, she should change the computer update meeting from Tuesday to Wednesday. “Six,” she said absently. “Ten if you include maroon-colored shoes.”
George laughed. “How many people in the last month have worn yellow hats around you?”
“Just eight,” she said.
George warmed to the subject. “Right now, where you are in the airport and without looking, who’s the biggest threat?”
If she changed one more meeting, she could fit in a manicure on Friday. “Guy waiting in the adjacent area for a plane to Dallas. He’s five nine, wiry, and has cauliflower ears. Moves with grace.” Yes. She could fit in a manicure. “Another man to the north by the magazine rack in the bookstore is built like a logger and could throw a decent punch.” Would there be time for a pedicure? Probably not.
“Why aren’t you the biggest threat?” George asked.
She paused. “Because I’m currently performing parlor tricks for the deputy director of the FBI.” She looked up to check her boarding time.
