Chilled (Bone Secrets, #2)(59)

“Of course, sir.” She huffed.

“I know you will, but I have to say it, Marilyn.”

“Stay warm, sir.” The line clicked in his ear.

His mouth in a grim line, he handed the phone back to Tim. “Gentrys.”

“I’d guessed, sir.”

They both hazarded a look toward the media camp. Several faces and one camera were pointed their way. Patrick wondered if any of them could read lips. That’d be a handy skill for a snoopy reporter to have. “Keep it under wraps for now.”

Tim nodded.

“Tell them there will be a briefing in…” He checked his watch. “Five hours.”

Tim grinned and jogged over to the engrossed reporters.

Patrick sighed and rubbed both hands on his face, stretching the skin. What the f*ck had happened to the Gentrys? Their helicopter must have gone down in the arctic weather. He had one team in the field and he really hated to send in another without knowing what was going on in the forest. One of his deputies had been instructed to try the team’s cell phones every hour, hoping they’d move into a pocket of cell reception. He hadn’t heard a word from the deputy so he knew there wasn’t any good news.

Patrick suddenly felt very old.

How many more people would die because of Darrin Besand?

Alex ducked out through the cargo door and nearly ran into Jim as he sat strapping on his snowshoes. They had exited as quietly as possible as the other three in the plane slept.

“Sorry.” Alex took two steps and sank to mid-calf.

They must have had eight inches overnight. They were going to need those snowshoes. He yanked up the hood to his parka and took a good look around. The snow was heavy. Visibility was shitty. At least the wind had eased up. Snow was coming down at a soft twenty-degree angle instead of the face-biting ninety degrees.

With all this snow, how would last night have been in a tent? Alex patted the body of the plane affectionately. Wherever they slept tonight was going to suck.

“You think Besand slept in the cockpit last night?” Jim kept his voice low.

“I would have.”

“If he’s still here.”

“If he’s still here,” Alex agreed. “Yesterday…”

“What about yesterday?”

Alex wiped at his nose and stared into the snow. “I kept getting that hinky feeling. You know? Where you turn around because you think someone’s behind you? But no one’s ever there? I felt…watched all day. Until…you know.”

Any cop understood that feeling. That rise of the hair on the back of the neck feeling. Jim’s gaze darted around. “It’s ’cause we’re in the woods. You hear soft sounds sometimes from snow or rain or leaves and you think someone’s there.” His tone didn’t match the surety of his words. “I feel that all the time out here. Get your snowshoes on. Let’s go look. You carrying?” Jim placed a palm on his side.

Alex nodded, imitated the gesture, and grabbed his homemade snowshoes from just inside the plane. He awkwardly wrapped the bungee cords around his boots. Jim grinned at Thomas’s work. “That boy knows snow.”

“How long’s he been in Oregon?” Alex stamped his feet, checking the cords. Jim was right. Thomas had whipped up some solid snowshoes.

“About three years, maybe four.”

“And he’s originally from Alaska?”

Jim nodded. “Was a cop and in the reserves. Did several tours in Iraq. Wife divorced him while he was over there.”

“No shit. What a bitch.” Immediate sympathy flooded Alex. And he’d thought his wife was unsupportive.

“I don’t think Thomas was the same guy when he came back. He’d seen a lot of action and spent some time in hot situations. He and two others were held hostage for two weeks.”

“Shit.” Alex couldn’t think of anything else to say. Nothing was adequate.

“Yeah. He’s had a lot of treatment for PTSD.”

“I don’t think anyone fully gets over that,” Alex said quietly. He knew two agents who struggled daily with post-traumatic stress disorder. Some days were better than others.

“You notice his parka doesn’t have a hood?”

Alex nodded. Thomas wore a high, thick neck cover under his jacket, but Alex had always wondered how the guy could stand the cold, wet weather on the exposed areas below his cap.

“They had their heads covered with hoods nearly the entire time he was held captive. Even to eat they only lifted the hood enough to expose their mouths.” “Shit.”

Jim led the way down the hill, Alex trudging behind. Both men had slipped off their gloves and held their guns in a pocket out of the snow.

“He only started wearing caps about a year ago. He says he doesn’t truly get cold. Says he’s experienced the coldest a person can be and everything else is just annoying.”

“So this is nothing to him.”

“Yep.”

The men plodded through the snow. Jim was right. Alex kept hearing the soft, floaty thumps of clumps of snow falling out of the trees. Each time he’d turn his head in that direction, expecting to see Besand. His gun was out of his pocket now and his fingers were getting frozen. He transferred the gun from hand to hand, wiggling his fingers back into warmth.

“What’s going on with Brynn?” Jim sliced him with the surprise question, and Alex stumbled. He’d been so focused on Besand and Thomas he’d nearly forgotten his pleasant surprise upon waking that morning.