Page 3 of Canyon of Deceit

TWO

NEW CANEY, TEXAS

I paced the floor of my bedroom, battling the war within my soul.

Professor Ivanov’s tragedies reached into the fiber of the woman I am today.

A helpless little girl caught up in a vicious crime?

My emotional fiber screamed to say yes to a rescue mission, but reason shouted just as loudly that I didn’t have all the information to make a solid decision.

I weighed the odds of finding Alina alive, and doubt shook my confidence. Maneuvering uncharted trails across rough terrain where others refused to venture or weren’t equipped with the wilderness skills didn’t frighten me. But something far worse hovered over my psyche.

I’d found the hideous remains of adults who’d succumbed to nature’s pitfalls, but never a helpless child.

Kate dictated my life after twenty years. Alina was the same age as Kate when she died. I couldn’t save her, and now Alina faced potential death.

Alina suffering under the control of the monster who might have killed her mother caused me to forget all manner of good sense. How had the kidnappers navigated her to Dog Canyon? How had they raised and lowered her over steep inclines and slippery shale rock? With ropes? Carried her?

If I accepted the job, I needed a member of law enforcement whom I trusted... Someone wilderness-worthy with negotiation skills and able to expertly use a firearm without hesitation.

A man’s name held my attention. Seven months ago in Houston, I’d trained Texas Rangers on wilderness-survival skills through a four-day-long series of hands-on classes.

One of the Rangers worked in the Crisis Negotiation Unit—CNU.

A man I respected. He had a master’s degree in psychology and a reputation as a risk-taker.

I needed a trained professional who put others first.

.. providing he let me lead and give the orders.

Captain Blane Gardner.

I hesitated to call him. We’d gone out three times, and I enjoyed his company and commitment to the Texas Rangers.

Then I invited him to church. He claimed he and God weren’t on speaking terms, so I ended the relationship.

Although I’d made the right decision, several sleepless nights passed before I could push his pecan-colored eyes, thick red hair, and fit physique out of my heart.

My pulse sped at the idea of spending hours alone with him in the wilderness, and the thought of putting myself through the emotional roller coaster again sent my pulse racing, but saving a child’s life took priority.

With thirty minutes before I had to leave to meet Professor Ivanov, I pulled up Blane’s contact info on my phone. Any other time, I’d have been considerate of the early hour, but not this morning. I pressed in the numbers, and a groggy man answered.

“Blane, this is Therese Palmer.”

He yawned. “What time is it? I doubt this is a social call.”

“Little after 4:00 a.m.” Hearing his voice brought back our dates, hours of conversation, and gazing into his eyes. Moving on. “I apologize for the early hour.”

“Sounds like you have an emergency. How can I help?”

Encouraged, I braved forward. “I’m looking for someone with your expertise as a Texas Ranger, a negotiator, and a man who can trek through off-grid areas.”

“And my name popped up in a search engine?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to know I have hero stats. Where would this mission take place?”

“Guadalupe Mountains.”

“You’re talking a lot of territory. What’s the situation?”

“I’ve been asked to help find a little girl who is being held there for ransom. Timing is critical.”

“Who is she?”

“I can’t tell you until I’m sure you’re willing to take this on.” I paused and let my words sink in.

“Let me get this straight. You need a Ranger, which says law enforcement jurisdiction. A kid’s been kidnapped, which says possible murder, and I’d better carry plenty of ammo.

You need a person trained to talk down volatile people and arrange for her release.

And we’d be hiking across dirt and rock. How many other Rangers have you asked?”

“None but you.”

He chuckled. “How did I make the lucky cut?”

“Contrary to some of your colleagues last March, you didn’t discount my skills just because I’m a woman. Another reason is Rangers are private people, and I need someone I can trust.”

“Next time, I’ll disguise my appearance. Is the kid family or a friend?”

“Depends on your definition.”

“How much is the ransom?”

“I’m not ready to divulge details.”

Blane huffed. “Remind me not to try interrogating you. Wait a minute. I did try, and you shut me down.”

That I did. “You’re a good fit, which is what this mission needs.”

He gave a low-throated laugh that I’d almost forgotten. “I won’t tease you about our past, unless it serves my purpose.”

His dry sense of humor appealed to me, as long as he avoided the topic of “us.” I could work with a mission-oriented man who balanced life with a carefree and cheerful attitude.

But I must keep my attraction out of it.

“Can you meet me this morning at The Breakfast Brew on I-45 near The Woodlands around five thirty?” I counted to ten.

I hadn’t talked to him in months, and now I was asking him to risk his life.

“I understand your apprehension. I assure you this is a legit problem, one that requires secrecy.”

“Okay. I’m available to talk. Understand, I must be given every detail, or you’ll be lookin’ for another negotiator.

I don’t have a good feeling about this, but I’ll hear you out, only because I like you.

If I can assist you within my job description, Major Sergio Montoya will also need to approve the plan and the time away from my responsibilities. ”

“In your shoes, I’d demand the same.” At least Blane didn’t blow me off. This gave me an opportunity to talk to Professor Ivanov and convince him of bringing in firepower. “Thanks. I appreciate your meeting me.”

I texted a friend who worked at the park’s Pine Springs Visitor Center near Dog Canyon. She texted back stating I needed a law enforcement official to authorize access to the camera footage and the Guadalupe Mountains covered over eighty-six thousand acres.

My next text went to a friend at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management, who said a pilot who didn’t want to be identified and used abandoned airstrips would have turned off his transponder.

No one would bother with the flight unless it flew into controlled airspace.

If someone looked for the aircraft, they’d find it.

There were always ways to uncover the hidden. Except I wanted answers now.

I searched online about Rurik and Daria Ivanov.

Nothing problematic jumped out about the couple.

Neither did anything surface about Russian organized crime—ROC—other than the usual FBI alerts.

Another connection at the FBI could tell me if Rurik and Daria were under the radar or if US/Russia relations had recently escalated.

Professor Ivanov had made an enemy who wanted a lot of money—and had already proven their seriousness.

God, what am I to do?