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Back Dead Horse Gap Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Acknowledgements

Fog and mist engulfed him as another savage blast of wind roared up the valley. Gripping the branch with both hands, he dropped his chin to his chest and tried to stay on his feet. Tiny specks of ice stuck to the lens of his goggles, and he closed his eyes and thought of Sterling and how angry she was with him. For so long he’d been hoping that something would happen between them again, but he doubted it ever would now, after his stuff-up two days ago. I shouldn’t be worrying about this, he thought. I could die in a snowstorm right now.

After a while, the wind eased considerably, and he was able to scrub the ice off his goggles with his glove. The improved visibility lifted his spirits, and he decided to go a little further before turning around and retracing his steps.

‘Detective Flowers?’

Flowers stopped at the sound of Cate Buchanan’s voice. He could see her standing on her skis up ahead at the juncture in the trail. She wore a knee-length, black padded coat with an oversized hood that she was gripping tightly in place.

‘I was so worried about you,’ she said as he joined her. ‘The weather’s gotten worse.’

Flowers leaned on his branch, puffing a little. ‘I was worried too. I thought I’d missed the turn.’

‘Lucky you didn’t. Come on. I have the fire going inside.’

It was quieter on the more protected trail, and Flowers relaxed, relieved to be in the company of someone who was familiar with the terrain. After a few minutes, the recognisable smell of burning wood filled his nostrils and the hut came into view.

‘This would have been a welcome sight for many people over the years,’ he said when they reached the hut. He bent down and removed his snowshoes, leaving them at the front door. ‘Hell, it’s a welcome sight for me.’

‘Come in and take off your jacket,’ she said, preceding him into the hut and holding open the door.

Flowers stepped inside, shrugged off his parka and gave it to Cate. The hurricane lamp was again casting a soft glow from its place on top of the cupboards, and on the far wall the river-stone fireplace burned brighter than it had the other day.

As the hut creaked and groaned against the onslaught of the storm, Flowers peered into the dark corners where the glow of the lamp didn’t reach, his intuition warning him that something wasn’t right.

And then a hulking figure emerged from the shadows.

Twenty-eight

Ethan Lorrimer stepped into the light, looking twice as large and twice as menacing as he appeared in the formal dining room at White Winter Station.

Flowers swung around and looked at Cate. ‘What’s this about?’ he demanded. His radio was in his parka and he would be unable to call for back-up. ‘I thought I was here to talk to you.’