High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 1

One

Jillian

“You guys be good, okay?”

I get whines and whimpers from Hunter and Murphy, who are crowding around my legs as I try to get out. Emo is being her aloof self, curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace, pretending not to care whether I come or go, but I know the moment I walk out the door, she’ll be up on the chair by the window to watch me leave.

I already put Peanut and Nugget in the back of the SUV. They have their noses pressed against the glass, tongues lolling, excited to be the ones to come with me this time. More often than not it’s one of the others, needed for their specialized noses. Today, however, it’s Peanut’s sweet disposition, and Nugget’s cuddly nature that are important. Where we’re going no one will care Peanut is partially blind or Nugget has deformed hind legs.

This will be our first visit to Wellspring Senior Living, an assisted-living facility in Kalispell. I got this gig through my friend, Sloane, who is also the one who suggested I move up here from Missoula in the first place.

It was less than five months ago; I was called out to Libby with Emo to search for human remains in the mountains. I still have occasional nightmares about the boneyard my dog sniffed out; a dumping ground for what turned out to be a pair of serial killers.

That’s when I met Sloane, who was a detective for the Lincoln Sheriff’s Department, and my local contact. She and I connected right away and stayed in touch after I returned home, forging the kind of friendship I’ve been lacking in recent years. All my old friends have slowly disappeared over time, and I haven’t exactly done much to hang on to them. They’d all been part of a life I no longer fit into.

Connecting with the dogs had been the first tentative step on a new path. The friendship with Sloane had been the next one. If not for her, I wouldn’t have been able to gather up the courage to pull up stakes in Missoula and seek out a fresh start here.

When I was up here to celebrate Thanksgiving with Sloane, her fiancé, Dan, and their families, the subject of relocation came up. It was over a cup of tea on her front porch early the morning after. She asked why I’d seemed preoccupied during dinner, and I mentioned toying with the idea of a fresh start, even though I didn’t give her the background. She didn’t ask why—which is one of the reasons I like her so much—and simply suggested moving closer to her. She pointed out there would likely be plenty of work for me and the dogs here in the mountains, since I already had connections with law enforcement in the region and left a good impression.

The idea had been churning through my head the entire drive back home that afternoon, and by the time I got to Missoula, I’d mostly had my mind made up. The next day I called the realtor, who helped me buy my property on the outskirts of Missoula five years prior, and set the wheels in motion.

Two months later, and here I am; just settled into the dogs’ and my new digs, off Terrace View Road, halfway between the town of Libby and Sloane and Dan’s place. The single-story, rustic ranch house came with a couple of acres of property backing onto the banks of Big Cherry Creek. The place even had an outdoor run and kennels since the previous owner had hunting dogs.

As I drive away, I glance back at the house and catch sight of Emo’s shadow in the large front window. Then I notice the gutter hanging down from the corner and the missing downspout, and realize the term “rustic” may be giving the place more credit than it deserves.

The bones of the house are good, and the previous owner had made a good start on renovations but ran out of money and enthusiasm, which is why I was able to pick it up for a relative steal and on very short notice. And the property itself is amazing, with beautiful views from the back deck, which had been put in new in the past two years.

Most of the windows have been replaced, but the roof definitely needs work, as does some of the stonework on the big river-rock chimney. The siding is actual wooden boards that were stained a gray-blue color. I don’t hate it, but it’s looking a little weathered.

Inside isn’t too bad; the only thing left to do are the extra bedrooms and main bathroom. The kitchen cabinets and concrete counter look fairly new, and so do the floors; nice, light, extra-wide hardwood boards. The focus in the living space is the large stone fireplace, which—along with the view—is what sold me on the house.

The day before yesterday, when the movers arrived, I had them place the big pieces of furniture, but leave the boxes in one of the extra bedrooms for me to tackle bit by bit.

Which is what I’ll get back to later today when I get home.

There is snow on the ground, but the roads are clear and it’s a beautiful day for a drive. Despite the cold outside air, I have the window behind me open a crack so Peanut can stick her large nose outside. She easily gets carsick otherwise. Mostly Great Dane, she is large enough to stick her head over the back seat and I can hear her sniffing at the fresh air.

Nugget is probably already asleep in the large dog bed I have in the back of the SUV. These two are my therapy dogs. They love affection and they love people, which is a bit of a miracle, given where they came from. As unmatched a pair as they are, these two are best friends.

I pull my knit beanie farther down over my ears against the cold chill. Then I turn up the radio and sing along full-blast to Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf” as I make my way to Kalispell . I can’t hold a tune to save my life, but luckily my dogs don’t care.

“You must be Ms. Lederman,” the sweater-vest-wearing administrator waiting for me at reception greets me. “David Gentry, we spoke on the phone.”

I shake his offered hand. “Please, it’s Jillian. Nice to meet you.”

“Of course. Jillian, would you follow me? We already have quite a gathering in the community hall. Sadly, our facility isn’t equipped to handle live-in animals, so a lot of our residents had to give up a pet. They miss them.”

“I can only imagine,” I reply. “I don’t know what I would do without my guys.”

Ten minutes later, Nugget charms his way from lap to lap, doing the rounds as he’s bound to do. Peanut is a tad more discerning with her affections and has picked out her favorite person in the room; a frail-looking, elderly woman in a wheelchair. Peanut is sitting down beside the chair, her head resting on the lap of the woman, who absentmindedly scratches Peanut behind the ears.

Both woman and dog have their eyes closed, a look of satisfaction on their faces.

I catch David’s eye, who seems pretty pleased as well. It’s amazing how simple and effortless it really is to bring a little joy to people’s lives.

It brings me joy as well, and provides me with some balance for the rewarding, but often heart-breaking search and recovery work I do.

Wolff

“Did you find everything okay?”

I pile the items I picked up on the counter.

“I think so.” I quickly check the list on my phone. “Yeah, that’s it.”

And thank God for that.

Even just being in the proximity of a shopping mall gives me fucking hives, so after wandering the aisles of the women’s clothing department in Target for the past half hour, I’m sweating like a pig. Good thing I only need to do this once, maybe twice, a year.

I wait for the woman to ring me up and pull out my credit card. Then I watch her pack up my purchases, and with a curt nod for her, grab the bags, and walk as fast as I can out to the parking lot.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I’m getting into my truck.

“Yep.”

“Ama says you’re in Kalispell?” Dan asks.

Ama is both housekeeper and office manager at High Meadow. She’s also the most well-informed person at the ranch; she seems to know everything about everyone. So, I’m not surprised she was able to tell Dan my whereabouts, even though she didn’t get that information from me.

“Yep.”

“Good. I have a favor to ask.”

“What do you need?”

“Any chance you could swing by Home Depot on your way back? I just started a new project and need a few things.”

I chuckle. “A new project? Aren’t you still doing work on your house?”

Dan and Sloane moved into the new log home Dan built just before Thanksgiving, a little over two months ago. I thought he was still finishing up the inside.

“I am, but something else came up that has priority.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” I hear him chuckle. “Don’t tell Sloane, but I’m building a stable out back. I’m buying Aspen a pony for her birthday in April.”

Aspen is Sloane’s baby daughter. Dan is not the biological father, but you’d never know from the way he dotes on the kid. The fact he’s buying her a pony shouldn’t surprise me. Still, I stifle a bark of laughter.

“You realize she’s just turning one, right?”

“So? She’s already starting to pull herself up, and have you seen her crawl? She can cross the room in three seconds flat. Mark my words; she’ll be able to walk by her birthday, and getting her in the saddle is the next step.”

“If you say so. Happy to lend a hand on the new project, but in the meantime, shoot me a text with your wish list and I’ll swing by Home Depot on my way back.”

“Will do. I appreciate it.”

I’m still grinning when I take off my hat and walk into the lobby at Wellspring fifteen minutes later. I wave at Marcela, the receptionist, in passing. I’m halfway down the hall to my mother’s unit, when her voice calls me back.

“Lucas! Your mother isn’t there.”

Anyone calling me by that name is associated with my mother in one way or another. The rest of the world knows me by my last name.

I backtrack my steps and stop in front of her desk.

“She’s not? We were supposed to have lunch.”

The pretty woman smiles at me as she shakes her head.

“Guess she got a better offer, she’s in the community hall. But…” she adds with an over-the-top flirty hair flip. “I’m free for lunch.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I tell her with a wink.

Marcela is a happily married woman with a couple of cute kids, and the flirting is all in good fun. She’d never step out, and I’d never step in.

I head down a different hallway, leading to the communal areas. When I walk into the main hall, I spot my mother’s wheelchair right away. Hard to miss since she’s half obscured by a dog the size of a small horse cuddled up to her.

“She made a new friend.”

I turn around to find David Gentry, the home’s administrator, standing behind me.

“I see that. Since when do you allow pets in here?”

“Certified therapy animals are allowed,” he clarifies. “Board approved and all. Your mother was instrumental in getting that approval.”

I vaguely recollect her telling me about a resident petition she was having everyone sign last month, feeling a little bad I was only listening with half an ear at the time. Despite her small stature, and her failing health, my mother is still a force to be reckoned with.

I turn my head to look at her and catch her eye.

“Lucas! Come meet Peanut.”

Who the hell would call an oversized animal like that Peanut?

The dog lifts its head off my mother’s lap when I walk over. That’s when I notice it’s missing an eye. The animal looks scary enough and I’m sure could snap my mother in half with those jaws, but it seems friendly, its tail thumping the linoleum floor as I approach. Bending down, I kiss my mother’s papery cheek.

“Peanut?”

Mom beams up at me. “Isn’t she precious?”

Precious is not exactly the term I would’ve come up with for the less than attractive dog, but she’s definitely sweet, leaning her weight against my leg and staring up at me with one adoring eye as I rub her head.

“Good girl,” I mumble at her.

The next moment the hair on my neck stands on end when I hear someone walk up behind me, and say, “It’s almost time to go, Peanut.”

I don’t need to turn around to know who the owner of that voice is, but I don’t have a choice when my mom speaks up.

“Oh, Jillian, I’d like you to meet my son, Lucas.”

I meet those pretty green eyes, now sparkling with amusement. Of course a dog named Peanut would belong to this woman. She named her cadaver dog, Emo, after all.

Hell, I knew she recently moved to the area—Sloane mentioned it more than once—but I wasn’t expecting to run into her at my mother’s assisted-living home. That’s a little too close for comfort.

“So you do have a first name; Lucas, huh?”

“You already know each other?” Mom looks back and forth between us.

“We do. How are you doing, Jillian?”

She adjusts the small furball she’s holding in her arms. “Good, thanks.”

I turn to my mother to explain, “Jillian and I met working on a search last summer.”

Despite my immediate attempt to identify our connection as a professional one only, I see Mom’s mind already at work behind the gleam in her eyes.

Great.

“Is that so? Well, what a happy coincidence this is then,” she says in a chipper voice and with a satisfied smirk on her face.

My mother has never passed up on an opportunity to try and hook me up with any seemingly available female we’ve come across. She has never given up hope to get me tied down and settled, despite the fact I’ve told her often enough I’m not looking for anything permanent. Certainly not with someone my mother hooked me up with.

“It certainly is a coincidence,” Jillian agrees with a kind smile for my mother. “Unfortunately, I have to run. My time is up here and I have to get these guys home and fed, but I’ll be back in two weeks.”

Mom leans forward to give that ugly mutt a hug, before Jillian heads out with both dogs. Then she nudges my hip with her elbow.

“She seems like a nice girl. Maybe you should walk her out.”

“ Mom, ” I warn her.

The tiny redhead with the big smile is already enough of a temptation without my mother’s interference.