friend. Anna’s husband. One of the unfortunate victims of the Colonel’s vengeful bent. He’d been Tommy’s best man at their wedding. That was the one and only time she’d met him. They’d barely exchanged more than a few words. She couldn’t even bring up a clear picture of the man other than dark and brooding—a little scary, actually, with those feral green eyes peering out of the shadows of the room. The ex-Ranger seemed alone even in the roomful of acquaintances Tommy had gathered to witness their exchange of vows—an event unsanctioned by the Colonel. She’d had no idea the flak that would cause once he heard the news.
She didn’t know much else about Sabriel Mercer, except that something had happened to him and Tommy at Ranger School, something that Tommy would never talk about. Something that had changed them both.
And if Tommy was asking her to call Sabriel Mercer for help, something was terribly wrong.
The mountains spread out in front of her in an endless vista. The rusty blanket of dying autumn leaves faded to blue and purple in the distance. Centuries of wind and rain had sculpted the granite and trees. Those mountains were both an awe-inspiring beauty and a treacherous territory that swallowed up hikers like sacrificial offerings. They were the only place Tommy had ever felt at home. The only place his broken spirit could rest.
A sinking feeling weighed her down into the seat, making it impossible to breathe. Band on the Run. Like he had that summer with Sabriel when they were fifteen? If he’d sought refuge in the mountains, then she would never find him, and the Colonel would win. Scotty would lose his father, and she would lose another foothold in directing Scotty’s upbringing.
Her chest stuttered. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t go into those mountains and hope to find her son. Not alone. She didn’t even know where to start.
But Sabriel would.
The tightness holding her breath hostage released a finger of its hold. Sabriel had wandered those mountains with Tommy. He might know what Route 66, Deep Water and Graceland stood for. He’d know where to look. He’d know where to find Tommy before the Colonel’s trackers did. And if she brought Scotty home instead of the hired muscle, then the Colonel would have to respect the status quo.
The tires squealed as Nora pulled a U-turn in the middle of White Mountain Road and pointed the car toward Camden. She’d grown paranoid over the years and was sure the Colonel somehow monitored her cell phone as well as her social calendar and her food intake. After all, she was a Camden and Camdens were expected to behave in a certain manner.
She piloted the car to the local gas station—a lowly place the Colonel would never frequent—and parked in front of the convenience store. The crazed ding-ding-ding of the open car door chased her to the pay phone. The expectant hiss of the receiver added to the static of her mind. Squeezing her eyes closed, she brought up the image of Tommy inking Sabriel’s number on her forearm. She fed coins into the machine, dialed and waited, biting her lower lip, while the number rang and rang and rang.
“Mercer.”
Nora jumped at the terse sound of the voice. “Tommy’s friend?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Nora Camden.” She wriggled her body until she faced the parking lot and Main Street, scanning both for signs of the Colonel’s men. “Tommy told me that if I was ever in trouble, I should call this number.”
Silence. Had the line died? “Mr. Mercer?”
“Are you in trouble?”
She scraped her fingernails along her scalp, pulling her hair tight when she reached the crown of her head. “Yes. No. I mean, Tommy’s in trouble.” She puffed out a breath. “He took our son. If the Colonel finds him before I do, he’ll take Scotty away from me, and he’ll deny Tommy visitations forever. You know how the Colonel is. No give. Those visitations mean the world to Tommy. He needs them as much as Scotty.”
More deafening silence.
Nora cradled the receiver with both hands. “Mr. Mercer? Are you there? If Tommy’s off his meds, then Scotty could be in danger, too.”
Still no response. But in the background, a voice intoned some sort of incantation.
“Scotty has asthma,” Nora continued, compelled to plead her case. Surely Sabriel wouldn’t be heartless enough to let a sick boy die. “He left with an inhaler that’s almost empty. I need to get his medicine to him. If he has an attack out there, he could die.”
Her top teeth sank into her bottom lip and drew blood. He doesn’t care. Tommy was wrong. Sabriel wasn’t going to pay his debt. She blinked back the tears scoring at her eyes. “I think he’s planning on hiding Scotty from the Colonel. I think he thinks he’s helping Scotty. I think he’s gone into the mountains.”
“Was there a note?”
“Yes.”
“Read everything on the paper.”
She did, even describing the drawing of the moose.
“I’ll find him,” Sabriel said with a certainty she envied.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Scotty needs his medicine. It’s cold out there, and cold is one of his triggers.” So was anxiety. She couldn’t help the desperation crowding her voice.
“I work alone.”
“Do you know what it’s like to not be able to breathe? He’s just a little boy, and those attacks scare him.”
Her body straightened against the hard skeleton of the phone cubicle. She was going with him. She needed to know Scotty was all right. She had to get Sabriel to come to her.
A cheer erupted in the background, drowning out Sabriel’s nerve-shredding silence.
“I can’t go back to the estate,” Nora continued, voice strong with resolve. “Not without Scotty. The Colonel’ll use my failure as ammunition to take more control over Scotty. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him turn Scotty into another Tommy.” She flinched at the put-down of her ex-husband. She wasn’t the manipulative type. At least not usually. But if she didn’t stand up for Scotty, who would?
“Where are you?” Sabriel finally asked.
For the first time since she’d found the note, a sense of hope rose up to calm her. She was not alone. Somebody understood. Somebody would help her find Scotty. “I’m at a pay phone at a gas station in Camden.”
“Were you followed?”
Her gaze darted and flitted at the passing traffic on Main Street. Pickup trucks, SUVs and beaters in various stages of decomposition trundled by, but no black Hummer like those driven by the Colonel’s security staff. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you know where Black Swan Lake is?”
“North of Camden. But he’s not there. I’ve already checked the boat ramps.”
“There’s a camp on the west side of the lake. The Lemire Adventure Camp.”
Could
