Kelsey leaned against the door frame but didn’t venture into the room. She knew Mia wouldn’t appreciate someone breathing down her neck while she examined evidence. Tracers tended to be neat freaks, a trait born of many hours spent on witness stands explaining to defense attorneys that blood, semen, and other evidence was not the result of contamination in the lab.
“And what’s the razor blade for?” Kelsey asked.
“That’s my backup method. In case the tape fails to lift any skin cells, I’ll gently scrape the fabric and see what I can get. I can do it later.” Mia raised her eye shields and leaned back against the counter behind her. “What do you have for me?”
“I looked through our records and made a few phone calls,” Kelsey said. “No human skeletons recovered from Devil’s Gorge in the past five years.”
Mia sighed. “I figured as much. My detective seems pretty thorough.”
Kelsey lifted an eyebrow. “Your detective?”
“The detective who brought me this case,” she corrected. “Ric Santos with San Marcos PD. I figured he checked on any skeletal remains. I was thinking, though, maybe someone found a partial. Is there a record of any human bones at all from that area? Both missing hikers are female.”
“Closest thing is a long bone that came into my office about six months ago. Some rock climbers found it near an abandoned campground.”
“But… ?” Mia sensed a dead end.
“Microscopic examination showed osteons lined up in rows.”
“I know you’re going to tell me what that means.”
“Osteons are small, circular bone structures. In humans, they’re scattered randomly throughout the bone cortex. In animals, they tend to be found in rows. The bone was an animal femur, probably from a small cow or a deer. It’s usually pretty easy to tell what I’m dealing with just by looking at the context—deer don’t have fingers, people don’t have hooves, that sort of thing. But if it’s a single bone, maybe carried somewhere by a scavenger, I usually have to look at it under a microscope to be sure.”
Kelsey nodded at Mia’s worktable. “So it seems the missing hikers are still missing.”
“Well, thanks for checking.”
“Hope your evidence there yields something better.” Kelsey smiled slyly. “I’ve met Ric Santos. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him, either.”
• • •
Elaina’s heart sank as she gazed down at the map. “This place is enormous.”
Troy handed her a plastic bag and started the car again. “Eighty-five thousand acres,” he said as he pulled out of the gas station parking lot.
She studied the outlines of Laguna Madre National Wildlife Refuge. “It looks pretty untamed, too,” she said. “The entire southeast boundary looks like inlets and coves.”
“It is. What did Breck say?”
Elaina set her jaw and gazed out the window. “Pretty much the same thing he said when I told him about the first call. It was a prank.”
“He really believes that?”
“I don’t know what he believes,” she said sourly. “Evidently, the tip line has had hundreds of pranks since the day it was set up. He says this is probably more of the same.”
“Yeah, but none of those pranks came in on an investigator’s cell phone.”
“I pointed that out.” She refolded the map so that the section showing the wildlife reserve was on top. “But did he listen? No. Unless I come up with something, and I quote, ‘solid,’ this tip doesn’t merit anyone’s time.”
She looked out the window. In the last twenty minutes, the scenery had gone from fertile farmland to scrub brush mixed with pockets of wet. They were nearing the coast.
She cast a sideways glance at Troy. He had a strong profile. He was only thirty-five, but he had faint lines at the corners of his eyes, probably from so much time spent in the sun. She liked the lines. They made him seem wise beyond his years.
She looked away. She could feel herself falling for this guy. With every day, with every minute they spent together, she could feel herself letting go of that hard-won control, letting her emotions take over. She took a deep breath and summoned her courage.
“Listen, Troy.” She cleared her throat. “You brought up a good point earlier. One I’ve been thinking about.”
“What’s that?”
“Work-life balance and all that ‘crap,’ as you called it.” She looked at him but couldn’t read his expression. “The fact is, I have no life. I can’t. At least not right now. Maybe someday, but for now, I really need to focus on what I’m doing here. I can’t mess up. I can’t afford mistakes. There’s too much at stake—not just for me, career-wise, but for this case and these victims. I can’t be distracted and miss something important.”
He smiled, but he didn’t seem amused. “So I’m a distraction, huh? And here I thought I was helping you.”
“You are. You have.” She looked at the map in her lap. “I want you to know I appreciate it. Your taking me to the Delphi Center and introducing me to your friend, and giving me the lay of the land down on the island—”
“But you don’t want to sleep with me.”
“No. I mean, we hardly know each other.”
“And you don’t do flings, is that right?”
Her stomach tightened. “That’s right.”
“And you don’t need any distractions.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, no problem.”
She looked at him. Was he serious, or was he teasing her again? She couldn’t tell, so she was going to go with serious.
The car filled with silence. She looked at the map in her lap. She looked at Troy. “Are you still up for this?”
“You mean now that you’ve told me you’re not going to jump me in return for my services as a tour guide?”
She chose to ignore that. “I understand if you need to get back. We’ve been gone all day. I can always come back tomorrow—”
“Bad idea. Eighty-five thousand acres of marshland isn’t a great place for you to be wandering around alone.”
“I could bring someone. Maybe Maynard or Weaver.”
She saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “I’ll take you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’ve already given up your whole Monday and—”
“You really want to lose a day on this thing just because you’re afraid you can’t control yourself around me?”
She blinked at him. “I can control myself.”
“Good. That makes two of us. Now, quit asking whether I want to be here. I’m here. Let’s get this done.”
Now she was the one to get annoyed. “I’m just pointing out that you’re about to drive this nice car of yours into a swamp. And then we’re on foot, from the looks of it. And it’s got to be ninety-five degrees outside.”
“One-oh-one,” he corrected. “And yes, I’m up for it. It’s you I’m worried about. I picked up some stuff for you at the gas station.”
Elaina lifted the bag from the floor and poked through it. Water. Sunscreen. Flip-flops. She pulled out a pair of pink hibiscus-print shorts and glanced at him.
“Are we going to a luau?”
“That was all they had,” he said. “You’re going to melt in those pants you’ve got on. And forget the heels.”
They passed a sign for the reserve, and Troy turned onto a narrow road.
“You’re wearing pants,” she pointed out. And cowboy boots. And a black T-shirt that was sure to absorb heat.
“Jeans breathe. Whatever synthetic stuff that suit is made from doesn’t.”
“We should have taken my car,” she said pointedly. “I’ve got tactical pants and ATAC boots stashed in the trunk.”
“ATAC boots?”
“All-Terrain, All-Conditions. I started keeping them with me for just this type of emergency.”
“Looking for bodies in a swamp? You do this a lot?”
“It’s his pattern,” she said.
/>
Troy rolled his Ferrari to a stop beside a wooden guardhouse and paid the awestruck attendant a few dollars. They entered the park and followed a narrow road that curved south. Troy kept glancing at the phone in his hand. They’d been using his for navigation because Elaina’s didn’t have nearly as many bells and whistles on it.
“According to this, we’re about three and a half miles from where we want to be,” he said.
“And we’re about to run out of pavement.”
Her prediction proved correct as the road veered west, away from their destination.
“I need a place to park,” he muttered. “Somewhere not too soft.”
Elaina pointed to some scrub brush sitting on a gentle rise to their east. He found a gap in the foliage and eased into the space between.
She glanced around warily. “Are you sure this is the best place to—”
“Yes.” He leaned across her, popped open the glove compartment, and pulled out a pistol, which he tucked into the back of his jeans.
She didn’t ask if he had a permit for it. She didn’t want to know. After he got out of the car, she kicked off her shoes, slipped off her belt—along with the holster attached to it—and shimmied out of her pants. The shorts he’d bought were hideous, but at least they had belt loops. She transferred her weapon and slipped an extra magazine into her pocket, alongside her cell phone.
She climbed out of the car, and the humidity settled over her like a blanket. They’d parked in the shade of a few scraggly bushes, but the land all around them was baking beneath the late-afternoon sun. Bushes and patches of water dotted the grassy prairie. In the hazy distance, she saw the blue-gray line that would be Laguna Madre.
“You think we’d be better off by boat?” Elaina asked.
Troy glanced up from his digital map. “Not according to this. Plus, it’s low tide.”
“Which direction?”
“About three miles south.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
He gave her a look that told her she had no idea what she was talking about. Then he tromped around the back of the car, and she saw that he’d managed to scrounge up a gym bag from somewhere. He took the plastic bag from her hands and stuffed the water bottles into the duffel. Then he squirted a big glob of sunscreen into his palm.
“This has insect repellent in it.” He handed her the bottle. “Put some everywhere you can reach.”
He crouched at her feet and began slathering her legs. She focused on covering her face and neck. When her legs were finished, he rubbed the extra lotion over his face and hooked his arms through the duffel like a backpack.
Elaina checked her watch. “Just after five,” she said.
“I figure we got three hours.” He scanned the horizon. “Keep your gun handy.”
“You think he’s out here?” Elaina asked. She’d thought of that, too. Maybe this was some sort of ambush.
“I’m more worried about gators,” he said.
“Gators?”
“And keep an eye out for snakes.”
He set off to the south. Elaina adjusted her weapon and fell into step behind him.
Laguna Madre National Wildlife Refuge
N 26° 13.681 W 097° 20.005
6:25 P.M. CST
She mostly watched her feet as she tromped over the uneven terrain. The ground was sandy, with sharp blades of grass jutting through. Sticker burrs were everywhere, and she kept stopping to pluck them from between her toes.
Troy had set a brisk pace. She discovered the footing was easiest if she stepped into the big impressions made by his boots. She had to stretch her legs to do it, though, and after the first half hour, her breath was coming in shallow pants.
In. Out. Slow. Down. She forced her lungs into a rhythm that matched his footsteps.
Sweat and sunscreen seeped into her eyes. She ignored the weeds clawing at her calves. She ignored the mosquitoes buzzing around her ears and nose. She kept her gaze on the ground, and whenever possible, stole a glimpse of her surroundings.
“You see anything?” she asked.
“Nope.”
She didn’t, either. But, then, she hadn’t had as much opportunity to look.
Perspiration streamed down her back and legs. Her shirt glued itself to her body. The grass became taller. The sand became damper. Eventually, it wasn’t sand at all, but mud, thick and warm, that oozed between her toes. With every step, she fought the suction that tried to hold on to her shoes. The plastic straps chafed against her skin.
She glanced backward. The bushes where they’d parked were a dark green dot now. They were in a sea of grass and muck.
“Need a drink?” Troy glanced over his shoulder at her.
“I’m good.”
But she wasn’t good. She was winded. Breathless. As if the air was too heavy to enter her lungs. It didn’t make sense, because ever since her college days at Georgetown, she’d been an avid runner. She’d handled the jogging trail through Rock Creek Park with all its rises and dips—no problem. And since moving to Texas, she’d run nearly every day in an ongoing effort to keep up with all the jocks surrounding her. She should be able to handle a zero-grade hike without breaking a sweat.
In. Out. In. Out.
Of course, she always ran in the mornings, before seven. She wasn’t used to this oppressive heat, to this hot, pungent air that was almost too thick to breathe.
She blinked the sweat from her eyes and glanced around. She was supposed to be investigating here. But she saw nothing out of place—nothing besides herself and Troy and their two long shadows tromping across the marsh.
Another gust of hot air. Another cloud of mosquitoes. She tried not to think about it. She concentrated instead on Troy’s footprints. She listened to his breathing. It was steady. Even. If he could do this, so could she.
He checked his phone again. “Not much farther,” he said. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Grass. Mud. Sun. The occasional long-legged heron picking its way through the marsh. Troy saw no sign of a human, either living or dead. Only endless acres of cordgrass and brackish water.
He glanced over his shoulder. Elaina’s cheeks were bright pink. Her shirt was soaked through. Her calves were covered with scratches and slime.
“Water break.” He slung the pack off his back and unzipped it.
“I’m fine. Let’s go. We’re running out of daylight.”
“Drink, Elaina.” He shoved a water bottle at her and dared her to argue. She didn’t. Instead, she tipped her head back and chugged, and he got his first good look at all the welts on her neck. He fished the sunscreen from the bag and handed it to her.
“I don’t think it’s working,” she said.
“It’s better than nothing. And you’re getting eaten alive. This place is a breeding ground.”
She passed him the water, and he guzzled the rest, then stuffed the empty bottle back in his pack. Elaina slathered lotion on her neck and face. Troy scanned the horizon. They’d reached their destination an hour ago and had been searching the area in a spiral pattern ever since.
They’d found zilch.
“Maybe you were right,” she said, and wiped her brow with her cuff. She’d rolled her sleeves down after the first hour, probably to guard against mosquitoes. “He’s probably just some loser trying to jerk my chain. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”
He flashed a look at her. “I’m not.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
She did a slow three-sixty. They stood ankle-deep in water, surrounded by marsh. Crabs scuttled around their feet. The sky was orange on the horizon, darkening to bloodred, then purple. A V-formation of pelicans soared, toward the setting sun.
Troy watched her eyes and waited for the spark of recognition.
“It’s the same as the others,” she said. “It’s the type of place he’d pick—a scenic nature area that’s a pain in the butt to get to.”
; “Yep.”
“And it’s federal land, which means if he did put her here, the FBI takes over the case. More gamesmanship.”
Troy nodded. “That’s what I think, too. This isn’t a prank. We’re just too late. Valerie’s been missing almost a week. Whatever was left of her has been scavenged and scattered by now.”
He consulted his phone again. It was running low on juice, so he powered it off and shoved it in his pocket. “We’d better head back,” he said. “We’ve been out here too long already. We’ll be hiking in by penlight if we don’t get a move on.”
Elaina glanced around, and he could tell she wasn’t ready to give up. “Fifteen more minutes.”
Somehow he’d known she would say that.
She trekked west, toward the sunset, her gaze intent on the ground in front of her. Troy followed, ignoring the blisters covering his feet. Water-filled cowboy boots weren’t his top pick for hiking.
She stopped short, and he bumped into her.
“Look there,” she said.
“Where?”
She pointed up ahead, to something shiny that caught the light. They both moved toward it at the same instant. It was a plastic box. Olive green. Not much bigger than a shoebox. The sun glinted off the hooks of a bungee chord that someone had wrapped around it, probably to hold it shut.
“What do you think’s inside?” Elaina asked, and he heard the dread in her voice.
“Only one way to find out.” He crouched down beside it.
“But crime-scene protocol—”
“This isn’t a crime scene,” he pointed out. Not yet, anyway. But he didn’t want to waste time on formalities. The box could be full of fishing tackle, for all they knew. He unhooked the bungee chord and pulled on the lid.
“It’s stuck,” he said.
“Want me to try?”
He glowered up at her. Then he shifted to the other side and tried a different angle. Elaina knelt down next to him. She smelled like sweat and sun block, and her hair blew against his forearm as he gripped the plastic top.
Tracers 02 - Unspeakable Page 14