style="font-size:15px;"> When she had retrieved it, she sat on the bed and automatically checked her messages. A text from Bobby! How did I miss this? I was up until after midnight. She clicked on the message.
“Happy New Year. I waited until it was midnight in Zedlav. I miss you. Can’t wait to see you when you get home. Hope you’re having fun tonight.”
She laid flat on her back on the bed. Bobby! I missed your text. She touched the call button and listened to his phone ring four times. She hung up. No, I’m not leaving a message. He can call me back. I’m the one who is stranded.
Thursday, January 3
Zedlav, Alaska
Mary Lou dug out the notebook she had begun to journal in, for lack of anything else to do. She wrote in her best penmanship, I feel so trapped. I am trapped. I hate this place! It is so dark and cold all the time and everywhere.
I hate Walt. He is such a jerk. Seriously, Mr. Feldman offered to fax the contract to Denver. Instead I had to fly here, and I faxed in the contract. Really, if I didn’t have so many bills, I would look for another job. A different job. I have no idea where I could work that would pay me as well or give me the sense of accomplishment I get when I close a multimillion-dollar deal. If only Walt would retire. Some people retire early. Right?
I do like Joe, and I think he really does try his best. I’m glad I could come here instead of him. He’s a good guy. There’s not many like him around. His family would have missed him terribly if he had been trapped here for as long as I have. Nobody misses me like that. Sure, Eileen misses me, but she’s got her own life, and I’m just her sister.
Larry’s busy all the time with Sharon and the kids. They say they miss me, but I probably wouldn’t even have seen them after Christmas for a month or more. Mom and Dad know that I’m fine and that I’ll be home someday. That’s just life.
Then there’s you, Bobby. I thought we were a couple. I guess I was wrong about that. I mean, Eileen says you’ve been very busy, but if you really cared for me, you’d have at least called me back. Your call record shows that I called. I should be mad. I AM mad. I am not calling you again. You’ve hurt me by ignoring me. One text on this whole trip. I think I may not see you again.
Sadness clutched her. Tears soaked her face. Bobby, you’re a jerk! You’re just as bad as Walt. You both treat me like dirt.
Chapter Four
Saturday, January 5
Zedlav, Alaska
The phone rang in Mary Lou’s room. “This is the front office downstairs. Miss Stots, you will be pleased to know that the highway will be cleared late this morning. A shuttle will leave for the airport at noon. Please let us know if there is anything else we can do anything to assist you.”
Mary Lou choked. “Thank you so much. I will be down to check out.”
The same day
Denver, Colorado
Bobby Porter had put in a long day on the streets of Denver. One domestic situation, a drunk driver, a speeder through a school zone, and then a robbery at Kum & Go made the day go fast. Snow made driving difficult, at best. He was glad to get home after putting in another unexpected twelve-hour day. Picking up the slack for the vacationing personnel made the holidays fly by.
He changed into his comfy sweats. In the kitchen he found leftovers from the New Year’s dinner his mother had sent home with him. “Oh, now, I know you’re not going to let this food go to waste. Here, take this, and some of this, and this.” He replayed her going around the table, dipping into each dish to fill a large plastic bowl. Now he appreciated her efforts. He took the lid off the bowl and stuck it in the microwave oven while he retrieved a soda from the refrigerator.
The microwave tinged, signaling that his food was ready. Bobby carefully picked it up with a paper towel to protect his hands and sat on the couch in front of the TV. I should call Mary Lou, but I’m beat. I’ll probably mess up if I talk to her. Besides, I need to get some sleep. I’m on the late shift tonight. He took the last bite of supper and fell asleep.
Later the same day
Denver International Airport
The empty baggage claim area echoed. Mary Lou stared at the conveyor belt moving past her. Her late flight had come in even later than expected. She spotted her bag and lifted it off the carousel. Ugh! How could this thing get heavier? I certainly didn’t buy any souvenirs. That four-hour layover in Seattle didn’t help. Now if I can just get to my car. Hope the shuttle is still running. It is nearly midnight. This nightmare is almost over.
She rolled her bag out door number five thirteen and shuffled to the third aisle to wait for the USAirport Parking shuttle. Oh, it is so cold. I think it’s colder here than in Alaska. How can that be? She threw her arms around herself to hug her body. She remembered her parking ticket and called the number on it.
“USAirport Parking.”
Mary Lou could see her breath as she talked into her cell. “I’m waiting for the shuttle. Can you tell me how much longer? Are you still coming? It’s cold out here.”
“Oh, yes. Ten minutes.”
Mary Lou wanted to scream that ten minutes was a long time when she was standing outside but restrained herself. “Thank you.”
Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds later, she saw the shuttle round the corner at the end of the terminal. It lumbered toward her at glacial speed. As far as she could see, she was the only person outside the terminal. Really? You couldn’t move any faster? It must be ten below out here.
Finally, it stopped in front of her. The door swung open, and the warm air embraced her as she entered. She handed her parking slip to the driver so he could find her car in the sea of snow-covered automobiles at USAirport Parking. He closed the doors, and she collapsed in a seat, closing her eyes and cursing Walt Pederson.
Sunday, January 6
Denver, Colorado
Bobby Porter activated the light and sirens on his patrol car to initiate the traffic stop. It was twelve forty-five, and he had been sitting on the shoulder of I-25 when the car raced past him at ninety-five miles an hour. Bobby read the license plate to the dispatcher as he pulled the late-model Hummer over. He requested a 10-28. The dispatcher entered the information into the NCIC database and instantly received the pertinent information—the type and color of car, the dates of license, and to whom the car was licensed. The car was not listed as stolen or wanted. Everything seemed in order. The dispatcher relayed the information to Bobby. The Hummer pulled far off the shoulder, away from the light traffic.
Bobby felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he walked up to black-tinted windows. He hated tinted windows, especially at night. The habitual questions raced through his mind as he approached the driver’s side. Does he have a gun? Does he have a hostage? Is the driver dangerous? Has he been drinking? Is this a setup? Is the vehicle carrying illegal drugs or weapons? How will the driver react to getting a citation? Will he become combative?
The
