Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Jackals
While the ambulance raced toward Bozeman under the flashing amber beacons of Montana plows, thirty miles south in an opulent timber-frame chalet near Moonlight Basin, the Cole family was having the time of their lives.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows overlooking the snowy valley, a stone hearth crackled with tamarack logs. Nathan Cole, thirty-two years old and convinced that his father’s real estate portfolio gave him an invisible shield against the consequences of ordinary men, was swirling expensive bourbon in a lowball glass.
Across the room, his mother Brenda sat with her feet propped on a leather ottoman, scrolling through designer ski coats on her iPad. His sister Olivia, whose fake bout of car sickness had set the entire nightmare in motion, was pouring herself another glass of pinot noir. Richard Cole, the patriarch who had made his fortune bullying subcontractors across three states, sat with his laptop open, completely indifferent to the fact that his pregnant daughter-in-law was missing in the middle of a blizzard.
"Don't you think she’s suffered enough, Nate?" Olivia asked with an ugly, mocking smirk. "It’s been an hour. She probably walked all the way back to the road entrance by now. Her hair is going to look hilarious in the snow."
"She’s fine," Nathan snorted, taking a long sip of his drink. "She’s just being her usual stubborn self. I told her at dinner: you don't disrespect my mother at the table, you don't roll your eyes when we talk about baby names, and you don't act like your family is better than ours just because your dad was a county surveyor. She needed a reality check. When she walks through that door freezing, she’ll never open her mouth out of turn again."
"She’s so dramatic," Brenda sighed, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "When I was pregnant with Olivia, I was back on the tennis court in three months. Emily acts like being thirty weeks along makes her a queen. Walking a couple of miles will do her constitution some good. Besides, Richard, didn't you say the cabin manager had security cameras? We should check if she’s near the gate."
"Let her knock," Richard said without looking up from his spreadsheet. "When she’s ready to apologize for walking out of the car, she can knock like a civilized person. If she throws another tantrum, Nate, you leave her bags on the porch."
They didn't hear the tires crunching through the fresh powder on the private driveway. They didn't see the two Gallatin County sheriff cruisers, their overhead lights killed to maintain the element of surprise, pulling up alongside Graham’s dark Explorer.
Nathan set his glass down on the polished cedar coffee table and stretched his arms behind his head. "I bet she’s crying her eyes out right now. She’ll come crawling in, apologize to you, Mom, and tomorrow we can go skiing without her whining about altitude sickness."
Suddenly, the heavy pine front door didn't rattle with a knock.
It exploded inward with a deafening crash that shook the cabin’s timber beams.
The lock shattered, the deadbolt sheared right off the frame, and three heavily armed law enforcement officers stormed into the foyer, boots slamming against the slate tiles. Leading them was Graham Mercer, towering in his tactical parka, his badge pinned over his chest, his eyes locked onto Nathan like crosshairs.
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"Gallatin County Sheriff's Department!" Deputy Miller’s shout ripped through the warmth of the room. "Step away from the table! Keep your hands where we can see them! On the floor, all of you! Now!"
Brenda dropped her wine glass. It shattered on the flagstone, red liquid splattering across the pristine white rug like blood.
