Page 15 of One Last Storm
CHAPTER 5
FLYNN
Oh, how she hated hospitals.
Flynn burst through the automatic doors of Alaska Regional Hospital and spotted Dawson immediately. He sat in the waiting room, in one of the vinyl chairs near the windows, hunched over his phone. Across the waiting room Hazel curled in an oversized chair, wearing headphones and watching her tablet, also absorbed in something. Shep’s stray-slash-rescue dog Caspian sat beside her on his leash, his dark eyes alert but calm as Hazel absently stroked his ears.
Caspian glanced at her, dark brown eyes worried. Yeah, she got that.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps, casting harsh shadows across the waiting room’s mint green walls. Vinyl chairs in faded burgundy formed uncomfortable clusters around low tables littered with dog-eared magazines from three months ago. Christmas garland draped limply from the reception desk, secured with what looked like medical tape, and a sad artificial tree blinked red and green lights in the corner. The tree sat in a wheelchair base—probably borrowed from the supply closet—surrounded by wrapped gift boxes that definitely contained nothing but air.
The odor of disinfectant and burnt coffee brewing too long hung in the air, undertoned by the scent of human anxiety that no amount of industrial cleaning could scrub away. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow pelted the glass in sideways sheets, driven by wind that rattled the frames and sent white dervishes through the parking lot. The storm had swallowed most of Anchorage, reducing the city to isolated pockets of light struggling against the arctic darkness.
“Dawson.” She shed her heavy wool jacket as she headed toward them. Her detective’s badge swung on its chain around her neck. “I heard from Echo.”
His head snapped up, and he drew in a breath, sat back. “And?”
“They’re okay. All of them.” Flynn sank into the molded plastic chair beside him, the cold surface biting through her black sweater. “They found Winter and got her to a homestead. The Matthews family. But the storm’s too bad for helicopter pickup, so they’re stuck out there.”
“I know the Matthews,” he said. “Good folk. The team should stay there, hunker down.” He glanced at Hazel, lowered his voice. “We don’t need anyone dying today.”
“Yeah, well, it’s getting complicated. They have a load of Christmas packages to deliver to Clearwater first.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“With sled dogs.”
The words hung there, as Dawson frowned, then. “Yeah, okay. That sounds right. Everest Matthews is a musher. They’ll be okay.”
Flynn glanced at Hazel, still in her world under her headphones. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Question is whether they’ll make it back in time.”
Dawson glanced outside, shook his head. “Sled dogs through a blizzard. Leave it to Moose to find the most dangerous way home.”
“At least they’re not completely stranded.” Flynn glanced toward the hallway that led to the patient rooms, then back at the sterile waiting area. “I hate hospitals, you know that. As a cop, I only end up here when something’s gone really wrong.” Her voice fell. “Is Tillie okay?”
Dawson’s expression grew serious. “Dunno. She’s twelve weeks along. Apparently she’s been hiding it, waiting for Christmas morning to tell Moose.”
Flynn’s chest tightened. “After last time…”
“Yeah. I know. I think she was too afraid to confirm anything. And now… I don’t know. I’m out here, with Hazel…” Dawson’s voice trailed off. “She lost one eight months ago, four months after she and Moose got married.”
“Right about the time Hazel’s adoption went through,” Flynn said quietly. Her heart ached. Tillie had been through so much already fighting for custody of Hazel. Losing a baby during what should have been the happiest time of her life.
Please, God.
“Maybe we don’t tell her about the sled dog plan.”
“I told her that we’d gotten word that they’d found Winter, but…” He gestured toward the patient rooms. “She’s pretty fragile right now. Waiting for an ultrasound.”
“Flynn?” Hazel wore a puffy winter coat that made her look even smaller. Her dark hair hung in tangles around her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, sweetheart.” Flynn moved to kneel beside the chair, forcing her voice to stay gentle. “How are you doing?”
“My mommy doesn’t feel good.”
Flynn glanced at Dawson, who shook his head. She could nearly hear his words, x-nay on the aby-bay. Right. Maybe that was a conversation preserved for their family.
“Do you think she’ll be okay? She was crying…”
