Shoot to Thrill (Monkeewrench) - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

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Prologue
From top to bottom and everywhere in between, Minnesota was a bleak and frigid place in January, whether you were shivering on a blizzard- swept western prairie or paralyzed under a foot of snow smack in the middle of Minneapolis. But there was no greater sense of winter desolation than on the north shore of Lake Superior, where the big water that looked like an ocean was forever pushing enormous blocks of sharded ice against one shore or another.

The past two weeks had been particularly cruel to the lake. A parade of low- pressure systems had stalled, battling each other for command of the winds, freezing the great body of water almost to the horizon line. It was profoundly disturbing to see something so powerful completely subdued, like King Kong in chains on a Broadwaystage.

Randy Coulter had a lot of empathy for the lake, because he knewwhat it felt like to be the helpless victim of a greater force, trappedby circumstances he was powerless to change. But that was the oldRandy- the new, improved Randy finally had the power to makethings happen. And if he could muster the guts, he'd make somethinghappen today.

The trail on the edge of the cliff provided spectacular winterscapeviews for the snowshoers and cross- country skiers who frequentedthe winter resorts along the shore, and their numbers were legion inthe week between Christmas and New Year's. City dwellers accustomedto the protective environment of crosswalks and guardrailsflocked to the north in a foolish fit of adventure, where you actuallyhad to rely on your own good sense instead of the nanny state tokeep you safe.

Randy slipped out of his snowshoes and off the groomed trail,testing each step toward the edge of the cliff with a pole to makesure there was frozen earth beneath the windswept snow. Thecloser he got to the lip of eternity, the colder the wind that blewon his face. He began to despair, thinking that no would- be athletewould venture out on such a day, when the barometer rose and thetemperatures plummeted. They were all inside their cozy cabins andresort rooms, frolicking in hot tubs or drinking in front of a fire,and Randy would be the only soul to see this cliff today.

He had to drop to the snow on his stomach to safely examine themagnificent sight over fifty feet below him. The shoreline bristledwith stalagmites of frozen water that vaulted upward from the shorelike monstrous icy teeth, just waiting for something substantial tognaw on. "Beautiful," he whispered.

"Hey. You okay?"

Randy nearly tumbled over the edge at the sound of a male voicebehind him, and then looked over his shoulder and saw everythinghe would never be. From the logo on the Gore- Tex suit he knewimmediately that the man drove a foreign sports car and had lefta probably augmented blond woman back in his cabin, and for amoment he felt himself shrink away, curl inside himself, until heremembered the power. "Thank God," he said, and the man's waxedbrows moved into a frown.

"Are you hurt, buddy? How can I help?"

Randy closed his eyes. "I think there's a body down there," hewhispered, rising to his feet. "I didn't know what to do . . ."

"You're kidding."

"No, really."

"Jesus Christ."

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"Sure. Let me get a look first."

"Okay, but be careful. It's a little slick out here near the edge."The man removed his snowshoes, moved cautiously toward theedge, and peered over. "I don't see anything."

"You have to come further this way. Those ice spikes block theview . . . oh, man, this is horrible, I've never seen anything likethis . . ." Randy felt the man's hand come down firmly on his shoulder.Oddly, he found the touch comforting.

"Take it easy, buddy. Just relax, take a breath. It's down there?"Randy didn't have to fake the tears. They came on their own, andhe couldn't imagine why. "Right . . . down . . . there . . ." he pointed,and