Page 17 of Canyon of Deceit

SIXTEEN

BLANE

We’d hiked miles today over off-trail terrain and often doubled back to recheck obscure signs, but nothing surfaced.

If Chandler had trekked this way, he’d left no visible trace.

The view displayed nature’s paintbrush in unexpected ways.

Shades of brown and gray swirled into deep rose stood as a stark contrast to a cloudless blue sky.

We pitched tents and made camp. Cold gusty winds blew around and through us, much like my attitude.

My sixth sense had never failed me, and it warned me we were being watched.

Who was obvious. But how and where from?

I slipped behind one of the trees and reconned our surroundings.

Nothing looked off, but foreboding pressed down hard.

My teen years on the rodeo circuit were useless, but my wilderness-survival class gave me a little insight.

Therese eyed me warily. Did she feel the same sensation? “You feel the uneasiness?”

“Yep. Keep your eyes open.”

“I have. Creepy.”

“Make sure your gun is within easy reach.”

She patted the side of her backpack. “I’m good. Ready to help build a fire?”

She’d explained the process months ago during our Ranger training, and I hadn’t practiced other than barbecuing.

Fortunately, my recall was good. I dug a hole according to her instructions using a small trowel from my backpack, and we laid stones around it.

We gathered dried grass, kindling, and a few pieces of dried wood.

She arranged them, and as I watched her at work, she stoked my admiration.

Not sure why I let myself continue to fall for a woman who had this God-thing going.

She bent to the pit with her fire starter and fanned a fledgling spark into a flame.

Shielding it with her hand, she blew lightly, nursing it with patience and skill.

She added dry tinder just like I’d been taught as a Boy Scout back in the day.

She roughed up finger-size kindling and carefully placed it on the fire.

Dried wood came next, forming the fire into a triangle.

Her skill impressed me as... intrinsic.

“Glad we have permission to build this,” I said.

“Right. We’re cold, and I much prefer nature’s cookstove. I’ll build it low—”

“Chandler’s already on to us.”

Her gaze darted to me. “You still feel him breathing down our necks?”

“Yep. My SIG always stays within inches of my fingers. I’ll take the first watch tonight.” No one ever lived to say they saw Chandler coming, but I wouldn’t state it.

“Doubtful our vigilance will do any good.” She blinked, and fear met me from those blue-green depths. She had good reason to dread any signs of the part animal, part man. If fright motivated a person to be careful, then I supported it.

The sun slipped into the western sky around six o’clock, and we settled in around the fire.

The freeze-dried chicken Alfredo soothed the emptiness in my stomach.

I pulled out my paper topographical map to study where we were headed in the morning and compared it to the map on my satellite phone.

The contour lines represented points at the same elevation.

The closer the lines in elevation, the steeper the climb.

Therese moved closer to me. “Tomorrow we’ll encounter a few challenges. Expect slopes of small loose rock, called scree. Those can be slippery. We’ll use ropes when necessary. Do you remember the knots from class?”

“How about a review for this old schoolboy?”

She pulled a rope from her gear and moved into instructor mode. “I’ll show you the three basic loops and a couple variations of the hitch knot, which I’m guessing you already know.” Therese chose a nearby pine tree and demonstrated the knot we’d used on the ranch.

“Thanks. What else?”

“I’d sure like to find Alina tomorrow.”

I infused caution into my words. “We can’t stumble onto them or we’re dead. We’ve got to figure out their exact location and surprise them.” I touched her hand. “With two armed kidnappers, we both must be ready to defend the other and protect Alina.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m your partner, and I won’t fail you.”

“Pulling the trigger on a killer is likely a given in our mission.” In the low firelight, her features paled slightly.

According to rumors, she’d encountered dangerous situations before.

But this one had personal branded on it.

Maybe one day she’d tell me. “I’ll follow your lead on the trail, and I need you to follow mine when we meet up with Chandler. ”

“Yes, I agree.”

“A code word or phrase that indicates trouble?” She nodded, and I continued. “Do you have one?”

She tapped her chin. “Scree.” I gave her a thumbs-up, and she heated water.

We stayed in our own thoughts until she stirred instant coffee into two mugs of hot water. “I assume you’re thinking through negotiations,” she said.

“I am. But a fat lot of good it will do talking to a man who prefers to wield violence to words.” I took a long drink of the hot, bitter brew. “We called this fence-coffee on the ranch. The only thing available when riding fence. Tastes like it was brewed over a pile of manure.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” She finished hers and grimaced. “It is bad. What were you thinking while drinking my bad coffee?”

“Chandler’s grandmother is his weak link, unless he’s blaming her for dying and abandoning him.

He faced theft and murder charges to attend her funeral by disguising himself.

No one suspected him until he broke down at the graveside service.

I’ll use the grandmother angle to test out his reaction.

With no family, friends, or pets, it’s difficult to determine his vulnerability.

” I lifted a brow to lighten the moment. “But my cowgirl partner’s got my back.”

A faint smile met my gaze. “Have you considered his favorite places to visit? He obviously likes the high desert mountains,” she said. “He’s been spotted in the Alps, the Andes, the Himalayas, and the Rocky Mountains.”

“You’ve kept tabs on him.”

“Blane, my dad told me the best way to overcome an enemy is to walk every step of his journey.”

“Sounds like some of the lessons my dad taught me. Chandler’s motivated by M&M,” I said. “Mountains and money.”

“Not a sweet mix.”

“Is it possible to live weeks at a time up here in a well-hidden place?”

She nodded. “Skills and supplies are the key, and Chandler would find access to both.”

Myriad stars burst onto the scene like lightning bugs on a summer night. “Who tells the first ghost story?”

“Mine are all true.” She added kindling to the fire. “Tell me why you and God aren’t on speaking terms.”

“Why don’t we start our first night on the trail with deep stuff?”

She waved at me to begin. “Texas Rangers have the best stories.”

“All right, partner.” I held up a finger. “I’ll tell my ghost story tonight, then you tell yours tomorrow night.”

“Maybe. Might not be as good as yours. You came from a family of police officers, and Major Montoya’s family adopted you. Anything else shaping the man today?”

“It’s dark.”

“Most of our stories are.”

“You believe in God and have the faith thing going. Whatever your past, I’m sure you’ve rationalized it.”

“Not really,” she said. “But we’re talking about you. As you’ve said to me more than once, I’m listening.”

“If I share what I’ve done, any chance of us taking our relationship up a notch is gone. We already have our faith differences, so I guess we’re already headed down a dead-end street.”

“Rusty, is it okay to call you by your nickname? I’m your friend, not a legalistic judge. We trust each other, and that means the past stays right there. Maybe I can offer insight.”

Long seconds ticked by. Could I tell Therese what I’d done?

“All right. First, the way you say Rusty sounds good. I’ll tell you my disgusting story, but you’ve been warned.

” I stared into the low flames. “Back in my freshman college days, before meeting Sergio, I dated a girl. Wendy was smart. Gorgeous. Funny. And a Christian. I rode the fence with God. Even went to church with her a few times to make her happy and hinted about making a commitment. I faked any righteous responses around her. One night we went to a party, and a group of guys decided to bring out a Ouija board. Wendy wanted nothing to do with it. Called it a devil’s board and asked me to take her home.

I refused. Made fun of her. Yep, I’d been drinking.

One of the guys said he’d take me home later, so I tossed her my truck keys.

As she left, I said, ‘May the curse be with you.’ Everyone thought it was hilarious. I...”

“I’m listening,” she said. “Who else have you shared this story with?”

“You’re the lucky one. Sergio and my parents have heard bits and pieces.”

“Keep going.”

She didn’t give up. “On the way home, Wendy lost control of my truck and ran it off a bridge. She lay in a coma over two weeks, and I never left her side. The doctors convinced her parents to remove life support. I begged God to save her, bartered with Him, but she died. I decided God had taken seriously my parting words to Wendy, and I wanted no part of Him.”

“You blame God for her death.” Therese poured compassion into her tone, like I would do in her shoes. “And yourself.”

“Yes.” I stoked the fire. “I vowed to help people not become victims. It’s been my mantra ever since.”

“Tragedies don’t define us unless we give them permission.”

How many times had I used similar verbiage to others?

“Oh, Blane. Don’t torture yourself. Wendy made the decision to leave the party. Your words and actions had nothing to do with the accident.”