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As if sensing his anxiety, their Boston terrier, Trout, whined and pawed at Noah’s arm. The dog had been inconsolable since Josie left. The first two days she’d been away he had refused to eat his meals and wouldn’t go to the bathroom unless Noah carried him outside and sweet-talked him into doing his business. Trout had done nothing but lie in the foyer, watching the front door. Even at nighttime, he would not come to bed with Noah. By day three, he’d come to some sort of grudging acceptance that Josie would not be walking through the front door any time soon, eating meals and sleeping in the bed with Noah again. Still, every chance he got, he made his displeasure with the situation known, just like he was now, in the middle of the night.
Scratching behind his ears, Noah said, “I know, boy. I should go get your mom, huh?”
Trout huffed in agreement and then stared into Noah’s soul until he got up and started getting dressed. Noah packed a small overnight bag, in case he, too, got stuck in Sullivan County, and then he dropped Trout off with their friend, Misty DeRossi. She was one of their best friends and often came to their rescue in emergencies, just like Noah and Josie did for her. She wasn’t upset in the least at being disturbed in the middle of the night. She often watched Trout, as well, so taking their dog was not an imposition. After planting several kisses on Trout’s squishy face, Noah hit the road. It was slow going on narrow, winding roads through mountains and valleys with few residences, snow already on the ground and more of it falling relentlessly. There was no major highway or thoroughfare to get to Sullivan County. Route 220 was probably the most well-traveled, well-maintained road but even that sliced through some extremely high mountains. Near dawn, he found himself on a steep incline in nearly a foot of snow that had not yet been plowed. The tires of his SUV strained to find purchase as he neared Laporte, the county seat, and the small town in which the sheriff’s office was located. It seemed as good a place to start as any, especially since he needed help locating the retreat and might also need help rescuing the members of the retreat from the top of a mountain.
His hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so hard. His GPS had lost its connection miles ago. At this point, any town would be welcome. Although he’d passed a few lone residences, and a recycling plant, the rest of Sullivan County so far was wilderness. Relief loosened the knot forming in his stomach when, through the onslaught of snow, he made out a green sign ahead.Laporte, 2 miles. He punched the gas pedal harder. He was making progress up the long hill when the SUV started to fishtail. He tried to regain control of it but he jerked the wheel too hard, sending it sideways. It started to drift slowly back down the hill. He tried again to exert some control over the vehicle’s direction or speed, but it was caught in an inexorable sideways slide, gaining momentum back down the hill. From the driver’s side window, he watched the bottom of the hill rush toward him.
A pair of headlights appeared, bright pinpricks in the white fury.
He was headed directly toward them.
There was only time for one thought. Her name came out as a whisper, even though there was no one there to hear it. “Josie.”
TEN
SACRED NEW BEGINNINGS RETREAT, SULLIVAN COUNTY
Day 6
Josie woke to the sound of someone pounding on her cabin door. She sat up in bed, blinking rapidly. Her eyes felt like they were full of grit. Across the room, the last of the small logs she had fed into the wood-burning stove glowed orange, nothing left but embers and charred husks. Muted daylight streamed through the gauzy curtains, a dull gray.
“Josie? Josie? Are you in there?” Sandrine’s voice was high-pitched, her knocking urgent. This wasn’t how she normally woke them for breakfast.
“I’m here,” Josie called, but her throat was so dry, it came out as a croak.
She threw off her comforter and padded across the tiny room. Even through her thick socks, the cold bled up from the floor and into the soles of her feet. She unlocked the door and turned the knob. The door flew inward and Sandrine burst through in a squall of snow, knocking Josie onto her ass. Blistering cold air whooshed over her, driving out the heat from the stove. Sandrine held onto the knob to stay upright. She was dressed much as she had been the day before, a utility jacket over a thin maxi dress, black yoga pants, and a knit hat. This time, at least, she had on a solid pair of winter boots.
Josie threw up a forearm to cover her eyes from the brightness exploding through the doorway. Snow, snow, and more snow. It was still coming down hard and fast outside, just as it had been when she’d returned to her cabin after dinner the evening before. A miniature drift about a foot high had gathered at the cabin’s threshold and now it stood, flattened along the side where it had rested against her cabin door.
Sandrine said, “You’re okay? You’re all right?”
Josie stood up, rubbing her bottom, and looking around for where she’d thrown her jeans the night before. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be okay? Is something wrong?”
Sandrine used the inside edge of her right boot to try to sweep the snow back outside onto the stoop. It was a losing battle. Her cheeks were bright red. Snowflakes snagged in the long, twisted locks of her hair. “I was waking everyone for breakfast and Meg is not in her cabin. It was unlocked, but she isn’t there. She’s not in the main house. Taryn ran down to the outbuilding where we hold the rage room and said she’s not there either.”
“Taryn?”
Looking at her feet, Sandrine said, “Cooper never came back last night. There must have been too much snow for him to get here. Please don’t launch into a ‘told you so’ lecture, Josie. Right now, I just want to find Meg.”
“That’s not my style, Sandrine.” Josie looked around the tiny cabin. All of them had the same layout. A single room with a small bed, a short wooden dresser, and a wood-burning stove. In the back of the cabin was a bathroom. Josie found her jeans in a pile of clothes on top of the dresser and pulled them up over her thin pajama pants. Then she shoved her feet into her boots and snatched her coat from a hook along the wall, pulling it on. “When you went inside Meg’s cabin, how did it look?”
Sandrine’s brows drew together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Josie had to remind herself she wasn’t conducting an official investigation with her team. Instead of asking if it looked like there had been a struggle, she said, “Was everything neat and in its place, or did it look messy?”
“Oh, it was fine. Neat.”
“Was all of her stuff still inside?”
“All of her things look like they’re still there,” said Sandrine.
“Did it appear as though she’d slept in her bed?”
Sandrine twisted her gloved hands. “You think she left in the middle of the night? Or early this morning? There’s so much snow!”
Josie found her hat inside one pocket of her coat and pulled it over her head. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
Another gust of wind blasted through the doorway, scattering snow across the floor. Sandrine quickly closed the door and pressed her back against it. “I don’t know. I guess. The covers were rumpled at the bottom of her bed.”
