Adoption Day - that was what Greg and Samantha Stone called it - dawned bright and clear. It was another beautiful Wyoming day, which meant bright blue skies and no clouds other than a few light wisps on the peaks. Temperatures promised to reach the mid-forties. It was a perfect day for skiing, it was a perfect day for shopping, and it was a perfect day to add a nine-pound boy to the family.

It was almost seven-thirty, and the Stones were about eighty miles from completing what was likely their last trip to Idaho Falls, when a breathless Heidi Pressley unlocked the door of Heart of Love Adoption and walked in, locking the door behind her. Her struggle to sleep the previous night had made for a frantic, rushed morning. She slept through her alarm twice, costing her twenty minutes, and then her hair wouldn't set right after her shower, causing her no end of frustration. After giving up and tying it off in a ponytail, she threw her things together and raced to the office. She was usually the first person there, arriving between seven and seven-thirty in the morning. The agency didn't open until eight-thirty, but she wanted time to make sure things were ready before the others started trickling in around eight.

Heidi didn't actually get paid for this time - she punched a time clock that limited her to forty hours a week - but there was no doubt staff appreciated her when they arrived. The coffee pot was always full and fresh. The cookies or pastries, or whatever was scheduled to be served, were plated and presentable. She touched up anything the cleaning crew had missed the night before when cleaning the lobby. Her good work was clearly recognized by her bosses, though she didn't advertise it. It was part of the reason she had jumped from her nine-dollar-an-hour starting pay to almost fourteen dollars in such a short time.

She was still feeling very conflicted about her bosses. In her heart, Heidi believed the two detectives and everyone else were wrong, but her gut could not escape the minute possibility they weren't. So she was hedging in her mind - assuming the best but operating for the worst. She knew well that the tape from the video cameras was watched on a regular basis - it's how her superiors knew about the extra work she did each morning - and they would probably notice out-of-the-ordinary things.

As best as she could, she planned her subterfuge. Under her coat, she wore a sweatshirt with one of those across-the-front two-hand pockets. In it, she had carefully placed eight three-and-a-half-inch floppy disks, two sets of four disks, before she left home. She went to the small kitchen and started the coffee, put the bars on the plate and covered them with plastic wrap - dried out chocolate brownies were the worst – and went back to her desk. She hung her coat and purse on the coat rack and sat down. She angled herself slightly, in order to keep her shirt pocket and right hand just out of the camera's view, and went to work.

Heidi powered up her computer, found the network drive with the documents and spreadsheets, and then carefully slid her hand into the pocket and pulled out the first disk. Into the slot it went and two minutes later, it was full. She removed the disk and slipped it behind the others in her pocket. A minute later, she carefully repeated the process, all the while trying to do her normal every-day work in view of a camera that never lied and always saw. In less than twenty minutes, she was done. More than ten megabytes of data had been copied and was resting next to her belly. Part one - data extraction - was complete.

Part two - evidence removal - involved getting the disks back to her car. Heidi had devised that part of her plan on the ten-minute drive from her apartment to the office, and it was super simple: conveniently 'forget' her lunch in the car. She continued to work for a few minutes, then tapped the desk in frustration for the sake of the camera, got up, grabbed her coat and walked out to her car. She reached under her coat, pulled the disks out and slipped them into a thin cardboard box that she shoved under the front seat, picked up her lunch, and walked back. Two minutes later, the cameras recorded her walking through the door and across the floor with a paper bag that she took to the back fridge.

Heidi sat down at her desk - having no idea she was doing so for the last time - and got back to work. Inside, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, glad it was done. The information on those disks would prove either Hearts of Love Adoption was completely legitimate, making her a hero to her bosses, or it would confirm some level of guilt, making her a hero to the authorities. Either way, she would be fine.

She had not been sitting long when the night nurse walked out. Her shift was almost over, and she looked a little frazzled. "Heidi, could you give me a hand? I have three little boys back here, and all of them decided to throw fits at the same time! Jan won't be here for at least a half hour and I could use a hand if you're available."

Heidi jumped up. "Sure! Be glad to help!" The nurses in charge of the babies were very capable, but every once a while, things would spiral. Heidi followed her back to the nursery, the cries of outrage from little mouths getting louder. When Bill Stafford walked through the door fifteen minutes later, Heidi was sitting in the nursery rocking chair, feeding one of the babies and Tammy - the night nurse - was watching the other two sleep after diaper changes and bottles of their own.

Bill took off his coat and gave it a toss toward the rack. It was something he did almost every morning, trying to get it to catch on one of the knobs. He succeeded in 'sticking the landing', as he called it, about one-third of the time. Most of the time, his coat - and usually one or two others - ended up on the floor. It was good for an early-morning laugh or the occasional high-five from Heidi when it worked. Today, however, he succeeded in toppling the entire rack. He ran over and tried without success to catch it, and everything spilled - Tammy's coat, Heidi's coat and purse, his jacket.

He quickly put the rack back up, then hung the coats before anyone came out and saw his mishap. He started putting things back in Heidi's purse, knowing he would probably have to apologize to her for the mess he made. He picked up a piece of a newspaper and started to put it her purse, but he caught a glimpse of the photo and looked at it more closely. He recognized the faces, and it only took reading a few lines of the article to change his demeanor.

He put the newspaper clipping in his pocket and threw the rest of her things back in the purse, giving no more thought to organization - Heidi would not need a purse any longer. He walked to his desk and fired up the computer. When it booted, he opened his email client and sent out a notice to the staff. The subject and body each contained just one word - 'Avalanche'. Everyone would see it when they arrived and would know exactly what to do and who to notify.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number, waiting for the answer. When he heard the greeting on the other end, he said, "Jeff - I need you here as quickly as you can - Avalanche...yep...uh..." He paused to look at his watch. "...your targets are on the way and will be here in thirty to forty minutes, so we'll take them here...bring the Suburban because you'll have three passengers...the receptionist, Heidi Pressley...you and Jan can take them with you. Pick up Robert on the way."

Bill opened the lower drawer of his desk and pulled out his pistol, screwed on a silencer, and headed for the nursery. Through the window, he saw Heidi sitting with one of the babies, so he punched the code and opened the door, peeking his head in the entrance while keeping the pistol behind his back.

She smiled, "Good morning, Bill! Stick the landing this morning?"

"Unfortunately, no I didn't. Could you come with me for a minute? I need your help." Then he looked at Tammy, "Good morning! Avalanche..."

"Are you ready, Chris?"

"As ready as I'm going to be. Let's go become parents!"

It was just before nine and they were backing into the closest parking space, which was half a block down the street from the agency. They held hands as they walked up the street, and Rita whispered just before giving way to Samantha Stone, "I hope Heidi was able to help us..."

Bill actually opened the front door for them as they walked up. "Welcome! Come on in!"

They stepped over the threshold and Bill shook Greg's hand, then Samantha's. "Can I get you something to drink?" When Samantha held up a partially finished bottle of Dasani, he smiled, "Then come on back to my office, and we'll get started."

Samantha walked through Bill's door first, taking a full step before realizing there were two pistols pointed at her. "Gregory! What...?" But her husband ran into her at that moment, having been shoved by Bill through the door.

There was Bill behind them, brandishing a handgun. In front of them was Jan - the linebacker nurse - and another man they had never met. All of them had weapons, and all the weapons had silencers affixed. Behind them in a chair against the wall sat Heidi Pressley, her mouth taped shut and her hands tied behind her. Chris did a quick assessment. The silencers meant one thing - there would be no bargaining and there would be no pleading - these people were going to kill them.

"Ok, so this isn't normally how we do adoptions," Bill said as he stepped in and closed the door. "But you aren't normal clients, so we're shaking it up a bit. I had a revelation this morning, and it's given me much greater insight into 'Greg and Samantha Stone, doctors from Portland, Maine'." Bill spoke as he walked around to the desk, pulling the paper from his pocket, unfolding and quickly scanning it. Rita closed her eyes and hung her head as Stafford continued. "Sergeant Chris Lorenzo, cop from Palm Beach, Florida. Recently decorated for saving a life - your life," he said, looking at Rita, "Sergeant Rita Lance, cop - also from Palm Beach, Florida. How about that?" He shook his head, looking toward Chris. "It's a shame you went to all that work, saving her life and all, only to come all the way to Idaho so you both could die."

Rita looked at Stafford but said nothing. Chris looked at his captors and only said, "The FBI is hot on your heels. They're coming and it's over." Otherwise, he kept his mouth shut as well, having long ago decided that verbal sparring with would-be killers showed weakness and desperation more than strength. And he needed time to think.

"It's a good thing for all of us that I found this little gem in Ms. Pressley's purse this morning. It made for very interesting reading." He walked over to Heidi, who was clearly terrified, and bent down to her face. Rita could see that it was red - a sure sign she had been slapped around already. "It's a real shame we're going to lose you. Honestly, you did a fantastic job for us. But some mistakes get you corrected, others get you reprimanded, and a few get you fired. This one?" he held the news clipping in front of her, "This one gets you killed."

He turned around. "A couple of quick introductions before we're on our way." He pointed to the man. "This is Jeff, our version of a 'cleaner'. He makes difficult problems go away, and you three are a very difficult problem. And this," he pointed at the woman, "is Janice. She's well equipped to assist Jeff. They'll be the last living people you see on this earth, so take some time to get to know them, even though the memories will be brief."

He turned to Jeff. "Take them to the reservoir, and make sure they can't be found. We'll clear out of here and I'll be in touch."

The three of them were marched at gunpoint to the rear door, where a green Suburban was waiting. The driver - a man named Robert - looked brutish and not to be trifled with. Chris sat in the front seat between Robert and Jeff. Rita was pushed into the back seat, followed by Heidi. Jan sat with them as their guard.

Chris decided right away not to try anything in the office. There were three guns against them in that room alone, and others in the office who might be armed. It would have been suicide. But now, the number of guns was known - two, probably three. It still might be suicide, but at least the odds were fixed.

Robert drove along Highway 26 until they came to a sign for the Ririe Dam. He turned right and they headed down a narrow two-lane road. They passed the Ririe concrete dam on their right and a few minutes later, slowed down as the road changed to gravel. Chris looked up in the rear view mirror and made eye contact with his partner sitting behind him. He could read her mind and see her questioning look, but shook his head ever so slightly - going for one of the guns in the car was precarious. The moment he thought it might work, they angled to the right onto a narrower road that descended into a shallow canyon. An accident here would potentially send the top-heavy vehicle tumbling to the canyon floor, nearly two hundred feet below, meaning almost certain death to all occupants. They would have to wait - and time was fast becoming the enemy.

Robert drove up out of the valley onto something of a plateau and took yet another right turn. He looked at Chris and smiled. "You're not the first cops we've had to deal with, isn't that right?" Jeff, sitting on the other side of Chris, said nothing but smiled back. Robert continued, "We took care of the others up on the Pass."

"Yes, we did." Jeff finally spoke. "We're doing it different this time, but for you all, it will be the same. You'll be dead - little bullet holes through you. It's really lonely out here - very easy for bodies to get lost and just stay lost." He laughed. Robert laughed, too. Jan said nothing and didn't even smile at the cracks. Rita decided she was strictly business.

She also noticed they had transitioned from hard surface roads to gravel and now were rolling down a little-used double-track trail. They were nearing the end of the line. In most of their cases, things happened so quickly that she didn't have much time to get nervous or scared - adrenaline usually took over.

This time it was just the opposite. Everything was slowing down. Chris was waiting to make a move and she was trying to anticipate it to act with him, so she was sensitive to the situation and to every bump and jostle their vehicle made. The rustling of grass against the sides and undercarriage - she could hear it, almost feel it. Her senses had sharpened as she felt anxiety build in her. The Suburban halted and they were forced out. Robert pulled a pistol from a side holster - it was now confirmed - three guns and they were well above the water level in Ririe Reservoir.

Jeff spoke. "You two take the cops over to that ledge, and I'll deal with the little girl over there," he said as he pointed to the right. Robert smiled and mumbled under his breath, "I'm sure you will..." before shoving Rita to the left and ordering her to move.

The two of them walked toward the ledge, dodging little patches of snow here and there, and Chris took her hand for just a moment as they walked, not looking at her but giving just a little squeeze. They reached the edge, and it wasn't a vertical drop to oblivion, but rather a steep, forty-percent slope that ran several hundred feet to the waterline. Then Rita understood. Their bodies would tumble a long way, too far to be easily seen from up top, but too far away from the water to be seen from a boat. Furthermore, their bodies wouldn't end up in the water, to float and eventually be found. They would lie somewhere down there until just their bones remained.

Rita looked at the sun and could almost feel each ray of light hitting her, giving a bit of warmth to the chilly morning. Her senses were now almost electric and she had a horrible realization. Her heightened awareness would make everything more vivid. She would hear the click of the trigger, maybe even the hammer striking the firing pin when the trigger was pulled. The silencer would muffle almost all the report, but she would actually feel the concussion an instant before the bullet struck her body. She would feel, in full gruesome detail, the horrible pain of the slug tearing up her insides. If the bullet hit her heart, she might actually feel her heart explode. Clearly, death was more tactile even than life.

There would probably be a bullet through the head for good measure. Rita hoped she would be gone by then so she wouldn't experience the shattering of her skull and the mangling of her brain. She wouldn't feel her body tumbling incoherently down the slope, off the little ledges. She wouldn't feel her bones breaking and her neck snapping with the impacts. Was Chris thinking about any of this? Did he know how much she loved him? If it was finally his time to die, at least they were going together - her life would be so empty without him.

"Turn around!" They were the first words Rita heard the woman speak, and they would be the last.

The two detectives turned. Rita heard the footsteps as Robert walked up behind her, keeping at arm's length. Janice was behind Chris and there was a moment of silence, where everything seemed to hang in limbo. Without a sound, two pistols were being raised...

Chris moved like a blur, his body twisting with cat-like speed! He threw his right forearm up, hitting Janice's gun hand and throwing it into the air. Her pistol fired - its muted spit of death sending a slug high into the air to land harmlessly in forty feet of Ririe Reservoir water. He continued his spin, bringing his left hand around - balled into a fist - to punch her in the chest, knocking her backwards and onto the ground. He was immediately on her, giving her no chance to recover.

Robert glanced to his left as Chris attacked, and at that moment, Rita ducked and launched herself back, throwing her body into Robert's torso. She held nothing back - Robert easily had seventy pounds on her and she needed every bit of force she could muster. They both went down and Rita twisted, clawing at his face and eyes with one hand while grabbing for his weapon hand.

Janice was an incredibly strong woman - stronger even than Rita - but not stronger than Chris. She fought to bring the gun down to kill her attacker, but Chris was twisting her wrist. The pain was horrible, but she fought hard, inching the barrel closer to his neck. His fingers found her throat and he squeezed, desperately fighting to stay alive. As she gasped for breath, her grip on her pistol loosened just a little - it was all Chris needed. He twisted her wrist down and in, and there was a sickening pop as it dislocated. She screeched in terrible pain and shoved with all her might, pulling the trigger twice. But her damaged wrist was pointed inward, and two nine-millimeter slugs ripped through her torso. With a grunt and a violent expulsion of air louder even than the shots, Janice's body involuntarily relaxed. Chris grabbed the gun from her dying hand...

Robert had succeeded in rolling over on top of Rita and was working to bring the gun to bear on her face. His cheeks and lips were cut and bleeding from Rita's attack, and she was holding his gun away from her face while pushing on his chin, trying to force him off. But his size advantage was already wearing her down and his left arm was groping for her throat. He was sitting on her abdomen, reviving fresh pain in the area of her stab wound. Her arms were screaming and the barrel was inching closer to its target. She pulled her hand from his face and used it to fight the gun, but it wasn't going to be enough. In a few moments, it would be over. His hand had found her throat and squeezed - she was gasping. "Chris!" she croaked.

She heard the silenced report of a gun and Robert stiffened. It fired again and the left side of Robert's head exploded as a second bullet blew through and exited. His grip on her throat loosened and he fell forward on top of her - a dead weight she could barely move. Then Chris was beside her, pulling the gun from Robert's dead hand and rolling him off.

Rita gasped for breath and looked to her left. Janice was staring back at her with dead, unmoving eyes, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. A moment later Chris was on her, wiping parts of her assailant off her face, neck, and chest, then hugging her and holding her. "You're a bloody mess! Are you all right? Are you hit or hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, just scrapes and cuts. My belly hurts again...thank you, Christopher!" Her hands were on his face and she kissed his cheeks and lips repeatedly, barely aware she was doing it. "That was cl..." she paused for only a second, "...Heidi!"

They both jumped up and headed toward the Suburban as quickly and quietly as possible. Chris handed his partner the gun Robert had been carrying. They heard Jeff yelling a little ways away and they quietly jogged, guns at the ready. They came to an opening in the grass and stunted shrubs and both stopped, stunned...

Heidi was lying on the ground, squirming, her hands still tied behind her back. Jeff was above her on his knees, fumbling with his pants while one hand roamed under her shirt. Rita was filled with rage - Heidi's killer was preparing to deliver the ultimate indignity before dispatching her. Jeff's gun was lying next to him at the ready, but Rita wasn't waiting. Before Chris could say or do anything, she raised the firearm. An instant later, he heard the silenced 'pffut' and Jeff jerked and then slumped, a red splotch clearly visible at the back of his neck.

They ran to Heidi and Chris threw Jeff off, rolling him over. His eyes stared back, trying to focus as he gurgled, his throat a mass of torn, bloody flesh. Chris could see the carotid artery pumping his life onto the rocks and grass. He quickly took off his jacket and pressed it against the wound, but it was no use. Jeff took a couple of shallow breaths and then stopped breathing altogether. His eyes went glassy and somehow closed as death took him.

Rita tended to Heidi, untying her hands and ripping the tape off. Splattered with blood and little pieces of Jeff, she was weeping as she threw her arms around Rita. "Thank you! Thank you for saving my life. I'm so sorry! Thank you!" Rita held her. "Shhh...it's alright, it's ok..."