Chapter 1

Darla Reynolds had finished her shift at 2:00 a.m. as usual, and made her way to her 2002 Subaru Forester parked in the employee lot at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, where she worked assisting with the Baggage Claim. Typically frigid in the month of February, a storm blew in just before midnight. At her car, her attempt to open her door was hampered by someone pouring water into her door, and freezing the locking mechanism. When the remote door lock wouldn't work, Darla tried the key but could not get it into the lock either.

As she tried the trunk to retrieve her can of deicer, a car pulled up in front of where she had parked, blinding her with a door mounted searchlight. At first she thought it was the Airport Police, as a man in a parka similar to the Alaska State Police stepped forth and approached.

"Need some help?" asked the figure. "I'll take you to the office and you can call someone."

Darla, shivering in the brisk wind, answered, "Thanks, I'll call my roommate and she can come for me. I think my battery is dead, since the doors won't unlock, but I can see a light flash inside when I press the button."

"That sounds like a dealer problem," said the man. "Someone can tow it for you in the morning. No sense worrying about it now. Let's get out of the cold."

Darla got into the car and noticed that it wasn't a police or Airport Security vehicle after all. She was about to open the door to jump out when she heard the door lock click and the man lock the release from his side. She turned to confront him, and saw a pistol pointed inches from her face.

"Hold out your hands, Honey, and you won't get hurt," he instructed.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Darla.

"Like I said," he answered, "someplace warm. I am afraid you won't be able to call anyone though. You cause me any problems and I will kill you."

Snow blew across the road ahead as the wipers on the car cleaned the windshield. The clock on the radio indicated 2:23. Her abductor handcuffed her to a handgrip on the door; making it very plain she could not escape. She watched as he headed up International, and then turned south toward the Old Seward Highway. At least for the time being, it was warm. The car soon stopped, but before she could see where she was, a rag soaked in ether covered Darla's face, and all went black.

At 7:15 the next morning, Colleen Farley awoke to get ready for work at the Hotel Captain Cook. She was very quiet so she wouldn't wake her roommate who worked a late shift the night before. Before she left, Colleen wrote a note for Darla, to inform her of a man named Galen who called for her at ten who said that he would call back. It seemed curious, since Darla had never mentioned anyone by that name before, but had been most recently dating a man named Tim.

Normally Darla brought donuts home when she worked late, but that morning there were none. Colleen went on to her job. As she stepped outside, she noticed that Darla's parking spot was empty, and covered with eight inches of snow from the evening before. Dialing the Baggage Claim desk where Darla worked, she spoke with a co-worker who verified that she had indeed clocked out at 2:00.

Thinking she had gone with Tim Sealy, a State Trooper she had met two months before, Colleen went on to work. She tried the apartment at 10:00, and 11:00, and then tried Tim Sealy.

"Tim, I am sorry to bother you," Colleen apologized, "but is Darla there by chance?"

"Darla," Sealy replied, "over here? No. I haven't seen her since Tuesday when we had dinner. We are supposed to go out today though. Do you want her to call if I hear from her?"

"No," Colleen answered. "Maybe she got a ride home. Her car just wasn't outside this morning. I didn't go back inside."

"Well, I am supposed to pick her up at 1:30," said Sealy. "I am sure she will be there. I don't think anything would have happened to her last night. Nobody in their right mind would have been out in that!"

"I hope you are right," Colleen replied. "Thanks, Tim."

Tim started to go back to sleep, but got up and showered. "Nobody in their right mind would have been out last night if they didn't have to," he reasoned. Then he concluded, that it wasn't the people in their right mind that caused him problems. He called the apartment, also getting no answer.

Living on Minnesota Drive, he shaved and drove by the employee parking lot, looking for Darla's car. It was covered with the previous night's snowfall, but he could tell that someone had walked between it and the car parked next to it, now gone and replaced by a car that had apparently been kept inside. Walking up to the passenger's side as to not disturb the footprints on the driver's side, Tim brushed away the snow from the window and peered in, half expecting to find a hypothermic Darla Reynolds inside.

Tim then noted that the rubber molding was frozen solidly to the window and that water had run down the side of the door. In the pit of his stomach, he knew there was definitely foul play involved. Reaching for his cell phone, he called the headquarters over on Tudor.

"Captain Clark, please?" he told the dispatch operator. "This is Sergeant Sealy."

"Captain Clark isn't in at the moment," the operator replied. "I'll transfer you to Lieutenant Conway."

A moment later, the familiar voice of Jim Conway answered, "Criminal Investigations, Lt. Conway. How may I help you?"

"Lieutenant," Sealy answered, "This is Sealy. I am over at the International Airport, and near the car belonging to a lady I am dating. She didn't come home last night, and I can see that someone froze the locks on her car to keep her from getting in. Her roommate called me this morning, and I couldn't find her. When I came by I found her car like this. Can we spare someone to help me check this out?"

"Sealy, Capt. Clark has everyone down by Campbell Creek where some snowmobilers found a body this morning," the Lieutenant answered. "It's not your girlfriend though. This one has been there a couple of days anyway. Damn kids ran over the DB disturbing the scene, but that is how they found it. She was frozen solid. It is apparently just the dump site."

"Sir, I hope we don't have another serial killer on the loose," Tim replied. "I hope he isn't the one to get Darla. I just have a sick feeling about her. I'll get Airport Security down here, and secure the scene. Why when I finally find a nice woman, does she disappear like this?"

Al Harding of the Airport Security Police came to see what Tim had found. His suggestion was that Darla faked her own disappearance, and took off for the Lower 48. He told Tim of having one or two faked disappearances every year. This one was an Airport employee though, and Darla hadn't seemed like an unstable person to Tim Sealy.

He could tell that she liked his company as much as he did hers.

For the next few minutes, he and Al Harding took photos and measurements of the footprints, and the frozen door locks. Some very large ones met the smaller prints, obviously belonging to Darla. Her prints had stepped inside two of the larger ones, which indicated that she had followed the man somewhere.

Surely she wouldn't get in the car with a stranger. He would have his supervisor contact Airport Security for a list of the people on duty the previous night. Someone passing himself off as a cop or security guard could have lured her. His stomach knotted up as he realized what had probably happened. It would be two days before an official missing persons report would be filed. By then, it would probably be too late. These crimes were time sensitive. If you didn't find the victim in the first few hours, chances of finding them alive diminished greatly from that point on. The previous night's storm multiplied that factor.

Darla awoke nauseated by the smell of ether. Compounded by the swaying motion and drone of an airplane engine, she felt the urge to throw up. She could barely see the fading light against the Chugach Mountains to her left. Keeping low, she peered out of the window of the cold Cessna 170, as it made its way eastward.

Now threading its way through the valleys between the mountains, Darla wondered why the man abducted her until she felt the cold, slimy puddle beneath her behind. The man had at least been merciful enough to knock her out before raping her, if she could call it that. Now she didn't know whether he thought she was dead or not. If so, by continuing the ruse, he might simply drop her somewhere instead of shooting her.