His fingers tightened on the reins. “How long ago?” he demanded.
“Maybe ten minutes?”
The trouble that woman could get into in ten minutes was immeasurable.
“She took the snowmobile out before everyone else got here. I tried to get her to stay put until everyone else got here, but you know Remi.”
“I know Remi,” he agreed through the tightness in his throat. “What was she wearing?” He hoped to God the woman had at least remembered to put on fucking pants before charging out into a snowstorm.
“Bright yellow coat. Sweatpants. Fuzzy hat,” Lois said, waving a hand around her own head. “One of the skis on the Cat is a little loose. I haven’t had time to get it into the shop. I’m worried it might give her some trouble—”
“We’ll find them both,” he promised her.
“Brick.”
He rode over to where Chief Ford was checking radios and cordoning off sectors on the map.
“Chief.”
“I just checked my voicemails. Had one from Remi.” Her tone was neutral as always. Darlene was a rock at all times. But he saw the flash of worry in her green eyes. “Said she was going out looking for Ben.”
He nodded. “Mrs. Kleckner just told me.”
“She’s not answering her phone now,” Darlene told him.
His fingers flexed on the reins. He needed to be out there now. Searching. Remi hadn’t been through a winter on Mackinac in a long time. Long enough to forget how quickly weather conditions could change. How Mother Nature could take things from bad to worse on a whim.
“I’m gonna head out now. It looks like she followed his tracks onto the trail, so I’ll see if I can come in from the other end, just in case Ben wandered into the neighborhood at the end of the switchback.”
Darlene gave a brisk nod and handed him a portable radio. “Bring her back in one piece.”
“Will do.”
He didn’t wait for the briefing or the assignments, simply nudged his mount into a trot as fat flakes of snow began to fall.
He was a cop. He’d dealt with missing people. With medical emergencies. With accidents. None of this was new. But the fact that it was Remi out there, not answering her fucking phone? Something worse than the cold was creeping into his gut. Fear.
Remi was out there somewhere. And she wasn’t answering her phone. He dialed again and listened impatiently as it rang through to voicemail.
Brick gave Cleetus a kick behind the ribs and urged his horse faster. With no sign of any recent traffic, he headed up the hill and picked up Remi’s trail from an offshoot.
Irresponsible.
Reckless.
Rash.
He was going to lecture her until he ran out of words and breath. Then he’d start all over the next day.
Cleetus picked his way carefully up the trailhead, and Brick found himself in a winter wonderland. The trees were covered in fresh powder. There were no tracks here. Either she’d veered off the trail or the wind had erased her tracks. He couldn’t hear anything besides the creak of his saddle, the steady plod of Cleetus’s hooves.
For once, he wished he was on a machine, flying over the snow to get to her. Of course, he no longer had a snowmobile, thanks to her and his irresponsible, reckless, rash brother… He’d yell at her about that, too, as soon as he found her.
His heart skipped a beat when he spotted them. Tracks here. Faint ones. Parallel lines. But no sign of Ben’s prints. He radioed the find back to the chief and pressed on.
“Remi!” he called. His voice rang out harshly in the wild. “Ben!”
There was no answer. He tried her phone again with the same result.
He needed to hold on to his anger to keep the fear at bay.
She hadn’t called him. Just like she said she wouldn’t. Brick hadn’t believed it. Not really. He was who she always called. He was the one who always fixed it.
The idea that he’d lost that place in her life was…crushing.
This was exactly what he’d thought he wanted. Well, not the missing in the fucking woods in the dead of winter part. But he’d assumed his life would be so much easier if Remington Ford didn’t need him anymore. He just hadn’t realized what not being needed would do to him.
“Remi!” he shouted again, the cold air biting at his throat.
Cold and exertion were bad for asthma. She better have at least thought to take her inhaler with her.
He urged Cleetus to pick up the pace as the trail opened up again. The tracks were still intact here. He noted an indentation on the side of the trail. Like someone had fallen or sat down. The tracks paused there, then started again.
“Come on, buddy,” he said to the horse. “We’re getting close, aren’t we?”
The horse’s ears perked up.
Brick listened for a minute, then called again.
There was nothing but silence, so he pressed on. Nothing but snow and trees and rocks spreading out before him. “Remington!” he bellowed.
He almost didn’t hear it. Almost missed it. But it caught his ear, and Cleetus shuddered under him.
“Help!”
It was so faint, he couldn’t tell if it was Ben or Remi.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
“Remi? I’m coming!”
This time, the cry was a little louder. He kicked Cleetus into a jog and followed the tracks. He spotted her turn off the trail into the woods and urged his mount to follow.
“Ben! Remi!”
“Down here,” came the reedy cry.
He maneuvered around an outcropping of rocks, and that’s when he spotted the mangled snowmobile on its side. Half of one ski was embedded straight up in the snow. His heart nearly stopped then. That bright splash of yellow against the sea of white.
He didn’t even realize he’d nudged Cleetus into a run until they were bolting into the clearing.
“Remi? Baby. Are you hurt?” He dismounted and strode toward her. The foot of snow barely slowed his progress.
“Ugh,” she groaned from against a boulder. “Only my…pride.” The wheeze in her voice scared the life out of him.
She climbed to her feet slowly as he approached. She had a scrape on her forehead that was bleeding. One on her chin, too. But she was alive.
“Why did it…have to be you?” she grumbled.
“Where’s your inhaler? And where’s your fucking phone?”
“Language, young man,” Ben barked. The man was bundled in a winter jacket and blanket, wearing Remi’s hat and eating fucking cookies out of a Ziploc bag.
Remi, on the other hand, was wheezing like a deflating bagpipe.
He patted her pockets and found four hair ties, a phone charger, and a wad of tissues.
“Where’s your fucking inhaler?” he demanded.
“Forgot it,” she said. The strain it took her to force out the words caught him by the throat.
“Sit the hell down and stay there,” he ordered, pushing her back to the ground. Keeping her in his line of sight in case the woman somehow managed to start an avalanche or spontaneously catch fire, he moved over to examine Ben and pulled out his radio.
“Both victims found safe,” he reported.
“Thank fucking God,” Chief Ford responded. “What’s your location?”