Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,120

twenty-below temperatures certainly qualified. There was a hell of a lot of stuff that could kill you out here—even if you were Arliss Cutter. This storm could rage for days—stranding them here with no backup and leaving Cutter . . . Well, there was no way to know what Cutter was doing right now. For all she knew, he was sitting by a warm fire, carving some piece of wood while he told Birdie Pingayak about his grandpa’s rules for good behavior.

Lola hadn’t been able to tell the chief much of anything, which sucked because Jill Phillips was the kind of person you wanted to please. She was hoping this call was from Jolene’s mom, telling them all was good.

It wasn’t.

Jolene spoke to the caller in Yup’ik for a moment, then whispered, “It’s Daisy,” before passing the phone to Lola.

Lola’s heart sank. “Is Ned all right?”

“He’s good,” Aguthluk said. “Good as can be expected anyways. Melvin Red Fox had to go to the airport to see about helping with the Troopers plane. We could use another set of hands over here.”

“Of course,” Lola said, relieved to have something to do. “We’ll be right—”

Aguthluk ended the call, apparently not one to chat after her message was delivered.

“Looks like we’re going to lend a hand at the cabin,” Lola said. She looked at Markham, hoping she wouldn’t have to remind him that the two of them were all but joined at the hip.

He raised his coffee mug as if to toast. “Lead on, Deputy.”

Ewing and Markham’s law clerk stayed at the school, agreeing to pull the next shift watching over Ned Jasper at the cabin if the troopers couldn’t land like they hoped.

“You think Donna Taylor is going to come back?” Jolene asked as they walked down the hall.

“Not likely,” Lola said. “She probably believes she killed Ned Jasper. We’ll be careful though.”

The scream of the blizzard hit Lola full in the face the moment she pushed open the front door, careful to keep a tight grip so it wasn’t ripped out of her hands. The wind burned her face, feeling like it might flay skin if given too much of an opportunity. She adjusted her rifle on the single-point sling so the weapon was parked comfortably behind her sidearm, over her right kidney with the barrel pointed down. She could access it quickly, but it remained out of the way for the multitude of other tasks she might need to accomplish that didn’t call for a long gun.

It was almost eight in the morning, but it wouldn’t be light for at least another two hours. Most of the houses were dark, and the raging storm only added to the inky shadows. Their route to the cabin took them past teacher housing, a dark set of small duplexes set in a square with a center courtyard. Every teacher had been up all night, either helping Birdie, helping watch after Ned Jasper, or standing by with their ATVs and snow machines to light the runway for the troopers’ aircraft if it was ever able to catch a break in the weather. The snow-covered roads and walkways around the housing area were dark and sinister, reminding Lola of the low-income projects where she’d worked a fugitive roundup in Baltimore her second year in the Marshals Service. She chuckled to herself that these bush teachers had their own “hood.” There were no Crips or Bloods out here, no MS-13, but she was glad to have her rifle nonetheless.

Markham and Jolene walked a few feet in front, heads bowed into the squalling wind and snow. Lola felt better if she could keep them both in sight, especially in this mess. She turned around to check her back-trail, and nearly ran into Markham, who’d stopped directly in front of her.

“Scram!” the judge said, bringing a derisive laugh from Sascha Green.

“Scram?” Green sneered. “Is that the way they talk in the big village?”

To her credit, Jolene stepped back. Lola used her left hand to position the girl beside her, but far enough away that there was plenty of space to move.

“Get out of here, then,” Markham said, using the disdainful judge’s voice he often used from the bench. “You understand that?”

Sascha’s right hand was behind his back, out of view, prompting Lola to raise her rifle and aim it at his forehead. “Just because you’re a judge,” Sascha said, “don’t give you the right to tell me where to be.”

“Sascha, do not move!” Lola barked. “Judge, get down!”