The Search

by Нора Робертс

  “I don’t know why we’re fighting.” She pushed her hands through her hair, leaned back on the rail. “I don’t even know. I don’t know why I’m suddenly considered someone who’s closed in or blocked off or too stubborn or stupid to ask for help. I’m not. I’m not any of that.”

  He took a long pull as he studied her. “You got yourself out of the trunk.”

  “What?”

  “You got yourself out. Nobody helped you. There wasn’t anybody to help you. Live or die, it was up to you. It must’ve been a hell of a thing. I can’t imagine it. I’ve tried. I can’t. Do you want to stay in the trunk?”

  Tears stung behind her eyes, infuriatingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You can keep getting out on your own. My money’s on you there. Or you can let somebody give you a hand with it, and get it through your head that it doesn’t make you incapable, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known some strong women. So figure it out, and let me know.”

  She turned away, pressing a hand to her chest as it ached. “I got myself into the trunk, too.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t there. I was stupid and careless, and I let him take me.”

  “Jesus Christ. He killed twelve women before you. Do you think they were all stupid, careless? That they let him take them?”

  “I—no. Yes.” She turned back. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I know I made a mistake that day. Just a little one, just a few seconds, and it changed everything. Everything.”

  “You lived. Greg Norwood died.”

  “I know that it wasn’t my fault. I had therapy. I know Perry’s responsible. I know.”

  “Knowing isn’t always believing.”

  “I believe it. Most of the time. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t pull the chains of that with me.”

  “Maybe you didn’t, but they’re rattling now.”

  She hated, hated that he was right. “I built a life here, and I’m happy. There wouldn’t be this... I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t happening again. How can it be happening again?” she demanded. “How in God’s name can this happen again?”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “Do you need me to say I’m scared? I told you I was. I am. I’m terrified. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “No. And if I get the chance, he’ll pay for making you say it, for making you feel it.”

  He watched as she swiped a single tear from her cheek. He’d pay for that, too, Simon thought. For that one drop of grief.

  And that one drop doused the last sparks of the anger he’d hauled around with him all day.

  “I don’t know what I’m after with you, Fee, exactly. I can’t figure it out. But I know I want you to trust me. I need you to trust me to help you out of that fucking trunk. To trust me enough for that. Then we’ll see what happens next.”

  “That scares me almost as much.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” He lifted the beer again to drink, eyeing her over it. “I’d say you’re in a spot.”

  She let out an unsteady laugh. “I guess I am. I haven’t had a serious relationship since Greg. A couple of short-lived pretenses. I can stand here now and look back and see very clearly they weren’t fair to anyone involved. I wasn’t dishonest, and the other party wasn’t after any more than it was. But still, not fair. I didn’t intend to have a serious relationship with you. I wanted the company, some conversation, the sex. I liked the idea of having an affair. Look at me, all grown up. Maybe that wasn’t fair.”

  “I didn’t have a problem with it.”

  She smiled. “Maybe not, but here we are, Simon, and it’s pretty clear we’re both after a little more than we bargained for. You want trust. I want what I guess is the next level of commitment. I think we’re scaring each other.”

  He stood up. “I can take it. Can you?”

  “I want to try.”

  He reached out, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let’s see how we do.”

  She moved in, sighed as she locked her arms around him. “Okay. This is already better.”

  “Let’s try something different.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “Let’s go out to dinner.”

  “Out?”

  “I’ll take you out to dinner. You could wear a dress.”

  “I could.”

  “You have them. I’ve seen them in your closet.”

  She tilted her head back. “I’d like to put on a dress and go out to dinner.”

  “Good. Don’t take all night. I’m hungry.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Rising on her toes, she brushed his lips with hers. “This is better.”

  Even as she walked inside, the phone rang.

  “Business line. One minute. Fiona Bristow.” Immediately she reached for the pad, the pen. “Yes, Sergeant Kasper. How long?” She wrote quickly, nodded as questions she didn’t have to ask were answered. “I’ll contact the rest of the unit immediately. Yes, five handlers, five dogs. Mai Funaki will run our base, as before. We’ll meet you there. You still have my cell number? Yes, that’s it. We’ll leave within the hour. No problem.”

  She hung up. “I’m sorry. We’ve got two missing hikers in the Olympic National Forest. I’ve got to call the others. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have any experience,” she began even as she speed-dialed Mai. “Mai, we’re on.” She relayed the information quickly. “Phone tree,” she said to Simon as she clicked off and began to move. “Mai makes the next call.”

  “I’m going with you. One, because you’re not going alone. Once you start the search it’s just you and the dog, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And two, if you’re going to train my dog to do what you’re about to do, I want a better sense of it. I’m going.”

  “We won’t get there before dark. If they haven’t found them by then, we’re going to start the search at night, and very likely spend the night in very rough conditions.”

  “What, am I a pussy?”

  “Hardly.” She opened her mouth to push back again, then realized what she was doing. “Okay. I’ve got a spare pack. I have a list of everything you need to take. Most should be in there already. You take the list, make sure it’s complete. And I’ll need you to call Syl and ask her to keep an eye on the dogs we don’t take.”

  She pulled out her spare pack, tossed it to him. “When we get there, I’m alpha dog. You have to deal with that.”

  “Your show, your rules. Where’s the list?”

  Twenty

  A unit was precisely what they were, Simon observed. During the trip, the six members spoke in shorthand, acronyms and the code tight friends or longtime coworkers often fell into.

  He did what came naturally to him. He sat back and observed.

  The change in James and Lori’s relationship was new enough they exchanged quick, secret glances—while the others shot them amused looks. He heard Chuck and Meg Greene discussing weekend plans—yard work topped the list—with the ease of well-marrieds.

  Fiona checked in with the cop named Kasper regularly for status, adjusted ETA and other relevant details.

  The small surprise, at least it struck him that way, was the addition of another cop—Sheriff Tyson, from San Juan Island.

  Something going on between him and the sexy vet, Simon concluded. Something newer than James and Lori and not quite defined.

  The evening air whipped by in quick wet bites as Chuck piloted the boat across the chopping, white-tipped waters of the strait. The dogs seemed to enjoy it, sitting or sprawling, eyes glowing.

  If not for the fact that two people were lost, possibly injured, out in the dark, it might’ve been a pleasant evening ride.

  He ate one of the sandwiches Meg had provided and let his mind drift.

  If they took murder out of the equation, would he be here now, eating ham and cheese with spicy mustard on a kais
er roll on a crowded boat that smelled of water and dog?

  He wasn’t sure.

  Then he glanced toward Fiona. She sat, body swaying with the bump of the waves, her cell phone at her ear, the notebook she scrawled on—make that wrote on; Fiona didn’t scrawl, he mused—on her lap, wind whipping the hasty braid she’d tied. That deceptively slender body tucked into rough pants, light jacket, scarred boots.

  Yeah, he’d be here. Damn it.

  Not his type. He could tell himself that a thousand times and it didn’t change a thing. She’d gotten under his skin, into his blood. Gotten somewhere.

  He was half dazzled, half irritated by her—a strange and dangerous combination. He kept waiting for it to pass.

  No luck there.

  Maybe, once things were settled, he’d take a break. Go visit his family for a week. In his experience absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder, it generally blurred the edges of the fondness. While it was true nothing had blurred during her short trip away, this could be different. He’d be the one to go.

  Mai dropped down beside him. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I guess I’ll find out.”

  “My first search? I was scared to death, and so excited. The training, the mock-up, the maneuvers? All essential, but the real thing is... well, the real thing. People are depending on you. Real people, with feelings and families and fears. When Fee first talked to me about the unit, I thought sure, that’s something I could do. I had no idea how much it takes. Not just time, but physically, emotionally.”

  “You still do it.”

  “Once you’re in, you’re in. I can’t imagine not doing it.”

  “You run the base.”

  “That’s right. Coordinate the dogs and handlers, keep the logs, maintain contact, liaise with the other search teams, the cops or rangers. I don’t have a search dog since I end up adopting special-needs types, but I can work with one if they need me. Fee thinks your Jaws is hardwired for this kind of work.”

  “So she says.” He offered her a dip into his bag of chips. “He picks up on the training—at least it looks like it to me. Mostly I think he’d turn himself inside out if he thought it would make her happy.”

  “Dogs have that reaction to Fee. She’s got a gift.”

  She shifted a little so their knees bumped and her back was to Fiona. “How’s she doing, Simon? I try not to bring it up often. I know how she likes to keep things in their proper box.”

  It was a perfect description, he thought. Dead-on perfect. “She’s scared. That only makes her more determined to handle it.”

  “I sleep better knowing you’re with her.”

  Sylvia had said the same, Simon recalled. But with a warning tone. Don’t let me down.

  Once they arrived at the mainland, a group of volunteers helped them transfer into trucks for the drive to base. Things moved fast, he noted, with a kind of hard-edged efficiency. Proper boxes again, he supposed. Everyone had a purpose, and everyone knew what it was.

  Fiona wedged between him and some guy named Bob and continued to work in her notebook as they sped or bumped along.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checklist, working out preliminary sections going on the data I have now. It was a long trip, and it’s dark—but we’ve got good moonlight. Possibility of thunderstorms before morning, but it’s clear now so we’ll do what we can. How’s your boy, Bob?”

  “Heading off to college come fall. Don’t know how that happened. He and my wife are helping out with chow.”

  “It’ll be nice to see them. Bob and his family run a local lodge. They’re regulars when we have a search. Sergeant Kasper said the missing hikers are staying at your place.”

  “That’s right.” Bob, with his windburned, square-jawed face, gripped the wheel with big-knuckled hands and navigated the switchbacks like a commuter on the freeway. “Them and another couple, traveling together. They headed out at first light, took a box lunch. The one couple, they came back just before dinnertime. They said how they separated on the trail, took different directions. They expected their friends to be back before them.”

  “They don’t answer their cell phones.”

  “Nope. Sometimes the service gets spotty, but they’ve been trying since around five, five-thirty.”

  “I have the formal search starting about seven.”

  “That’s right.”

  “In good shape, are they?”

  “Seem to be fit enough. Early thirties. Woman wore new boots, fancy pack. Came in from New York. Plan to stay two weeks, do some fishing, hiking, sightseeing, use the spa.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Simon spotted the lodge—a sprawling two stories lit now like the Fourth of July. Someone had put up a large tarp so it served as a makeshift chow hall, he supposed, with a long table loaded with food, coffee urns, cases of bottled water.

  “Thanks for the lift, Bob. I’m looking forward to some of Jill’s coffee.” She got out behind Simon. “Could you help with the dogs? They’ll need to be watered. I need to coordinate with Sergeant Kasper while Mai sets up base.”

  “No problem.”

  She crossed to a uniformed cop with a generous belly and a weathered, bulldog face. They shook hands, and when Mai joined them, he shook hers before gesturing. Mai walked briskly into the lodge.

  Fiona got herself a cup of coffee while she and Kasper talked.

  “Mai says this is your first.” Tyson held out a hand to Simon. “Ben Tyson.”

  “Yeah. I guess it’s not yours, Sheriff.”

  “Keep it at Ben. Not the first, but I’m usually on that end.” He jutted his chin toward Fiona and Kasper as he and Simon herded the dogs toward a huge galvanized tub of water.

  “Okay. What are they doing?”

  “Well, the sergeant’s updating her, giving her whatever he’s got. How many they’ve got out, what areas they’ve covered, time lines, PLS—the point last seen. Fee, she’s good about making sure they have the right maps, but he’ll fill her in on the topography. Roads, hills, water, barriers, drainage, trail markers. All that’s going to help her strategize the unit’s search pattern. Mai says they were hiking with friends, so Fee’ll talk to them, too, before she briefs the unit.”

  “That’s a lot of time talking.”

  “It might seem that way. If you rush it, brush by getting all the data, you may miss something. Better to take the time now. And it gives her time to get her feet under her, gauge the air.”

  “The air?”

  Ben smiled. “That’s where it goes by me, to tell you the truth. Air pockets and scent cones and whatever the hell. I’ve worked a few searches with Fee and the unit. Seems to me she’s got a nose like one of the dogs.” Ben reached down, gave Bogart a scrub between the ears.

  For the next twenty minutes, Simon wandered, drank truly exceptional coffee, watched volunteers and uniforms come back to refuel, debrief.

  “We’re set up in the lobby,” James told him. “If you want in on the briefing.”

  “All right.”

  “Done much hiking?”

  “Some,” Simon answered as they walked inside.

  “At night?”

  “Not really.”

  James grinned. “You’re about to get a workout, and an education.”

  Simon thought of the lobby as rustic gloss. It worked. Lots of leather chairs, heavy oak tables stained dark, iron lamps and rough pottery. Fiona stood at a table that held a boxy radio, a laptop, maps. Behind her hung a large topographical map of the area, while Mai worked on a whiteboard.

  “We’re looking for Ella and Kevin White, Caucasian, twenty-eight and thirty, respectively. Ella is five-five, a hundred and twenty-five, brown hair, brown eyes. She was wearing Levi’s, a red shirt over a white tank, and a navy hoodie. Kevin’s five-ten, a hundred and seventy. Levi’s, brown shirt over white, brown jacket. They’re both wearing hiking boots, the friends think Rockports, sizes seven and ten and a half.”

  She flipped over a p
age in a notebook, but Simon sensed she didn’t need it. She remembered. “They left this location at just after seven a.m. with another couple, Rachel and Tod Chapel. They headed south, along the river.”

  She stepped back to the map, used a laser pointer. “They kept to posted trails, stopped several times and took an hour’s break about eleven-thirty—here, as the witnesses best remember—to eat the boxed lunch the lodge provided. That’s when they separated. Ella and Kevin opted to continue south. The other couple headed east. They planned to meet back here around four, maybe four-thirty, for drinks. When they didn’t return by five, and neither answered their cell phone, there was some concern. They continued to try their cells and combed the immediate area until shortly before six, when Bob alerted the authorities. Formal search commenced at six fifty-five.”

  “If they kept south, they’d head into the Bighorn Wilderness Area,” James pointed out.

  “That’s right.”

  “There’s some rough going in there.”

  “And Ella is an inexperienced hiker.”

  She moved on, pointing out the areas the search had covered, laying out the sectors for each team, using, Simon noted, natural barriers and landmarks as borders.

  “Additional data. The witnesses say Kevin’s an overachiever. He’s competitive. Both he and Tod wore pedometers and had a bet going. Whoever clocked the most miles won, and the loser bought drinks and dinner tonight. He likes to win. He’d have pushed it.

  “I know it’s late, but we’ve got the weather and the moon in our favor. It’s a go for a sector search. As OL, I’ll go in, inspect the PLS. I think it’s good data, but a spot on a map can’t replace eyeballing it.”

  She checked her watch. “They’ve been out about fourteen hours, had their last real meal nine hours ago. They’ve got water and some power bars, some trail mix, but the water situation was geared toward a late-afternoon return. Let’s have a radio check, then I’ll pass out the scent bags outside.”

  Once they were outside, Fiona hitched on her pack. “Are you sure about this?” she asked Simon.