Page 30 of Hide My Heart
She had an accident and is lying in a ditch.
Hunter found her and the phone’s out of range.
Or the police have her and they’re not answering.
My heartbeat stutters too fast, and adrenaline makes me jittery as I get on the highway toward Coeur d’Alene. The snow is slushy and wet, but they plowed the interstate, so I make good time.
Beck, fortunately, is asleep in the car seat, since my mother just fed him.
Maybe I should have left him with her.
He would be safer, in case anything happens.
Nothing will happen. He’s safer with me than back in Divine where he’s a sitting duck, should Hunter head over there.
My mother will get over it. She’s always said to get a friend you have to be a friend. I’m being Amber’s friend.
Is it also true that to get a lover I have to be a lover?
When I get to Uncle Joe’s cabin, I’ll figure out what happened and then call Detective Dalton. I’m sure Amber had a good reason to attack Hunter. She was only trying to get away. Hunter is a crazy lunatic.
Chills freeze the hairs on the back of my neck.
Hunter might have tried to rape her. Or beat her. It had to be self-defense.
I switch on the radio to see if there’s any news about a man being killed or found dead. Or if there’s a manhunt for Amber.
Station after station goes by, most of them with horrible reception. So far, nothing.
By the time I get off the highway, the temperature drops from just above freezing to below freezing. I pull onto the shoulder and take the tire chains out of the trunk.
The mixture of snow with an icy crust is treacherous.
I hope Amber made it to the cabin before the temperature drops and freezes everything in sight.
After I attach the chains, I begin the climb up the barely paved road leading to my uncle’s summer hideaway.
When I was a teenager, I used to spend summers working at the lake where Uncle Joe ran a recreational center. He rented out boats, kayaks, jet skis and paddleboards.
He also taught me how to fly the seaplanes he uses for tours and charters. It’s so peaceful up in the air, looking down on the deep, blue waters of the lake, the majestic landscape full of emerald islands and towering mountain ranges speared with tall evergreen trees.
When I’m up in the air, I feel as free as a bald eagle, soaring high above the cares of the world. Nothing but blue skies and sunshine above and a palette of colors below. Fresh, green buds and flowers in the spring, lush carpets of emerald during the summer months, followed by splashes of crimson, burnt sienna, and pumpkin foliage heralding the arrival of that pristine and white winter wonderland.
I love the wilderness here and the big, open space to stretch my legs—go ATVing and fishing in the summer, and snowmobiling and cross-country skiing in the winter.
But I can’t leave my mother to run the Bluebird and the Redbird by herself.
The sun has gone down and tiny ice pellets in the form of freezing drizzle patters my windshield. A crust of ice slicks over the snow-covered leaves, and ice-laden branches break with a snap and crack, dislodging sharp icicles like falling knives on the roof of my car.
It’s getting harder to see with my headlights reflecting off dark patches of ice and silvery trees. I follow the road as best I can, passing a row of mailboxes.
I turn onto the private road, and the car bounces and joggles every direction from ruts and potholes in what’s left of the asphalt.
A snow-covered object throws a shadow from the side of the road. It’s a large truck, the kind I suspect Hunter would have.
The front end is pitched forward, almost over the edge, had it not been stuck wheels deep in the snowbank.
I don’t dare shut my car off, in case I can’t get it to crank up, so I drive by and find a flat area in the middle of the road.
