Cold Conspiracy. Cindi Myers

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       Chapter One

      “Come on, Donna. We need to head back to the house or I’ll be late for work.” Rayford County Sheriff’s Deputy Jamie Douglas turned to look back at her nineteen-year-old sister, Donna, who was plodding up the forest trail in snowshoes. Short and plump, her brown curls like a halo peeking out from beneath her pink knit cap, cheeks rosy from the cold, Donna reminded Jamie of the Hummel figurines their grandmother had collected. On a Monday morning in mid-January, the two sisters had the forest to themselves, and Jamie had been happy to take advantage of a break in the weather to get outside and enjoy some exercise. But now that she needed to get home, Donna was in no rush, stopping to study a clump of snow on a tree branch alongside the trail, or laughing at the antics of Cheyenne, one of their three dogs. The twenty-pound terrier-Pomeranian mix was the smallest and easiest to handle of the canines, so Donna had charge of him. Jamie had a firm hold on the leashes for the other two—a Siberian husky named Targa, and a blond Lab mix, Cookie. “Donna!” Jamie called again, insistent.

      Donna looked up, her knit cap slipping over one eye. “I’m coming!” she called, breaking into a clumsy jog.

      “Don’t run. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.” Jamie started back toward her sister, but had taken only a few steps when Donna tripped and went sprawling.

      “Oh!” It was Jamie’s turn to run—not an easy feat in snowshoes, though she managed to reach Donna’s side quickly. “Are you okay?”

      Donna looked up, tears streaming down her plump cheeks. “I’m all wet,” she sniffed.

      “Come on, let’s get you up.” Jamie took her sister’s arm. “It’s not far to the car.” Though Down syndrome had delayed her development, Donna was only a few inches shorter than Jamie and outweighed her by twenty pounds. Getting her to her feet while both women were wearing snowshoes made for a clumsy undertaking. Add in three romping dogs, and by the time Donna was upright, both sisters were tired and damp.

      Once she was assured Donna would stay on her feet, Jamie took charge of Cheyenne, adjusting her grip on all three leashes. But just then, something crashed through the undergrowth to their left. Barking and lunging, Targa tore from her grasp, quickly followed by Cookie and Cheyenne. All three dogs took off across the snow, on the trail of the mule deer buck who was bounding through the forest.

      “A deer!” Donna clapped her hands. “Did you see him run?”

      “Targa! Cookie! Come here!” Jamie called after the dogs, even as the clamor of their barking receded into the woods. Silently cursing her bad luck, she slipped off her pack and dropped it at Donna’s feet. “Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going after the dogs.”

      Running in snowshoes was probably like dancing in clown shoes, Jamie thought as she navigated through the thick undergrowth. She could still hear the dogs—that was good. “Targa, come!” she shouted. She needed to find the dogs soon. Otherwise, she’d be showing up late for the mandatory meeting Sheriff Travis Walker had called, and she hated to think what he would have to say. As the department’s newest deputy, she couldn’t count on him cutting her much slack.

      The dogs’ tracks were easy to follow through the snow, which was churned up by their running paws. Here and there she spotted the imprints of the deer, too. She replayed the sight of the big animal crashing out of the woods toward them. What had made the buck run that way—before the dogs had even seen it? Was a mountain lion stalking the animal?

      Fighting back a shiver of fear, she scanned the forest surrounding her. She saw nothing, but she couldn’t shake a feeling of uneasiness—as if she really was being watched.

      She crashed through the underbrush and emerged in a small clearing. The dogs were on the other side, all wagging tails and happy grins as they gathered around a man on snowshoes, who scowled at the three of them. Jamie’s heart sank when she recognized the uniform of a wildlife officer—what some people called a game warden. He looked up at her approach. “Are these your dogs?” he asked.

      “Yes, Nate. They’re my dogs.” She crossed the clearing to him and gathered up the leashes. Worse even than having her dogs caught in the act of breaking the law by a wildlife officer was being caught by Nate Hall. The big blond outdoorsman managed to look like a conquering Viking, even in his khaki uniform, though Jamie could remember when he had been a gawky boy. The two of them had been pretty successfully avoiding СКАЧАТЬ