Fugitive Trail

A killer’s out for vengeance…

unless this K-9 sniffs him out first.

When a plane carrying dangerous convicts crashes in the Colorado Rockies, Deputy Sierra Young and her search-and-rescue K-9, Samson, race to help—and discover they’re after her! With one survivor vowing revenge, Sierra’s former coworker turned PI, Bryce Elliott, is determined to protect her. But can Bryce, Sierra and Samson track down the fugitive before he succeeds in taking their lives?

K-9 Mountain Guardians

ELIZABETH GODDARD is the award-winning author of more than thirty novels and novellas. A 2011 Carol Award winner, she was a double finalist in the 2016 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and a 2016 Carol Award finalist. Elizabeth graduated with a computer science degree and worked in high-level software sales before retiring to write full-time.

Also By Elizabeth Goddard

Fugitive Trail

Mount Shasta Secrets

Deadly Evidence

Coldwater Bay Intrigue

Thread of Revenge

Stormy Haven

Distress Signal

Running Target

Texas Ranger Holidays

Texas Christmas Defender

Wilderness, Inc.

Targeted for Murder

Undercover Protector

False Security

Wilderness Reunion

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Fugitive Trail

Elizabeth Goddard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90636-8

FUGITIVE TRAIL

© 2020 Elizabeth Goddard

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“I’m going to check it out…”

“Hier,” Sierra commanded her dog. Here. The dog whined then moved close to Sierra.

Sierra grabbed Bryce’s arm and squeezed, tugging him back. “Bryce, be careful.”

Her tone was intense, and something else in her voice told him she did still care deeply about him.

But neither of them would act on that, each having their own reasons.

Gunfire exploded.

The bullet whizzed by his ear even as he shoved Sierra to the ground. She held firm to her dog.

“Nein!” They crept behind a van they could use for a temporary barrier.

“Cover me.” Bryce prepared to dash across the street.

“No, wait!” Sierra whispered. “Don’t go out there.”

“This is our chance to get him, Sierra.”

“You’re not law enforcement anymore, Bryce. Remember? You can’t arrest that guy—Raul or anyone else—even if you catch him.”

They’d have to work together then.

Because as much as he didn’t want her in the line of fire, he knew she wasn’t going to back down…

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Fugitive Trail! Some of you might recognize the scenery—the ice climbing park and festival—as what takes place in the small town of Ouray, Colorado. I changed the name and county so I didn’t have to worry too much about the exact details but rather could have fun writing my story—you know, artistic license and all that! The toy store is loosely modeled after the real store there in Ouray—O’Toys, which is owned by my brother and sister-in-law! I had hoped to write a story that would include their store and the opportunity came when my editor contacted me about writing a story in Colorado. I love it when that happens!

I also love to hear from my readers. Please hop on over to my new website at elizabethgoddard.com to find ways to connect with me and sign up for my newsletter.

Blessings!

Elizabeth Goddard

The God of my rock; in him will I trust: he is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my savior; thou savest me from violence.

—2 Samuel 22:3

Dedicated to all those who put themselves in harm’s way to protect us—both two-legged and four-legged creatures.

Acknowledgments:

Thank you to my new editor, Shana Asaro, for asking me to write a K-9 mountain rescue story! I’ve always loved these stories from LIS and this gave me a chance to showcase my own dog (though not a K-9)—an English mastiff named Solomon. As always, I so appreciate the encouragement and support from my writing friends—we’ve journeyed long and hard to get here! All my gratitude to my agent, Steve Laube, for believing in me. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway—thank you, Dan, Christopher, Jonathan, Andrew and Rachel for your patience with this novel-writing mom.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Southwest Rocky Mountains,

Colorado

The wind picked up and whipped big snowflakes around Deputy Sierra Young’s head as she followed Samson, her K-9 mountain rescue English mastiff, up the densely wooded incline. She maintained a steady pace but her heart rate increased along with her breathing.

She hoped the small plane hadn’t crashed too high in the San Juan Mountains. That could make it impossible for her and Samson, as well as the SAR—search and rescue—volunteers, to reach the site before nightfall or the snowstorm grew worse. But they had to find the plane before they could rescue anyone.

Two snowmobilers had returned to the small tourist town of Crescent Springs, Colorado, earlier this afternoon claiming they’d seen the prop plane go down but they hadn’t been sure where it had crashed.

She’d brought Samson as far as she could before releasing him to find any human scent. Samson had been trained to find humans, whether air scenting for anyone in the wilderness or tracking a specific person. He was smart and used his skills to find whoever he was searching for. The other SAR volunteers searched downwind from Samson. It was important to spread as wide a net as possible. The victims could have escaped and gotten lost in the mountains, or they could be trapped in the plane. Or worse.

She couldn’t think about worse.

Lord, please let us find and save them, whoever they are.

Before the weather turned too harsh or night took over. Sure, Samson could work through the night, but not in this weather. The terrain and elements during the winter months here in the Rockies were currently too harsh for searching at night. Sierra worked as a part-time deputy and K-9 mountain rescue handler for the county. She knew that Sheriff Locke would protect the volunteers, and if it became too dangerous to search, he would call it off.

Samson’s massive two-hundred-pound form plowed up the hill through the deepening snow, giving credence to his aptly picked name. Snow could tire out some breeds of search dogs and limit their time searching, but mastiffs were the stronger working-breed dogs, and Samson hadn’t tired yet.

An old friend—Bryce Elliott—had given Samson to her when he was a puppy, and had even named him. After the attack when she’d been a detective in Boulder, she’d wanted a big dog, and Bryce had surprised her with the English mastiff. A pang of regret that she’d left her friend behind when she’d moved from Boulder stabbed her at the worst possible moment. She missed Bryce. But she needed to focus on this search.

The sheriff radioed he was calling the search, bringing her back to the present.

At the same moment, Samson alerted her.

“Wait, no. Sheriff,” she said into her radio. “Samson…he’s found something. Let me check it out.”

“All right. I’m on my way to you.”

Her leg muscles burned as she tried to keep up with the big dog scaling the incline until they topped it, then to a terraced ridge and a well-over-a-hundred-foot drop.

Sierra stood tall and caught her breath. Her heart lurched.

A red Cessna rested on the ledge—halfway on, halfway off. The banged-up plane looked partially crumpled on one side. She could make out a figure inside the cockpit, and another one outside, beside the plane. Both were utterly still.

Sierra radioed the sheriff. “I found it. I found the plane. I see two—” Bodies, but she didn’t want to say the word. “We need to check and see if they’re alive.”

“Good work, Sierra,” he said. “Wait there while I let everyone know to head your way. And…be careful.”

“Always,” she responded.

If the two people she spotted were still alive, it would be a difficult rescue at best, getting them down this mountain. The most difficult part would be saving the person inside that plane that teetered on the ledge. In the snow and cold, even if they had survived, hypothermia most likely would kill them if the SAR team didn’t get here quickly and get them medical attention.

She signaled for Samson to remain then she hiked closer to the wreckage in the deepening snow. A man rested face down in the snow and would soon be completely buried. Sierra removed her glove and brushed the snow away then pressed a finger against his neck. His body was cold and he had no pulse. Sorrow bled through her.

She released a heavy sigh. SAR missions with Samson always started with the hope of rescue. Of finding a lost hiker or helping someone who’d fallen by bringing them to safety. Always the hope that she would find survivors and the day would end well. But more times than she’d like to admit, the searches ended in tragedy when they found victims of an adventure gone wrong.

The wind whipped around the mountain blasting the snow at an angle and causing a near whiteout. Not good.

She eyed the small plane and from here couldn’t see the other person. Should she get closer and see if she could help?

She hoped the rest of the search team arrived soon. An eerie metallic sound resounded from the plane. Its position was precarious at best. Could the howling wind push it over? She spared a moment to wonder what these people had been thinking, taking the plane out on a day like today. The plane probably shouldn’t have been flying in this weather, and she guessed that the weather had everything to do with the crash. But she wasn’t here to question them; she was here to save them…if she could.

She crunched through the snow to get closer to the plane and look inside the cab.

The pilot remained inside, his body hunched over. It was possible that his position meant he’d remained warm enough, if he was still alive.

“Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She crept even closer to the plane.

The sheriff had said he and the others were coming. What was taking them so long?

The pilot shifted. Her heart jumped. She radioed. “Hurry, sheriff. The pilot is still alive. He’s going to need medical attention…”

Metal scraped.

The plane shifted. Fear skated across her nerves. “The plane is in a precarious position. It could fall from the ledge at any moment. I’m not sure what to do!”

The radioed squawked but a burst of static meant she couldn’t understand the sheriff. Panic built up in her chest. Sierra eyed the plane and the junk scattered around the crash site. She searched for anything she could use as a rope. Samson whined, sensing her growing anxiety.

“It’s going to be all right, Samson. You found the crash site. We’re going to save the man who’s still alive.” What was she saying? She had no idea if she could actually save him, but she could hope. And she could try.

God, please help me!

Was there anything worse than finding someone and then being completely helpless to save them?

The man groaned inside the plane. She had to reassure him so he would hang on to the will to live.

“Hold on! Help is coming.”

She peered at the wreckage. It would be too dangerous to try to get in and get him out with the plane shifting on the ledge. She had to find a rope.

The snow was quickly covering the scattered wreckage—duffel bag, sheets of metal, clothing articles. Then she spotted what she needed—a wire rope used in aviation.

She eyed the airplane then the top of the slope. Something must have held the SAR team up. She couldn’t risk waiting if they weren’t going to make it in time. She found a boulder on which to secure the rope and tied the other end around her waist. Then she edged slowly to the plane.

Sierra ducked under the broken wing. Nothing about this was safe. The plane was completely unstable, but that was the whole reason she needed to act—and act now. She had to get this guy out, even though, depending on his injuries, that could also be dangerous for him.

The mangled door creaked when she pulled it open and then toppled to the snow-covered ground. Sierra yelped and jumped out of the way. She could enter only on the passenger side because the other side of the plane was hanging near the ledge. She couldn’t reach it.

“Help,” the man called from inside.

Fear tried to seize her but she had to remain calm and focused, especially if she was going to have to do this alone. She leaned into the cockpit and inched onto the passenger seat to get a better look at the man. Blood covered his forehead and temple from a gash. It oozed from his lips. He likely had internal injuries.

“Can you hear me? If you can, give me your hand.”

Maybe she could grab onto him and pull him out through this side of the plane. Medical personnel would go at this much differently, but there wasn’t time to wait.

The man’s eyes popped open. Those eyes. They peered at her and into her and through her. His face was almost unrecognizable under the blood and bruising but she had never forgotten those eyes.

Sierra froze. Damien Novack. Air whooshed from her. She couldn’t breathe.

No. It couldn’t be. “What… What are you doing here?” The question squeaked out of her making her sound feeble.

Afraid.

Somehow, even though he was injured and probably dying, he managed to offer her a sinister, bloody smile. To her horror, he lifted a weapon. Aimed it straight at her.

Screaming, she ducked as gunfire exploded then froze in place. Where was the sheriff? She glanced up hoping she’d see him coming over the ridge. Instead, she spotted footprints, barely visible as the relentless snow continued to bury them. The prints led away from the plane and tracked along the ridge until they disappeared completely.

Someone else had been on the plane.

Then she heard what sounded like the weapon tumbling from Damien’s hand. She could hardly believe he had been able to shoot to begin with, given his obviously severe injuries. His anger and need to see her dead had been enough to drive him.

Heart pounding, Sierra peeked inside the cab again and Damien’s eyes tracked her. “Doesn’t matter that I missed. He’s coming for you,” he said.

“Who… Who is coming?” Dread filled her.

“You know who. He came for you before. This time he won’t fail.”

Raul Novack, Damien’s brother.

Moments ago, she thought there couldn’t be anything worse than losing someone she was trying to save. But now she realized that wasn’t true. There was something worse. Indecision warred inside of her. She truly did not want to help this man. He’d perpetrated countless evils and if she helped him to survive, there could be more victims down the road.

But she couldn’t serve as judge and jury. She couldn’t take a life or refuse to give her best to save someone in danger—God would know, even if no one else did. She grabbed the weapon he’d tried to kill her with and set it aside.

Regardless of the fear that tried to strangle her, Sierra reached for him. “The plane is going to fall. Take my hand or you’re going to die.”

He coughed up more blood. “I’m as good as dead anyway.”

Then his face went still. His eyes blank.

He was gone, and she knew it. He’d known he was going to die and he cared only about attacking her with his gun and his intimidating threats.

Samson barked. The plane shifted. Sierra reached for the man she knew to already be dead, but it was no use. She couldn’t free him. The plane moved and she realized she had only seconds to escape.

She backed out of the open doorway and ducked just before the remaining broken edges of the wing could hit her. Still, metal scraped her body, eliciting a cry of pain, and snagging her coat. If she didn’t get free, the plane would try to take her over the ledge too, causing serious injury when the wire rope wouldn’t release her.

“I got you!” The sheriff appeared and slashed the arm of her coat away from her body and gripped her arms. “I got you,” he said again, breathless.

She slumped to the ground, the adrenaline whooshing out of her body.

Samson licked her and whined, warming her frozen cheeks, and comforting the icy cold fear that had stabbed through her.

Damien Novack had been here. And he hadn’t been alone.

She let her gaze follow the tracks and, in the distance, along the tree line, she noticed that a man stood watching. Damien’s brother, Raul—

He’s coming for you…

Bryce Elliott checked into his hotel across the street from the Crescent Springs Toy Store—the reason Sierra had given for returning to her hometown. Her father had been struggling to keep up with the store, and needed her help. Bryce had suspected health issues were involved too but Sierra hadn’t said.

That wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t said. Bryce believed that her father was only part of the reason she’d given up her detective job with the Boulder police department. He suspected that Sierra had never gotten over the night Raul attacked her, even though she had been given the go ahead to return to work.

But no one else knew her as well as Bryce. She’d needed to escape Boulder, and maybe even escape Bryce. The place and the people served as reminders to her of what had happened. He was glad she had found a way to move on. Before she’d made that physical move from Boulder to Crescent Springs, though, she’d made an emotional move when she pushed him away. They’d been close and had been growing closer every day. He’d taken a risk with her, putting his heart on the line for the first time since being utterly rejected by Rebecca, a woman he thought he loved a couple of years before he met Sierra. But with Sierra, he’d been ready to try again. Then Raul and the night of violence happened. After that, everything between Bryce and Sierra had changed. He had sensed her slipping away from him, and had experienced the pain of rejection all over again.

He cared about her and was here for her, but that didn’t mean he would let himself fall for her. Definitely not. None of what had happened between them should matter now.

What did matter now was that she was in danger, and Bryce wouldn’t let her go through that alone.

He sucked up his nerve and crossed the recently plowed street in the throes of an ice festival, presumably the biggest event of the year for the small out-of-the-way town in southwest Colorado. Other than ice climbers, most people opted to visit Telluride and Purgatory in Durango to ski. Crescent Springs offered an ice park to celebrate the ice climbing sport—beginners and professionals from around the world came to the small town to climb the frozen waterfalls of the gorge.

Moisture surged on his palms as he drew near the toy store he’d seen only on the website before this moment. Bryce drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door. How would she react when she saw him? That question had kept him company as he traveled here from Boulder.

The smells of plastic and cinnamon and peppermint wafted over him. He had no idea if he would actually find Sierra here, amongst the toys, but it was a start. Aisles of toys blocked his view, but as he browsed, he noted the store was relatively crowded. An older man’s voice offering customer assistance drew his attention to the cash register and counter at the back of the store. A young woman he didn’t recognize stood next to the older man he assumed was Sierra’s father. She took payment from the customer and bagged toys.

“Can I help you?”