Mountain Hostage. Hope WhiteЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Zoe will be safe.

      Jack’s words gave Zoe enough comfort to allow her to get some sleep. That was, until a nightmare abruptly woke her the next morning.

      She struggled to calm her breathing. Glanced around the room. The six-foot-tall armoire had been moved to block the window, probably to prevent the intruder from gaining access to the room.

      Low murmurs drifted through the wood door from the living room. She washed up and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She opened the bedroom door to a four strangers with backpacks and bedrolls. She’d been so exhausted last night that she hadn’t heard the team members show up and lay out their sleeping bags on the floor.

      “Good morning,” she said, searching the room for Jack, but didn’t see him.

      A woman in her fifties greeted her. “Hi, Zoe, I’m Sally Frick.” They shook hands. “Sorry if we woke you.”

      “You didn’t. So, you’re the heroes who stayed over to protect me last night?”

      “Hero, I like that,” said a man in his thirties.

      An older man gave him a playful shove. “Who says she was talking about you? Come on, let’s move.”

      “Weather conditions have changed,” Sally said to Zoe. “We’re meeting law enforcement personnel and heading back up Mt. Stevens to search for your friend.”

      “Where’s Jack?”

      “He got an early start with the first team. Sergeant Peterson posted a deputy outside to keep watch of the house, although I think Peterson would prefer you to find another place to stay temporarily given what happened last night. We may not be back for a few days. Weather is looking good.”

      “Oh, okay. Be careful.”

      “Thanks, we will,” Sally said.

      The group of two men, two women and three dogs headed out. Zoe watched them through the window, wishing she could have seen Jack this morning to thank him.

      For coming back last night and saving her.

      For going out this morning to find Shannon.

      For being a grounding presence in her life.

      Whoa, back up. The trauma of the last eighteen hours and possibly the concussion must be messing with her cognitive ability. It wasn’t like her to rely on a man for stability, especially a man with such opposite views on life.

      Jack Monroe was an IT genius who planned to sell his business and travel the world. Where was the stability in that? She had endured too much instability growing up and had made herself a promise never to feel unsettled again. Wasn’t that why she and Tim had ultimately broken up? Because his obsession with climbing the corporate ladder and constant, last-minute canceling of their plans left her feeling untethered? She wanted to be able to count on something, someone. Tim wasn’t the guy.

      And neither was a man like Jack Monroe.

      This was definitely her concussion talking. She barely knew the man and had no business thinking of him in those terms.

      She turned toward the kitchen a little too quickly, her body aching from the fall yesterday. Well, that and perhaps being yanked around by the creep in the leather jacket last night.

      Frustration burned in her gut, as if she’d ingested a handful of chili peppers. While teams were out searching for Shannon, Zoe was stuck in the house doing absolutely nothing.

      A familiar feeling of helplessness spread through her chest.

      “Oh no, I’m stepping off that one,” she said, referring to an expression called the victim triangle that her counseling mentor had taught her years ago.

      Deciding to be proactive, not reactive, Zoe fixed herself peanut butter on toast for sustenance. As she ate, a plan formed in her mind. She’d search the house for clues, insights into Shannon’s state of mind, and maybe even prove that police were way off base suspecting Shan of being involved with drugs. The nerve.

      Opening a small, cherrywood nightstand beside Shan’s bed, Zoe spotted a pale blue journal. She turned to the first page, her gaze settling on her friend’s fluid handwriting.

      She quickly snapped it shut. This felt wrong, like she was violating her friend’s trust.

      But if it was the only way to gain insight into Shan’s life...

      “I’m sorry, Shannon.” Zoe opened it again and began reading, first the usual stuff—frustration at work, pressure from her parents to move back home—then stories from Shannon’s work as a volunteer counselor at a local youth center.

      Zoe flipped another page and landed on an entry titled “Randy and Kelly.”

      I can’t believe what’s happening. I trusted them with my heart and they betrayed me. Isn’t there anyone who loves me and will protect my heart?

      “Me, I’ll protect your heart,” Zoe whispered. She flipped the page.

      And saw her own name.

      Zoe is coming to visit. I don’t know if I have enough energy for her, if I have the strength to comfort her when my own heart is breaking.

      Was that how she felt about Zoe? That she was an energy-sucking friend who needed comforting, a friend who sapped Shannon’s emotional strength?

      “I can’t think about that now.” Zoe found renewed strength in her determination for answers, especially about Randy and Kelly.

      She decided to call Kelly, be pleasant and set up a meeting where Zoe could confront her face-to-face about what she’d read.

      “Hello?” Kelly answered.

      “Hi, it’s Zoe. I need to talk to you.”

      “I’m actually at the SAR command center prepping food for the team. Why don’t you come by and help?”

      “Okay.”

      Kelly gave her the location. “See you soon.”

      “Thanks.”

      Zoe left the house and spotted a police officer parked out front. She thanked him for being there, and told him where she was going.

      As she drove off, she tamped down her anger so she’d be rational when she questioned Kelly. She considered the possibilities in her mind and landed on the most obvious: Kelly and Randy had a relationship behind Shannon’s back.

      How could they betray her like that?

      She punched the address Kelly had given for the command center into her phone and pulled her compact car onto the main road. She planned what she’d say, intent on being calm, not accusatory. She’d never get answers that way.