down at her feet like a heated brick.
He took a quick swig from the second can, then poured more into her. When that was gone, she broke his heart by cuddling close, though she still seemed limp and cold. With her upturned face tucked under his chin, he held her tight again. He knew she wanted to sleep, but he had to keep her awake and talking. Hypothermic people often felt warmer, even stripped off their clothes before they went comatose and fell asleep forever.
“Lisa, talk to me. Keep talking. How did you fall in the river?”
Her eyes still closed, she frowned. “Dunno.”
“Did you stumble or trip?” he asked.
A tiny shake of her head, but no answer. Of course, it wasn’t unusual for someone in trauma to lose their memory of the horror of it. But since her memories of the ultimate horror of her life—the shock of witnessing the terrible loss of her mother and sister—were so vivid and, he knew, sometimes haunted her yet, surely she’d be able to recall how she’d fallen in.
Suddenly, strangely, she went stiff in his arms. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s all right.”
Her eyes opened wide for one moment as if she was seeing something again. She shook her shoulders slightly. At least she was moving, but was she trying to shake off his arms from holding her?
Then she frowned, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. “Pushed,” she whispered. “Pushed in.”
“Someone pushed you in the river?” he demanded, much too loudly, because she flinched as if she’d been struck.
“Yes. Pushed.”
“Pushed by whom?”
“Didn’t see.”
“Did you hear anyone?”
“Heard the river—rush of river.”
She was talking, but she must also be hallucinating, he thought. The shock of it had made her—hopefully temporarily—delusional. He knew his staff and his guests. No way had someone pushed her in the river.
“The sun …” she whispered, suddenly opening her eyes and blinking into its brightness, her mind evidently wandering again. She looked slit-eyed at him before she seemed to almost swoon in his arms. Her pupils were huge. Could she have a concussion? That would explain her thinking she was pushed.
He gave her a tiny shake to keep her conscious, happy to change the subject from what would be, in a court of law, attempted murder. “Yes, summer Alaska sun. Our own northern light,” he said.
Even so, he knew it would be shifting away soon, and it would be a cold night on the ledge. When would Christine or Spike or someone else realize they were gone? What would they think? Even if someone figured out they needed rescuing, no way could they be spotted by an airplane here or be helped if someone didn’t tackle that damned dangerous river. Even if the sheriff came from Talkeetna or Spike and Christine summoned a search party from nearby little Bear Bones, the two of them were on their own.
“So,do you need any help?” came the melodious female voice.
Hearing the tap-tap of heeled boots on the pine floor, Christine turned from setting the table to see another of the guests, Vanessa Guerena, come in from the wooden deck overlooking the lake. She’d been out there, pacing like a caged cat, as if waiting for someone to arrive or something to happen.
From their first introduction, Christine had admired Vanessa’s appearance—sleek figure, shiny, shoulder-length ebony hair, bronzed skin and flashing, dark eyes. In another world, they could have passed for Yup’ik cousins with the same height and build. Christine guessed the woman must be about her age, thirty-five or so. But Vanessa reeked self-confidence and charisma, the words Spike had used to describe her. He’d probably had to pick his jaw up off the ground when he first saw Vanessa.
But size, skin and hair was about where it ended for her and Vanessa’s similarities. With her suede boots and her butterscotch-colored leather knee-length pants and jacket—in this warm weather, no less—she looked so dressed up next to Christine’s running shoes, jeans and layered T-shirt top. For everyone else, including the obviously wealthy Bonners, denim was the name of the fashion game around here. Maybe Vanessa hadn’t gotten the message about how to pack for the land of remote fly-in lodges and cabins in America’s “last frontier.”
Vanessa’s pent-up energy and jumpiness made her stand out. The woman’s Cuban heritage and temper, which Christine had noted when she’d seen her arguing with Jonas from a distance earlier, was a far cry from a Yup’ik personality. Yet Christine saw Vanessa had a good side, what the Yup’ik called catngu, the gift of friendliness and helpfulness. Had she been hanging around the back of the lodge just waiting to help out? Maybe she thought being prompt would impress the Bonners, when they hadn’t even come downstairs yet. Or was she lurking around, maybe trying to keep an eye on her competition for Mitch’s old job?
“I’m just fine, but thanks for the offer,” she told Vanessa. “You just make yourself at home. Go ahead and enjoy some of these appetizers. I’m sure the others will be here soon, and you don’t have to wait for them.”
“Thanks,” she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “So, have you seen Mitch?”
“Not for a while.”
“Lisa?”
“Briefly.”
“Were they together? Oh, sorry, too used to interrogating potential witnesses, I guess,” Vanessa said with a little shrug and smile.
Christine nodded and went back out in the kitchen for more food. She glanced out the window down the path toward the lake landing. No Mitch, when she was expecting—wanting—him back.
She carried the last plate of appetizers to the table. Now Vanessa was pacing inside, pretending to look out the big bubble window. When she saw Christine was back, she said, “I didn’t want to miss anything, but I’ve got to get my exercise in, since my appetite’s gone as wild as the woods up here.”
When Christine put the last plate of food down, the woman came over and pounced on it. “I hope I burn off these calories with everything Mitch has planned,” she said, pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay to accompany her full plate. “Jonas said he’s ready for more of your delicious deep-forest fare, too.”
Christine was willing to bet both of them—Lisa Vaughn, too—had been just plain hungry for Mitch’s old position since he left the law firm. But, yes, where in all creation was Mitch? And, as Vanessa had asked, where was Lisa?
All Lisa wanted to do was sleep, to get lost in the arms of warm, lazy sleep. She must be on the beach because a canvas cabana covered her head and wrapped around her. She loved the sun but knew too much of it on her skin could be dangerous, even deadly. Dangerous … deadly … just get warm. So sore and exhausted … Just stay warm and go to sleep … sleep …
Someone shook her, held her. A lifeguard? Was a lifeguard here because a big wave had hit her?
A man with a deep, raspy voice said, “Lisa, I said you have to keep moving your arms and legs. Wiggle your fingers and toes.”
She dragged her heavy eyelids open. Mitch. Mitch on the beach with her. No, there were
