Down River (20 page)

Mitch had told them he’d had people use the sauna who had then gone outside to roll in the snow. Maybe that was the Japanese couples who came here to see the aurora borealis and conceive a child.

What would this area look like all covered with snow with the shifting, wavering lights of the aurora overhead? The river, beneath a thick coat of ice, would be silent. Or would it still murmur its depths and dangers? She’d never cross-country skied, but the groomed trails in the forests were lovely and, of course, they could go dogsledding, flying along through the white depths…and then cuddle up before a roaring fire.

The temperature and hissing of steam hadn’t seemed to level off. No way she’d pour water on those river stones. She was so thirsty she could drink a river.

Feeling groggy, she got to her feet. She dare not lie down for a nap in her room before she packed her bag and then met Mitch at midnight, or she’d never get up. At least she felt relaxed now. Too relaxed, wobbly legged.

She had to find the door by feel. She pulled at the handle, but nothing moved. Surely, she hadn’t found a closet in here, disoriented about where the door to the outside was. Could it be stuck? She hadn’t noticed a lock, but could one have somehow slipped into place?

She tried again, then pushed at it with all her might. Nothing moved.

Lisa pounded on it, shouting, sucking in what seemed now to be searing breaths of steam. “I’m in here! Help me! Let me out! The door’s stuck! It’s Lisa! Help me!”

Panicked, she braced her foot against the wall and pulled up on the door handle with all her might. The wooden handle cracked, flew off to throw her back onto the floor, where she hit her head against the base of the bench.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She felt so dizzy. The room was fogged with thick steam, but she found the crack that was the door. She tried to push it open again from the floor, then clawed at it, gasping, panting.

She lay on the floor, looking up through the white water around and above her. Drowning in the heat and steam, in the river. Where was Mitch? Beside her in the water, she saw Ginger in a painting Ellie gave her. And then, staring from the whiteout mist, her mother’s green eyes. “Lisa, come with me, honey. Take my hand. I have Jani, here, come on now…”

Lisa’s heart beat so hard, so fast, pounding like the engines of the monster ship. “No! No!” she screamed as the cruise ship’s powerful wake sucked her under.

No, no, she had to fight that memory, stay with what was real, she told herself. There was no cruise ship, no pounding, rushing river.

She knew where she was trapped, entombed in a wooden coffin, just like Ginger, not drowning but already dead.

M
itch had Gus talked down, back home and snoring in bed in record time. No way was this guy—client or not, and he’d been through hell for clients—going to keep him from spending time with Lisa on her last night here. He drove too fast, roaring out of Bear Bones and heading back to the lodge.

He wanted to convince Lisa not to leave tomorrow. Commitments or not, she would have to admit it would soon be safer here than in Florida, since one of her colleagues had evidently tried to kill her, and that’s where they were all heading. If Vanessa or Jonas had pushed her into the river, they could try something again on their home turf.

Or—the worst scenario that plagued him—what if Graham was somehow involved in the casino money-laundering scheme? Could Lisa be endangered from that? But what was the missing link? What was it that Graham was afraid would come out if the two attorneys who’d worked on that case put their heads together? Despite the fact Mitch longed
for tonight to be about him and Lisa, it had to be about Graham and the casino case, too.

He jumped out of the SUV and hurried toward the lodge. As he went in, he saw he’d have to get past his guests to be alone with Lisa tonight. Graham, Ellie, Vanessa and Jonas were huddled around a card table before the hearth, playing a board game. Christine was serving them beer and a stack of sandwiches. At least Lisa wasn’t in sight. She’d managed to get away from the crowd and was no doubt either in her room waiting for him or maybe even out on the patio where they planned to meet. He didn’t like the idea of her waiting out there alone.

Graham looked up from the game. “Hey, Mitch, glad you’re back. How’s Gus?”

“Sleeping it off—the booze and his loss of Ginger.”

“Mitchell,” Ellie said, “that man’s obviously very volatile. I still think he could have hurt Ginger, even if it was in a moment of passion.”

A moment of passion, Mitch thought. That’s what he was feeling for Lisa—a long moment of passion. He had to keep moving.

“He’s a guy who wears his feelings on his sleeve,” Mitch said, “therefore he’s a guy who doesn’t hide things.”

All four of the game players looked up at him as he strode toward the stairs. Which of them, he wondered in a moment of silence with the fire crackling as if they all sat with an inferno threatening, was intent on hurting Lisa?

Christine cleared her throat. “You hungry, Mitch? I’ve got three kinds of sandwiches here.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ve got something I need to do. I’ll see everyone in the morning for our farewell breakfast.”

“Which is where I’ll make the senior partner announcement,” Graham said. “I need one more night to sleep on it. I think Lisa’s exhaustion finally got to her because she hasn’t come out of her room since dinner.”

Mitch nodded and started up the stairs.

“Don’t you want to know who’s winning?” Jonas called after him. “We’re playing State of Alaska Monopoly, and I just bought a hotel in the Talkeetnas.”

“That’s the place I always like to land,” Mitch said, but didn’t stop. Since Lisa was in her room waiting, he’d take her down the back stairs so no one knew they were going out together. Maybe he’d bring her back up to his suite that way, too, if she was willing.

If she was willing…She had to be willing, he chanted to himself as he raced down the hall and rapped on her door.

“Lisa? Lisa.”

He knocked louder, hoping nosy Vanessa didn’t come upstairs to see what was happening. Could Lisa be sleeping that soundly? He felt hurt. He was so revved up to have this time with her, so how could she just fall asleep? He was exhausted, too, but running on pure adrenaline—or libido long denied.

Mitch hesitated, then used his master key to enter Lisa’s room. His note for her still lay folded on the floor. He picked it up and opened it to be sure it wasn’t one she’d left for him in return. No, it was his note.

He rushed into the room, looking around. The bathroom door was open, no water running. The bed was neatly made, with slacks, sweater, panties and a bra tossed on it. He recalled undressing her along the river when she was so cold, then warming her with his own body. Damn, if he didn’t start to sweat at that mere memory—or with foreboding.

He glanced around the rest of the room. A piece of paper lay on the dresser, maybe a note for him.

He flipped it over. A color reproduction of the
Ophelia
painting Ellie had mentioned, with a note from Ellie. His stomach knotted. This Ophelia did remind him of Ginger drowned, but had it set Lisa off to nightmares of her mother and baby sister again? And, if so, where was she?

Gut instinct, tinged by fear, racked him. The river? The lake?

He closed her door behind him and went downstairs by the narrow back steps. Out on the patio, he called out quietly, “Lisa? Lisa, you out here?” There was no sound but the wind through the trees mingled with the eternal rumble of the river. Spike’s plane was tethered at this dock now, rather than down by Ginger’s cabin, and he’d brought Ginger’s boat here, shoved up on the shore.

“Lisa,” he shouted. “Lisa!”

The stone-flagged patio stood empty, the hot tub quiet. He dashed inside by the same back entrance and went to find Christine, just as she was heading toward her room, which overlooked the patio. He hurried toward her and grabbed her elbow. “Have you seen Lisa? She’s not upstairs or outside.”

“No. I was just going to bed. Mrs. Bonner’s going to turn off the lights. What’s wrong? Want me to help look for her?”

“No—go ahead. We were going to take a walk. See you in the morning.”

He turned away and made for the back door again. “Mitch,” Christine called after him, “I just remembered. I think she was going to use the sauna.”

He exhaled hard. That was it. That’s why her clothes were on the bed. He should have checked to see if her robe was on the back of the bathroom door.

He went back out without going through the large patio doors where everyone could see him. He could hear the sauna’s motor now and her robe—stark white in the twilight—was hanging on the far side.

He heaved another sigh of relief. He was tempted to join her, just strip down and go in to surprise her. His desire for her kicked up again. He assumed she’d be wearing a bathing suit since someone else could join her, but what if she wasn’t? What if—

He checked the temperature control and timer. The temperature was well within the comfort zone
and the time had five minutes left. As tired as she was, he hoped she hadn’t nodded off in there.

He put his hand to the door and pulled. Steam swept out, making it impossible to see. “Lisa!” he called inside. “Hey, sweetheart, time’s up, except with me.”

No reply. The steam began to clear. The first thing he saw inside was a limp arm and an open hand on the floor.

Lisa heard a voice, a man’s voice, calling her name. It echoed through the darkness until it found her. Someone was touching her, feeling her neck and wrist.

“Lisa! Lisa, wake up! Lisa!”

Time to get up. Was she late for school? Did she have a court case today? Yes, some kind of test, but she could not recall what it was for.

She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy. Mitch! It was Mitch. He had pulled her from the river, and she was cold. No, that couldn’t be. She was so thirsty, hot all over, so hot, but funny…floaty.

Now she remembered. She was staring up at him through white water, too much water, drowned and dead, and she was dreaming this.

He slapped her cheeks and kept saying her name, but she was swimming farther away, pulled under by the monster current. And then he left her, so she closed her eyes and floated farther away, downriver.

Mitch ran toward the lodge, to the bedroom window that was Christine’s, and pounded on it. She swept the curtains aside and cranked the window out.

“Call the Talkeetna rescue squad and get them out here now!” he told her. “Lisa’s unconscious in the sauna, and I don’t know how long she’s been there. I think she’s burning up with fever, but her skin’s dry, so she’s dehydrated—tell them that. If I can do anything with her besides trying to lower her body temperature in the lake, send someone out to tell me. Get someone on the phone who knows what I should do.”

No hysterics or even wasted words from his
Cu’paq.
That was his girl. She simply nodded and turned away, letting the curtains swing closed. He ran back to the sauna and lifted Lisa into his arms. How could anyone survive this—nearly frozen in the river and steamed in the sauna. His insides lurched. Had she just fallen asleep inside and done this to herself, or had someone possibly set this up, attempted murder—again?

Holding her close, he jogged to the lake. It was the fastest way to lower her temperature. She had dry, doughy skin. She looked like a ghost when she should have been sweating. He had to get her to drink some water. The lake was crystal clear, and this was no time to worry about water purity when she could die.

He strode knee-deep into the lake. The bottom dropped off quickly, so he didn’t go far out. This would do. The water was always chilly, but nothing
like the snowmelt river. He knelt, lowering her carefully into the water, keeping only her head above the surface.

She stirred in his arms. Maybe this could bring her back. To his amazement, she began to struggle feebly against him.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We have to lower your temperature. Here,” he said, loosing her a bit to ladle a handful of water to her mouth. “Drink. Drink.” He got some water in her and she tried to swallow, but most of it spilled back out.

“I can’t believe it!” Vanessa’s voice echoed as she rushed to the edge of the water. “This is terrible. Listen, Christine says the medics are on their way but the 9-1-1 receptionist put her through to an E.R. doctor. The big scare is that Lisa’s heart can go into atrial fib or something, and if she becomes unconscious her prognosis is not good. How is she?”

“Go get me some water in a glass,” Mitch ordered.

“However did she manage to stay in that long so that—”

“Vanessa, go!”

She brought the water, even waded out with it, and he got Lisa to take some. The nightmare of the river rescue again, Mitch thought. Did she have some sort of death wish? No, he could not accept that. He knew better. It meant someone here had tried to kill her again in a way that made it look as if she could have caused it herself.

Everyone, except Christine, who stayed on the
phone and sent Vanessa back and forth, was gathered by the lake now. “Would someone go wait for the squad and someone bring her robe that’s hanging outside the spa?” Mitch asked.

When he glanced away from Lisa at his guests, he saw the moon had risen over the canopy of spruce trees. That and the twilight bathed Lisa and the rippling water in a golden glow. Suddenly, he wished his lodge was in the desert with no river, no lake, no need for a sauna. If he lost Lisa again, nothing would ever be the same.

Jonas came hustling around the side of the lodge, shouting, “The EMR’s here. They’re here!”

It had seemed to take forever. Graham escorted them to the lake, the two men jogging, one of them pulling a gurney on wheels. Graham was telling them what had happened. Mitch lifted Lisa out of the water, and they helped him lay her on the dock. Images of Ginger’s soaked, drowned body on her own dock jumped at Mitch. As the two medics bent over Lisa, he dragged his eyes away from her to look at the faces of his gathered guests. All looked genuinely concerned and scared. Christine ran out and stood behind the others, wringing her hands.

“Tympanic thermometer,” one of the medics said. The younger man took an instrument and put it in Lisa’s ear while the other took her pulse while pressing a stethoscope to her chest. “Tachycardia,” he said. “IV fluids and transport. Let’s go.”

Mitch knew that “cardia” meant something with
the heart. “Can I go, too?” he asked. “Are you taking her to Talkeetna?”

“No, sir,” the younger man said. “We’ll have to take her to Columbia Regional in Anchorage.”

“That’s seventy miles.”

“Why don’t you follow us in your vehicle if you’re next of kin?”

He wasn’t next of kin, but he had almost been her husband. He helped them lift Lisa onto the gurney and they quickly moved it across the stone patio. The wheels rattled. Mitch dug his car keys out of his pocket and hurried behind them.

“Mitchell, you’re soaking wet,” Ellie protested.

He only nodded and kept walking.

“I’ll go with you,” Graham said, keeping up. “She’s my responsibility, too.”

“I may have to stay with her, and you’re heading out tomorrow,” Mitch argued, not breaking stride.

“We’ll postpone. I’ll help with the payment, insurance she’s covered with. You need someone there you can trust.”

Mitch didn’t argue. But he wondered, considering what he and Lisa had deduced about the casino case so far, if Graham wasn’t the last person on earth he could trust. And like so much else lately, that broke his heart.

Mitch gripped the steering wheel and kept up with the ambulance. Its siren pierced his ears, and its pulsating lights burned deep into his brain. Surely Lisa
had not just nodded off in the sauna, however exhausted she’d been. She would have woken when she got too hot. People could only take so much of that, and she was way past sweating. The temperature control had been set in a safe range—unless it had been adjusted. He should have looked to see if the door could have been jammed closed somehow.

But, damn, what if she’d turned suicidal with all the pressure here—seeing him again, wanting the senior partnership, reliving her mother and sister’s drowning by staring at the white-water river? Maybe all that had sent her over the edge. Her mother had killed herself. He’d read that tendency ran in families.

On the other hand, he believed she’d been pushed into the river, didn’t he? And Spike was adamant that Ginger had not slipped. Now this. But nothing fit. What motive called for murder?

“Mitch, I said your teeth are chattering.” Graham interrupted his agonizing. “I’m turning up your heat, and when we get to Anchorage I’m going to hire someone to go out and buy you dry clothes.”