Page 59 of Claimed on the Ridge

I go to the office.

The satellite phone is where I left it, charging cradle plugged into the backup battery. The storm has broken, and Bryan said the pass should be clean any time now. Once it is, anyone with a vehicle and a direction can reach the lodge.

I close the door partway, enough to muffle my voice from the main room but not enough to lose the sounds of the lodge.The habit is my father's. He ran this property with doors cracked instead of closed, one ear always on the building.

Picking up the phone, I dial Ray Osgood at the Glacier Creek fuel station. Ray has been pumping gas and selling jerky on the road to the ridge for longer than I've been alive. His station sits at the junction where the highway turns into the access road, and nothing moves toward Sawyer's Ridge without passing his pumps.

He picks up on the second ring. "Sawyer."

"Ray. How's business?"

"Slow. Storm chased everyone south. Starting to pick up." He pauses. Ray checks who's in earshot before he commits to anything. "Had two fellas in yesterday. Morning. Rental SUV, Anchorage plates. They topped off the tank and bought coffee and asked the kind of questions people ask when they're looking for someone who doesn't want to be found."

The words land flat and hard. I sit on the edge of the desk.

"What kind of questions?"

"Polite ones. That was what caught my attention. Too polite for the road. Dressed for it, boots and coats, but the clothes were new. The boots hadn't been broken in. One of them asked if I'd seen a woman come through, maybe a week or two back. Driving alone. He had a photo on his phone."

"Describe her."

"I didn't look too long. But what I saw could've matched the woman I noticed riding with Cameron through the junction a while back. He kept the photo close, like he didn't want me studying it."

My hand tightens on the phone.

"Which direction did they go?"

"North. Toward the ridge. Slow about it, too. They sat in the parking lot for a while before they pulled out, like they were waiting on a call or checking a map."

North. Toward the ridge. Yesterday morning, south of here at the junction. By afternoon they could have been in town. By today, on the road. Two men who don't belong on this mountain are asking questions about the woman who does.

"Did they give names?"

"Didn't ask for any. The polite one did most of the talking. The quiet one watched the road the whole time. He had a look I recognized."

"What look?"

"Checks exits before he sits down."

Professionals. Gary Simmons didn't send amateurs.

I thank Ray and hang up. Two more calls give me the rest of the picture. Pete Hoskins at the airstrip has seen no unfamiliar planes, no overflights, no charters from Anchorage. Ground approach only, which makes the road the choke point.

Linda Marsh at the general store confirms the same two men came in yesterday afternoon asking about seasonal lodges. She gave them nothing and called Amberly, who assumed Cameron already knew. Cameron didn't, because the timing fell between his runs.

A gap. A few hours between Cameron's runs, and two men moved through my town asking questions about the woman sleeping in my bed. That gap ends today.

I put the phone down and walk through the main room. Kendall is at the side table with the notepad, writing in the same tight hand I saw in the kitchen. She doesn't look up.

In the kitchen, Bryan is already at the table. He's cleaning a pistol he cleaned the day before, the cloth moving in measured strokes. Bryan doesn't need to be told. The pressure changed when I walked out of the office, and he calibrated before I opened my mouth.

Cameron comes through the mudroom shortly after, stamping snow off his boots. He's carrying a thermos and a folded map, and he sets both on the table without being asked.

Dash arrives last. He leans in the doorway with his arms crossed, the casual posture undercut by the stillness in his hands. When Dash goes still, the room should pay attention. The energy that usually radiates off him has been pulled inward, redirected into focus.

Kendall appears in the kitchen doorway before I open my mouth. Notepad in one hand, coffee in the other. She pulls out the chair beside Bryan and sits. Nobody questions it. She saw the same vehicle I did. She belongs at this table, and she knows it.

"Two men," I say. "Rental SUV out of Anchorage. Asking about a woman traveling alone. They showed a photo at Glacier Creek yesterday morning and hit the general store that afternoon. Ray says the quiet one checks exits before he sits down."