Bella was nine years old. She’d been missing for almost forty-eight hours. Her trail had dead-ended in the river. In all likelihood, she was dead. But that was what Cady had been told years ago when the authorities had asked her to help search for me.
I opened my eyes and took out my radio. In an area where cell phone reception was spotty—sometimes nonexistent—a two-way radio could be a lifesaver. For a moment, my dirt-smudged fingers hovered over the power button. If I turned it off, I wouldn’t hear them telling me to report back to base camp.
If I turned it off, the sun’s descent didn’t have to mean I’d failed.
Saskia ran toward me. She didn’t bark, didn’t indicate that she’d found any hint that Bella had made her way out of that river and into the woods. I pictured the current in my mind, the water, whitecapped against the rocks. I could feel the sharp bite of uneven stones tearing into tender flesh.
Bruises and blood. Lying on my back. Can’t…can’t…
Saskia bumped her nose against my hand. I stood. “Good girl,” I told her, keeping the energy in my voice high. “Good girl, Sass.”
Bad things happen to bad little girls, a voice whispered from the dark place.
I forced myself to breathe. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven.
Almost as abruptly as the memory had come on, it was gone. I let my fingers curl into fists to keep my hands from shaking and led Saskia away from the river. I steered her toward the mountain, pushing the boundaries of the search area I had been assigned. Men like the park rangers looked at a picture of a lost little girl and saw an innocent, a victim, someone helpless and fragile and small.
They had no idea what a child was capable of—really capable of—when the civilized world melted away and nothing but instinct remained.
On some level, I was aware of a call coming in on my radio. On some level, I was aware that darkness was falling, that I’d gone too far. But I just kept pushing. Just a little farther up the mountain. Just a little farther off the path.
I couldn’t even see Saskia. She had to be getting tired, but like me, she wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t—
“Kira.” Cady’s voice on the radio cut through the laser focus that had driven me up this path. “Are you there?”
I hesitated, just for a second, before lifting the radio to my mouth. “I’m here,” I said. “Saskia and I haven’t found anything, but we’re still looking.”
Still climbing, still running, still going.
“Give me your coordinates, and I’ll have someone meet you.” Cady had to have known that every fiber of my being would fight coming in, but she’d painstakingly taught me that there was no room for fight or flight in SAR. Instincts were good—necessary, even—but the human partner had to work within certain parameters, by certain rules.
I could give Cady my coordinates now, or I could forget about continuing the search tomorrow.
“Coordinates,” I said, my throat dry.
I will find you. That had been my silent promise to Bella. I will bring you home.
“Kira,” Cady said. “You’re cutting out.”
I wasn’t cutting out. I was stalling. A sound in the distance sliced through the mountain air. It took me a moment to realize what it was.
Three barks.
I was sure that I’d imagined it, willed it into being, heard it the way I sometimes heard or saw or felt things in a place in my mind that seemed real. My pulse pounding in my throat, I fixed my eyes on a clearing in the trees. If Saskia had found something, she’d circle back and give the signal a second time.
Find. Recall. Re-find.
A blur of white burst through the clearing. Saskia barreled toward me, and I knew, just from the way she was running, that I hadn’t imagined anything. She bounded up to me—joyful, wild, free—and barked.
Three times.
Saskia hadn’t found Bella Anthony. She’d found a piece of Bella’s windbreaker, caught in brambles. That piece of red cloth, uneven and torn, was like a shot of adrenaline, straight to my heart.
Bella had made it out of the river.
She’d made it this far.
She’s alive. I knew, logically, that the river wasn’t the only danger a child would face in these mountains. Based on the tracks I’d seen, it was home to mountain lions. In all likelihood, that wasn’t all. Black bears, rattlesnakes, foxes. My brain began to rattle off what a child would face out here alone. Dehydration. Hunger.
“How did a little kid even make it this far?” one of the rangers asked as the sheriff marked off a perimeter around the scene. “Why would she keep going? Why head up the mountain at all?”
“Because,” I said softly, “if you stop, it’s over.”
If you stop, you die. Bella might have been taught to stay in one place if she got lost, to wait for someone to find her. But there came a point when you realized that no one was coming. Keep moving. Girl has to keep moving. Find water. Food. Run—
Cady laid a hand on my shoulder, her touch light and fleeting. Once upon a time, I would have bristled at the contact. Instead, I reached out and caught her hand in mine. I brought it back to my shoulder.
“Pad and I will see if we can pick up the trail from here,” Cady told me, rubbing her thumb gently over my arm. “You should head back to town, get some rest. Free and Jude went back hours ago.”
I should stay. I thought the words, and then I said them. I said them so that Cady would know they mattered.
“Kira.” Cady forced me to look at her. “I’ll take one of the rangers with me. I won’t be alone. And,” she continued, preempting any argument, “I haven’t run myself ragged. You have.”
Getting into a staring contest with Cady was never a good idea.
“If you haven’t found her by dawn, I’m coming back.”
Cady gave a brisk nod, then turned and led Pad to the strip of red cloth, barely visible in the moonlight as it wafted in a wind too light to feel.
“Miss?” A park ranger came up behind me. Directly behind me.
I whirled, every muscle in my body tightening. The ranger gave me a look I recognized all too well. Even a hundred miles away from home and whispered rumors about the feral girl from the forest, there was still something about me that told other people that I wasn’t quite right.
“Come on,” the ranger said, his voice quiet and kind. “Let’s get you home.”
* * *
Home was Bales Bennett’s house, but Cady’s father was nowhere to be seen. Ness was the one who met us at the door. She looked the ranger up and down, then thanked him for coming all this way. He was probably halfway to town before he realized how handily he’d been dismissed.
“You need food.” Ness issued that statement like a woman declaring martial law. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed for what I could only presume was the kitchen.
Saskia stayed outside. I would have preferred to do the same. But people lived in houses, ate at tables. My lungs constricted as the front door closed behind me. I felt trapped. Cornered, no way out—
The smell of chili wafted in from the kitchen. I breathed in and breathed out and tried not to think about the fact that there had been a time when fresh meat had been the only way Cady could lure me indoors. Fighting the déjà vu, I walked slowly toward the kitchen. As I crossed the threshold, I wondered if Ness was the one who’d taught Cady to make chili.
I wondered if she was the one who’d taught my foster mother what it took to bring home a stray.
“Sit. Eat.” Ness didn’t even turn from the stove to see if her words were being obeyed. There was a bowl of chili waiting for me on the kitchen table, along with a double helping of corn bread.
I sat, suddenly aware of how long it had been since I’d had food. Eat slowly, I reminded myself as my fingers latched themselves around the spoon in a death grip. The food is yours. No one is going to take it from you.
“Kira. Sister mine.” Jude appeared in the doorway. He lumbered over to t
he table and took the seat across from me, blocking my view of Ness and the stove. He was freshly showered and wearing flannel pajamas.
Clearly, he’d made himself right at home.
“The hero triumphant, returned to the fold,” he pronounced, giving an artistic wave of his hand in my direction.
“Would ‘the fold’ like some more chili?” Ness asked wryly, setting a bowl down in front of Jude. Apparently, in the last few hours, she’d come to know him well.
“Where there is food,” Jude declared solemnly, “so, too, there is Jude.”
As he dug in, I felt my own grip on my spoon relax. There was a time when I’d refused to eat at a table—and Jude had eaten on the floor next to me.
“Where’s Free?” I asked. I was fairly certain there was at least one line in the Miscreants’ Creed devoted to the core value of never turning down a second helping.
“Upstairs,” Jude replied, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. Glancing at Ness to make sure she wasn’t watching, he then pantomimed climbing out a window, which I took to mean that Free was probably already halfway to town. For someone who was awfully fond of skipping school, she didn’t do “leisure time” well.
Not that I had any room to throw stones.
“Is this the part where you regale us with tales of your heroics and/or indicate that the case has moved in a more hopeful direction?” Jude asked. In preparation for my answer, he pulled a small packet of what I could only assume was confetti out of his pocket.
“Bella made it out of the river.” My voice failed to convey even a fraction of the relief I’d felt at that discovery, but Jude had been fluent in Kira long before I’d spoken in actual words. “Saskia caught the scent again in the mountains,” I continued. “We found a piece of Bella’s windbreaker. Cady and Pad are still out there, searching.”
“Given half the chance, your mother will run herself ragged.” Ness clucked her tongue. “Never was a girl like that one for needing someone to take care of her, but thinking she could face down the big bad world alone.”
“You don’t say.” Jude gave me a look. “Sounds like someone else I know.” He paused. “Rhymes with Mira.”
I would have flicked food at him, but I wasn’t willing to give up a single bite.
“I assume you told Mom we’d be back in the morning?” Jude asked me once he’d realized no edible projectiles were forthcoming.
“Break of dawn,” I confirmed. Technically, I’d told Cady that I would be back, but now that we’d picked up the trail again, Jude and Free would be able to offer the bloodhounds a scent path to follow.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Jude announced, jiggling the packet of confetti.
I didn’t take the bait. How could I, when even the best-case scenario would leave its marks on that little girl?
“Saskia needs food,” I said, finishing my chili.
“Gabriel will take care of that,” Ness assured me. “He’s already fed the others. If I know that boy half as well as I think I do, he’s out there seeing to your pup right now.”
I wasn’t sure which was more notable: the fact that Ness had just referred to take-no-prisoners Saskia as a pup or the way she seemed to believe that Gabriel could feed Saskia without losing a hand.
“Mayhaps Kira should just check on them,” Jude suggested delicately. “For funsies.”
I took that as permission to bolt.
Darkness had fallen outside. The moon was a quarter moon, the stars hidden by a thick blanket of clouds. In a single, fluid motion, I brought my index fingers to my mouth and let out a loud and piercing whistle. Through the discordant buzz of bugs and the rustling of wind weaving through the grass, I listened for Saskia.
I heard human footsteps instead.
“You rang?” Gabriel said dryly. His white T-shirt caught the scant moonlight—bad camouflage for someone who liked sneaking up on people.
“I wasn’t whistling for you,” I emphasized.
“Well, that is a relief.”
I did not, as a rule, always pick up on sarcasm—but Gabriel wasn’t exactly subtle.
An instant later Saskia came tearing around the side of the house.
“Your dog doesn’t trust me,” Gabriel said, sounding almost amused. “She accepted my offering of food, but she wasn’t happy about it. Probably a sign of discernment on her part. I’m not really the trustworthy type.”
I had a way of looking at people that tended to unnerve most, but Gabriel was apparently an exception, because he didn’t bat an eye when I turned to face him.
“Would it be inappropriate for me to ask if the great Cady Bennett has found anything yet?” he asked. “Because I would hate to be inappropriate.”
The way he said Cady’s name had my hackles rising. “We found the trail.” I had nothing to prove to him. I knew that, and yet…“There’s a chance the girl is alive.”
“Maybe this kid’s alive.” Gabriel angled his face toward the night sky. “Maybe she isn’t. Around here?” His face was shadowed in the moonlight. “People go missing all the time.”
Ness put me in a bedroom on the second floor. My first instinct would have been to open the window, but it was already open. That, along with the fact that Free’s bag was sitting on the floor, told me that we’d be sharing.
As I took in the rest of the room—a double bed, a dresser, an antique mirror—I realized that it had once belonged to a teenage girl. The pictures tucked into the frame of the mirror told me who that girl was.
Cady. There was a snapshot of her as a preteen with her arm around a German shepherd with darker markings than Silver’s. Another shot showed Cady on horseback, her dark hair flying in the wind behind her. But the picture that drew my gaze and held it was of three teenagers. Cady stood between two boys. One was tall and blond and didn’t look happy to be having his picture taken. The other boy’s lips were parted in what Jude would have called a devil-may-care grin. Mr. Devil-May-Care had thick honey-brown hair, lighter than Cady’s, but darker than the other boy’s. There was something about him that made it very hard to look away.
“Doesn’t he look like trouble?” Free didn’t bother to announce her presence before taking the picture from my hand. The fact that I hadn’t heard her come in made me wonder how long I’d been staring at the picture. “The good kind,” Free clarified.
“The good kind of trouble?” I repeated.
“My specialty.” Free took in the rest of the photo. “And there’s our overly large friend from the campsite,” she continued. “Maybe Jude was right about the plot thickening.”
I’d been so focused on Cady and the grinning boy that I hadn’t paid much attention to the one who’d been glaring at the camera. Mac. As I stared at the three teenagers, I thought of the exchange Jude and I had overheard between Cady and Bales.
I loved that boy, same as you did, Cadence, Bales had told her. And Cady had snapped back that it was her life and her choice, and that Ash was worth it to her.
“Ash,” I said, taking the picture back from Free and letting my finger hover over The Good Kind of Trouble.
“You got something you want to share with the class there, K?”
I looked up from the photo. “I think the smiling boy might be Ash. Cady and Bales argued about him.” I paused, remembering the way Jude had gone quiet the moment we’d heard Cady say the name. “Cady said she loved him.”
“Think he’s Jude’s father?” Free had an almost religious objection to beating around the bush. She stared at the picture for several seconds. “I could see that.” She leaned back at the dresser. “Cady’s always been good at loving trouble.”
I wasn’t sure if Free was referring to herself or to me.
“How was town?” I asked. I tucked the photo back into the mirror’s frame. It felt important somehow, to leave this room exactly as I’d found it.
“Town was barely a town,” Free replied. “Not much to see, but I think I left an impression.” Coming from Free, that was somewhat conc
erning. “In related news: I’m adding a couple of new lines to the Creed.” She glanced over at my suitcase. “Want me to unpack for you?”
“No.” My response was instantaneous. Understanding my own reasoning took longer. “If I unpack, that means we’re staying.”
Free waited.
“If we’re staying, that means that we haven’t found Bella yet.”
I caught Free up on the evidence Saskia and I had uncovered, but the entire time, I kept thinking that I hadn’t done enough. I’d let Cady send me packing. I’d let her tell me that I needed rest.
I should have fought harder.
Free didn’t let me wallow for long. “Flip you for the bed?” she said. She glanced meaningfully at the double. “Unless you’d prefer to cuddle.”
I walked over to the still-open window. The breeze was cool, the mountain temperature falling steeply. Cady was out there, searching.
Bella was out there.
And I’m not.
“Bed’s all yours,” I told Free.
On nights like these, I preferred the floor.
Girl shouldn’t have eaten the berries. She lurches forward, stomach on fire. Hurts. It hurts. Everything inside her comes up.
Again. And again.
Finally, she collapses. She can smell the sick—smell it everywhere. Girl trembles, tries to push herself to all fours.
Bad things.
Bad things happen with that smell. She has to get away before—
I woke crouched in the corner, my hair stuck to my face with sweat. Moonlight kept the room from utter darkness. I could make out the outline of Free’s form on the bed. Slowly, I remembered where I was, when I was.
“Kira.” I whispered my own name under my breath. Over and over, I said it, an audible reminder of who I was—and who I wasn’t. Slowly, I came back to myself.
The Lovely and the Lost Page 5