Page 68 of Northern Escape


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Well, it didn’t matter what she’d thought, did it? She was wrong. People don’t change. And, yes, he was probably right about Dr. Will not changing, but it didn’t matter. Why couldn’t he understand that?

She swiped her hands over her eyes. They were dry— she refused to cry for Ellis Hunter— but gritty with exhaustion.

She’d rest later. Right now, she had to take advantage of the tiny bit of daylight available and fly out to Mount Farewell. She was close to finding Dr. Will and unraveling this mystery.

She knew it.

30

“This is the spot.” The pilot—whose full name, Bree discovered, was Jim Hopkins—brought his Otter to a smooth landing on a flat expanse of iced-over river and pointed to a small grove of trees. “I found the dog right over there.”

“Thank you.” Bree unbuckled herself and climbed out to unload her dogs, gear, and the borrowed sled.

Jim helped, which she was grateful for. Turned out, he was a nice guy. Sometimes, in her isolation, it was easy to forget there were nice people in the world.

“Sure you don’t want me to hang out here a bit?” he asked as she harnessed her dogs. He squinted at the setting sun, shielding his eyes with his hand. “It’s almost dark. It gets damn cold out here at night.”

“We’ll be okay.” Norte butted his head nervously against her leg and she gave him a reassuring pat. “It’s nothing we haven’t endured before. We’ll make it back on our own.”

Besides, she had no idea what she was walking into. It could be nothing. Or it could be extremely dangerous. Either way, she didn’t want to drag Jim into it.

Jim shook his head. “You’re braver than me.” He climbed up into his plane, then returned a moment later with a mini handheld radio. “Here, take this. I give these to all my clients, so I know when they need me back. It’s satellite connected, so you need anything, you just send me a text message, you hear?”

“I will. Thanks again.” She really liked this guy. He reminded her of Dr. Will. Younger, less grizzled, less beaten down by life, but they had the same warm energy. Or maybe she was just softening toward strangers as a whole.

Had Ellis changed her that much?

Jim saluted and started to climb back into the cockpit, but a sudden thought made her call out, “Hey, Jim, you said you dropped a hunter out here. Where is he?”

He turned back and opened his mouth as if about to answer, but he never got the chance. A bullet hit him with such force, it splattered blood and brain matter across the plane’s windshield. Her dogs screamed in panic and yanked against the snow hook holding them in place. She dove for cover behind the plane’s large tundra tires just as another bullet struck the wing right near where her head had been seconds ago.

Dragging in large breaths of icy air, she scanned the tree line, but couldn’t tell where the shots had come from. The little communicator still clasped in her hand signaled an incoming message. She looked down at the screen.

Run, Brielle Ives. Make this more fun than the old man did.

Ice that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature raced down her spine. She had a rifle—she always brought one in case of bear, moose, or wolves—but it was tucked away in her sled a few feet away.

And that psycho was peppering the snow around the sled with shots.

Her dogs howled and yelped and tried to dance away from the shots, and every frightened cry cut through her like the lash of a whip. She flattened herself out on the ice and stretched her leg out until she could kick at the snow hook. Once. Twice. It finally popped free. She kicked it again, and the quick-release line came undone. “Hike, dogs! Hike! Hike!”

Her huskies shot forward like their tails were on fire and she watched them disappear around a bend in the river. At least they weren’t trapped anymore. They were safer than she was now. She grabbed the snow hook, then scuttled back behind the tire. She bet Jim had a weapon in his plane. No decent bush pilot would leave home without one.

Jim.

She glanced over at his body. His eyes stared sightlessly at the darkening sky. She bit down on her lip to hold in a sob and looked at the communicator. These things usually had…

Yes!

She found the emergency call button and typed out a quick message, giving the 911 dispatcher her name and location as best she could figure it. As long as she kept the device on, they should be able to track her. She stuffed it into her pocket and peeked around the side of the tire. The dark silhouette of a man peeled away from the shadows of the woods and prowled toward her.

Run.

Her whole body screamed to do just that, but she stayed put. It was what he wanted, and she wouldn’t stand a chance out here without her dogs and the gear on her sled. The plane was her best chance at survival.

The device beeped again. She pulled it out and read the text.Rescue on the way. ETA 3 hours.

Shit. She didn’t have three hours. She barely had three minutes if she stayed here.

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