4

GAGE HAD SOME EPIC FALLS IN HIS CAREER, the kind that made viewers wince, the yard sale crashes that became six-second Vines on the net. He’d broken a leg, dislocated his shoulder, emerged with his face so bloody the sports networks attached a viewer warning to it before the replay. He still bore the bump of his broken nose, a sort of freeriding badge of honor.

And while he longed to rewind the tape, maybe choose a different line, none of his mayhem crashes made him wish to go back to the beginning and throw his snowboard across the room. Wish all of it away—his fame, his laurels, the joy of carving his own trail.

Until a punk teenager in a dinosaur costume looked at him with stars in his eyes. “I have all your videos, that descent down the Broken River face off Craigieburn—that . . . that was over the top.” Gage wanted to smack his hand over Oliver’s mouth, keep the memories from surfacing. Keep his exploits from finding root in his brain and tearing open the wounds of regret.

Just when he thought he might carve out a new line for his life.

Gage threw his board on the rack on top of his Mustang, then opened the door.

“You missed a call,” Ty said from the passenger seat. He already had his board latched on top, his boots off and cowboy boots on.

Gage slid onto the driver’s bucket seat, his feet still outside the door, and started unlatching his boots. He slid one off, slipped his foot into a hiking boot, then picked up his phone from the dash and took a look.

“Two missed calls from my mom.” He dropped the phone into the cup holder, then unlatched his other boot. He laced on his hiking boot, then threw the two snowboard boots into the backseat.

His mom. He checked his watch. Maybe he should stop by . . . especially if her voicemail betrayed a slur in her voice.

Gage headed out of the parking lot, the itch of the fight with Oliver still under his skin. “He did a 1080 front flip off a 150-foot face—”

He should write to Xtreme Energy, ask them to take his videos down. After all, they’d dropped him.

Keeping them up just inspired more idiocy from kids like Oliver Blair.

Or Dylan McMahon.

Gage loosened his whitened hold on the steering wheel as he reached a light and turned on his radio.

Of course, Ben King’s sultry country voice crooned through the speakers—it seemed he was the only artist playing on their local country station. The entire town had a love affair going with Ben King and the fact that he’d moved his studio here, healed his past, and restarted his life to the wild applause of his fans.

Yeah, well, it didn’t happen that way for everyone. And too many people paid the price when it didn’t. They’d all be better off if the fame of “Watts” Watson were wiped from all memory.

“Maybe I’ll swing by and see what my mom wants.” He glanced at Ty. “Do you mind?”

“I’ll order us a couple pizzas to pick up,” Ty said, already pulling out his phone. “Although my bet is that Sierra will have fresh-baked cookies at HQ. Everyone’s getting together for the show tonight.”

Sierra Rose, their dispatcher, PEAK team administrator, and all-around big sister. Although, he had to wonder if Sierra would be there, especially if Ian planned to show up. It seemed that the gulf between them had widened after the mysterious call from Esme Shaw, Ian’s missing niece, confirming she was still alive. Sierra seemed to think that Ian should heed his niece’s request not to look for her.

Ian never heeded anyone’s request. Maybe his billions of dollars told him he didn’t have to.

That’s what money did—made people belligerent. Stupid.

Reckless.

If the entire team was there, it also meant that Jess and Pete would be in the same room, playacting the too-bright courtesy between them. Gage still remembered the cryptic conversation with Pete from last summer, when Pete had asked Gage’s advice about women.

Or, as Gage deduced later, one woman.

“So, what if,” Pete had asked, “hypothetically—you had a friend who you liked, but you weren’t sure she liked you back—what would you do? Go for it?”

Gage had guessed, only after he advised Pete to go out with Tallie Kennedy—not their coworker, Jess Tagg—that Pete had wanted a different answer. Or rather, maybe Jess wanted a different answer, found out about Tallie, and put the kibosh on anything they had going between them.

Then again, maybe Pete had gone for it and . . .

Naw. Jess wasn’t the type of girl to be wooed by Pete Brooks and his lazy smile, that country-boy charm.

Whatever the case, spending the evening with his less-than-bonded team seemed only slightly better than watching reruns on Ty’s extra-large flat screen he’d purchased for their duplex. No, er, Ty’s duplex, one in which he so generously let Gage rent a room at a reduced cost.

Ty was ordering a couple large supreme pizzas, and Gage didn’t bother to remind him to keep off the mushrooms. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

He turned through the little town of Whitefish, past the quaint shops, then out to the highway, before looping back along Whitefish Lake to his parents’ home, one that the two doctors rarely spent time in.

They’d barely missed him when Gage started spending every hour on the slopes. Then again, they were probably thankful he wasn’t getting into trouble with “that crowd,” a group of people his orthopedic surgeon father had met plenty of. But Gage had never been on the slopes to party.

“Do something with your life. Make it matter.” Only, his dad had probably meant that he should follow in the family footsteps and go to medical school. Spend summers working with Doctors Without Borders or donating his hours in some small-town clinic.

Not becoming the poster boy for harrowing mountain runs.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Ty said as Gage pulled up to his parents’ home, a beautiful yet not ostentatious rambler set back under towering lodgepole pines overlooking the lake.

Gage nodded, got out, and headed through the garage inside.

“Ma?” He stood in the kitchen. Granite countertops, stainless steel, hardwood flooring, and the two-story attached great room that opened to a view of not only Whitefish Lake but also the glittering lights of Blackbear Mountain.

Gage turned away from it. Called again.

The silence had his gut clenching, and he headed for his mother’s office, located at the end of the hall in one of the former bedrooms and across from his own.

A light shone out from the bottom of the door, and he knocked.

“It’s open,” his mother said, and he pushed the door in to see her sitting at her desk, her laptop computer open, her reading glasses down on her nose. She’d freshly dyed her dark hair, washing away the white, and still wore her hospital administrator attire of a pair of soft wool pants and a cashmere sweater, looking every inch the award-winning neurosurgeon she’d once been.

Still could be, if she found the right case. But she’d seemed to lose her fire back when he’d returned home, defeat in his wake.

Now, she only took the most selective of cases, and aside from a few consults, she sat on the board of the hospital and tried to keep it in the black.

His gaze fell on a glass, mostly drained, of her daily cognac, and he hoped it was just the first.

She looked up from her work. “Gage,” she said, and he noticed a softening around the consonants. That, and her smile, not forced but a little wobbly. Nope, not her first glass.

“I was on the mountain. Sorry I missed your call—thought I’d check in on my way home.”

“So nice of you,” she said and pushed her chair away from the desk. “I wanted to ask you if you’d stop by the hospital.”

Gage’s eyes darted to a bottle of acetaminophen near the computer. Must have been a rough day fighting bureaucracy.

“Why?”

His mother picked up her drink. “That boy you brought in, Hunter? Guess what—he’s a fan. Couldn’t stop talking about the fact that you saved him.” Her eyes shone, and Gage wished he could attribute it to the drink.

Oh Mom, please don’t live in the past.

“I came down to check on your father’s schedule, and he was just prepping the boy for surgery. I told him you’d stop by later, cheer him up.”

Gage winced. “He’s going to be out of it for a while—”

“Tomorrow then. Think of how happy he’ll be to meet his hero!”

“I’m hardly his hero—”

“Gage. Of course you are.” She got up then, and he noticed her hand steadying herself on her desk.

He grabbed her elbow.

“You’re still an inspiration.”

“Maybe you should lie down for a bit, Ma.” He eased the near-empty glass from her hand.

“I do have a little headache.” She pressed her hand to her head.

He led her to her sofa. “I’ll get you a drink of water,” he said and scooped the acetaminophen into his pocket as he walked away.

Only as he walked past his old room did he see the door ajar, and on his old desk, his scrapbook open.

He went inside and instantly regretted it. No matter how many times he packed away his trophies, his medals, even that stupid Xtreme Energy poster, they still migrated back to his shelves, freshly dusted, the poster repinned to the wall.

He backed out, shut the door.

Headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

His mother was asleep by the time he returned. He put the glass down on her desk, kissed her forehead. She roused at his touch. Caught his hand. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime, Ma.”

Ty was scanning stations when Gage returned to the Mustang. “If I have to listen to one more Ben King song . . .”

Gage laughed and queued up his iPod. Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling” coursed through the speakers.

“Okay, I surrender. Ben King it is,” Ty said. He flipped back to the station. “What did your mom want?”

Gage shook his head as he pulled out. “Hunter, that kid who fell from the chair today, wants an autograph.”

“From the ski patrol who saved him?”

Gage shot Ty a look.

“What?”

“I’m still a thing to fifteen-year-old wannabe freeriders, apparently.”

Ty grinned. “I’m in the presence of snowboard royalty.”

“You can walk home.”

“No, really, Gage. Stop by the hospital. Cheer the kid up.”

“The last thing he needs is to be encouraged by a guy who screwed up.” Gage turned on 40, bypassing the hospital. “And the last thing I need is to revisit the guy I used to be. He’s gone, and I’m trying to put it behind me.” He shook his head. “It would help if my mother stopped living in the past.”

“What, and join ranks with your father? ‘Gage, get a real job. Do something with your life.’” Ty’s imitation felt too raw, and Gage clenched his jaw.

“Maybe just leave me alone along with the rest of the world. Let the past die. The last thing I need to do is resurrect some version of that stupid, cocky kid and parade him around to offer false inspiration. What I should be doing is wearing a sign that says ‘cautionary tale.’”

Now Ty went quiet, as if embarrassed by Gage’s tirade.

Well, nobody liked the truth anymore, it seemed.

“Sorry. I’m just in a rotten mood after chasing down that stupid kid in the dinosaur costume.”

“Dude. You wear your mistakes like a brand on your forehead. You need to get over it.”

“You’re one to talk. I don’t see you getting back in the simulator. Are you ever going to fly a chopper again?”

Ty drew in a long breath, his jaw tight as he looked away.

Gage probably shouldn’t have said that. “Ty, I’m—”

“Leave it, Gage,” Ty said quietly. He stared out the window. “Don’t forget to stop by the pizza place.”

“Please don’t tell me you ordered from the Griz—last time we ordered from there, we all got sick.”

“Fear not. I put an order in at Glacier Pizza.”

They rode in silence until they pulled up to the pizza place. Ty ran in.

He returned in a moment with a couple of steaming pizzas and set them on his lap.

“No mushrooms?”

“I remembered,” Ty said.

“Thanks,” Gage said. But see, that was the problem. When it came to Gage Watson, they all remembered.

In all the years Ty had known Gage, and even admired him a little from afar, he’d never agreed with the press, the destruction of his career, or the rumors that said Gage had possessed an ego that led the way to his destruction.

Until tonight. “Are you ever going to fly a chopper again?”

The question, more defense than actual inquiry, replayed in Ty’s ears as he got out of the silent Mustang and headed up to the two-story ranch house that formed the headquarters for the PEAK Rescue team. Their eleven-person team consisted of three EMTs—Gage, Pete, and Jess—their chopper pilot Kacey Fairing, their administrative assistant Sierra Rose, team incident commander Miles Dafoe, country crooner Ben King, and his father, Chet, who started the team way back with its founder, Ian Shaw, and their sheriff department liaison, Sam Brooks. Only Ty was the one without any formal duties. A former helicopter pilot, he now did his rescue duty as a dispatcher, sometimes searcher, all-around pizza delivery guy.

A real asset to the team.

Not that his busted knee didn’t give him legitimate excuse to cut back his hours, but frankly, if he wasn’t going to sit in the copilot’s seat or at the helm, he might as well make coffee and run inventory on the supplies. He didn’t have a medical degree like Jess, didn’t understand the logistic operations like Sam, couldn’t helm a search like Miles or even Pete, who’d recently gotten certified in the government’s FEMA rescue services. He couldn’t even make cookies like Sierra.

Frankly, he felt about as useful as Jubal, Chet’s lab. Maybe less so—at least Jubal knew when to plop down at a guy’s feet with a sigh and make him feel like he belonged.

The truth was, Ty stood on the outskirts of the team since the accident. And if they really knew the details, he’d probably be booted off the crew altogether.

He should probably thank Chet for keeping that part secret. But it was starting to raise eyebrows that the old chief wasn’t hassling him about getting back in the cockpit.

Instead, Ty honed his pizza-ordering talents. A skill met with cheers as he came in and found the team gathered in the kitchen of the small main room, watching the flat screen on the wall. Miles and Ben sat on the sofa in the middle of the room; Ben held a harmonica and was showing his daughter, Audrey, how to cup it in her hand. Miles bounced Huck, his two-year-old, on his knee, and his wife, Jenni, held their baby girl in a front pack, a seven-pound, one-month-old bundle of time-to-get-serious for Miles. He’d hung up his bull-riding spurs for Jenni and little Gracie May.

Ty slid the boxes of pizza onto the counter. “Two large pepperoni and sausage pizzas, no mushrooms.”

Gage had walked in behind him, slid onto a stool at the counter.

Sierra stood in the kitchen, opening a bag of plastic cups. She was dressed in a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt, her short dark hair tucked behind her ears. “Awesome. I was hoping someone would bring pizza.”

Kacey Fairing, with her wild red hair held back in a ponytail, was cutting up a pan of lasagna, something that looked homemade. Probably Sierra’s doing. Or Willow’s, Sierra’s younger sister, who was taking a batch of chocolate chip cookies from the stove. She wore her long brown hair in two braids.

“Thanks for sending the chopper today, Chet,” Gage said as he reached for a red Solo cup and filled it with cola.

Chet King, their former chopper pilot. The guy who still hobbled around on two crutches as his hips mended from the crash that had nearly ended their lives last spring.

The crash Ty had caused. He still couldn’t look at Chet without wincing.

“Did your dad patch the kid up?” Chet asked.

“Yeah,” Gage said to him. “My mom saw him in recovery, said he was doing okay.”

“My favorite surgeon,” Chet said.

Ty picked up the remote. “What channel is this thing on?”

“Channel eleven.” The voice came from the man seated at the computer. Ian Shaw. “But it’s going to run numerous times over the weekend, so hopefully we’ll get the right leads.”

Next to Ian sat Sam Brooks, deputy sheriff and liaison to the PEAK team from the Mercy Falls EMS department, headphones around his neck. He was out of uniform tonight in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. “The call center will route all calls here, allow us to vet the callers, interview them, and piece together leads.”

Ty still couldn’t quite figure out why Ian had spent the past eight months, and who knew how much money, helping to identify the remains of the woman who’d been found by their team in the Avalanche River last summer. Clearly, it wasn’t his niece, but the man could spend his billions how he wanted.

“Shh, the show is coming on,” Ben said.

Ty popped up the volume with the remote. Only then did he realize that Pete and Jess were missing.

Pete and Jess. Who had nearly become a couple last summer. And, except for Jess’s secrets, might be living happily ever after today.

A concept Ty still had to get his brain around, because Pete had never-settle-down written all over him. Until Jess, apparently.

However, their romance was a well-kept secret, as were all things Jess.

Including the reason she went running into Ty’s embrace when Pete tried to turn the limelight on her after their recovery of a group of missing kids last summer.

Only Ty knew why she’d dodged the interview with Tallie Kennedy and channel 11, a secret he couldn’t share with anyone, not if he didn’t want to betray Jess and her painful secret.

Besides, Ty wasn’t all that sure that Jess didn’t have feelings for him lately. Not with the way she sat next to him during team muster or occasionally called him up, asking him over to her fixer-upper. Sure, usually the invitation accompanied a request to sand or paint something, but still. She didn’t seem in any rush to clear up the rumors . . . which meant what? That she wanted him to go from showing up at her house with his DYI tool belt on to asking her out on a real date?

Sure, she was pretty, with her long blonde hair, and around her he almost felt normal, as if he wasn’t the team joke. But he wasn’t a fool.

Jess pined for Pete so much that any other man would have to pry his way into her heart and jockey for space. Thankfully, Ty had never seen Jess as more than a sister.

Still, as a pseudo brother to her, he had a responsibility to keep her secrets—and according to Jess, that meant keeping her away from Pete. Which meant playing the game, for now.

“Do you know where Pete and Jess are?” Ty asked, keeping it casual as he dished himself up a piece of pizza.

“I dropped her at her house.”

The voice came from behind him, and Ty turned and caught sight of Pete coming in the door. He wore his blond hair pulled back in a man bun, and he eyed Ty as he shucked off his jacket. “Why?”

Pete put just a little too much snap in his voice, and Ty chose to ignore it. “Is she coming over?”

Pete’s eyes glinted, his mouth tight as he considered Ty. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.” He brushed past him and headed for a plate of lasagna.

Ty couldn’t exactly blame him. All of Pete’s efforts to patch his mistakes with Jess fell on deaf ears. According to Jess, she simply couldn’t risk Pete finding out what had happened back in New York.

Then again, given Pete’s history with betrayal, yeah, maybe Jess had a point.

Leave well enough alone.

Ty walked over to the sofa, stood behind it, and folded his pizza in half like a sandwich as he ate it.

The show had started, and the host was giving a rundown of the facts of the case. The girl found in the creek, her approximate age, estimated date of death, and then, the likeness of her created by the forensic artist.

For a second, the room went quiet, perfectly still.

Long dark hair, a regal nose, high cheekbones, the woman looked almost European, maybe Spanish or Portuguese. Dark brown eyes and full lips, although that was just the sketcher’s interpretation.

“She was pretty,” Pete said.

The announcer gave her height, weight, and what she’d been wearing the day of her disappearance. Shorts, hiking boots, a T-shirt.

She’d also been found wearing a gold necklace, identical to the one Ian gave his niece Esme on her eighteenth birthday.

Either that, or somehow the woman ended up with Esme’s necklace in her possession. That mystery, perhaps, was the precise thing that fueled Ian’s search. The gut feeling that the necklace connected the two, something that would lead to Esme’s return.

Hence deputy Sam, listening for calls on his headset.

A number flashed on the screen, and everyone jumped when a phone buzzed.

“It’s mine,” Gage said and pulled it out. “Sorry.”

He got up from the stool and walked over to the window, cutting his voice low, under the volume of the television.

Still, Ty could hear him, especially as his voice raised.

“Are you kidding me? Oliver—no. It’s not safe!”

Ty glanced at Gage. He had his eyes closed, his finger and thumb rubbing the stress—or perhaps disbelief—out of them.

Ty perked up, listening.

“Listen—people get killed trying to ski down Heaven’s Peak. It’s not—yeah, I know I did it but—what? No, that’s insane. It’s a two-day trip at best and—”

Ty wasn’t sure when he’d taken the step toward Gage, but he found himself near the counter, standing closer to Gage than the group.

Which meant he heard him loud and clear when Gage’s voice dropped. “Please don’t do this. There’s a weather front coming in tomorrow, and with the recent snowfall, the avalanche danger is extreme, plus—I’m sure you’re an amazing boarder, but—”

And then Gage let out a word of frustration between his teeth, pulling the phone from his ear. “What an idiot.” He set the phone down on the table and then reached out as if to strangle someone.

“Who was that?”

Gage looked at him, shaking his head. “Oliver Blair.”

Ty frowned, lifted a shoulder.

“The T. rex guy.”

Oh. He didn’t exactly understand Gage’s ire over the kid in a dinosaur suit who’d broken the rules and skied down the back bowl in an undesignated area. It wasn’t like Gage hadn’t done that plenty of times. Practically made a career out of it.

“How’d he get your number? And why would this guy call you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe from dispatch—I’ll have to talk to them about giving out my number. I tracked him down during the last run of the day and chased him into the lodge. I took his ski pass—and all the time he’s saying”—Gage changed his voice, turned it incredulous, even silly—“‘Are you Gage Watson, dude? Like, the super awesome snowboarder?’”

Ty couldn’t help a smile at Gage’s surfer impression. “Ah. That was what tonight’s sour mood was really about. This guy recognized you—”

“And announced it to the entire bar.”

Oh. That was rough.

“And now, this idiot wants to ski down Heaven’s Peak. Follow my line.” Gage winced, then shook his head and looked away. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Why? You did it, right? And you said he’s a great boarder.”

“You have to be more than great for Heaven’s Peak. I planned that route for months. And practiced. There’s a sixty-foot stomp off a waterfall on the way down that, if you don’t take it right, will get you killed. And, a couloir that is nearly straight down. Not to mention the fact that it can’t be run in one day. You have to take it in spurts. It took me two days—which meant I had to camp on the mountain . . .”

“And there’s a storm front heading toward Montana.”

“Exactly.” Gage reached for his phone. Pressed redial. Made a face. “Voicemail.” He sighed, looked at Ty, then at the team. Pocketed his phone.

“I gotta go over to the resort and see if I can find him. Talk some sense into him.”

Ty put his hand on his shoulder.

Gage stopped. “Don’t try and talk me out of it, Ty. I know it’s not my responsibility, but really, it sort of is. It always will be, as long as my name is associated with freeriding.”

“I was going to say that I’m going with you.”

Gage led the way out the door. He said nothing as Ty climbed into the Mustang.

They were halfway back to the ski hill when, “Sorry for what I said about the sim, bro. This has been a . . . well, not my favorite day.”

Ty lifted a shoulder. “So, how are you going to find this guy?”

“I have his ski pass. I’ll ask the lift office for his lodging information.”

The place was closed when Gage arrived, but Ty found the resort manager and they dug around in the computer files and found Oliver’s name and his local lodging information.

Thirty minutes later, Ty and Gage drove through the snowy drifts to one of the grand lodge-style four-plexes that edged Moose Run. Cedar siding, a thick layer of snow frosting the roof, pine trees flanking the walkway. The place had money embedded in every cranny.

Ty’s parents owned two, which they rented out all year long.

He didn’t mention that as Gage parked, got out, and crunched up to the front door. A front porch hosted Adirondack chairs, and a porch light glimmered out welcome.

Gage knocked on the door. “If I have to, I’ll call Sam, tell him that this kid is drinking underage, get him thrown into the Mercy Falls drunk tank—”

The door opened.

And for a second, Ty’s world stopped, stilled on the sight of the woman in the doorway. She wore a pair of baggy gray sweat pants, a tank top, and a pair of fuzzy UGG slippers. With her long blonde hair, gray-green eyes, all curves and a sweet smile, she looked the girl next door. The lilt to her smile suggested curiosity at the two men on her front porch.

“Gentlemen? Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Oliver Blair,” Gage said darkly, clearly not as taken with the woman as Ty.

Then again, Gage was apparently immune to women—hadn’t had a date since he moved back to Mercy Falls, it seemed. Definitely not as long as Ty had lived with him.

“I’m not sure if he’s back yet.” She ducked her head inside. “Ella! Um . . . you’d better come here. Someone is here to see your brother!”

Weird, the way she said that. As if, oddly, they were expected.

It was then he felt something shift in Gage. A flushing of the anger, just for a moment, a capture of breath, a quick glance at Ty.

It had Ty frowning. What . . . ?

And then the door opened wide and a second woman appeared. Ella, he supposed.

He wouldn’t necessarily call her breathtaking, but she had a unique beauty about her. Pale blue eyes, copper red hair. She wore a pair of pink pajama bottoms printed with penguins and an oversized sweatshirt and was carrying a half pint of ice cream, the spoon just sliding out of her mouth.

Her gaze fixed on Gage, and her spoon stilled mid-escape.

“You,” Gage said quietly, his voice almost strained.

Ty looked at him, the way Gage’s chest rose and fell, the way his hands curled tight at his sides. Okay, this was weird.

“I should have guessed that the idiot in the bar was the brother of Ella Blair. And now I know how he got my number. You just can’t stop wrecking my life, can you?”

Huh? As Ty watched, the spoon slid out of her mouth, and for a long moment, she stared at him, her jaw tight.

While Gage could be abrupt, even a jerk, Ty had never seen him quite so rude.

Especially to a woman.

Quietly, Ella spoke. “Nice to see you too, Gage.”

Her words, her soft tone, didn’t seem to dent his ire. “Is your brother here? Because he’s about to do something stupid, and I’m going to have to stop him.”