Had Feisty been buried with her?

  No. Buried, yes, and so had she been, but not together. Reaching an arm above her head, she touched soft fur. Simon gave a feline chirp of response. “You okay, bud?”

  The cat chirped again. She wanted to twist around to look at him, but she didn’t think she could manage the twisting part. She pushed herself up with her free hand, and immediately regretted changing position. Every part of her body hurt. Ribs, left shoulder, left ankle. Right leg. Face. She needed a drink of water, but she wasn’t sure she could make it to the bathroom. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Simon shifted from her pillow to her side, and rubbed against her hip.

  Blake knocked on her bedroom door. “Permission to enter again, Captain.”

  Sam waved a hand in the air. “Whatever.”

  He handed Sam a cell phone.

  “Oh good. I was going to ask if I could borrow yours.”

  Pointing to the cell phone, he said, “That’s not yours. Or mine. I made Maya go get another like yours first thing this morning. They put your old SIM card in, so most everything should be there.”

  She checked the screen, discovered she had two texts and a phone message from the editor at Out There. He probably wanted to know when her article about the aerial ski contest would be done. She was too tired to search for her notes and videos, too fatigued to even think about finishing that job. Surely they’d cut her some slack. There should be some special dispensation for being buried alive.

  There was also a call from her father in Kansas, less than an hour ago.

  “If you don’t like that phone, we can find another one for you.” Her housemate gave her a tentative smile.

  Blake’s kindness made her throat close up. “I know you thought I was out of it last night,” Sam told him. “Or this morning, or whatever. On the way home. But I remember what I said; I was totally coherent.”

  He shot her a skeptical look.

  “Well, maybe not totally. But I meant it when I said I love you. And you are my rock, Blake. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Her housemate dipped his chin, his lips pressed tightly together as if he were trying not to cry. She noticed he was unshaven, and the bags under his eyes revealed his exhaustion. He probably hadn’t slept at all.

  She was almost afraid to ask. “Any news from the hospital?”

  “They did emergency surgery on Claude to relieve the pressure from the hematoma. Now he’s in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down. They won’t know about brain damage until he wakes up.”

  She wrapped her good hand around his wrist. “He’ll be okay.”

  “Of course, they wouldn’t tell me anything about Chase. Or Nicole.”

  “Of course, they wouldn’t. I need to go to the hospital.”

  Blake nodded. “Let’s go together after you get dressed and we get some breakfast.”

  “I’m not sure I want to leave the house unattended right now. Sometimes they come back, you know.” It gave her a chill to think Maya’s thuggish friends were still at large. “I’ll go after you come back.”

  Her housemate shook his head. “No. You go first. I know what Claude’s condition is right now; you don’t know about Chase.”

  At the reminder of what they were both going though, Sam’s throat threatened to close up again. “Thank you, Blake,” she murmured.

  The bathroom seemed so far away. She stared glumly in that direction, willing her body to rise onto her feet.

  Maya strode into the bedroom. “I’ll help her.”

  Simon streaked off the headboard and vanished under the bed.

  Throwing an arm around Sam, Maya lifted.

  When Sam yelped in pain, Maya dropped her back onto the mattress. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  Recovering, Sam told her, “It’s okay. Just get me to the toilet—gently—and find me some clothes.”

  Maya looked from Sam to Blake. “And I’ll stay and guard the house while you’re gone. And clean up however I can.” She pulled her cell phone from her back jeans pocket, then, after checking it, said. “Well, I do have to go somewhere in about three hours, but I’ll stay until then.”

  Both Blake and Sam hesitated.

  Maya held her right hand in the air. “I solemnly swear that if I see any sign of Eaze or James, I’ll call the police immediately.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “I’m holding you to that.”

  Blake ducked out of the bedroom. “I’ll make French toast and coffee.”

  “Extra strong coffee, please,” Sam told him. “A gallon.” She felt like it would take that much caffeine to get her body parts synchronized again.

  “Coming up,” he answered from the kitchen.

  After Maya had helped her walk to the toilet, Sam said, “That’s enough. I think I can handle it from here. Can you find me some jeans and a sweater?” She couldn’t bring herself to say “thank you” to Maya right now. She could barely keep from screaming at the girl who’d helped to wreck her home and shoot her cat.

  Sam pulled off her sling. “I’m going to take a shower. Then you’re going to tell me everything you know about what happened last night.”

  The pressure of the shower hurt nearly as much as the warm water helped, but she was reasonably certain that she smelled better afterward, and her hair was free of clumps of sheetrock and pine needles and dirt. That was progress.

  As soon as she was dressed and had taken a cup of coffee in hand from the kitchen counter, Sam grilled Maya, asking the girl who James was, why he had been with Eaze, and why they decided to destroy her home.

  Maya kept her eyes on the floor as she answered. “Eaze owed James Winnow money, and Eaze thought there might be money in your house.”

  “Winnow?” Sam asked Blake. “Isn’t there a Winnow Construction here in town?”

  “If you mean the Winnow Construction Corporation whose name is featured on banners all over town and who is building the new elementary school, the new hotel, and the new apartment complex, then yes,” Blake answered as he deftly flipped a skillet full of French toast.

  Smart aleck. Sam focused her attention back on Maya. “Why did Eaze owe this guy? And how much?”

  The girl shrugged her shoulders, not lifting her gaze from the floor. “I called the police.”

  Sam narrowed her eyes, sure that Maya was not telling the whole story. “Are they in custody?”

  Again, Maya simply shrugged. “They weren’t last night. The cops didn’t seem too worked up about it.”

  Sam’s jaw already ached; she’d been clenching her teeth throughout the conversation. When the Out There offices had been burglarized last year, the police admitted that they didn’t have the manpower to investigate burglaries. Although this was more of a home invasion—that should qualify as a serious crime, shouldn’t it?

  “We’ll have to talk to the police, Sam,” Blake suggested. “And give them a complete list of everything stolen and damaged.”

  It made Sam tired just to think about it. Staring at the ruins of her living area and kitchen was too much to endure right now. She limped back to her bedroom, furious with Maya, and completely outraged at the intruders. How dare they trash her home? Did homeowner’s insurance cover vandalism and theft?

  How about attempted murder of a pet? Was that a charge that would stand up in court? Probably not.

  Sweeping along with the wave of fury was a cold prickle of fright. Where were Eaze and the other sleazebag, James, right now? Would they be back? Eaze seemed like a harmless-but-worthless loser, but she’d never heard of James Winnow before.

  Blake brought her a plate of French toast, which she ate off her dresser in between putting on her socks and slipping into her shoes.

  Her cell phone buzzed just as she was following Blake out the front door. Michael Fredd, the editor. “I’ll get the article on the contest to you tomorrow,” she promised on answering.

  “Excellent,” he said, “But we’ll take minimal, just stats and a few photos.”

  Sam wondered if she had all the information she needed to finish even a minimal job. She and Gina had left before the contest was completely finished.

  “But that’s not what I’m calling about. We want you to write about what it was like.”

  “What the contest was like?”

  “Duh. No, Sam. Crawling around inside the lodge, searching for survivors. What it was like to be there.”

  Not memories she really wanted to revisit. “Uh . . .”

  “As quickly as you can, Sam. Five hundred dollars, okay?”

  That was two hundred and fifty more than Out There typically paid her for articles. Could she type with her left hand? She’d left off the annoying sling but held her arm close to her chest. Now she wiggled her fingers. Stiff, but not especially painful. She raised that hand into the air. Yow! Tears sprang to her eyes as an ice pick jabbed into her left shoulder. But yes, she could probably type, as long as she could keep her shoulder still.

  “Okay?” Michael asked.

  “I’m not sure I have a computer.” She glanced at Blake. He shook his head.

  “What happened to your computer?”

  “It got stolen last night.”

  “Bummer. I could drop a laptop by your place in an hour or so.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital checking on my friends.”

  Maya appeared in the doorway. “You can borrow my laptop.”

  That figured, that the girl had kept her own laptop while allowing Sam’s to be stolen. When Sam hesitated, the girl added, “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I’ve got a loaner here,” Sam told Michael.

  “Great. So call me when you’re done, okay? Okay?”

  Sam couldn’t focus on anything except Chase and Claude and Simon and how much she hurt right now. She exhaled heavily. “I’ll try to have it done by tomorrow.”

  “This afternoon would be even better.”

  Sam snorted. Could she pull it together to write an article? It seemed like an insurmountable task. “Do you remember that I was involved in that avalanche? And that was yesterday?”

  “Of course. That’s what the story will be about, right?”

  After a moment, she reminded him again, “I’m not exactly one hundred percent today.”

  “We don’t expect you to be Superwoman. All right, tomorrow afternoon would be fine. And, oh, I’m glad you survived.”

  Chapter 30

  Sam lurched down the corridors of St. Joseph Hospital, moving like one of the undead. She probably looked like a zombie, too, with her face swollen and scratched under her mask, and her left arm in a sling, limping on her sore ankle. Patients were exempt, but all the visitors and staff she passed in the hallway wore masks, most the ubiquitous disposable paper version, but some wore cloth coverings in various patterns or with embroidered teeth or smiles. Her own was a red-and-black Native American Northwest design that Chase had given her. The COVID-19 pandemic had peaked, but new mutations of the disease were still out there. Nature’s way of getting rid of surplus humans in an attempt to save the planet?

  She could definitely name two humans that deserved to be permanently removed: Ethan Zeran and James Winnow. After such a major violation, she hadn’t wanted to leave the house unattended this morning, but they’d already boarded up the broken window, and against her better judgment, had trusted Maya to stay and guard the house for a few hours.

  Simon was limping as much as she was this morning, and like Maya’s criminal cohorts, Sam was no longer sure that the girl could or should be saved. Given multiple choices to redeem herself over the last year, she’d chosen wrong every time.

  Sam had refused the scheduled X-rays. Her ribs ached with every breath and her whole chest was sore, but she knew what broken ribs felt like, and her pain didn’t seem that sharp or that deep. Not to mention that she doubted her health insurance would cover the cost.

  Taking a seat beside Chase’s bed in the Intensive Care Unit didn’t do much to improve her grim thoughts. Chase lay inert beneath the blankets, connected to two different IVs. There were also electrodes leading to monitors, with oxygen tubing wrapped around his face and inserted into his nostrils. She’d never seen him like that, not even after he’d been shot. When she picked up his hand, he did not respond, not even to curl his fingers around hers.

  “Chase, I’m here.” She tried to enunciate through her mask, make her tone cheerful. “You’re not on the mountain anymore. You’re in the hospital in Bellingham, and you’re going to get well soon. Remember that FBI agents have to go out in a blaze of glory. I don’t think getting squashed in a building counts, do you? There weren’t even any criminals involved.”

  The slack expression on his face didn’t change. His familiar, lean form was stretched out on the bed, but the Starchaser Perez she knew didn’t seem to be there at all. A sob escaped her lips, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping he hadn’t heard it. Unconscious people could often hear, she’d been told.

  A doctor and nurse came in to check on him. The doctor, a handsome man with Asian features, faced her. “I’m Dr. Ishimoto, Mr. Perez’s doctor here. You’re the fiancée?”

  “Yes,” she lied. “How long will he be unconscious?”

  “He’s not,” the doctor told her. “He’s just heavily sedated. Only hours ago, he had emergency surgery to remove his ruptured spleen and repair a laceration to his liver and a tear in his large intestine. He lost a lot of blood. It’s amazing that he survived with those injuries.”

  “He’s a strong man.” Sam wanted to believe Chase could overcome anything.

  “It seems so. We’ll hope for the best.”

  Sam fixed on the doctor’s tired gray eyes above his mask. “What do you mean, hope?”

  His face was solemn. “The next thirty-six hours or so will be determinative.”

  “Determinative?” She understood the word, but not the prognosis.

  “In the hours that come, we’ll see how well his organs are functioning. We need to guard against infection, especially because of the intestinal injury. If there are relatives to inform, you might want to do that.”

  Oh God, was this doctor was saying that Chase could die? She realized that she didn’t know if Chase’s parents were living. He had a sister, Rae, or Raven, actually; Sam had met her once in passing when Chase had been in the hospital in Utah. Sam thought Raven might live in Boise. She was married; was her last name still Perez? And he’d mentioned a brother, Wolf, that she’d never met. Could she find them? Perez was a common name in many communities.

  “Do you have his cell phone?” she asked the nurse.

  She shook her head. “But one was found a short distance away from him. The wallet identified him as an FBI agent, so we turned that cell phone over to them.”

  The FBI would probably know Chase’s relatives’ contact information. They wouldn’t share that information with her, but they might call the relatives. Nicole would probably know how to get that information as well. She was most likely in this hospital, too.

  Before the doctor left, he told Sam, “Mr. Perez is doing as well as can be expected. Keep a positive thought.”

  Anxiety clawed at her gut. A vision of her mother lying in a hospital bed rose in her memory. Susan Westin had died of ALS, becoming more of a zombie every year until death claimed her when Sam was nine years old. She had more recollections of a bedridden, wasting, skeletal body than of a mother.

  Sam leaned over her lover. “Chase, if you die, I’ll never forgive you. Keep that in mind.” Pulling down her mask, she kissed his cheek above the oxygen cannula. “And I love you. And I told the staff that I’m your fiancée, so if—when—you wake up, you’d better remember all that.”

  How had her father dealt with her mother’s illness all those years? Chase had to be okay, because Sam couldn’t do what her father had done, what so many other selfless people had done. She wasn’t that strong. She didn’t want to sit by the side of a man who was now only a body. Coward. She clutched at her throat with her right hand. There wasn’t enough air in the room. She had to find a restroom, wash her face, get a drink of water. Escape.

  Her phone chimed when she was halfway down the corridor. She ducked out a door onto an outdoor balcony to answer it, blinking in the spring sunshine.

  “Dad, I was just about to call you.”

  “Thank the Lord, you’re okay, Summer.” His voice was warm. “We saw the news about the avalanche, and Zola and I knew that you sometimes go snowshoeing or skiing up there. Thank God you weren’t there yesterday.”

  “I was there, Dad. And so were Chase and Blake. And Nicole and Claude; you don’t know them, but they’re Chase’s FBI partner and Blake’s”—she hesitated about what to call Claude to her conservative preacher father—“close friend. And my friend, Gina.”

  “Well, thank heavens they are all okay. God must have been watching out for you all.”

  Why did he always automatically assume the best-case scenario? Sam sucked in a deep breath, trying to tamp down her frustration. “They aren’t all okay, Dad. Chase is in the hospital right now, fighting for his life. So is Claude. And Gina and Nicole are in bad shape, too.”

  A measure of silence passed before her father responded, “I’m sorry to hear that. But you’re fine, right?”

  A young man in green scrubs joined her on the balcony. After a quick glance at her, he turned his back to light a cigarette.

  “I was buried in an avalanche, Dad. And I watched two other people get buried. They killed a wolverine. Gina and I managed to dig ourselves out, but they didn’t. They’re dead. And then, when we returned to the ski area, we discovered another avalanche had hit the ski lodge.”

  “Oh, Summer.” That, followed by a sigh, was his only response. He was no doubt confused by the mélange of events that had just spilled out of her mouth.

  Cigarette smoke wafted her way, and she moved to the other side of the young man to be upwind of the air pollution. Shooting her an apologetic look, he slid down to the far end of the balcony. At least he was a polite polluter.

  Zola, her father’s wife, came on the line. “You poor dear, you’ve been through so much.”