May’s phone buzzed right before dinnertime. The vibration rattled against the wooden desk, breaking the quiet rhythm of the clinic. She finished the line she was typing, closed out the note she’d been completing for a patient who’d fallen on a dock, and set the patient charts aside with careful precision. The late-day light slanted through the blinds, thin gold bands stretching across the floor and climbing the opposite wall. Her shoulders ached from hours of sitting, and the faint smell of antiseptic hung stubbornly in the air.
She answered on the second buzz. “Dr. Smirnov.”
“It’s Amos.” He cleared his throat, the sound dry and slightly breathless.
“Hey, Amos,” she murmured, relaxing into her chair. The man lived in the basement of the sheriff’s building and served as Knife’s Edge’s unofficial weather expert. “Do we have another summer storm coming?”
“Actually, we do. I don’t want to spook you, but we’ve got a fast-moving cell building west of Knife’s Edge. Lightning’s already popping inside it.” Papers rustled faintly on his end. “It’s probably going to make impact in about forty-five minutes. Less if the wind keeps pushing it.”
May straightened. Outside, the wind pressed against the siding in uneven bursts. “Okay.”
“The rain’s going to be heavy,” Amos continued, sounding distracted now, “and the gusts could get nasty.”
May pulled the elastic from her ponytail and rubbed the back of her neck, tension unwinding in a dull, persistent throb. “I understand.”
“The biggest danger I see,” Amos said, “is lightning strikes. Especially for the morons who keep fishing. With this wind, we could also see hypothermia.”
“Yes, I know.” Even in July, that was a distinct possibility around Knife’s Edge. The air could turn cold without mercy with the brutal rain slicing warmth straight from skin. “Anything else?”
He coughed lightly. “Maybe some boating accidents. We’re talking a really decent storm.”
May sighed. So much for a quiet evening. “Of course we are.”
“Otherwise I wouldn’t be calling you, Doc.” A beat passed, then he added, “It wouldn’t surprise me if we see power flickers or even a loss.”
“Our generator’s ready if we need it.” May’s gaze drifted to the emergency checklist taped beside the cabinets. If the trails turned to mud, she’d likely see twisted ankles and broken wrists before the night was over.
“Alrighty,” Amos said, his normal cheer returning. “Prepare for hypothermia and bad decisions.”
She grinned. “Always. Hey, Amos, thanks for calling.”
“You bet. There’s also activity going on up in the sheriff’s office above me. I hear rapid movement, but I don’t know what it is.”
She stiffened. “Thanks for the heads-up. Talk soon.”
“You’ve got it.” Amos ended the call.
May had planned to take a bubble bath and read a book after dinner. Instead, she stood and crossed to the window. Outside, clouds were gathering fast, thick and bruised, swallowing the last of the sun. A sudden arc of lightning split the distant sky with white fire tracing across the jagged peaks.
Excitement caught her. She scrambled through her desk drawer until she found her Canon EOS. She lifted it, focused out the window, and steadied her breathing. She’d captured several lightning shots over the past few months, but this one—closer, warmer, framed against those mountains—would be special.
Her phone buzzed again. She exhaled as frustration flickered through her. “Oh, dang it.” She’d barely framed the shot. The lightning had been perfect with a clean white vein across the darkening sky, and now the moment was already slipping away. She lowered the camera, reached for the phone, and answered. “Dr. Smirnov.”
“Hey, it’s Brock.”
Her heart sank. Brock didn’t call for small talk. “Hey, Brock. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got two missing tourists. They went four-wheeling this morning and were supposed to be back by lunch. They’re five hours late, and there’s a storm coming.”
May’s gaze snapped back to the window where clouds were thickening by the second. “Do we know which route they took?”
“They went up Whisper Creek Trail.”
She winced. That trail branched like a nervous system once riders got high enough. “And after the split?”
“We don’t know. One of them’s diabetic.”
Fantastic. “How old?”
