The Summit (2 page)

“I just don't love you, Autumn,” he had said. “I thought I did, but I don't. I never mean to hurt you, but I have to get on with my life. I hope things work out for you.” He had left her standing in the quad, crying like an idiot, hating herself for having fallen in love with him.

She had gone on to graduate, then continued school long enough to get her teaching degree, but it had taken years to get over losing Steve.

Standing on the corner, she pulled her sweater a little closer against the breeze and waited till the stoplight changed to green. She crossed from Second Avenue to Third then continued toward Pike Street. The sun was out today but the air was damp and clouds had begun to gather on the horizon. Seattle got more than its share of rain but Autumn never minded. She had grown up in Burlington, a little town north of the city. The beautiful pines and nearby ocean were worth the clouds and rain.

As she walked the few blocks up the hill, Autumn enjoyed the feel of the wind tugging at her hair. Up ahead, the McKenzie building took up half a block. It was an old six-story structure that had been expensively remodeled and now served as headquarters for McKenzie Enterprises, a chain of upper-end sporting-goods stores. Pike's Gym occupied the second floor. A few other tenants rented space, and there were shops and boutiques on the first floor along the street.

On her teacher's salary, Autumn couldn't afford the exclusive gym's pricey fees, but she earned an annual membership in exchange for teaching summer rock-climbing classes. It was actually a lot of fun, she had discovered, teaching the skills she had begun to learn as a child from her father.

The double glass doors of the building appeared and Autumn walked into the sleek, marble-floored lobby, past Jimmy the security guard, who recognized her, nodded and waved, then she took the elevator up to the second floor.

A wall of glass revealed the gym and Autumn pushed through the door.

“Hey, Autumn!” It was Bruce Ahern, a muscle jock who worked out at least four hours a day and was already lifting weights. Blond and sun-tanned year-round, he was a nice guy who was always friendly but never pressed her for a date, and instead seemed content just to enjoy her friendship.

“Hi, Bruce. How's it going?”

“Same ol', same ol'.” He grinned, carving a dimple into his cheek. Then he hoisted a barbell loaded with a ridiculous amount of iron and began his bicep routine.

Autumn kept walking along the blue-and-gray carpeted floor, passing walls of mirrors. In the bicycle room, long rows of TVs entertained the men and women pumping away on bikes that went nowhere. Eighties music played in the background. Sometimes it was country; sometimes hard rock or hip hop. The staff was very fair about the gym's musical selections.

Making her way into the women's dressing room, Autumn headed for her private locker where she kept her climbing clothes. She pulled on stretchy black pants, perfect for climbing—not tight, but not so baggy they got in the way—a black T-shirt and a pair of soft leather climbing shoes that closed with Velcro tabs.

Once she finished changing, she stored her purse and street clothes in the locker and left to teach her second class of the summer.

T
he headquarters of McKenzie Enterprises took up the entire sixth floor of the building. The president's office looked out over the city streets all the way across the bay.

Seated behind his oversized mahogany desk, Ben McKenzie studied one of the half-dozen files stacked in front of him. His large, private office was done in dark wood accented with brushed chrome and deep dark burgundy carpets. There was a wall of windows behind his desk and a built-in bar in one of the sleek mahogany cabinets that lined one wall.

The intercom buzzed and Ben hit the button, allowing the voice of his secretary and personal assistant, Jennifer Conklin, to flow into the room.

“Your nine o'clock appointment is here,” she said. “Kurt Fisher with A-1 Sports.”

“Thanks, Jenn, send him in.” Ben rose from his leather chair and shot the cuffs on the crisp white shirt beneath the jacket of his navy-blue suit. His clothes were expensive and perfectly tailored to fit his tall frame, but he had earned every dime it took to pay for them and he was a man who appreciated quality and design.

He glanced toward the door. He wasn't sure what Fisher wanted, but the man was head of acquisitions for A-1 Sports, a successful chain of low-end retail sporting-goods stores, so the conversation might prove interesting. With seventy-six stores around the country—and more popping up every day—A-1 posed tough competition for McKenzie's more expensive, higher-quality merchandise, but so far his stores were holding their own.

The door swung open and Ben caught a glimpse of Jenn's light-brown hair as she waited for Fisher to walk into the room. She was thirty-seven-years-old, married with two kids and had been with him for the last seven years, ever since he had incorporated the company. Jenn closed the door behind Fisher—slim, forty-something, with a reputation for being an aggressive, don't-take-no-for-an-answer kind of guy willing to do whatever it took to reach his financial goals, which by the look of his flashy Armani tie were extremely high.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Ben asked. At six-foot-two, he was taller than Fisher, wider through the chest and shoulders, more athletically built. Though they both had dark brown hair, Ben's was thicker and slightly curly.

“No thanks. I'm fine.” Fisher seated himself in one of the black leather chairs in front of the desk. Ben unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down across from him.

“So what can I do for you this morning, Kurt?” Ben smiled. He was always polite but he didn't believe in wasting time.

Fisher lifted his leather briefcase onto his lap, popped the latches and pulled out a manila folder. “I think it's more like what I can do for you.”

He set the folder on Ben's desk and shoved it forward. “It goes without saying what a fine job you've done in building McKenzie Sporting Goods into the successful company it is today. As you know, A-1 has been equally successful in selling its line of less expensive merchandise. The company is growing by leaps and bounds and we've decided the next logical step is to add stores that sell more expensive, higher quality goods. Stores like yours, Ben.”

Ben made no comment, just leaned back in his chair.

Fisher tapped the folder. “This is an offer to purchase your stores, Ben—all of them. I know you'll want to take it to your accountant and lawyer, but you're going to see that the price and terms are more than fair.”

Ben didn't bother to open the file, just pushed it back across the desk. “Not interested. McKenzie Enterprises isn't for sale.”

Fisher smiled thinly. “Everything's for sale—at the right price.”

“Not McKenzie. At least not today.” Ben rose from his chair. “Tell your people I appreciate their interest. If I change my mind, they'll be the first to know.”

Fisher looked stunned. “You aren't even going to look at it?”

“Like I said, not interested.”

Fisher picked up the file, shoved it a little too firmly back into his briefcase and rose from his chair. “A-1 wants your stores, Ben. You can expect to hear from us again.”

“The answer will be the same.”

Fisher made no reply as he marched rather brusquely toward the door.

“Have a good day,” Ben called after him, then smiled to himself as he sat back down. It was a measure of all he'd accomplished that a company as successful as A-1 wanted to buy his stores. Still, he had worked hard to achieve his success and there was still so much more he wanted to accomplish.

From the time he was a kid working for his dad at McKenzie Mercantile, his family's rural mid-west department store, he knew business was what he wanted to do with his life. He had studied hard, been determined to go to college, excelled at nearly every high-school sport and been the president of his senior class.

The effort had won him a scholarship to the University of Michigan, and the sports he had loved helped him zero in on which direction to take. Nike had recruited him to work in a management position right out of college but after a few years he realized he wanted to work for himself.

His mom passed away when he was twenty-four, then his dad died and left him the family business. Ben sold the mercantile, moved to the Pacific Northwest and opened his first sporting-goods store.

He smiled. He was as good at business as he always thought he would be and the rest, as they say, was history. He now owned twenty-one stores and had invested his earnings wisely in both the stock market and real estate. His financial portfolio had a net worth of twenty-five million and it was growing every day.

He had the life he had always wanted.

At least, he had until six years ago. That was the year he lost his daughter, Molly…the same year his wife divorced him, the year that had left him devastated and grieving and on the brink of losing his sanity.

He'd survived—barely—by burying himself in his work. McKenzie Sporting Goods had saved his life and he wasn't about to sell it.

Not now, nor anytime soon.

 

Standing in front of the climbing wall in an area in the southeast section of the gym, Autumn looked at her half-dozen students, two women and four men.

“Any questions?”

Today was the second in a series of basic rock-climbing classes that would take place over the summer. Once the group had progressed far enough, there would be actual forays into the nearby Cascade Mountains. They would do some bouldering then progress to top-roping: safe, easy ways to build confidence and improve their skills. Maybe they would even do some more difficult technical climbing.

In her first session, she had addressed the general nature of the sport, some of its history and topics to be discussed in future lessons: getting your body in shape and the right nutrition, choosing the proper clothing; mountain hazards; climb rating systems; and the proper equipment and how to use it.

This morning they were discussing weather forecasts and navigation, which included the use of USGS maps and GPS instrumentation.

“I use my GPS all the time,” said Matthew Gould, a tall, string bean of a guy with shaggy brown hair. “Are you saying I'm better off hauling out a map? That's kind of old-fashioned, isn't it?”

“A GPS is an invaluable piece of equipment—I won't argue with that—and some of the newer devices are pretty fantastic. But for the most part the information on a USGS map is far more extensive than what's on the equipment most people own. The maps show vegetation, rivers, streams, snowfields and glaciers, as well as roads, trails and less tangible features, like boundaries and section lines. Learn to read them well and it may save your butt when the rest of your planning goes south.”

A few chuckles rumbled from the group.

“There are sample maps on the counter over there. I know most of you are hikers so you probably already have some experience using them. Take a look at the maps and go over what we've discussed. See if you understand everything that's printed on them. If you need any help, I'm right here.”

The students rose from their places on the floor and ambled to the counter. Autumn stayed for questions, then once her students had left, changed into her shorts and went into the weight room to do her morning routine.

She usually worked out before class but sometimes she went to the gym in the evenings. It didn't really matter, as long as she got her workout done. As a climber it was essential to stay in shape. Her small frame was solid and compact, with strong muscles in her arms, legs and thighs. But her breasts were nicely rounded—one of her most feminine features—and she was proud of the way she looked in a pair of shorts or a bikini.

She usually did a ninety-minute routine four or five days a week, which gave her weekends off to climb or to simply relax and enjoy herself.

Today, as soon as she had finished on the Stair-Master and the Nautilus machines, she showered, dressed and set out to see if she could find the mysterious little girl who had appeared in her dreams.

She had decided to begin at the school, which wasn't far away. Summer school was in session, though she hadn't offered to teach. The summer was hers and she loved every minute of it. Shoving through the door of the main office building, a flat-roofed, two-story brick structure, she walked over to speak to her friend, Lisa Gregory, who worked as office manager.

“Hi, Lise, sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you might do me a favor.” Lisa was in her thirties, a pretty woman with short brown hair who was efficient and always friendly.

“What kind of favor?”

“I need to get into the school's computer files. I want to take a look at photos of the girls between five and seven years old.”

“What for?”

“I'm trying to find a particular child. I know what she looks like, but not her name. I'm not even sure she's a student at Lewis and Clark.”

“Do I dare ask why you're doing this?”

“I wish you wouldn't. Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe it. But it's important I find her, whoever she is. Will you help me? You're way better at this computer stuff than I am.”

“Sure. As long as it doesn't get me into trouble.”

They walked into the back room and Lisa sat down at one of the office computers. The school was proud of its cutting-edge technology. Everything was computerized and updated every year.

“What else do you know besides her age?” Lisa asked as she typed in the information. “Maybe we can narrow the search.”

“I know she's blond and blue-eyed. I think her first name is Molly. Besides my guess at her age, I'm afraid that's just about it.”

“Every little bit helps.” Lisa input the information, hit the search button and waited for the results to come up. There were several pages of photos of students who fit at least some of the criteria and Autumn studied each girl's face. Some she had seen on the playground but none of the others looked familiar, none were named Molly and none resembled the little girl she had seen in her dreams.

“Does your information go backward?” Autumn asked. “Maybe she was a student here last year but her family moved somewhere else.”

“We have the names and photos. We'll have to adjust for age, though, if you think she's only six. She would have been five then.”

Autumn sighed. “I suppose she could be younger now or maybe she could be older, I don't know.” In fact, she had no idea if the little girl actually existed.

“I'll bring up the photos for the past three years and you can see if you recognize her.”

“Thanks, Lise.”

But a search of the pictures led nowhere and after a thorough examination of each possible child, Autumn ignored a kink in the back of her neck and straightened away from the screen.

“Well, that's it,” Lisa said.

“I really appreciate your help, even if we didn't find her.”

Lisa slid her chair back from the computer. “So tell me why you're looking for this girl.”

Autumn studied her friend, trying to decide whether or not to tell her the truth. She sighed. “I've been having dreams about her. It's weird because it's the same dream over and over. In the dream, a man she doesn't know convinces her to get in his car and drives away with her. The dream doesn't go any further but I get the feeling something bad is going to happen. I was thinking maybe I should try to find her, warn her parents. Of course, it's just a dream and it probably isn't even real.”

Lisa stuck a pencil into the light-brown hair over her ear. “But it might be. You see that stuff on TV all the time.”

Autumn relaxed and smiled. “That's kind of what I thought. Thanks for understanding.”

“No problem. Good luck—one way or the other.”

Autumn nodded and headed for the door. All the way back to her apartment, she searched the face of every little girl she passed, thinking maybe she had seen the child on the street, but none of the small faces looked familiar.

She was tired by the time she got home.

And no closer to discovering who the little girl was than she had been before.