Still, she had to be close to the finish line.
“Forward, Kate Carter.”
She picked up speed, racing against time. A storm was bearing down on her, and so, possibly, was a mad man.
Chapter Five
5:45 a.m.
Screeching tires and slammed-on brakes jerked Maggie out of a deep sleep. She lurched forward, her seatbelt sawing into her ribs as the truck skidded toward a ditch.
“Joe?” She braced her feet against the floorboard. “What the heck?”
“Don’t know.” He fought with the wheel, brought the truck out of a spin and came to a halt just inches short of a red Jeep Grand Cherokee stopped in front of him on the highway. A ghostly line of traffic was barely visible in front of the Jeep, their taillights glowing in the early morning darkness.
Gusts of snow swirled in a wind that was much stronger than when they’d left the house. The weatherman was right. The blizzard was coming, and it was coming on strong.
“Oh, no,” she said. “How far are we from Glen’s Crossing?”
“At least another fifteen miles.”
And traffic wasn’t moving. Most of the cars idled, keeping the heater on, but a few of the drivers had bailed out and were walking toward the front of the line.
“Wait here, Maggie. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Sure.” Maggie wanted to tear her hair out. All she’d done since yesterday was wait. And with each passing minute, her chances of finding Kate alive diminished.
Jefferson whined and stuck his nose over the back of her seat. He not only in tune with the weather but with her every mood. As she patted his head, she tried to tamp down her growing anxiety. “It’s okay, boy. We’ll find her.”
With her dog in the car, the windows fogged quickly. Maggie wiped the moisture off with some paper napkins she found wadded on the front seat. When she shifted, two empty paper cups rattled at her feet. She spotted another on the back seat beside Jefferson. Joe had never been especially neat, but lately he didn’t seem to care about anything, particularly picking up after himself.
She used to find his slightly messy ways endearing. Now, when she found a dirty towel on the bathroom floor or picked up a coffee cup he’d left on the table by his recliner, she was likely to say, “I’m not your housekeeper.” And say it in a very snarky voice.
No wonder he couldn’t stand to be around her.
“And vice versa.”
When Jefferson whined again she realized she was talking to herself. Was she trying to convince herself of something? What? That their long history together made the marriage worth saving, or that it just proved they’d been doomed from the beginning?
What a ridiculous line of thought. Her only excuse was that it kept her mind off Kate and this horrible, unexpected delay.
“Maggie.” Joe tapped on her window and she powered it down. “There’s a four-car pileup ahead. It’ll be hours before it’s cleared.”
“Oh, no.”
“A little boy’s missing from one of the wrecked vehicles.”
“How could he be missing?”
“Both parents are so drunk they don’t know how he got out or when. They’ve both been passed out and are still addled. They figure the kid bailed out after the wreck. Cops are already there. I told them you’d help.”
“Of course.”
As Maggie sprang into action, she prayed her daughter was out there alive somewhere, staying strong. Hang on, Katie. I’m coming for you.
Knowing what the harness and vest meant, Jefferson went into full search and rescue mode, posture erect, ears alert, his sleek body powered by muscles toned with exercise and proper diet.
“Good boy.” Maggie leaned down to pat his head and then headed down the line of cars toward the wreckage.
The scene at the front of the line broke Maggie’s heart, a man with a bloody bandage on his head, sobbing, the woman beside him wrapped in a blanket and looking shell-shocked as she and her husband took turns telling that that their little boy was only five. His name was Timmy. They had no idea why he left the car or where he was.
Skid marks showed where their blue Toyota had started sliding on the road. It had crossed lanes to hit an elderly man in an oncoming pickup truck. The two cars following had crashed into him.
The strong odor of alcohol wafted through the open doors of the Toyota.
Joe approached a young highway patrolman. Ken Hawkins, according to his badge. “This is my wife, Maggie Carter, and Jefferson, the SAR dog I told you about.”
“I’m grateful for your help, Mrs. Carter. We’ve got men searching the stretch of highway, but so far, nothing.”
“I’ll need something that belongs to the missing child,” Maggie said. With all these people milling around, there would be scent trails everywhere.
When Ken approached the parents, the mother stumbled upright then sank into a heap on the icy road. It was the father who limped to the car and came back with a little red jacket.
“Is the child out there without his coat?” Maggie asked. If anything was more horrible than a lost child, it was one lost in winter without proper clothing. When the mother shrugged, Maggie wanted to shake some sense into her. How could she be so careless with a small child?
How could she be so careless with Kate? Why had she caved into the wishes of a stubborn teenager who didn’t have the experience to make wise decisions involving traveling in snowstorms? Why had she brushed aside Joe’s worries with that drivel about letting Kate test her wings, letting her grow up and be independent?
“Maggie?” Joe took the little wool jacket from the father and pressed it into her hand. “You okay?”
“I’m good. I’ve got this.”
She led Jefferson away from the crowd to improve his focus…and hers. Squatting beside him, she let him sniff the jacket and prepped him for the search. Then she took him off lead and he set off in a trot in the opposite direction of the other searchers.
Within minutes her dog plunged down the embankment from the highway and loped across a field of scrub brush and stunted trees, cross sweeping for scent. In the distance Maggie could see the vague outline of a creek snaking through the field. She trained her flashlight on Jefferson and saw him streaking in the direction of the water.
“Oh, please, no. Please. Please.”
She feared the worst. A scared little boy, a slippery bank, an ice-covered creek, some it of thick enough to walk on, some thin enough to crack apart and let a child slip through. If he’d gone into icy water, there’s no way he would still be alive.
Would her daughter meet that same fate?
“Tim,” she called, her voice cracking with cold and anxiety. “Tim!”
Jefferson was still going, his tail up like a flag, his nose pointed straight to the creek. Fear increased Maggie’s speed. She prayed as she ran.
Suddenly, that abrupt halt, that bark—Jefferson’s find signal. Even better, he was jumping up and down, his signal for found alive.
There was no doubt in her mind. No hesitation. If Jefferson had found the boy dead, he would be sitting.
“We’ve got him,” she yelled. “We’ve found him. He’s alive!”
On the road above, Joe shouted, “She’s got him!”