COLD TERROR – Revised Edition 2025

Chapter One

“Murder and vacation do not go together!”

Forensic artist Hannah Perry held her phone away from her ear to keep her friend Rachel’s voice from breaking her eardrum. “Vacation or not, I had to agree to do the reconstruction.”

“Had to, no. Wanted to, yes.”

“You don’t understand. Jane Doe needs a name. She needs me.” Hannah waited for Rachel to sigh, but she didn’t, and her long silence was even worse.

“I don’t pretend to understand how it feels to have a sister abducted and never come home,” she finally said. “To be driven every day to help others in similar situations. But I do understand the stress you’ve been under since Nick died, and you need a break.”

Rachel was right. Of course, she was. As a professional counselor, she’d been instrumental in helping Hannah get through the loss of her husband and always knew when Hannah had reached the breaking point. In fact, this vacation was her idea. But…

Hannah’s gaze drifted to the unidentified woman’s skull perched on the small dining table in the quaint rental cottage. What had she looked like? Was she blond, brunette, or maybe she had blazing red hair like Hannah’s? Either way, Jane Doe deserved to be identified. How could Hannah say no to completing a facial reconstruction that might very well lead to the woman’s identity and bring closure to her family?

“If you won’t think of your own mental health, then think of David,” Rachel continued. “He’s a little boy, and this is his last vacation before school starts. Now that his dad’s gone, he needs his mother to be present for him.”

“I am present,” Hannah snapped. “I only work on the reconstruction at night.”

“But I’ll bet you think about it during the day.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I do, but the investigation has stalled, and Jane has no one else.”

Poor Jane. Her body had been discovered in a gravel pit near Hannah’s vacation cottage on the Oregon coast. Apparently, the state forensic anthropologist believed she simply fell. But the sheriff thought she might’ve been pushed. Murdered. Unfortunately, he had no leads, and identifying her was his best way forward.

Hannah had barely picked up the keys for the rental cottage when news spread through the small town about her career. Then the sheriff showed up on her doorstep the second morning and pled with her to do a facial reconstruction. After her own sister had been abducted when they were teenagers, Hannah had never been able to refuse anyone needing her help. That was the reason she’d become a forensic artist after all.

“I appreciate your concern, Rach, but I can’t afford to waste time arguing.” Hannah smoothed the clay over Jane’s high cheekbone to fill in her muscles and stood back to appraise her work.

One more press of her finger above the cheekbone. Yes, that was it. Perfect. The underlying facial structure was complete, and it was perfect, if she did say so herself.

She let her hand fall and was suddenly aware that Rachel had been talking, but work had taken over and she had no idea what Rachel had said.

“You’ve gone back to the skull, haven’t you?” Rachel asked.

“Sorry.”

“I guess there’s nothing I can say to convince you to relax and enjoy that fabulous secluded cottage.”

“I promise not to think about Jane during the day, but the nights belong to her.”

“That’s something I guess. Text me a few pictures of you and David having fun.”

“You just want proof that I’m following through.”

Rachel chuckled. “You know it.”

Hannah laughed and ended the call. She stretched her arms toward the white tongue-and-groove ceiling. She desperately wanted Jane to be identified, but she needed a short break before starting on the tissue depth markers. She had to stretch. Get some fresh air. Otherwise, her bad habit of hunching over the table would result in headaches.

She crossed over the rough-hewn floors to a front porch barely big enough for the two chairs bolted in place. Wind howled from the ocean, battering her body back against the building, but the cool, salty air refreshed her. She braced her feet against the late summer storm and stared into the dusky sky with barely a star visible tonight. Choppy waves crashed into the rock-lined coast, the spray misting the air. Offshore, a small fishing boat bounced on rough waves, rising and falling with the surf stirred up by an impending storm.

“Foolish to be out in this kind of weather,” she muttered as she stepped back inside, forced the door closed, then locked it. She’d been a competitive college rower and had continued rowing for exercise, but even she wouldn’t try to navigate such choppy waters, much less in the fading light.

Back at the table, she settled headphones over her ears to tune out the wind. The sultry jazz tones of Garfunkel’s “I Only Have Eyes for You” emptied her mind, and she started to cut long, tubular erasers.

The song ended, and before the next one started, the sharp sound of the floor creaking behind her caught her attention.

“Quit being so jumpy.” Nothing to worry about. Now if she was home in her condo with solid concrete floors, she would be concerned, but not here. Set on stilts due to flooding, even a light wind set the cottage groaning and moaning. Tonight the tiny structure was positively swaying. Besides, no one else inhabited the island, which was precisely why she’d chosen the secluded location.

The next song spilled through the headphones, and she hummed along as she finished slicing differing-length markers. Once cut, she would attach them to the skull in twenty-one predefined locations to help determine the right depth for the clay. She glanced at her chart for a European female, and using her measurements, she began affixing the markers to the skull.

As she leaned closer, movement to her side caught her attention. She turned to look an instant before a man’s arm lashed out, snaring her neck. The guy lunged back, pulling her against his hard body, quickly shifting to wrap his hands around her neck. He squeezed.

The pain nearly took her down. A scream came to her lips. Failed to get it out. The paralyzing hold completely cut off her oxygen.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out.” The man’s deep baritone vibrated with anger. “I won’t let you destroy me.”

“Help!” she squeaked as she clawed at his forearm. Her fingernails gained purchase, drawing blood.

He muttered a string of curses. A gloved hand slammed into her temple, and pain razored into her skull. Nausea swam through her stomach. Blackness threatened.

She blinked hard. Blinked again.

His hands went back to her throat, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.

The darkness was winning. Drawing. Pulling her toward a black void.

No! Don’t give in. David needs you.

She forced her eyes open. Dug her fingernails into his arm and ripped back.

He tightened his hold.

In a panic, she scoured her work table for something—anything—that would cause him enough pain to let go. Her eyes landed on the needle tool. She grabbed it and plunged the steel into his arm, hitting bone. She jerked it out. Blood spurted freely.

Curses spewed from his mouth, and his arm loosened a fraction. She stabbed again.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He howled and let her go.

Gasping for breath, she snatched up her ball peen hammer, spun, and slammed the steel into his ski-mask-covered head. He went down like a defeated boxer.

Mind racing, Hannah ripped off her headphones and sucked in air. Deep, gasping breaths. Her neck ached, the skin tender and bruised, but she couldn’t focus on the pain. She had to do something before he came to.

She stared at him. He lay unmoving, but still the threat emanated from his body.

What should she do? Stay here and call for help? Go outside in the brewing storm?

She couldn’t use her phone. Even if she could get a signal, which was iffy, it would take too long for anyone to arrive in the raging storm. Remaining in the cottage was certain death, right? Maybe if she had something to tie him up with and buy time, but what?

Think, Hannah, think!

She shot a look around. Spotted her phone cord. A lamp cord. They wouldn’t make a firm knot to hold him. She had to leave, but how? The ocean was probable death too.

Oh my gosh! David!

She had to save him.

Run. Now.

Yes, run. She grabbed her jacket. Raced to his small bedroom and saw her precious five-year-old asleep on his stomach. Fist tucked under his chin. Rump up in the air. Dreaming of wonderful things, not the nightmare in the other room.

Please help us! Help me to take him on this dangerous journey.

“Wake up, David.” She shook his shoulder. Gently at first. He didn’t stir. “Now, son!” She shook harder until his powder-blue eyes opened and he blinked, his soft red hair stuck to his forehead.

“We have to leave now.” She lifted him into her arms and wrapped him in the quilt, covering his eyes from seeing the monster on the floor. No need. Her son had gone back to sleep. Perfect.

She hurried for the door. Found her attacker stirring.

No! She’d spent too much time thinking and now he was awake.

She jerked open the door. The sharp wind buffeted her. She fought hard and trudged onto the tiny porch. Down the stairs. Across the yard and over the boat ramp’s worn boards. Her small rowboat and her attacker’s boat bobbed on opposite sides of the dock.

“Mom,” David’s sleepy voice broke through the quilt and he tried to push it off. “What’s happening?”

She dug deep for a calm voice. “We’re just going for a little ride in the boat, and it’s raining. I covered your head to stay dry. Once we get in the boat and you lie down, you can take the quilt off if you want to.”

She gave him a squeeze and continued racing ahead.

Footsteps sounded from the porch.

The man filled the open doorway. Tall. Foreboding. Interior lights spilling around him. He shook his head as if trying to clear his brain.

She wouldn’t be here when he did.

She settled David in the small rowboat, then untied her attacker’s boat and set it adrift.

He roared, flinging curses at her. His footsteps pounded down the steps, but a limp seemed to slow him down.

Hurry! Hurry!

She crossed the dock and dropped down into her boat. With an oar, she gave a solid push away from the dock just as the attacker reached the end. She plunged her oars into the water, thankful for her rowing experience, and propelled the boat forward.

The wind howled over the bow, water spit and sprayed in her face, leaving a salty tang in her mouth. A reminder of the ocean’s power. She kept going. Kept pushing forward. Stroke after stroke. Breath after breath. Moving slowly, but increasing the distance.

“Mommy,” David said, his head free from the quilt. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,” she shouted above the wind. “Just stay down and everything will be fine.”

She glanced back. She’d moved far enough away from the attacker, and the distance was too great for him to leap into her boat. He stood on the dock, shaking his fist in the air.

“This isn’t over,” he shouted into the wind.

She memorized the voice. If she ever heard it again she could call him out. But she’d escaped from him.

Small victory. Now she had to battle the heavy chop rocking the boat while waves crashed over the hull and water settled in the bottom. At this rate, they’d soon fill with water and sink. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to move.

Faster. Faster.

Adrenaline fueled her arms. When the attacker was no longer visible, she tied a life jacket securely on David and turned the boat toward shore. She glanced behind her again, squinting through the lashing rain to see if the man was in sight.

A huge wave crashed into the bow.

Forget him. Move!

Another surge took them high and crashed them down hard.

“Mommy.” David sat up, his eyes huge. “Why are we here?”

“I need you to stay down, son.”

“But—”

“No buts. Do as I say!” The words came out harsher than she’d like, but she had no time to coax him into listening.

“We’re almost there,” she said, softer now as the lights of Cold Harbor appeared ahead. Beckoning her. “Hold on!”

The boat rose on the surf again. Plummeted down. Water nipped her calves, and she paused in her rhythm to look at the bottom of the boat. A foot of ocean had settled inside, and the boat rode dangerously low.

She started rowing in long, even pushes, riding the ocean swells, each one adding to the pool at the bottom of the boat. A sudden gust of wind caught the boat’s bow, turning them from shore.

She frantically plunged the oars into the surging water, trying to turn them around. Sideways now, a monstrous wave rolled toward them.

They were going to capsize.

No!

She let go of the oars to dive for David. She lifted him into her arms.

The water hit like a tidal wave.

The boat swirled. Churned. Turned. Lifted. Crashed down, wrenching David from her arms.

“David!” she screamed, panic overwhelming her as the water washed over her head and took her into the deadly depths.

*

Gage Blackwell paused on the dune and strained his eyes for a better view of the shoreline. Had he really seen a twenty-foot wave toss a boat into the air?

Yes, there it was again, slamming into a boulder and ejecting two people into the frigid ocean. One, he guessed, was an adult. The other a small child.

What kind of fool took a rowboat out on a night like this? With a child?

Didn’t matter. They needed help, even if it was dangerous for anyone to enter the angry waves.

He raced down the dune, the sand fighting to take him down, but he powered on, counting on years of running on the beach and years of Navy SEAL training to see him through.

Ahead, he spotted the pair. The female was floundering, clutching the child—a boy—in her arms. She suddenly shoved him up over a crashing wave and disappeared.

“Mommy!” the boy screamed as he clawed through the foam to remain upright. “Mommy!”

Gage reached the shoreline and shed his jacket and shoes. He barreled into the icy water, pulled against the ocean swells, arm after arm. His gaze never left the boy. He went under. Bobbed back up. Coughed hard.

Gage doubled his effort until he secured his arms around the trembling boy.

He fought back. “Mommy. I need my mommy.”

“Don’t worry,” Gage got out through a mouth full of water. “I’ll get you to shore, then go after her.”

The child relaxed and Gage powered ahead until he could stand. He sloshed through the swirling currents, carrying him to safety. Wrapping the drenched boy in his jacket, Gage set him on the sand. The boy shivered, his hair dripping and freckled face pale, but he didn’t seem hurt in any way. He was five, maybe six, the same age his Mia had been when she’d nearly died.

No. Don’t go there.

“My mommy,” the little voice said, wrenching Gage’s heart.

He squinted at the surf, waiting for the woman to surface. She did. Briefly. Gasping. Fighting. Flailing her arms.

He dug out his phone. “Do you know how to call 911?”

The boy nodded, teeth chattering.

“You will call 911?” Gage asked to confirm that the child understood.

The boy nodded again.

“Then stay here and call. Tell them we’re on the north end of Cold Harbor Beach.” Gage handed his phone to the boy and plunged back into the frothy waves. The sixty-degree surge of water hit him like an ice bath, but his military training taught him to ignore it. He pushed toward the spot where the woman went down. Over the years, he’d acclimated his body to the cold and could survive longer, but to her, the water temperature was life-threatening. He’d have to get her to shore soon and warm her up.

She popped up just ahead, arms flapping, her head barely breaking the water.

“Hold on. I’m coming,” he called out, his mouth filling with salty liquid.

“Help,” she shouted just as another wave crashed over her head.

He swung harder against the tide, his right arm nearly worthless in the current. Of course it was. It didn’t work well anymore. Had taken him out of the SEALs. Gave him a new life. This life.

His body slid back in the cresting wave. No. No. He had to forget the pain. The weakness. She needed him. The woman needed him. He wouldn’t fail her.

He gulped in air and put his face in the shadowy water. When he reached the spot where she’d gone down, he dove in. Deep. To the bottom. Felt through the murkiness. Touched fabric. Grabbed it and jerked her up. Then fought his way to the surface.

The petite woman broke the water. She coughed and gagged but didn’t fight him. Not a good sign. From behind, he got his good arm around her chest to ensure he didn’t lose her in the pummeling waves and paddled with his lame arm. Something wet and sticky found his face. Not water, but blood. He knew the feel. The smell from his military days. She’d likely hit her head on a boulder or the boat. Not only was she at risk for hypothermia, but the head injury put her in even more danger.

His gut tightened more, and he tried to pick up his pace, but his arm slowed them down.

“David?” she asked, and he assumed she meant the boy.

“On shore… he’s fine,” Gage said, though he had no idea if the child really was okay.

He wanted to reassure her that she would be fine, but he had no breath left to talk. He’d once been so able-bodied and could have easily rescued this woman. But since the accident, he’d had to work twice as hard with his arm to accomplish half as much.

“Mommy,” the boy’s shriek broke through the roar of the storm. “I called 911. They’re coming!”

The woman sagged against Gage, the little fight she’d had evaporating. Now that she knew her son was safe, the protector in her had disappeared.

Gage couldn’t relax. Not yet. He estimated she’d been in the water less than fifteen minutes. Enough time that the cold shock had likely caused a loss of breathing control. She would become progressively weaker. Still, for average adults, it took at least thirty minutes for hypothermia to set in, even in freezing water. Thankfully, it hadn’t been that long yet and the water wasn’t freezing.

He paddled the last few yards, then found his footing in the chest-deep water. After using the last of his strength to push through the current, he clambered to safety and collapsed on the sand, still holding her. He maneuvered her limp body carefully, pulled soggy red hair aside, and caught his first look at her face in the moonlight.

Shock traveled through his system, and he blinked hard to look again.

“Hannah?” he asked, but her eyes were closed and she didn’t respond.

Could it really be her, back in his life again after so many years?

Tons of questions followed, but the sight of her wounded temple grabbed his attention. If only he had a first aid kit. Her wound needed to be disinfected, and he had to immediately warm her body until the medics arrived. Air temps weren’t much higher than the water, and if he didn’t slow her heat loss, she’d be headed for hypothermia.

David stumbled toward them, his large blue eyes so much like Hannah’s.

“Hey, buddy, let’s put my jacket around your mother.” Gage wrapped Hannah snugly in his large coat and tucked David under his arm for warmth.

“Mommy? Wake up, Mommy.” He took her limp hand and peered up at Gage, his eyes wide and terrified. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Gage said. But—as he’d once experienced when his wife lapsed into a coma for months before losing her battle—he had no idea if she would make it. None at all.

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