Alex Barclay 4-Book Thriller Collection: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss, Harm’s Reach

‘No. But …’ He paused. ‘OK … if the snow report comes back good, we’ll head on up there.’ He pushed his plate away from him. ‘I’ll get in touch with Search and Rescue.’

Gary Dettling pulled up into the small driveway at the Firelight Inn. The street was quiet. He turned off the engine and waited. After five minutes, he texted Ren. He got no reply. He knocked at the door of the inn. The owner was on his way out with a snow shovel.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Gary. ‘I’m looking for a woman checked in last night, Ren Bryce?’

‘Oh, yes … I’m sure she’s gone already.’

‘What?’

‘About twenty minutes ago.’

Gary shook his head slowly. ‘Great. Thanks.’

Ren sat in Bob Gage’s office holding a mug of coffee on her knee. She had started the day with Visine and extra foundation. A notebook lay on the low coffee table beside her and she was twisted in her chair to scribble on it. A night of drinking could take her to instant mental clarity or thick mental fog. Today, she was all-clear. RenBryce OSX. She smiled to herself.

‘Hey,’ said Gary, walking in, nodding at Bob and Mike, Gressett and Todd.

‘Wasn’t I meant to pick you up?’ he said to Ren.

‘Oh. Didn’t you get my text?’ said Ren, pulling out her phone, about to show him the text that she now saw was pending in her Outbox.

‘What were you doing, walking?’ said Gary.

‘I wanted to blast some cold air through my tiny mind.’

‘You didn’t think you were going to get enough up on Quandary?’

Gary had nearly been a lawyer. Ren was reminded of this with every question-after-question barrage. Gary Dettling couldn’t stand the thought of being made a fool of with lies.

‘Yeah and we’re going up up,’ said Bob, putting down the phone. ‘That was Search and Rescue. Patrick Transom called me an hour ago, insisting we go back up to try and retrieve the body. To be honest, I thought the snow assessment wouldn’t be good, so I said we’d give it a go. Turns out there was no snowfall overnight, the winds were less than five miles an hour, so we’re good to go.’

‘Can we all go up?’ said Ren.

‘Sure,’ said Bob. ‘I know I’m really looking forward to it …’

Ren gave him a sad smile. ‘You shouldn’t go back up. We can take care of –’

‘You know what?’ said Bob. ‘You’re right.’

‘Really?’ said Ren.

‘Yeah,’ he said, placing his palms down on his desk. ‘Take your digital cameras, video it, photograph it… and I’ll be down at the base with clean underpants.’

Ren could see that Gary wasn’t impressed. MrAction Hero.

‘Good for you,’ said Ren to Bob.

‘For whatever good it will do, going up there,’ said Bob. ‘We’re not going to find her.’

‘Probably not,’ said Mike. ‘But maybe Transom will feel better being part of the search.’

‘Like all the families who look all over Breck for their father or brother or son or daughter who left a bar drunk in a blizzard and never made it back to the condo …’

Mike let out a breath. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Come up with some positive and hopeful sound bites to throw out to any reporters at the trailhead,’ said Bob. ‘And solemn, regretful ones for the way back down: “We did everything we could.”’ He turned to Gary. ‘Are your guys on their way?’

‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘They’ll meet us up there.’

‘So by nine o’clock everyone’ll know the FBI’s in town,’ said Bob.

Ren looked down at herself. ‘I didn’t think I was looking very FBI today. I’m wearing a little gray, some soft fabric …’

‘It’s an aura,’ said Bob.

Ren smiled. ‘It’s the smell of fierce.’

‘Don’t fight the fierce,’ said Bob.

‘Shall we go?’ said Gary. ‘I think we’re all ready.’

‘Yes,’ said Gressett. ‘I think we are.’

‘Oh, sure,’ said Ren, standing up. ‘Anyone seen my phone?’

‘It’s in your back pocket,’ said Todd, too quickly.

The sky over Quandary Peak was one solid shade of promotional blue. Jeeps, vans and cars branded with the block-print logos of news channels, law enforcement and Search and Rescue stretched along Blue Lakes Road up to the trailhead. A large group had gathered from the Sheriff’s Office, Search and Rescue and Safe Streets. A cadaver dog and handler had been drafted in, last-minute. ‘The media loves a dog,’ Bob had said, deadpan.

He stood at the head of the group and talked everyone through what happened the day before. When he was done, he laid out a map, showing where Jean Transom’s body was when the avalanche hit, where Lasco had been found, and where the slide had ended.

Search and Rescue strapped on their packs and snow-shoes and started up the dark, steep path through the dense trees. Everyone making their way up behind them was used to hiking, skiing or snowboarding. Before Denver, Ren’s main weekend workout had been wandering around a DC mall, but it wasn’t long before her heart had warmed to the mountains. And even though her wardrobe now had a corner for Smart Wool and Marmot, she hadn’t quite made the move to lining her hiking boots up beside her heels.

She stopped in the first clearing and let anyone who was behind her pass by. The view was spectacular – endless green acres of snowy lodgepole pines. For a few moments she was able to forget why she was there. Breckenridge was only an hour’s drive from her house in Golden. There was no reason why she couldn’t come here more often. As she was about to move on, she saw Robbie Truax and Colin Grabien walk up.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Aw, hey, Ren,’ said Robbie. He stopped.

‘Hi, Ren,’ said Colin. ‘Bye, Ren – I’m going to keep on walking.’

‘Did you hear about the robbery?’ said Robbie.

‘No,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah – that’s why we only got here this morning. We were sitting on the wrong bank. Guys got away.’

‘Who was it this time?’