Fatal Flashback

by Kellie VanHorn

  “Oh, Ashley.” The agony in his eyes threatened to break her angry heart into a thousand shards. “Is that what you think? That God took him away because He doesn’t care?”

  The bubble of unshed tears formed a solid lump in Ashley’s throat. She swallowed. “What I think doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the facts. Sam is gone and it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t make any sense to us.” His warm hand rested on her knee. “Grief is a terrible, unavoidable part of this life. But it doesn’t change the fact that God loves us, so much He was willing to die for us. We may never know or understand why Sam died. But God wants us to trust Him. And to let Him comfort us.”

  She wiped at her cheeks again. Stupid tears. If she didn’t get Logan out of there soon, she’d turn into an unhinged, blubbering mess. “I’m sorry. It’s obviously been a long day. I need some rest.”

  He pulled his hand back. “Of course. Get some sleep. I’ll find you in the morning. And, Ashley? Be safe, okay? If anyone tries to get in here, you call me right away. Got it?”

  She nodded. “I’ll see you later, Logan.”

  The door latched shut with a soft click.

  Gone. Sam was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. And though Logan’s unwavering faith tugged at her heart, she could never trust God again, not the way Logan wanted her to.

  Yet another reason she could never think of him as more than a colleague.

  Ashley managed to flip the dead bolt into place and sink onto the couch before the tears she’d been holding back all night escaped.

  FIFTEEN

  No one tried to break in during the night, though Ashley had half expected it. She slept with the map inside her shirt and her gun under her pillow. It wasn’t until almost morning that she finally fell into a deep sleep. Her first thoughts when she woke were of Sam.

  Missing memories had come back in the night, spurred on by what she’d learned. She could picture Sam’s excitement when he’d gotten the job out here. How she had promised to visit him, but several months had passed and she’d never done it.

  Later, Sam. I’ll be able to get away later. There had never been a good time.

  Until now, when it was too late. Her mouth filled with the taste of bitterness again. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help.

  At least she knew now why she’d fought to get this assignment. To be a little closer to her brother and to see the place he’d loved. The same way Logan loved it.

  The new day was beautiful in its own way. Dewdrops on the cactus spines and thick succulents glittered like diamonds in the early morning sunlight. Ashley sucked in a lungful of the fresh, pure mountain air as she took the familiar path to headquarters.

  Hopefully, Logan was still asleep. In the meantime, she needed to update Morton and find a way to stall Barclay. Three days had come and gone.

  Sandy, the receptionist, smiled pleasantly as Ashley entered the air-conditioned building. “Dr. Barclay would like to see you in his office.”

  No surprise there. “Thanks.” She forced a smile, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.

  She knocked on his door, which was already ajar, and peeked her head inside. “Dr. Barclay?”

  Barclay sat behind his metal desk, eyes closed, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his eyeglasses. He waved her inside without looking up.

  She closed the door and stood, waiting, gnawing the inside of her cheek.

  “Have a seat, Thompson.” He watched her expectantly, waiting until she sat. Dark circles under his eyes testified to a bad night’s sleep. “What happened yesterday?”

  “I had to meet a contact,” she began, telling him nearly verbatim the same story she’d given Ed, leaving out any details that could possibly trickle back to Jimenez and scare him off.

  “Do you realize what a mess you’ve created? Shots fired at the border? Not to mention the property damage to one of their historical sites. How am I going to explain this to the Mexican government?”

  Anger flared in her gut. “Dr. Barclay, those were Jimenez’s men. Somehow they knew I’d be down there. What else were we supposed to do?”

  “Avoid the situation in the first place, Agent Thompson.” His eyes grew hard. “I told you to do your job and get out. Now you’ve created an international incident I’ll have to smooth over with the local authorities.”

  “You gave me three days to give you proof,” she insisted. “Well, here it is.”

  Barclay shook his head and something about his expression made her heart plunge. “Not good enough.” He picked up the handset of his phone, pressing one of the buttons. “Here she is, Agent Morton.”

  Lead filled Ashley’s stomach, but she accepted the receiver and pasted on a smile. “Sir? I’ve almost got the proof on Jimenez we need. Another twenty-four hours will be enough.”

  “And the other part of your mission?” Morton asked gruffly.

  The mole. If only she had more to tell him—not that she could in front of Barclay. “No leads. Yet. But I’m close.”

  “Barclay will have my head,” he grumbled. “But all right, Thompson. Twenty-four hours. Tell him I’m pulling you. Today’s Friday. If you don’t get what you need, be back here by Monday morning and we’ll find another angle. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” She sighed heavily for effect. “I’ll be back by Monday.” She passed the receiver to Barclay, slumping in her seat.

  His smile was smug. “And good riddance. Now go pack your bags and make your travel arrangements.”

  She stood, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. With a salute at the door, she turned away to search for Logan.

  * * *

  “How long have you been down here?” Ashley appeared in the doorway to the archive room, her pretty lips quirked despite the way her forehead crinkled.

  Logan shrugged. “An hour, maybe?” He hadn’t exactly paid attention to the time. Sleep had been impossible once his pain meds had worn off, and he couldn’t afford to spend the day doped up on whatever that was they’d prescribed for him. It made a whole lot more sense to come down to the basement of headquarters, where they stored all the archival material, and to get to work searching for the photographs they wanted.

  “You were supposed to come find me.” She pulled out the metal chair on the opposite side of his table and plopped down. “You were supposed to sleep in.”

  “I couldn’t. You were with Barclay. Besides—” he gestured to the stack of cardboard document boxes on the table “—there’s plenty to do. Might as well get started instead of squandering the day sleeping.”

  She scowled again. “You’re going to work yourself into an early grave.”

  “I won’t be alone.” He gave her a pointed look, grinning when she rolled her eyes.

  “So, what’ve you got?” She leaned forward over the table and scanned the open file spread out in front of him.

  “Nothing yet. I started with the oldest boxes that might have photographs. We had some records from the 1920s, but nothing from San Vicente. Now I’m up to the 1950s.” He thumbed through the files remaining in the top box, its label “San Vicente and Boquillas” cracking with age. “Here, try this one.”

  They worked in companionable silence, sifting through yellowed newspaper articles, old documents and black-and-white photographs.

  “Wait a minute.” Logan let out a whoosh of air. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

  Ashley brushed hair out of her face and leaned across the table. “What’ve you got?”

  He sorted through the old photographs, one after another. “The presidio. The marketplace.” He held one up, grinning. “The chapel. Looks pretty much the same today.” His pulse quickened.

  A series of pictures followed in which the photographer had turned in a circle, capturing a panorama... “Here.” He held it up triumphantly.

>   The Chisos range, as seen from the chapel steps, stared back at him from the photograph. A tiny “April 1957” was handwritten on the bottom right corner.

  “And it’s even springtime,” he proclaimed, exultant.

  She wiggled her fingers. “Let me see.”

  He stood, walked around the edge of the table, set down the photograph and swiveled the desk light closer. Together he and Ashley hunched over the picture, their shoulders touching, as he held a magnifying glass above it. The top of Lost Mine Peak was visible, along with portions of the south face stretching down into the V-shaped wedge made by Juniper Canyon.

  He grinned at her like a kid on Christmas break.

  Her dark eyes gleamed. So beautiful.

  And so close. The air crackled between them. How easy it would be to give in to these wild feelings surging in his chest, to bridge the distance and kiss her.

  Something shifted in her eyes and she averted her gaze back to the photograph.

  Logan swallowed. What was wrong with him? Colleagues. Erin. Foolish heart. He cleared his throat and reached for a blank piece of paper. “Let’s narrow this down to where the light would hit first.”

  After overlaying the paper on the image, he traced the outline of the mountain and the surrounding terrain. A spur of Pummel Peak, to the east, would obscure everything but the top two thousand feet or so as the sun rose. He shaded in the remaining area, comparing it again with the photograph. “What trail did your contact say they were using?”

  Ashley spread out a park map and studied it, nibbling at one of her fingertips. “He said the access was from Pine Canyon Trail, but they’re driving the gold out through Juniper Canyon. To here.”

  “Mariscal Mountain. One of the least accessible areas of the park.” Logan traced the route with his pencil. “Maybe even using the old mercury mine as a base, though that’s open to any tourists brave enough to off-road out there.” He tapped the pencil on the table. “Nobody’s reported anything suspicious.”

  “Think we can find the mine?” Her eyebrows lifted, but her expression fell as she surveyed his arm wrapped in its sling. “You can’t go out there.”

  “I absolutely can. Reconnaissance only.”

  Her face lit up. “Deal.”

  * * *

  The sun was high overhead and blazing hot as Ashley hoisted her pack onto her back and started down Pine Canyon Trail after Logan. She’d insisted on carrying the camera and all the water for the hike—a full gallon, even though they’d only be out here a couple of hours.

  Already her shirt clung to her back with sweat, making it hard not to think of Sam. How exhausted, how hot, how thirsty he must have been. He was probably delirious by the end. She hadn’t had the stomach to ask Logan about the condition his body had been in—whether the vultures or coyotes had found it.

  The trail wound upward as it left the open desert plateau and entered Pine Canyon. Inside the steep walls, pinyon pines, oaks and maples replaced the cactuses of the open desert, providing welcome relief from the sun.

  Logan slowed the pace as they neared Lost Mine Peak.

  Jimenez’s men could be anywhere—he was bound to have guards along this path. Shooting a couple of rangers would get him noticed by the park service, but still... Ashley wouldn’t put anything past him.

  They followed the path around a bend. A rocky slope rose steeply on the right. To the left, a small ridge diverged from the level of the path, increasing in elevation as it ran westward. The canyon narrowed considerably ahead but appeared to open again where the ridge curved away to the south and the path disappeared into the trees.

  She stopped Logan, pointing at the ridge. “What do you think?” she whispered. “Could we see well enough from up there?”

  He nodded. “Should give us a good view of the south face. And provide some cover.”

  “Let me go first, okay?”

  He frowned, but moved aside, following Ashley as she picked her way up the ridge. After another half hour, they reached a place near the end of the ridge where it widened enough to provide a decent lookout—maybe a hundred feet from where the path below disappeared into the woods.

  She and Logan crouched behind the cover of some scrubby bushes as she took off the pack and pulled out the camera. They both crawled forward—awkward for Logan with his bound arm—until they could see over the edge of the ridge. She spent several minutes snapping pictures with the digital camera, from the top of the peak to the trail below.

  “See anything?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Hopefully, the pictures will help.” She was about to suggest heading back when voices echoed off the canyon walls.

  Logan stiffened beside her.

  Craning her neck for a better view, she watched as three men emerged from an invisible cleft in the rock partway up the mountain face, maybe twenty feet east of where the path ended. The sun glinted off an AK-47 assault rifle slung over one of the men’s backs. She zoomed in with the camera, snapping a series of shots. The one with the gun kept glancing down at the path and along the trail.

  Beside her, Logan propped up a pair of binoculars with one hand. “To think that thing’s been there this whole time,” he whispered, “and we never knew.”

  “Surely this will be enough proof for Morton.”

  Ashley kept taking pictures until two of the men turned back inside the opening. The third, the one with the gun, picked his way down the mountainside to the trail fifty feet below. He pulled the rifle off his back and propped it up against one shoulder as he started down the trail to the east, in the direction of the trailhead.

  She exchanged a glance with Logan. “Now what?”

  His forehead crinkled into a frown. “They can’t be patrolling this trail like that all the time. Otherwise we’d have gotten reports or seen one of them. What if he runs into a hiker?”

  “We’d better go after him. Make sure the trail is safe, in case anybody else is out here.” She backed out from under the bushes, stowing the camera in her pack.

  “Agreed. But no gunfire or else we’ll scare them away before we can get back here with a team.”

  The sun was slipping behind Emory Peak as they worked their way carefully back down the ridge, keeping vigilant watch on the trail for any sign of the guard. Long shadows shrouded the wooded trail and each step over twigs and decaying leaves echoed too loudly off the silent trees.

  Far off in the distance, something shrieked—a high-pitched scream, almost like that of a child. A shiver of fear skittered down Ashley’s spine. She stopped, silently clutching Logan’s hand.

  Mountain lion. He mouthed the words.

  It was getting close to dusk, wasn’t it? The time predators came out. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow her hammering heart. He squeezed her hand and released it, his fingers drifting toward his holster as he freed his other arm from its sling.

  How much did mountain lions weigh? Enough to crush a person, she guessed. And then there were the claws. And the teeth.

  This place was a long way from the streets of Washington, DC.

  Breathe, she reminded herself. Federal agents don’t panic. The canyon walls pressed in close on either side of the trees, and the darkness seemed to grow exponentially. Good thing she wasn’t alone.

  The path curved ahead, bending out of sight through a clump of trees. That one on the right, with the thick trunk, would be perfect for someone to hide behind, waiting.

  Her fingers were on her gun before she realized it, nerves and instinct doing the decision-making. She pulled it out and released the safety, keeping it low and to the side, even though her conscious mind told her she was being paranoid.

  Logan glanced back at her, shaking his head slightly. They’d agreed no gunfire. But his own fingers rested on the weapon in his holster.

  The scream came again, louder this t
ime. Exactly how long were a mountain lion’s claws?

  Only a few feet to go now to that bend.

  A sudden flurry of motion in the bushes made Ashley swivel to the left, gun in front, as her heart leaped into her throat.

  Two eyes gleamed up at her from beneath large ears in the growing twilight. A jackrabbit. Her breath came out in a ragged sort of laugh as it bolted across the path. She was being paranoid, but she wasn’t used to dealing with criminals and wildlife.

  Logan smirked, shaking his head at her. He walked forward again, passing the big tree without anything cataclysmic happening.

  So much for all her hunches.

  She let out a deep sigh as another sound from behind made her jump. From the right this time; probably the jackrabbit’s cousin. She started to turn but something cold and hard jabbed into her side.

  The muzzle of a gun.

  “Drop it,” the voice said. A man with a thick Spanish accent. Jimenez’s guard.

  SIXTEEN

  Logan pulled his gun and spun around on the trail the moment he heard the man’s voice. He inched back around the big tree until Ashley came into view. It was the same man they’d seen from the ridge, his rifle crammed into Ashley’s ribs. Her jaw was clenched tight and both hands were up in the air, still clutching her gun.

  “Freeze!” Logan ordered, aiming his weapon at the portion of the man’s chest exposed on Ashley’s right side. He was painfully aware how easily the man could shoot her before he could do anything about it. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but he kept his voice level. “I’m a law-enforcement ranger with the National Park Service. Put the gun down and back away from the lady. No one needs to get hurt.”

  The man shifted, moving further behind Ashley to use her as a shield. “Both of you, guns down. Now. Or I shoot her.”