Missing In The Mountains. Julie Anne Lindsey

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      Emma Hart couldn’t shake the unsettling notion that something was wrong. The sensation had pestered her all day, needling away at her calm. Though she hadn’t said so, her sister and housemate, Sara, seemed to feel it too. Sara had hunched over her cell phone and a notebook most of the day, barely speaking or touching her dinner. It wasn’t like Sara to be inside short of a blizzard, yet there she was. All day.

      Emma had thrown herself into the tedium of housework and the exhaustion of new-mommy duties, hoping to keep her mind off the inexplicable feeling that trouble was afoot. Nothing had worked. The prickle over her skin that had raised the hair on her arms and itched in her mind since dawn refused to let up, even now as the gorgeous setting sun nestled low on the horizon between distant mountains. If there was a silver lining, it was that the peculiar day was finally nearing its end, and tomorrow was always better.

      She crossed her ankles on the old back-porch swing and shifted her attention to the beautiful gold and apricot hues spilling over everything in sight, including her perfect baby boy, Henry. Emma hoisted him off her lap and wiggled him in the air until a wide toothless grin emerged. There was the thing she lived for. A smile spread over her lips as she brought him down to her chest. “Someday I’m going to teach you to rope and ride, the way your granddaddy taught Sara and me.” It would have been nice if Henry’s father was around to teach him those things the way her father had taught her, but it didn’t do to dwell on what wasn’t, not when the things that were tended to be so fleeting.

      Henry’s daddy was a soldier on leave when they’d met, but he’d been raised a cowboy. Brought up on a ranch like hers, not too far from there, but he’d been deployed before she’d known she was pregnant, and despite the voice message she’d left asking him to call her, he never had. Of course, that wasn’t a surprise since the next time she’d tried to call him the number was no longer in service. The local news hadn’t announced his death the way they often did when a local soldier was lost, so she could only assume he’d survived that “eight week” mission he’d gone on nearly a year ago and had simply chosen to avoid her after his return. Whenever she thought of how his selfishness would force Henry to grow up without a father, Emma was glad he hadn’t died on that mission. This way, if she ever saw him again, she could kill him herself.

      Emma forced down the bitter knot rising in her throat and worked a pleasant smile over her lips. “You will always be enough for me,” she promised Henry, “and I will be enough for you. Whatever that means on any given day. Always.” She nuzzled his sun-kissed cheek, then stretched onto her feet as the last orange fingers of the sunlight slid out of view, replaced with the tranquil blues of twilight. “What do you say about a warm bath and fuzzy jammies before your nighttime bottle?” she asked. Now she needed a distraction from the icky feeling that had followed her all day and from the frustration of a man who’d probably forgotten her name.

      Emma jumped as the back door flew open, her knuckles colliding sharply with the handle. “What on earth!”

      Sara stood on the threshold, one palm on the door, skin pale as the rising moon. “You need to come inside. Now,” she gasped. “Hurry.”

      Emma obeyed, and Sara locked the door behind them, then checked the window locks and pulled the curtains. Without speaking again, she moved to the next room and did the same.

      “What’s going on?” Emma followed on her sister’s heels, fear riding high in her gut. “Why are you doing that?” They only battened down the hatches if the news predicted heavy winds or rain. “It’s a beautiful night. There’s no storm coming.”

      “You’re wrong about that,” Sara mumbled.

      Emma hurried around her sister, forcing herself into Sara’s path. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Sara shot her a remorseful look, letting her gaze slide briefly to Henry, then back to her work. “I need you to listen to me and do as I say. We have to be quiet.” Her hands trembled as she reached for the nearest light switch and flipped it off. Her face whipped back in Emma’s direction a moment later. “Is your truck in the garage? Or the driveway?”

      “Garage.”

      “Good.” She nodded, her eyes frantic.

      “Hey.” Emma set her hand on Sara’s. “Stop.” Her sister never behaved this way. She was naturally calm to the extreme, cool in a crisis and found the positive in everything. Whatever had her so worked up was enough to make Emma want to pack a bag and move. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

      Fat tears welled in Sara’s eyes. “I can’t.”

      “Sara,” Emma demanded, using her most pointed tone without upsetting Henry, “you can tell me anything. You know that. I don’t understand what’s happened. You were fine at dinner.”

      Sara snorted, a derisive, ugly sound. “Was I?”

      “Weren’t you?” Emma grabbed hold of her sister’s wrist, a lifelong stubborn streak piercing her forced calm.

      Before she could answer, a set of headlights flashed over the front window, and Sara froze. “Don’t make any noise,” she said, looking half-ill. “We’re not home.”

      Suddenly Sara’s erratic behavior began making sense. “Is this the reason you’re locking us up like Fort Knox?” Emma asked. “You knew someone was coming?” Someone who obviously terrified her. “Who?”

      Sara jerked her arm free and went to peek through the living room curtain. “Hide,” she seethed. “You’re in danger. Henry’s in danger. We all are. Now, go! Keep him quiet. Find his pacifier.” Her rasping whisper cut through Emma’s heart, and she pressed her back to the nearest wall, away from the front window.

      “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Emma shot back in a harsh whisper.

      Heavy footfalls rumbled across the porch, and someone rapped against the door in loud, demanding strikes until Emma was sure the door would fall down.

      “I’m calling the police,” Emma said. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, then you can tell them.”

      Henry started in her arms. He released a small whimper as the pounding continued.

      Sara turned to them. Her eyes were wide, her face the perfect mask of horror and resolve. “Hide first. Call the police after.” She rubbed her palms against her jeans and stepped forward, toward the rattling door.

      “Where are you