Page 21

Twenty-One

Stephanie

“Super cute.”

Janey nods her approval at the embroidered cowboy boots I picked up on a whim.

She’d called while I was out shopping and asked if I wanted to come over for dinner at her place. I ended up going straight there after shopping.

I’d hauled all my bags inside and am busy stuffing some of my groceries in her fridge to stay cool, while she ransacks the other bags.

“Consignment. I picked them up for forty-five bucks. I thought that was a pretty good deal.”

Shopping was always a necessary evil to me and I generally avoid it like the plague, but I have to admit, I had fun digging through those two small stores this afternoon. Maybe it’s because it feels like part of this new life I’m creating. I’ve never really given myself a chance to think about what it is I want. I was always more concerned about what was expected.

It’s a new experience for me, and I’m determined not to feel guilty about having fun doing it. Even though I just dropped a quick five hundred dollars in less than two hours, and I haven’t even replaced my laptop and e-reader yet.

“I love this.”

Janey dug through the bag of mainly plain jeans and shirts I picked up, and spied the pretty floral peasant blouse I found. I’m not usually one for frilly clothes, but I thought it might be nice to wear for a dinner date, or something.

“Did you find it at Stytches ?” Janey wants to know.

“No, the other one.”

“ Blessed in the 406? You’re kidding.” She holds the blouse in front of herself. “It’s nice and flowy. Might cover up a baby bump, at least for the summer months.”

“About that,” I redirect. “How are you feeling?”

She drops the top back in the shopping bag and leans back in her chair, placing both of her hands on her belly.

“Fine, I guess. Nothing a cup of ginger tea and a handful of saltine crackers can’t fix.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Yeah. Although it isn’t just in the morning. That’s a big misnomer.” Suddenly she breaks out a big smile. “But I saw my doctor this morning for my first official visit. He asked me for the first day of my last period, which took me a bit to remember. Turns out it was the end of February, but things have been so busy since the snow melted, I didn’t really pay attention. He’s sending me for an ultrasound to confirm, but it looks like this baby is due somewhere around the beginning of December.”

I break out a grin of my own. “An early Christmas present.”

She snorts. “Yeah, one that requires a little work to unpack.”

My phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Ben Vallard’s number appears on the screen. He’s been trying to get a hold of me and I tried calling him after my visit to the salon earlier but was bumped to voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Janey, holding up my phone. “I’ve gotta take this.”

“Of course.”

I slip out the door onto the front porch before I answer.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, I was tied up when you called earlier. What have you got?”

He gets down to business right away, which I appreciate. I have no desire to engage in social chitchat with him. In fact, I would love if we could get this case resolved and I could get this man out of my hair for good. I have a new life to explore and don’t particularly want to drag old baggage along while I’m doing it.

“Nothing concrete, but I had a chance to talk to Donna Farley, Tracy’s boss. I played the role of Tracy’s new and concerned friend and the woman opened up a little. She admitted Tracy asked her to lie about her whereabouts, but she doesn’t know where she actually is and is worried about her. From what she told me, I got the sense wherever Tracy went, it wasn’t exactly voluntary. Donna suspects the new boyfriend had a hand in her disappearance and my gut tells me she’s right.”

I hear Vallard mutter a curse on the other side.

“Goddammit, that doesn’t really help me much,” he grumbles. “Have you tried just calling her?”

“Goes straight to voicemail,” I inform him. “Which could mean the phone is off, or she doesn’t have service where she is, or calls have been forwarded directly to her mailbox. Either way, she’s not answering my calls either. Your best bet is to ping her phone.”

“I know it is, but I’m in hot water with my boss already. I was supposed to be back yesterday and have been avoiding his calls. I’m not gonna get any help there. I’m on my own.”

“Are you sure you’re on the right track?” I ask him. “Because it sounds like you may be blowing up your career over this.”

I’m one to talk, I’m ready to turn my back on the FBI myself, but that is for personal reasons. Ben is risking his livelihood over a lead on a case that isn’t even technically his. There is no concrete evidence to support his theory Mitchel Laine was responsible for all those robberies across several states. Or even that it’s Laine who took off with Tracy, forcefully or otherwise.

“I’m right about Laine. No doubt about it,” he states strongly. “He’s responsible, he’s here, and he has Tracy. And yes, I’m willing to stake my career on it.”

At the moment I don’t really have a career to stake anything on anymore, but my gut tells me he’s right about Mitchel Laine as well.

“All right then, got any favors you can call in? Any friends in the Bureau willing to bend a rule or two for you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time and unlikely to be the last. Favors are called in all the time.

“I’m not sure I have a lot of goodwill going my way at the moment,” he admits. “And if it gets back to my boss I went behind his back, I’d be on my ass on the street faster than I can blink.”

Fair enough.

I could let it go at that, but the smell of smoke still clinging to the inside of my nose is a reminder I already may be too invested in this case, even though perhaps not by choice. I’m going to have to let my gut do the talking again because I have no evidence either way, but I don’t believe Vallard was responsible for slicing Jackson’s tires or setting the fire last night.

He’s just not the kind of guy to get his hands dirty, and besides, what motive could he have?

“Let me see what I can do,” I offer. “I’ll call you back.”

Then I end the call. It sounds like he’s determined to see his investigation through, with or without the backing of the Bureau, so the only way to get him out of my hair is to help him get the evidence he needs. I happen to be on good terms with my colleagues and might be able to get someone to slip me some info.

I pull up a familiar number and hit dial.

“Agent Wilcox.”

I smile at the sound of his voice. We’ve worked together for the past five or so years, and have had each other’s backs. I realize I miss him.

“Hey, Shane, it’s Stephanie.”

“No shit. What the fuck happened to you? One minute you’re in the hospital, the next moment you’re gone.”

He sounds pissed, and has a right to; I haven’t exactly stayed in touch.

“Long story, but it’s gonna have to wait. I need your help with something.”

Despite being angry with me, Shane doesn’t hesitate.

“What do you need?”

* * *

Jackson

Sully spotted the first guy around two this afternoon.

He’d taken a seat against a boulder at the edge of a small clearing, and had been visible when the drone flew over.

Unfortunately, it took us almost four hours to get to him, only to find he had succumbed to his injuries right where he sat down. The only thing visible on the outside was an open head wound, and massive bruising along his lower ribs. The general consensus was he must’ve sustained internal injuries and bled out over the course of some time.

Poor guy.

Of course, that made finding his buddy even more urgent, but also more of a challenge, since dead men can’t give directions. The best we can do is try to retrace this guy’s tracks, but with the light fading fast, that is becoming virtually impossible.

Sully is still flying the new drone, which is outfitted with a thermal imaging camera, but a lot of things give off a heat signature after a mostly warm, sunny day. It can distinguish small temperature differences, which helps filter out whether you’re looking at a person or a rock. It’s effective when you are searching a small area, but pretty tedious and slow when you have the entire side of a mountain to explore.

The satellite radios Dan and Wolff are carrying on their hips crackle alive with Jonas’s voice.

“Give me an update, guys.”

Wolff answers, “We’ve got the first guy wrapped up and ready to transport down. It’s no use stumbling around blindly. We’re almost out of light. Want us to head back?”

“No. Not with little visibility and on tired horses. Camp down where you are. If there is any chance this other guy is still breathing, I want you out there and looking at first light instead of having to haul back up the mountain.”

Knowing we’d have to haul out one, perhaps two extra people, we brought Hannah, our pack mule. She hauled up some of our supplies, like food and water for us and the animals. We each carry our own sleeping bags and small survival shelters, designed to keep you somewhat protected from the elements.

It takes us ten minutes to set up camp, and JD already has a fire going to heat water for the MREs, while the rest of us get the horses secured and settled in with some water and food. Then Dan and I haul a few fallen logs around the fire to serve as benches while we wait for dinner to rehydrate in the foil bags.

I like nights like these. The environment is much different, but the camaraderie around the fire reminds me of the many nights in the field with my special ops team. It was always either the lull before the storm, or the relief after completing another successful assignment that set the tone. Tonight, it’s a little of both.

When I finish my beef stew in a pouch, I slide my ass down to the ground, lean my back against the log, tilt my head back, and listen to the muted conversation between my teammates. Every so often the moon peeks through the clouds, bathing the mountainside in a faint, blue-silver light that catches on the rocks and treetops. If it was a completely clear night, we’d be able to see the skies filled with millions of stars, but even only the occasional glimpse is worth the view.

It would be a perfect night, if not for the body of a forty-one-year-old father of two lying twenty feet from me, wrapped in a plastic body bag.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Dan observes, sitting down on the ground beside me and mimicking my pose. “Are you sore?”

“Nah,” I deny, even though my body sings a different tune.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

I grin at the brotherly accusation. I guess it shows a level of acceptance when your teammate bluntly calls you out. It feels weirdly good. Like I’m part of something again. I’ve felt a bit like the team’s stepchild until now. In part because my recovery limited my abilities, but I also kept myself apart, feeling I didn’t quite measure up or belong.

That’s changing though; right now, out here under the stars, I feel equal. In more ways than one. It’s not only because I rode side by side with these men all day without needing, or being given, any special consideration. Tonight, I also feel a connection because, for the first time, I know there is someone at home waiting for me too.

It’s a fucking great feeling.

* * *

“Put your damn weight behind it!”

I brace myself on my good leg, dig my fake heel into the dirt, and lean back into the rope I have wrapped around my waist. Sweat is pouring down my face as Wolff and I haul the immobilized body of the second climber up from the canyon below.

We set out at first light this morning, and with Sully already flying the drone overhead, it took us only a little over an hour to locate the guy. No one expected to find him alive, but he was. Alive and talking. Not very coherently, mind you, but given his condition after the fall, coupled with two nights of exposure to the elements, that wasn’t a surprise. Aside from his physical injuries, I can only imagine what this experience will do to his psyche, especially once he discovers the friend who went to get help for him is dead.

Experiences like this mess with your mind.

I should know.

A hoarse cry comes from the inflatable full-body cast we wrapped the man in as we manage to haul him over the last rock lip onto level ground. Wolff is already moving to his side, while I bend forward, trying to suck air back into my lungs. A few moments later, I feel a clap on my back to find JD standing beside me. He must’ve climbed up beside the injured man to try and keep him steady as we muscled him out of the canyon.

Dan and JD have the most experience climbing and rappelling, so they went down to stabilize him the best they could for transportation. This was only the beginning though. We still have to get him down the mountain to proper medical care.

While Dan makes his way back up to us, and Wolff tends to the climber, JD and I put together the rescue litter so we can mount it behind Hannah, who already has the dead guy strapped to her back. It’ll be slow going down since we have to find a route with as few obstacles as possible so the injured guy doesn’t get banged around any more than is necessary. It already won’t be a fun ride for him, considering he’ll be staring at his dead friend’s body all the way.

“Let’s move the dead guy,” I suggest. “I’ll take him on Banner.”

My horse, Banner, is one of the steadiest horses on the ranch. A canon could go off and he wouldn’t flinch. Besides that, he’s sturdy and can handle the extra weight.

“Why? Hannah can handle both,” JD points out, looking confused.

“I know.” I turn to where Wolff is talking to the guy in a calm voice. “But he’d have to look at that body bag for God knows how long.”

Understanding washes over his face as he nods. “Gotcha.”

The sun is high in the sky, baking us as we finally lumber into base camp five and a half hours later. The fire department’s EMS team is waiting with an ambulance they managed to get up to the trailhead. We had to stop several times to check on our patient, and a communal sigh of relief goes up when we’re finally able to hand him off to the paramedics. It’s one thing to find him alive, it’s another making sure he stays that way while extracting him.

That leaves his dead friend, whose body I had strapped to the saddle in front of me the whole way down. Not an experience I care to repeat, but better me staring at his body bag than his friend, who was devastated enough as it was to find out he didn’t make it.

I’ll remember his name, like those of many who went before him.

Enzo Baffa; he died a hero.