Blind Instinct: A Tess Barrett Thriller

by Michael W. Sherer

  “Are you sure, Tess?” Oliver said. “Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Evans.”

  “My pleasure. Hope you folks decide to come see us when you’re ready.”

  “We should get back on the road,” Oliver said. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  “You can find your way back to your car okay? If so, I have a mountain of paperwork on my desk I need to take care of.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Tess said. “By the way, I heard there are a lot of old mines in Montana. You wouldn’t happen to have one on the ranch would you?”

  Evans hesitated before answering. “As a matter of fact, we do. An abandoned copper mine, but we discourage guests from going there. It’s far too dangerous. Even though it’s blocked off, the liability if someone gets hurt is enormous. I’d stay away from old mines if I were you.”

  “Good advice,” Oliver said. “Thanks again, Mr. Evans.”

  “Sure thing. You take care, lovebirds.”

  “Lovebirds?” Tess murmured.

  Oliver shushed her. She found his arm with one hand, made a fist with the other and smacked his shoulder. She’d had enough.

  “Hey, what was that for?”

  “For suggesting we pretend to be engaged.”

  “It worked. But why’d you bring up the mine?”

  “We had to do something to find Uncle Travis. The tour wasn’t helping.”

  “It helped me, Tess,” he said quietly. “They might be holding him here, and I needed to get a sense of how the place is laid out.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not here. I don’t smell copper. Marcus wouldn’t smell like copper and sulfur if Travis was here.”

  “You’re probably right. Anyway, the question definitely threw Evans off balance.”

  “You don’t think he suspects we know, do you?” she said.

  “I’m not sure. But we better watch our backs.”

  Chapter 30

  Filtered sunlight dappled the forest floor, and the scent of dry, heated pine needles filled the air. Travis froze, silently drawing a breath and holding it. He opened his eyes to mere slits, slowly taking in the surroundings in his narrowed field of vision. He strained to hear the sound that had woken him from a light uneasy sleep. He lay on his side under the trunk of a fallen tree, obscured by ferns and grass that had grown up around the tree’s base. From his hiding place, his eyes searched the undergrowth for signs of intruders. Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound from several yards away, and his intent gaze flicked toward it, scanning the brush until he spotted movement. A little aspen seedling swayed as the rustling sound came again, and Travis exhaled a sigh of relief as a chipmunk came into view from under some leaves.

  He slowly unfolded himself with a groan and crawled out from under the tree. Stiff from the cramped space, his body ached, and pain radiated from his hands from gripping and pounding the spike against rock and steel back in the mine tunnel. He stood and stretched, slowly turning and taking stock. He’d spent the night wandering a maze of tracks crisscrossing the backcountry, getting lost a couple of times before using the stars to guide him so he didn’t double back on himself. Eventually, he’d found a gravel road obviously more traveled, and had followed it until he saw the lights of some sort of settlement in the distance—too many to be a single dwelling but too few to be a town. Leaving the road for the relative safety of the woods, he’d found his hiding place just before dawn. Exhausted, he’d settled in for a few hours of sleep.

  Now, he shook the sleep from his head as he got his bearings. With a huge yawn, he headed through the woods for the road. He knew he should wait until dark to move again, but two things drove him now—hunger and curiosity. If he didn’t eat, he would soon start to suffer from exposure. And he needed to find out who his captors were and what they stood to gain from holding him. At the edge of the trees he paused and scanned the road in both directions, listening for sounds of traffic. Satisfied he was alone, he set off at a brisk pace, wishing he hadn’t finished off the water bottle during the night.

  The road climbed along a ridge. Another higher ridge ran parallel, and the road made a switchback several hundred yards ahead, continuing up the hillside in the opposite direction. When Travis reached the switchback, through the trees he saw buildings on the plateau about a quarter mile above him. As he rounded the sharp curve he saw a trail off to the right that angled more sharply up the ridge. Though a steeper climb than the road, it cut the distance in half, an easy decision.

  Five minutes later he came out on the road again a few hundred yards behind the settlement. He paused to catch his breath and size up what lay ahead. Though trees obscured his view of many buildings, he got the sense that it was a guest ranch of some sort. Large buildings off to the right looked like a barn and a stable. One of the two in the center looked like a lodge; the other could be a meeting hall. Small buildings trailing off along the ridge like ducklings following their parents were probably guest cabins.

  All of Travis’s senses went on high alert now. Though his captors could be miles from here, this was the only sign of civilization he’d seen since his escape from the mine. Nothing that lay in front of him appeared sinister, but he couldn’t take the chance. Staying off the road, he listened and watched for signs of life as he made his way through the trees toward the back of the large building closest to him. As he drew closer, the trees behind the agricultural buildings thinned, giving him a clear view of a large livestock watering tank behind what he’d assumed was a barn, some large fenced livestock pens off to the side, and several well-worn trails emerging from the woods from different angles all heading toward what must be a stable.

  Rustling of the aspen leaves and conifer branches in the breeze and the calls of several songbirds reached his ears. The same breeze carried the smell of food, and his stomach growled. He stopped to sniff the air, and the smell of meat browning and onions sautéing made his mouth water. He scanned the compound. Seeing no movement, he darted from tree to tree, making his way to the back of the building. The low murmur of voices floated on the breeze. Hugging the wall, he eased over to the end and peered around the corner. Fifty yards away, two men stood in conversation near a back door of the lodge. A large refrigerated truck sat in the road nearby. The smaller of the two leaned on a hand truck. The other was so large that Travis was sure two of him could fit in the checked pants and white chef’s jacket the man wore.

  Travis ducked his head back around the corner and squatted on his haunches, resting against the wall, biding his time. The sun beat down on him, but he welcomed the warmth after days in the cold mine. Flies buzzed lazily past his head, and a grey squirrel chattered warningly from a nearby tree. Travis glanced up at the sky, noting the sun’s position high overhead. He’d slept longer than he’d meant to, but felt as if he could easily stretch out here in the grass and nap for a few more hours. He yawned widely.

  Soon after, he heard the truck’s engine roar to life and slowly fade away as it drove off. When Travis leaned around the corner again, the cook had disappeared inside, but the door was propped halfway open. He stood, but hesitated before he stepped out from behind the building. Glancing down at himself, he saw that his clothes were dusty and wrinkled from the mine, and his hands were raw and scabbed from the effort to pry the bat gate out of the rock wall. He brushed as much dust out of his clothes as he could, combed his hair with his fingers and crossed the clearing to the open door as casually as if he owned the place.

  Stainless steel equipment gleamed throughout the large commercial kitchen. The smell of food cooking was so strong that Travis thought he would faint from hunger. Steam rose from a tilting braising pan on the cooking line. There was no sign of the chef, so Travis walked over to see what was in the big rectangular pan. Ground meat and onions browned and simmered in the pan. Travis turned at the sound of a noise behind him. The cook emerged from a storeroom in the back of the kitchen pushing a rolling cart loaded with #10 cans. He jerked upright, startled when he saw Travis. Though every ne
rve in his body screamed at him to flee, Travis forced himself to remain calm.

  “Help you?” the chef said, frowning.

  Travis flashed what he hoped was a rueful grin. “This smells awfully good. I overslept this morning and missed breakfast.”

  “You missed more than breakfast,” the chef said with a curious look.

  Travis glanced at the useless watch on his wrist. “Guess I did. Wondered if I could get a plate of something to eat.”

  “That there’s going to be chili once I get all these cans of tomatoes opened and add some spices.” The chef rolled the cart to a worktable a few feet away. “Guests aren’t supposed to be back here, you know.”

  “I don’t mean to be a bother,” Travis said. “It’s just that dinner won’t be for another couple of hours, and I can’t let my blood sugar get too low. You know?”

  The cook looked him up and down. “You do look a little pale. S’pose I could rustle up something while you get these cans open.”

  Travis walked over, took a can off the cart and slid it under the can opener mounted on the edge of the counter while the chef watched. When the cook saw that Travis knew what he was doing he nodded and headed for the walk-in refrigerator.

  “You get them all open, you can start emptying them into that skillet,” he called over his shoulder.

  Travis knew he was taking a huge risk, but as long as the cook wasn’t asking questions he figured he was okay. And he needed food. He stole glances at the chef every now and then while he cranked the handle on the opener, popped the lids off and tossed them in a nearby trashcan. The chef had pulled a carton of eggs and some other ingredients from the walk-in, and now stood at the eight-burner stove with a bowl, whisk and sauté pan. Travis tossed the last of the lids into the trash, careful of their sharp edges, and watched the chef whisk ingredients in the bowl and pour them into the hot pan. While the chef tossed the eggs in the pan, Travis rolled the cart in front of the tilting skillet and poured the cans of tomatoes into the ground meat and onions. When he finished, he found a long-handled spoon and stirred the tomatoes into the meat.

  The chef brought over a plate heaping with piping hot food and looked over Travis’s shoulder.

  “That’ll work,” he said, handing Travis the plate and a fork.

  Travis took them gratefully, leaned back against a counter and forked a mouthful of eggs into his mouth. The chef had added little cubes of potatoes, red and yellow bell peppers, some onion, cheese, fresh dill and what Travis at first thought might be ham. But a second look and bite made him ask, “What’s your secret ingredient?”

  “Smoked trout,” the chef answered. “Lot of trout streams around here. We do our own smoking, too.”

  “Something tells me that’s not regular chili, either.”

  The chef grinned. “Regular enough around here. It’s venison.”

  Travis lifted his plate and said through another mouthful of food, “Thanks for this.”

  “You earned it. Just drop the plate back in the dishroom when you’re done. I’ve got more prep work to do before dinner.”

  “Sure thing. Thanks again.”

  The chef took the rolling cart and disappeared into the storeroom. Travis ate quickly before anyone else showed up. He put his empty plate where the chef had instructed and slipped out the back door into the sunshine considering his next move. Emboldened by his success so far, he decided to do some exploring. If this place was connected to whoever was behind his kidnapping, it wasn’t likely that any of the regular staff would know about it, since his captors had held him a few miles away. He nonchalantly set off on a path that wound through the woods past most of the guest cabins. Travis counted twenty, a few of them obviously large enough to house two or three bedrooms.

  He reversed course and strolled to the opposite end of the compound, taking a cursory look at the barn and stable. He turned back when he heard voices, figuring he better not press his luck. Eventually someone was bound to recognize that he didn’t belong. What he really needed was to get into the office somehow or behind the front desk and see if he could find anything in the files that would give him a clue to the identity of his abductors. He circled around the big building he’d thought was a meeting hall. A sign on the path with an arrow pointing to the “Conference Center” told him his guess had been close. Thinking he might try to get inside the lodge through the kitchen, he rounded the back corner of the conference center and pulled up short.

  A man in nice slacks and sweater over a button-down shirt emerged from a door on the far side of the kitchen. Travis quickly ducked behind the conference center and peeked around the corner. Tall and powerfully built, the man had short-cropped brown hair and carried himself with military bearing. He stopped in the clearing at the edge of the drive running behind the kitchen, and his hand dove through the V-neck of his sweater and came back out with a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He took a lighter from his pants pocket, shook a cigarette from the pack between his lips and cupped his hands around it. His hands came away as a cloud of white smoke billowed out of his mouth.

  Travis heard a loud beep from across the clearing, and the man pulled a phone from a holster clipped to his belt and held it up to his ear. After a brief conversation, the man took a quick drag from the cigarette, stubbed it out in the dirt and walked off down the path toward the cabins. Heart pounding, Travis stepped out from behind the building and jogged toward the open door.

  Chapter 31

  “You need to be more patient,” I spoke for the first time since we left the ranch.

  “Why? We weren’t learning anything.” Tess scowled.

  “You don’t know that, Tess.” I kept my eyes peeled for a side road indicated on the map.

  “Well, it’s not like they were keeping Uncle Travis in one of the guest cabins.”

  “You don’t know that, either.”

  I braked hard as the turn came up on my left. The “road” was little more than a grassy track heading for the trees through the meadow. I cranked the wheel and bumped along the new route.

  “I didn’t tell you this,” I said, “but when we turned off the main road to get to the ranch, a line of jeeps sat parked in a gravel lot just off the road. Maybe they’re for winter weather. Or maybe they’re for military maneuvers or war games for some of the groups that use the ranch. But it would have been nice to find out. We still don’t know what we’re up against.”

  “If I stopped and truly thought about what we’re up against, I wouldn’t have come,” she said. “The only reason I did is because we need Uncle Travis. We’re not soldiers, Oliver. We have no business trying to find out who’s behind what happened to Matt. The last three weeks have been like a nightmare, and I can’t wake up. But if we don’t do this, Oliver, who will?

  “Someone’s trying to ruin my father’s company, maybe even take it over. They tried to kill me—both of us—and they took Uncle Travis. I lost my parents. As angry and crazy as he makes me most of the time, I’m not going to lose him, too.”

  “Okay, okay. We’ll find him.”

  After a minute she said, “How much farther?”

  “Maybe a mile or two,” I said, wrestling the wheel as the SUV bounced in the rutted track.

  “Think you could have found a bumpier road?”

  “You don’t like it, I’d be happy to let you drive.”

  That shut her up for a while, and I concentrated on making the ride as smooth as possible. Or, more like, preventing a wheel from falling in a pothole so big that it broke an axle. From the high meadow, the land sloped down into a gully, up a ridge and down into another gully before climbing again. The track intercepted a gravel road before heading off onto another dirt track, this one rockier and more rutted as it wound up through some scrub brush and widely spaced trees. It finally crested on a meadow backed by the steep face of a low mountain peak.

  A few hundred yards ahead, the snaggletooth jaw line of several dilapidated buildings jutted away from the mountainside, woo
d weathered to a dull pewter color. Afternoon sunshine poured through broken windows and missing siding, casting misshapen shadows across the overgrown grassy spaces between the structures. Salvador Dali might have painted a scene like that if he’d used more muted colors. Building shapes dictated function. The Wikipedia inside my head pulled factoids out of filing cabinets labeled “Chemistry,” “Geology” and “History.” The tall skinny structure had likely been the headhouse of a mining shaft. The building next to the crumbled remains of a brick chimney probably had been a smelter. A long, two-story building with evenly spaced holes that windows had once filled likely had housed miners in dormitories. All in ruins now, abandoned for decades, maybe as long as a century.

  I pulled up behind one of the buildings and shut off the engine. The sudden silence pressed in ominously until natural sounds rushed in to fill the space—songs of the western meadowlark, mountain bluebird, and varied thrush and the screech of a red-tailed hawk soaring on a thermal high above, and the whisper of the breeze through the grass and windowless buildings.

  Bob Haskell had outfitted the Range Rover with everything we might possibly need, from a four-person tent to a three-day supply of food. I opened the tailgate and stuffed a couple bottles of water, a flashlight, a compass and a rope into a rucksack. We’d missed lunch, so I grabbed a couple of energy bars, too. By the time I circled around to get Tess, she’d let herself out and twirled in a slow circle, arms out, breathing deeply through her nose. I closed my eyes and followed suit, trying to imagine how she felt. I picked up scents of clover, pine, earth and dried wood baking in the sun.

  “What do you see?” Tess said.

  I described the scene in front of us—an old mining camp. Not quite a town, but certainly the basics to house and feed enough miners and other personnel to dig ore from the ground and process it on site. Tess tracked the sound of my voice and came up behind me as I spoke, placing her hand lightly on my shoulder, the signal that she was ready to move.