When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  "Let's go," he said. There was a new timbre to his voice. Anger, barely controlled. He pivoted and marched away, following the streambed.

  Ice ran through her veins. She crammed everything back in her pockets and hurried after him.

  "Too bad we don't have the horses," she said.

  He stopped so abruptly she almost ran into him. He leaned over, picked up a rock and threw it against a tree. "Fuck." He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "Sorry."

  "Forget it. What's wrong?"

  "My brain is worthless. Corky and Sparky will find their way home. Someone will know we're missing."

  "Isn't that good? If we're missing, won't your father come after us? Will he call the cops? Oh, but if he does, and the bad guys find out, you said they'd—" She couldn't complete the thought. Every instinct told her to find Molly. Putting her faith in Ryan's experience meant she would be fighting her gut reactions every step of the way.

  "Pop will look on his own, but not for a while. It wouldn't be the first time my horse beat me home. If I don't show up, he'll be pissed at having to take care of the animals, but I can't see him calling the cops for at least a day. He'll probably assume we're together and I got…distracted."

  Frustration built. "So is it a good thing or a bad thing? Ryan, I'm scared. I want my daughter. Please. Tell me what you're thinking. You know about this stuff."

  "I'm thinking things are not quite right, but I can't figure out why. Between the drugs and Mr. Muscle's handiwork, I've got too many short circuits. It'll come to me. Meanwhile, we keep moving."

  Moving was good. Moving meant they were taking action. Ryan stopped and looked at a tree. He fingered its branches, then crouched down and picked up what looked like a shiny piece of paper.

  "Now what?" she asked. "Did you find something? Are you tracking them?"

  Without answering, he veered from the path along the stream and headed down a side trail.

  "You did find something, didn't you? Please tell me."

  "Candy wrapper. It's probably nothing. A piece of litter."

  "You think the bad guys dropped it, don't you? We're on the right track?" She allowed herself half a moment of hope. A rustling sounded from the bushes. She jumped.

  Ryan grabbed her hand and yanked her from the trail. "Down. Quiet."

  Chapter 23

  Pain knifed through Ryan's knee as he landed hard, trying to keep his weight off Frankie while protecting her with his body. His shoulder didn't seem too happy about it, either. He held his breath, listening for any hint of an approaching visitor. Right now, he hoped it was of the four-legged variety, although a grizzly wasn't high on his guest list.

  He flattened himself into the landscape as much as he dared. Thankful that Frankie lay motionless and silent beneath him, he exhaled through his mouth, making sure to keep his breathing slow and steady. She was warm, and soft, and his body remembered what they'd done less than twenty-four hours ago. Not now, for God's sake. He was a professional. Until this was over, she was an assignment.

  The rustling grew closer. Despite the pain, he took his weight on his knees and walked his fingers outward a centimeter at a time, searching for a sharp stick, a rock, anything that might be a weapon. All he found was dirt, but in the eyes of an enemy, it would buy him time.

  He lowered his mouth to Frankie's ear. He felt her trembling. "When I roll off, move for the trees. Slowly. Stay low." A tiny nod told him she understood. "On three."

  He waited. The rustling stopped.

  "One." He shifted his weight to his good leg.

  "Two." He clenched his teeth and prepared to roll.

  "Three." He flipped over. He spared a momentary glance at Frankie, long enough to see her slithering on her bottom toward a clump of trees. A flash of fur emerged from the bushes. He hurled the clod of dirt and the few pebbles he'd accumulated in that direction. From the silence, he assumed he'd missed.

  Before he got his feet under him, eighty pounds of dog leaped onto his chest and licked his face.

  "Wolf, dammit, you scared me to death. Off. Sit."

  The dog whined, still slathering Ryan's neck with cold-nosed dog kisses.

  "It's not playtime, buster." But he wrapped his arms around the dog's neck and returned the greeting. "God, am I glad to see you." He struggled to his feet. "Frankie. Come on out. It's okay."

  Frankie emerged from the trees, brushing dirt and leaves from her clothes. Wolf trotted to her, his tail sweeping back and forth like a windshield wiper. "Hi, boy." She scratched his ears and joined Ryan. Her eyes gleamed with hope. "Is this where we say, 'Find Molly?'"

  "I don't know if he's much of a scent dog. He had some basic rescue training before Pop got him, and I know he'll attack anything that threatens Pop or me, but I'm not sure he's a wonder dog."

  She crouched and cupped Wolf's muzzle. "Did you see the bad guys, Wolf? Do you know where Molly is?"

  Wolf's tail thumped on the ground, and he licked her cheek.

  "That's okay." She gazed up at Ryan. "Besides, didn't Lassie just go home and bark until someone followed her to Timmy?"

  "He might not be a wonder dog," Ryan said, "but Wolf is a formidable weapon." He thought of those teeth in the neck of one of his assailants. Yet formidable or not, Wolf was no defense against bullets. Stealth and surprise were their best hope.

  Wolf barked and dashed down the trail. Ryan called after him, but the dog ignored his command. A squirrel chattered from above.

  "So much for the wonder dog," he said. "Prefers chasing critters."

  The dog's continued barking had Ryan following. Frankie pushed ahead of him.

  "Frankie. Wait. Don't rush off like that."

  "There's a chance, isn't there? He saved her once before. What if Molly's somewhere and Wolf really is showing us?"

  Frankie. Ever seeing the bright side. More likely, Wolf had scented a raccoon. Then again, sometimes the remotest possibilities actually happened. He stepped up his pace despite the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his knee.

  Wolf sat at the base of a hemlock, staring into its branches.

  When Ryan got there, Wolf stood and barked.

  "He's found something, hasn't he?" Frankie said. "A clue?"

  "Another squirrel, I'll bet. Or he's treed a coon."

  Frankie's shoulders slumped. "I guess it was stupid to think Wolf would show up and Molly would materialize in a tree."

  The single tear that trickled down her cheek twisted through his chest. He rubbed the back of Frankie's neck. "Don't ever stop hoping. That's when things go bad."

  Ryan followed Wolf's gaze into the branches, wondering what he expected to find. About six feet up, a branch, freshly broken, caught his eye. Wolf couldn't have noticed that, but Ryan scoured the area.

  Snagged on another branch was a dirty blue ribbon. He yanked it down. Hair on the back of his neck prickled. Molly had blue ribbons in her hair today. He'd tied them himself.

  "What did you find?" Frankie rushed over and snatched the ribbon from his fingers.

  For a moment, she stood, rooted, transfixed by the scrap of blue. Her tear was joined by another, until they coursed down her cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane. But she didn't make a sound. She wrapped the ribbon around her fingers, rubbed it against her cheek.

  "What does this mean?" she whispered. "How did Molly's ribbon get up in the tree?"

  Ryan cleared his throat. "We can't be sure it's Molly's."

  She looked at him and shook her head. "You don't mean that. Don't sugarcoat things to spare me. How much of a coincidence would it be to find another blue ribbon in the woods?" She unwrapped it from her fingers and stretched it between her hands. It's dirty, but not old. Even I can see that. You can't tell me there were two people here recently wearing blue ribbons."

  "No," he said. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one. But there's something wrong. There are no tracks, nothing to indicate how a ribbon from her ponytail got stuck six feet up a tree, three feet off the trail."
/>   "Maybe someone was carrying her."

  He moved outward in an expanding spiral and examined the ground more closely. "If they were, there'd be more than one broken branch." When he stood, pain stabbed him behind the eyes and the earth swam. He dropped to the ground, clutching his temples. Fresh agony shot through his knee.

  Frankie crouched beside him. "You're hurt. I forgot."

  He clenched his teeth and waited for the pain to pass. "A twinge. I'll be fine."

  "It might be a concussion."

  He lowered himself to his butt and stretched his knee out in front of him, kneading the sore joint. "No time for that." He extended his arm. "We have your daughter to find, right? Help me up."

  When Frankie's hand touched his, he knew he'd save Molly. As far as relinquishing the key—if that was what he had—he'd work that out on the way. Once his head stopped pounding, he knew whatever was bothering him would fall into place.

  He whistled for Wolf. The dog trotted to his side and cocked his head in expectation.

  "Frankie. Take Wolf to the stream. Have him drink. And, if you need to take care of any…personal needs, this would be a good time. We might be on the road awhile."

  While they were gone, Ryan took care of his own needs, then worked his way back along the trail, still trying to piece things together. What was missing?

  Suck it up. You’ve been hurt worse than this. Several times. Three days on your own in Panama, remember. You got through that, and you'll get through this. It's a headache. A bum knee. Deal with it.

  He pulled the scrap of yellow cellophane he'd found earlier from his pocket. A candy wrapper. Dalton's favorite. But Dalton never left his trash. The man could walk across a mud flat and hardly leave prints.

  Damn, he couldn't think through the pain.

  "We're back." Frankie's voice sounded more optimistic than it had since she'd freed him in the shack. He swore he'd keep it that way. The world needed a few more Pollyannas.

  "Give me the ribbon," he said. "Wolf, come here."

  "Can he find her from that?"

  "Longshot. Big longshot. I've touched it, you've touched it, and I don't know a lot about tracking by scent, or even if Wolf was trained to do it. Or if Molly was in a car, or—"

  "I get it. But it's the best we have, right?"

  While the dog waited at his feet, Ryan pulled Frankie close. "We're going to do this." He allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy the way her body, tense at first, molded into his. Her heartbeat reverberated through his chest, the floral scent of her hair somehow calmed him.

  He gripped her shoulders and she lifted her face. Cobalt blue eyes held his.

  "Let's go," she said.

  He held the ribbon out to Wolf. What the hell. "Find Molly."

  Wolf sniffed, gave a yelp and trotted down the trail. Ryan lifted his eyebrows, wondering if he'd given the right command, or if the dog could track her even if he had. On their walks together, Wolf chased after wildlife at every opportunity. Was he after another raccoon or possum? Ryan took Frankie's hand and walked in the direction Wolf had gone.

  "You think he's doing it?" Frankie asked.

  "No idea. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual. Broken branches, footprints."

  "Ribbons in trees?"

  Wolf's barking grew louder and more urgent. So much for stealth and surprise.

  *****

  Frankie's eyes darted back and forth, up and down the tree-lined trail, searching for anything that might be a clue. As if she'd recognize one, unless it belonged to Molly. But it kept her busy. Kept her mind off the "what if's" thundering through her head until they blocked everything else.

  Wolf zigzagged along. From time to time, he'd dart into the woods, then return. Ryan showed him the ribbon again, and Wolf gave it a perfunctory sniff before loping ahead.

  "Was Wolf with you when they captured you?" she asked.

  As if he hadn't heard her, Ryan studied the ground where a trail forked off. She came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He exhaled a slow, deep breath and rested his hand on top of hers. Warm and dry, it contrasted with her cold, clammy ones. Jaw set, eyes reflecting steely determination, he stood in sharp counterpoint to the gentle lover she'd known last night. This was not the kind of man she'd ever dreamed about. But now, he was the man she needed.

  "Did you say something?" he asked.

  "I asked if Wolf was with you. Do you think he knows where they have Molly?"

  Ryan took her hand from his shoulder, but didn't let it go. "He was with us when we started, but he did his usual thing—chasing through the woods. He'd come and go, but—"

  She saw him straining to remember. "That's okay. Wishful thinking. Besides, he can't talk. What are you looking for?"

  "Disturbances. Signals that say they went down a side trail. Otherwise, we keep moving straight ahead."

  "Would be nice if they left road signs," she muttered.

  "If you know what to look for, sometimes they do." He pointed to a branch lying across the trail. "If someone came by, they might kick that, or step on it, and we could see that it had been moved. That would tell us they turned here."

  "But how do you know who 'they' are? Couldn't it be an animal?"

  He kissed her forehead and his eyes softened. "I thought you always looked on the bright side."

  As if there could possibly be one. A lump rose in her throat.

  "Well, I have one," he said. "Those thugs aren't very good at their job."

  "How do you know?" She brushed her fingertips against his jaw. "They did a good job on you."

  "Which they will answer for when I find them. But look." He reached over her head and lowered an overhanging branch. "See how it's broken. Someone walked by here and shoved it out of his way, not very carefully. And these rocks are kicked aside. You can see the indentations where they've been."

  "So how do you know it's not an animal. A bear, or a moose?"

  "Because there are no footprints."

  "Huh?"

  "We've passed some damp places, where it's still muddy from the rain. A bear or a moose doesn't think about not leaving tracks. But these guys are avoiding the mud, and maybe sweeping their own prints in the dirt, although it's packed firm here."

  "Now, if it had been my team we were tracking, we'd have our work cut out for us. Because we don't leave traces. In and out like the wind." He smiled, and hope rose like a bubble inside her.

  "Your team." The memory came back like an image rising out of the developer. "Dalton. Wasn't he one of your teammates? But…oh, God, I just remembered. He's the one who drugged me."

  Ryan's smile faded, but it wasn't surprise that replaced it. Sadness, perhaps. Or wariness.

  "You don't trust him?" she said. "But you called him to help you. He seemed so… nice." Anger boiled inside when she thought about leaving Molly alone with the man. "I thought—"

  "At the time, I thought so, too. And I'm not sure what to think now. I've got a strange feeling, but I can't put my finger on it. If Dalton's involved, this isn't like him at all." He pulled a piece of cellophane, the one he must have picked up earlier, from his pocket. "Dalton likes these candies. But he'd eat the wrapper before he'd drop it on the trail. For Dalton, a candy wrapper, a broken twig or a misplaced pebble doesn't make sense. It's like he's leaving me a road map."

  "But that's good, right? We follow the map to Molly." Almost lighthearted, she rushed down the trail. If Molly was at the end, they had to get there. Ryan would figure out what to do when they did.

  "Wait, Frankie." He grabbed her elbow.

  She slowed, but didn't stop.

  "Let me go ahead," he said. "You might miss something."

  Of course. Or she might obscure an important clue.

  Be brave, Molly. We're coming as fast as we can.

  She fell in beside him. He moved without speaking, his face reflecting worry as much as pain. She thought about discovering that Brenda had disappeared. How betrayed she felt, after thinking of Brenda as family
, even for a short time. How much harder for Ryan, to think a man he'd worked side by side with for years might have turned against him. And not only against Ryan. In their line of work, that meant against his country. A snake squeezed her chest.

  The trail narrowed. Ryan slowed the pace, then stopped at another fork. The trees cast flickering shadows as they swayed in the breeze. Frankie lowered herself to a log and worked on catching her breath. Nerves, combined with Ryan's tempo, filmed her body with sweat, and she shivered in the breeze.

  She remembered waving good-bye to Molly, perched so proudly on Sparky. Her jacket had been tied to the back of the saddle. Had the kidnappers thought that it might get cold and brought it with them? And Mr. Snuggles. He'd been there, too. Would they have given a little girl a tiny piece of security?

  Stopping was not good. Stopping meant too much time to think. With one final deep breath, she pulled herself to her feet and wandered over toward Ryan, who had moved off the trail, and seemed intent on examining bushes.

  "What do you have?" she asked, ashamed of the way her voice cracked.

  "Not sure." He extended his hand, palm up, displaying a twig with an oval-shaped piece of faded red felt impaled on it.

  Almost afraid to touch it, she fingered the scrap. Her heart galloped in her chest. "Mr. Snuggles had a tongue like this."

  "I know."

  "So we're on the right track?"

  "I think so."

  "You're worried about Dalton, right?"

  His eyes clouded and he squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Two weeks ago, I'd have followed the signs without a thought."

  "And today?"

  "I'm thinking Dalton might be setting me up. That he might be in cahoots with the thugs." He kneaded his shoulder. "It makes no sense. When we were together, Dalton and I virtually shared a brain. He knows how I think. These bits aren't on the trail. They're far enough away so you'd have to be looking for them."

  She pondered that for a moment. "So, Dalton, or whoever has Molly, must be weaving back and forth off the trail because the clues aren't obvious, right?"