belly growled, but putting food in her mouth was more than she could handle. She crawled back into her bed and began to pray. She didn’t want to die, but unless a miracle occurred, it would happen.
When she closed her eyes, she thought of Cameron. He belonged to the FBI. They found bad guys who murdered people, and good people who were kidnapped. Surely they could find this plane.
“Please, find me,” she whispered as she started to shake.
She pulled the covers up over her head.
The wolves were still circling. She could hear their whining and digging, and every so often the sounds of a quarrel as one trespassed on another’s space. The first time she heard one on top of the fuselage, she realized they were getting braver. Would this nightmare never end?
* * *
Once Cameron had given the director a quick explanation of what had happened, he headed home. After packing for cold weather, he caught a ride on a government jet flying a team of forensic specialists to the West Coast after the pilot agreed to drop him in Denver on the way. After takeoff, there was nothing to distract him from the fact that the woman he loved might be dead. The passengers he was traveling with were otherwise occupied, which suited him fine. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
It was late afternoon and only hours away from nightfall when they landed. He had a text from the assistant director giving him the location of where search and rescue had set up, and after renting a car, he wasted no time getting there.
The search-and-rescue station was in a small community center in a suburb on the outskirts of Denver. When he pulled up and began looking for a place to park, a local police officer flagged him down.
“I’m sorry, sir. This area is closed to the public.”
Cameron flashed his badge. “Special Agent Winger, FBI. Who’s in charge here?”
The officer immediately relaxed.
“That would be Lieutenant Clark. You can park in that lot just ahead. The lieutenant should be in that long building behind it.”
“Thank you,” Cameron said, and a few moments later he parked and killed the engine.
The sudden silence inside the vehicle made him shudder. Then his phone rang. It was his friend and fellow agent Tate Benton.
“Hello.”
“Cameron...I just heard about Laura. Do you know anything yet? Have they located the plane?”
“I don’t know. I just arrived at the main search-and-rescue site.”
“Is there anything the rest of us can do?” Tate asked.
It was the sympathy in his friend’s voice that did him in. Breath caught in the back of Cameron’s throat as he swallowed a couple of times to keep from crying.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Will do,” Tate said.
Cameron pocketed his phone and got out. He had a large duffel bag over one shoulder and a hiker’s backpack on the other as he headed for the building.
Inside, the place was a hive of activity. Maps of the mountainous area around Denver were taped to the walls and marked up with search grids. Radio communication was at the other end of the room, and, from the static and squawks of intermittent traffic, it was obvious that they were already in search mode.
He stopped a young woman hurrying past him.
“Is Lieutenant Clark in here?”
She pointed at a tall, stoop-shouldered man with graying hair near the com center.
“That’s him on the phone.”
“Thank you,” Cameron said, dropped his gear against a wall and quickly moved in that direction. Once the lieutenant hung up the phone, Cameron flashed his badge as he introduced himself.
Clark frowned. “What interest does the FBI have in this?”
Cameron pocketed his badge. “It’s strictly personal, sir. I’m involved with Laura Doyle, one of the passengers.”
Clark’s expression cleared. “Ah. Sorry.”
“Is there any news?” Cameron asked.
Clark’s shoulders slumped a little more, as if weighed down by his responsibilities.
“Not really. We have a general idea of where the plane most likely went down, but it’s snowing heavily up in the mountains today, so the search planes are grounded.”
Cameron’s heart sank. “I want to help. Assign me to a search team. I have all the necessary training.”
“I don’t—”
“Please,” Cameron added. “I can’t just sit by and wait when I have the skills to help.”
Clark eyed Cameron, who knew what the lieutenant was seeing: a big man, twenty-eight or twenty-nine, and obviously fit. He wasn’t the type to slow anybody down.
“I brought clothes and equipment,” Cameron added.
Clark relented. “Very well. We have cots set up in the adjoining room and a temporary kitchen beyond that. Find a place to bunk. You can go out in the morning.”
Cameron groaned inwardly. So close and still he had to wait.
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Cameron said, grabbing his gear.
The snow stopped at midnight, but Laura continued to slip in and out of consciousness, unaware of her surroundings, alternately freezing and burning up with fever. Once when she woke up, she saw wolves standing in the doorway, snarling. Before she could panic, she passed out again. The next time she woke up, her sister was peering in through one of the small windows.
“Wolves, Sarah. Run,” she mumbled, then slipped back into her mental abyss.
The next time she came to, it was pitch-black, and her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth.
“Water,” she muttered, and felt around in her bed until she found her stash, knowing she had to hydrate so her internal organs would not shut down.
Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold the bottle, but she drank until it was gone.
Easy, honey. Too much, too fast.
She tried to sit up, but didn’t have the strength. “Cameron? Is that you?” When no one answered, she dropped her head and closed her eyes.
“I’m lost, Cameron. I’m so lost. Please, find me.”
She passed out with the empty water bottle still in her hand.
