Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

of the valley. It was another brilliantly clear day, and she squinted at the glare of the morning sunlight on the snow. We have one last option, she thought. If she didn’t take it, Arlo would die. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but in that room, she could smell the inevitability of what was to come, unless she acted.
    “You have to keep him hydrated,” she said. “As long as he’s awake enough to drink, keep feeding him sips of sugar water. And food, if he’s able. All we’ve got left for the pain is Tylenol, but we’ve got plenty of that.”
    Elaine frowned at her. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because you’re now in charge. Just keep him comfortable; that’s the best you can do.”
    “What about you?”
    “My cross-country skis are still up on the Suburban. I’ll pack some overnight gear in case I don’t make it out before dark.”
    “You’re going to try skiing down the mountain?”
    “Would you rather be the one to do it?”
    “If Doug couldn’t make it—”
    “He may have had an accident. He may be lying somewhere with a broken leg. In which case, it’s even more important that I get started now, while I’ve still got a full day ahead.”
    “What if you don’t come back, either?” Elaine asked, desperation in her voice.
    “You have plenty of food and firewood. You and Grace could hang on here for months.” She turned.
    “Wait. I need to tell you something.”
    Maura paused on the porch and looked back. “Yes?”
    “Doug and I, we were never together.”
    “I heard you tell Arlo.”
    “It’s the truth.”
    “Why does it matter?”
    “I thought you’d want to know.”
    “To be honest, Elaine, what happened or didn’t happen between you and Doug makes absolutely no difference to me.” Maura turned toward the house. “All I care about right now is getting all of us out of this place alive.”
    I T TOOK HER an hour to fill a backpack. She stuffed it with food and extra socks and gloves and a sweater. From the garage, she was able to scavenge a tarp and sleeping bag, items she hoped she wouldn’t need. With any luck, she could be down the mountain by nightfall. Her cell phone battery had drained to nothing, so she left it in Elaine’s care, along with her purse, and packed only cash and ID. On a thirty-mile journey, there was no room for even one unnecessary ounce.
    Even so, the pack weighed heavily on her shoulders as she started up the valley road. Every step took her past reminders of their earlier ill-fated attempt to leave. Here were the rutted tracks left by the Jeep as it had struggled to climb through the snow. Here were the footprints they’d left after they’d abandoned the stranded vehicle and walked back down, dragging Arlo on the sled. Another hundred yards, another few hairpin turns, and she began spotting Arlo’s blood on the snow, tracked down the road on their boots. Another turn of the road, and there was the stranded Jeep with the broken tire chain. And more blood.
    She paused to catch her breath and stared down at the churned snow, stained in different shades of red and pink, like the icy confections you slurped up on a hot summer’s day. It brought back the screams and the panic, and her heart pounded as much from that terrible memory as it did from her trudge up the hill.
    She left the Jeep behind and kept walking. Here the snow was broken only by Doug’s footprints. Over the past three days, they had partially melted in the sun, and had hardened into icy crusts. She continued her climb, unsettled by the thought that she was following in Doug’s footsteps, that every step she took he, too, had taken two mornings ago. How far down the mountain would she be able to follow this trail? Would there be a point when it suddenly stopped, when she would discover what had become of him?
    Am I bound for the same fate?
    The road grew steeper, and she was sweating in her heavy clothes. She unzipped the jacket, pulled off her gloves and hat. This climb would be the most strenuous part of her journey. Once she reached the main road, it would be a mostly downhill glide on skis. That, at least, was the theory. Yet Doug had failed to complete it. Now she was beginning to wonder if she was being reckless, attempting a feat that Doug, so fit and athletic, had been unable to complete.
    She could still change her mind. She could turn around and head back to the house, where they had enough food to last them until spring. She reached a viewpoint from