Page 15 of Canyon of Deceit

FOURTEEN

THERESE

I drove through Carlsbad, taking in the autumn sunrise over the high desert—a radiant scene that felt like a praise song spreading inspiration across the sky.

The farther I drove, the sight gave way to a clear blue canopy, a perfect shade like Kate and Alina’s eyes.

Maple and oak trees welcomed us, weighted with their display of shimmering gold, orange, and scarlet.

Their vibrancy was a sharp contrast to the rock that lay in higher elevations.

The terrain gave way to cactus, rocky pastureland, open-range cattle—animals that wore colors of black, brown, burnt orange, and some were speckled.

Three mule deer froze in place and gave us a brief nod before scampering into a shield of color.

We were the intruders. They were home. A part of the wilderness that I valued and revered.

My mind clicked like a photographer’s lens, sealing incredible views into my life’s album.

The Jeep climbed higher, and the forest gave way to loose rocks, creosote, occasional sage, pinyon pine, sierra juniper, prickly pear, and my favorite soap tree yucca that led up to layers of multishaded gray peaks, many of them rounded like bulging muscles.

Not a cloud in the sky, although a storm chased a frightened little girl.

I drove the Jeep around horseshoe curves confronting more of the same rugged high desert landscape. Caves and shadows drew my attention as potential hideouts, and we’d encounter more once the hiking began.

At the Dog Canyon Visitor’s Center, the ranger station and home were deserted.

A sign alerted park visitors of the Indian Meadow Nature Trail at the base of the mountains.

Across from the sign, campers had space to set up tents or dry camping, but none were there.

We stopped to fill our water bottles and drank plenty of water while examining the desolate surroundings—“camel-up,” as the park rangers said.

The dry air met my nostrils, a familiar and welcoming scent. The air and sixty-degree temps served as a reminder that the higher we climbed, the gustier the winds. Temps dropped at night, but we were prepared.

I drove slowly past the horse corral that doubled as a helicopter pad—fitting with the number of horses grazing around the fenced area. I continued until I found a lone spot off a small clearing near the hiker trailhead and cut the engine. Totally desolate. No signs of life anywhere.

“What did Chandler do with the Dodge pickup?” Blane said. “If the second person in the truck drove it out of the park, we’d have the security footage.”

Thinking like a criminal was way out of my norm. “Did he hide the truck somewhere in the area?”

“If so, it can’t be far.” Blane tossed me a serious look. “Let the Feds figure out the where and how.”

“I agree. I told Rurik I’d call him when we left the Jeep and headed out on foot.” We stepped out of the vehicle, and I used my satellite phone to inform the professor of our arrival.

“You will call me the moment you find her, right?” His weak voice showed his lack of sleep and emotional status.

“Yes. Blane and I received new information. Why didn’t you tell us that Edik Baranov is your cousin?”

“It’s too complicated.”

“Really? Every crime that’s been committed or planned is wrapped around your cousin. Oh yes, it’s complicated, especially when I have no reason to believe you’re not one of the bad guys. Did you pay the ransom when you were advised against it?”

“I paid the three million plus what I’ve already given you.”

Fury sparked in me. “And where do we find Alina since the kidnappers have their demands?”

“I don’t know!”

How could I stay angry when I’d have done anything to heal Kate? Blane must have sensed my warring emotions and asked to speak to Rurik. I handed him my phone.

“Sir, Therese and I are upset at your unwillingness to provide needed info. But we are committed to finding Alina. The FBI is a part of the case due to varied implications. I encourage you to cooperate in every way possible. Has anything else happened that we need to be aware of?” Blane’s gaze flew to me.

“Have you alerted the FBI about the third call?”

My patience with one-sided conversations had met its limit, and my patience with Rurik plunged into a canyon.

“Only you can make the decision. Therese and I are supporting Alina... We’ll keep in touch.” He glanced at me. “I’ll tell her of your apology. Take care of yourself. You have our cell and satellite phone numbers.” Blane returned my device.

“What’s going on?” I drew in a quick breath. Spouting off at Blane solved nothing.

“The man who previously contacted Rurik phoned about three this morning. He questioned why the FBI had stuck their nose into the ROC and Rurik’s private business. I suspect the ROC spotted the Feds snooping around his house and the university.”

I groaned. “What did Rurik tell him?”

“That he’d been mistaken.”

“Doubtful the caller believed him.”

“Right. The caller repeated that seeing Alina again was up to Rurik. The money meant nothing when he’d gone to the FBI. The FBI put a tracer on Rurik’s cell phone.”

“Are the Feds aware of the burner phone he used to call me?”

“What do you think?”

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. “I’d love to hear about an arrest anytime now. Why didn’t Rurik tell one of us about the call early this morning?”

“He has Mule Syndrome. No one’s going to tell him what to do,” Blane said. “We can’t trust him, but our mission is Alina. I suspect law enforcement is two steps behind whoever is responsible. We have no time to lose.”

“We’re a team. I have experience with nature’s challenges, but you have insight into negotiations and behavior.”

“No stress whatsoever.” He narrowed his gaze. “Let’s go find Alina.”

“Exactly.” I tossed Blane the keys. “You can keep these until we drive out of here with Alina.”

He opened the Jeep’s door. “I’ll zipper them in my backpack.”

We shrugged on our gear and positioned our water bottles—Blane had finally seen the wisdom of scattering supplies if it only meant the water.

“I’d like to cover a lot of ground before making camp tonight,” I said.

He stared up at the rocky terrain littered with loose limestone. “You lead out on the off-trails, and I’ll keep up. I’d appreciate it if along the way, you’d show me how to read any signs or evidence.”

“My pleasure. I won’t even charge for the tutorial.”

With his familiar chuckle, we followed a narrow, rocky path into the secluded area. At the base of the trail, we removed trekking poles from our backpacks. I peered up at the cloudless blue, then bowed my head. We needed divine guidance, direction, safety, and help finding Alina. And staying alive.

“Are you praying?” Blane said softly.

I lifted my head. “I asked for safety and wisdom.”

“We need both. Glad one of us is on speaking terms with God.”

What’s preventing you? I stopped myself from speaking aloud. Please show Blane Your power and love, Lord.

While we maintained a strong pace, parched earth, loose gravel, and sharp rock became the norm. A sudden slip or heavy burst of wind could send one of us over the edge and to our death below. But I’d rather struggle with the familiarity of nature than the likes of Tom Chandler.

I gazed at the towering peaks holding up the sky and breathed in the crisp, earthy smell—purity and a blend of freshness. “I love the mountains.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Depends on how you define fear. For me exploring new territory and revisiting special places is a type of respect, a mix of love and fear.” I swung another look at the sky. “Like how I feel about God.”

He scowled. “Must everything have a God-response?”

“Most of the time.”

“Am I going to hear about God the whole time we’re together?”

I wanted to stand bold in my faith but not chase him away from seeking a personal relationship with Him. “I’d rather show you faith in action.”

“Hmm. Okay. Deal. Ever have any doubts?”

“Sometimes.”

“I assumed you never backed off from your faith.”

“If a Christian ever tells you his or her faith never wavers, he’s lying.”

“Come to think of it, Sergio has mentioned his faith giving him a kick in the rear when life goes south.”

We hiked higher, and the wind blew a brisk chill.

Desolation spread in all directions, but I valued the sights and sounds.

Indications of a past summer fire caught my attention with charred black bark and the stubbled remains of trees.

In the heat of summer, the wind rubbing the dry grasses together often caused a spark that burned acres of wood and shrub, causing damage to all things growing and wildlife.

But nature needed fires to regrow plants, which provided wildlife’s food and increased the water supply.

“Have you explored the caves?” he said. “Just thinking about places for Chandler to hide.”

“The Apache nation revere them as sacred.”

“Meaning we can’t check them out?”

“I respect all Native Americans and avoiding the caves is an unwritten agreement. But if I think Alina’s in a cave, I’m heading in.”

A few minutes later, he pointed to a spindly soap tree yucca, which flourished in abundance. “Soap tree?”

“Right. Originally used by Native Americans to make soap. They took the fibers from the leaves to weave mats, baskets, and sandals. It can even be fed to cattle during a drought.”

“Thanks. I’m getting educated,” he said. “Uh, tell me if we come across any scat whose owners might not want me trespassing. What little scat I know is cat and bear.”

I laughed. “Sure thing.”

He pointed out different shrubs, and I had difficulty believing he didn’t have names for all of them.

His ranch-life experience must not have been in the high desert.

So I gave him the info—creosote, honey mesquite, sierra juniper, straw-colored broom snakeweed, side oats grama, wild rue, silverleaf nightshade with its poisonous berries, and alligator juniper, named for its bark’s resemblance to alligator skin.

His questions kept me busy and my mind off the dangers ahead.

Made the hiking easier, and we had miles to go before finding any traces of Chandler.

“Are your parents living?” Blane said. “The conversations on our three dates weren’t about your family.”

He’d not let me forget how I’d damaged his pride. “No.”

“Siblings?”

The question slapped me hard. “A sister, but she died a long time ago. I have a cousin who is a trusted friend.”

“Is that person a wilderness gal like you?”

I grinned while I shook my head. “She’s into piano, plays at a small church west of San Antonio.”

“Looks to me like nature is part of your family too. Good times and not so good, but you still love them.”

“Well said. And yes, my respect for nature mirrors my love of family. Thank goodness rocks and trees don’t talk.”

“Imagine the stories they’d use to blackmail us.”

I stopped and pointed to a bull elk making his procession through the underbrush. His kingly stance gave him a regal look, and his rack served as his crown. “If I were alone, I’d be snapping pics.”

“Something we have in common. I’d be taking photos to paint later.”

I faced him. “Really? What medium?”

“Oil.”

We continued to hike. “How did you develop an interest in painting?”

“Ah, she probes deeper.” A few seconds passed. “I see my painting, specifically of landscapes and animals, as an expression of a longing in my soul. A means of putting emotions into words.”

This new insight into Blane stirred up the attraction I’d fought to suppress. Not at all what I’d expected. “Do you sell your work?”

“At times. Why do you take pics?”

I struggled with transparency, then braved forward. “Photography is not my sweet spot. It merely serves to jog my memory about places I’ve visited and treasured. The wild is a worshipful experience, and I want to capture a snippet of God’s creativity.”

“If you pick out a favorite photo, I’d be glad to paint it.” His sincerity infused every word.

“We can come back another time,” I said. “Right now, our lives are bombarded by evil men.”

“We’ll have to steal away, then. In my world, every day is filled with bad guys.”