Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

which she could see the settlement far below, where smoke was curling from the chimney of their house. She was not even at the main road yet, and already she was exhausted, her legs aching and wobbly. Had Doug felt as weary when he’d reached this point in the climb? Had he paused at this very spot, looked down at the valley, and debated the wisdom of continuing?
    She knew what he chose; his footprints left the record of his decision. They continued up the road.
    So, too, did she. This is for Arlo, she thought. His name became her silent chant as she walked.
Save Arlo. Save Arlo
.
    Pine trees soon blocked her view, and the valley disappeared behind her. The backpack seemed to grow heavier with every step, and she considered dumping some of the contents. Did she really needthose three tins of sardines? Wouldn’t the half jar of peanut butter provide enough energy to get her down the mountain? She debated the issue as she huffed up the road, the cans clanking in her pack. It was a bad sign that she was already considering such a move, less than two hours into her journey.
    The road leveled out and she spotted the sign ahead, marking the viewpoint where they had caught their very first glimpse of Kingdom Come five days ago. The valley was so far below her now that the settlement looked like a toy landscape, decorated with artificial forests and flocked with fake snow. But the chimney smoke was real, and so were the people in that house, and one of them was dying.
    She turned to continue the trek, took two steps, and came to a sudden halt. Staring down at the snow, she saw Doug’s footprints marking the route ahead of her.
    Another set of prints trailed behind his. Snowshoes.
    She knew they’d been left after Doug came this way, because they overlaid the impression of his boots. But how soon after? Hours later, a day later? Or had Doug’s pursuer been right behind him, moving ever closer?
    Is he now right behind me?
    She spun around, heart hammering as she scanned her surroundings. The trees seemed closer, as though they had somehow crept in on the road when she wasn’t looking. The sun’s glare left her half blind to the gloom under those heavy branches, and her gaze could penetrate only a few feet into the woods before the shadows veiled her view. She heard nothing on that silent trail. No wind, no footfalls, only the sound of her own frantic breathing.
    Get the skis. Get down this mountain
.
    She began to run, following the trail of Doug’s footprints. He had not been running. His stride continued as it had before, steady and even, his soles leaving deep impressions in the snow. At this point, he had not realized he was being followed. He was probablythinking only about the task ahead. About getting on his skis and starting his glide down the mountain. It would never occur to him that he was being followed.
    Her chest ached and her throat burned from the cold air. Every step she took seemed deafeningly loud as her boots cracked through the icy glaze. Anyone nearby would think that an elephant was lumbering through. A wheezing, clumsy elephant.
    At last she spotted the chain strung across the entrance to the private road. Almost there. She followed Doug’s boot prints the last few dozen yards, past the chain, past the RESIDENTS ONLY sign, and saw the Suburban, still tipped on its side in the ditch. One pair of cross-country skis was missing from the roof rack.
    So Doug had made it this far. She saw the parallel tracks left by his skis as he’d glided away down the road.
    She waded into the ditch, sinking thigh-deep in snow, and unlatched the second set of skis from the rack. Retrieving the ski shoes would take longer. They were inside the Suburban, and with the vehicle lying on its side, it was a struggle to lift the heavy door. When at last she managed to swing it open, she was out of breath and panting hard.
    Suddenly she heard a distant rumble. She went still, listening through the pounding of her own heart, afraid that she’d only imagined it. No, there it was—the sound of an engine.
    A snowplow was coming up the mountain.
    He made it. Doug made it, and now we’re going to be saved
.
    She gave a shout of joy and let the Suburban’s door slam shut. She could not yet see the plow, but the noise was louder, closer, and she was laughing and crying at the same time. Back to civilization, she thought. Back to hot showers and electric lights and telephones. Most important, back to hospitals.
    Arlo was going