by Cindi Myers
“Breakfast is ready. Oatmeal and canned peaches. Ian insisted we wait for you before we ate.” She started to lead the way to the kitchen, but he took her arm, stopping her.
“I checked the burned-out office,” he said, keeping his voice low, not wanting the boy to overhear. “The man you shot isn’t there.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Did he...did he burn up in the fire?”
“I don’t think so. Either he got out alive or Anderson and the others took his body with them when they left.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. I was kind of dreading driving past there in daylight.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Let’s go have some breakfast.”
“There you are,” Ian greeted Jack when he entered the room. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
Jack set the backpack on the floor by his chair and ate the oatmeal and peaches without really tasting them. His mind was focused on the day ahead. He needed to get Ian and Andrea home and check in with his team to find out what they had learned about Anderson and his associates.
When they were finished eating and the table was cleared, Andrea sent Ian to wash up and Jack hefted the backpack onto the table and unpacked its contents. He set aside the lighter, the gun and a clip of ammunition and pulled out the spiral notebook and the sheaf of papers. Men’s clothing, a pair of binoculars and half a dozen protein bars filled the rest of the bag.
Jack flipped through the notebook. Andrea moved from the sink to look over his shoulder. “What’s in it?” she asked.
“It looks like mathematical or scientific formulas or something.” He passed it to her and she studied the rows of cramped handwriting, then returned it to him.
“It doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said.
“Maybe it’s a code.” He put the notebook back into the pack with the clothing, binoculars and the gun. Then he turned his attention to the sheaf of papers. He slipped off the rubber band and studied the first item in the pile.
“Is it a blueprint of some kind?” Andrea asked.
“I think it’s a survey, or a plat for a piece of land.” He studied the blue lines traced on the page and notations of longitude and latitude. “Somewhere called Center Line Gulch. Have you ever heard of it?”
“No.”
He set the paper aside and selected the next page in the bundle, a legal-sized photocopy. This one was easier to decipher. “It’s a map,” he said. He studied the network of roads and waterways. “There’s nothing to indicate where it’s from and a lot of the roads aren’t marked. It looks like it was photocopied from a larger map or a book.”
She leaned forward to peer at the map upside down. “I think it has to be in Colorado,” she said. “And this part of the state.” She put her finger on a thin line running through the middle of the map. “Doesn’t that say Pine River?”
“Yes. And this road has a number.” He placed his finger an inch below hers on the map. “Four eighty-seven. I think that’s the Forest Service number for the road we’re on.”
“Then that means we’re about here.” She tapped the intersection of the river and the road, then slid her finger to the inked circle at the top of the page. “So this has to be fairly nearby.”
“Except none of these roads appear to have numbers or names,” he said. “They might even be hiking trails, they’re so small and faint. There’s no legend or scale to indicate the mileage between points.”
She squinted at the tiny print on the map. “Nothing on here looks familiar,” she said. “I need more context.”
He set the map aside. The next item in the pile wasn’t a single sheet of paper, but a pamphlet.
“Is that...Russian?” Andrea squinted at the printing on the front of the booklet.
“I think it is.” Jack flipped through the booklet but could make no sense of the Cyrillic lettering. He set it aside.
The last item in the pile appeared to be a laboratory report of some kind, detailing the percentage of different minerals found in a core sample. Jack’s gaze zeroed in on the word uranium. Andrea noticed it, too. “They mine uranium in Colorado,” she said. “Or at least, they used to.”
He returned the papers to the backpack. “We’ll have to dig deeper into this and see if we can figure out what it means. For now, let’s hurry up and get out of here. I’ll take you and Ian back to your home and coordinate with my team from there.”
Ian skipped into the room. “Will you take me to see the creek, Jack?” he asked.
“No time for that, buddy.” Jack clapped him on the back. “We’re going back to your house.”
“Are you coming with us?” Jack asked.
“Yes, I am.”
It took only a few minutes to load into Jack’s truck. Andrea wanted to straighten the cabin before they left, but he persuaded her not to bother. “The evidence techs are going to tear everything apart anyway,” he said.
“I guess you’re right,” she said. “It just feels so wrong leaving dirty dishes in the sink and the bed unmade.”
“Think of it as a good exercise in letting go,” he said, steering her toward the truck.
Ian sat belted in the backseat this time, after Jack cleared out a space for him. None of them said anything as they left the camp, although Andrea averted her eyes when they passed the burned-out office building. No other traffic traveled the dirt road leading to the highway. “Do you think the car is still at the second bridge?” Andrea asked, her voice tense.
“If it is, we’ll have to move it so we can cross,” he said.
“Can you do that?” she asked.
“I have some tow chains in the back.”
But there was no sign of the car as they approached the bridge. And little sign of the bridge, either. Snow filled it to the railings, and the road beyond was merely a faint depression in the drifts. “The plows haven’t made it here yet,” Andrea said.
“No.” This wasn’t good news. The more time passed, the more chance Anderson and the others had to get away.
“How are we gonna get across?” Ian asked.
Andrea looked at Jack, the same question unspoken in her eyes. He stared at the expanse of white. Even on his own, he wouldn’t have wanted to attempt to hike out across that. “We have to go back to the camp,” he said. “I’ll call my office and see if they can send help.”
Andrea said nothing as they returned to camp, though her face was pale and she gripped the edge of the seat, white-knuckled. Jack parked in front of the cabin they had just left and they filed inside. Andrea sank to the sofa and Ian crawled up beside her. “What are we going to do now, Mama?” he asked.
“We’re going to sit here quietly while Jack makes a phone call,” she said.
He punched in the special agent in charge’s private number. “Blessing,” the bass voice answered.
“Jack Prescott. I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s the problem? Where are you?”
“I’m still at the fishing camp. The snow has stopped but the road is still blocked. We need some help getting out of here.”
“Are you or Dr. McNeil or her son hurt or in danger?”
“No.” At least with the roads closed, Anderson and his crew weren’t likely to return to cause trouble.
“I’ll get in touch with local law enforcement,” Agent Blessing said. “They should have a better idea of the plowing schedule. But it may be a few hours before they get out there.”
“I understand. Give them this number. Any word on Anderson and the other two men I described?”
“We think one of them, the dead man, may be a con named Jerry Altenhaus. He’s a small-time extortionist who celled with Anderson for a while about ten years ago. They’ve been spotted together a few t
imes. No idea who the third man is.”
“What about their link to Duane Braeswood?”
“The only one we can tie is Anderson.”
“Any word on Braeswood?”
“Agent Prescott, you are still on medical leave.”
“I’m still part of your team,” Jack said.
Blessing made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a groan. “We have a lead on Braeswood that we’re investigating. At this point, we’re pretty sure he’s still alive and active.”
“I did a brief search of the camp and found a backpack with some documents that may be relevant,” Jack said. “I’ll bring them with me when we get out of here and Forensics can see if they can make anything of them.”
“Anything else I need to know?” Blessing asked.
Jack glanced toward the sofa, but Ian and Andrea were intent on a game of tic-tac-toe, scribbled on a scrap of paper she had found on the coffee table. He lowered his voice. “The man who we shot—his body isn’t here. I don’t know if Anderson and his companion carried it with them when they left or if he got up and walked out on his own. I don’t think it likely. He was shot point-blank in the back with a .44-caliber pistol.”
“In the back?” Blessing’s voice was sharp.
“He was about to shoot me when Andrea—Dr. McNeil—shot him.”
“This will all be in your report.”
“Yes, sir.” Jack resisted the urge to argue that if he was well enough to write reports, he ought to be allowed to return to work.
“Jack?”
The strain in Andrea’s voice, and the deathly pallor of her face when he turned to look at her, put Jack on high alert. “Sir, I have to go,” he said.
“Sit tight and stay out of trouble,” Blessing said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Jack pocketed the phone and moved to Andrea’s side. “What’s wrong?” he asked, taking her hand.
With a warning glance toward Ian, who knelt at the coffee table, scribbling something on a scrap of paper, Andrea pulled Jack toward the kitchen. He could feel her trembling as they stepped into the room. “What is it?” he asked again. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“Someone was here while we were gone,” she said. “Someone came into the cabin.” Her eyes met his, a mixture of fear and anger reflected in their dark depths. “We’re not alone anymore, Jack. And I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.”
Chapter Nine
Jack reached inside his jacket to check the pistol in his shoulder holster. “Why do you think someone was in here?” he asked.
She pointed to the kitchen table, cluttered with the remains of their breakfast. “There was still some oatmeal in a pot on the stove when we left,” she said. “It’s gone. A can of milk and some crackers are missing from the cabinets, too. I came in here to make some cocoa and peanut butter crackers for Ian and I couldn’t find them.”
“Maybe some homeless person was looking for food.” The words didn’t even sound convincing to Jack.
“This isn’t the city,” she said. “This is the middle of nowhere. If a homeless person was around here, why not just move into one of the empty cabins? Why wait until we drove away and come into this one?” She gripped his hand, her fingernails digging into his palms. “Do you think it’s the man I shot?”
“Andrea, there’s no way he’s still alive,” Jack said. “You shot him at close range. I saw the exit wound.”
“Then where is his body?”
“It’s probably still in that car, buried in the snow on the bridge. Anderson and his partner probably took the body with them to delay having it identified and linked to them. Besides, if it was him, why wouldn’t he have gone to the first cabin and retrieved the backpack? A weapon would be more use to him than oatmeal and canned milk.” He stared at the clutter on the table. “None of this makes sense.”
“What did your boss say about getting us out of here?” she asked.
“He’s going to contact local law enforcement and see if they can get the plows out here to clear the road for us. He’s going to call me back.”
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if she had a chill. “I hope they hurry. Whether this is a vagrant or one of the kidnappers on the loose, I don’t want to be anywhere near those people.”
“Neither do I.” He walked to the window and checked the latch. “In the meantime, I’ll find some nails and make sure no one can come in the windows. And we’ll keep the door locked.” That wouldn’t be much defense against a high-powered rifle, but no sense worrying her further by mentioning that. Besides, he still wasn’t convinced their thief had anything to do with the terrorists. “It was probably a kid thinking they were getting away with something,” he said. “Try not to worry about it.”
“I’ve always thought that was some of the most pointless advice in the English language,” she said. She moved to the sink and began running water. “Considering the events of the last forty-eight hours, only a fool wouldn’t worry.”
“I know you’re not a fool.” He started to go to her but thought better of it. She didn’t want comfort right now; she wanted action. “I’ll take care of those windows,” he said. “And if anyone comes back, I’ll be ready for them.”
* * *
PUTTING THE KITCHEN in order helped Andrea feel a little calmer. Now that she had had time to process what had happened, it was hard to be afraid of someone who was desperate enough to steal cold oatmeal and canned milk. But the idea that someone else was out there, watching them, gave her the creeps.
The kitchen cabinets didn’t contain much in the way of food beyond canned staples, but she unearthed a box of brownie mix and decided to mix it up. Baking would give her something to do with her hands, and after the stress of the last few days, she could use the chocolate.
She had just slid the pan into the oven when Jack returned to the kitchen, hammer and nails in hand. “Where did you find those?” she asked.
“I found a toolbox in the ruins of the office. It wasn’t too badly damaged in the fire.” He hammered a nail into the windowsill, then pulled it out. “Come here, Ian—I want to show you something,” he called.
Ian came running and Jack dragged a kitchen chair over to the window for the boy to stand on. “See how this nail is sticking up from the windowsill?” Jack asked.
Ian nodded.
“Right now the nail keeps anyone from opening the window from the outside,” he said. “Now pull on the nail for me. You’ll have to tug hard.”
The boy grasped the nail with both hands and pulled. “I got it out!” he crowed, and held up the nail.
Jack took it from him and slid it back into the hole. “If you need to get out of the window—if there’s a fire or your mom or I tell you to climb out the window—all you have to do is pull out the nail and push up on the sash. Can you remember that?”
Ian nodded. “Can we try now?”
Jack laughed. “I don’t think so. I just wanted to make sure you knew what to do in an emergency.” He handed the boy half a dozen nails. “Why don’t we go find a chunk of wood and you can hammer these in for me.”
“All right.” The boy raced out of the room, clutching the nails.
Andrea looked after him. “Are you sure hammering nails is a good idea?” she asked. “He might smash his thumb.”
“He might. But he’ll be okay. It’s good for their hand-eye coordination. And kids love to hammer things. At least, I did.” He started to leave the room but stopped when his phone buzzed. “Hello?”
She studied his face as he listened to the call. The faint lines on his forehead deepened. “I guess all we can do is wait,” he said, then hung up.
He turned to Andrea. “That was my boss. He says the local plowing crews are focused on clearing major roads and areas where people are livin
g. This area is low priority. It’s going to be a while before they get to us.”
She tried not to show her disappointment. She wanted to be in her own home, with clean clothes and internet access and a good cup of tea. But Jack couldn’t do anything to bring her those things any faster, so why waste breath complaining. “I guess it’s a good thing I made brownies,” she said.
“Jack! You said you’d help me nail things!” Ian called.
“Go,” she said. “I appreciate you keeping him occupied.”
“All right. Call me if you need anything.”
I’m beginning to feel as if I need you all the time, she thought, but it was too soon to say so. When she returned to her normal life, she might feel differently. She didn’t know yet if Jack was someone she could depend on not just to protect her in times of danger, but to stick with her when things were a lot less exciting.
JACK FOUND SOME shorter lengths of firewood and arranged them on the floor in front of the woodstove. The brick hearth made a good place for Ian to try out his carpentry skills. Jack showed the boy how to hold the hammer and helped guide the first few swings. After Jack let go, Ian missed the nail more often than he hit it, but he seemed to be having a ball.
Jack sat back and puzzled over their mysterious visitor. Was it possible an animal—maybe the pack rat from cabin two—had come into the house and taken the oatmeal and milk? But what animal was large enough to carry off the saucepan and the can?
If Gravel Voice had been wearing a ballistics vest, it was possible he had survived the shot, but then Jack wouldn’t have seen blood on the front of his shirt. And surely the boss would have left in the car with the rest of his men. Even if for some reason he had stayed behind, he would have focused on obtaining a weapon, not leftover breakfast. So that left someone else for the thief. A stranded camper? A felon on the run? He’d ask Blessing to check with local law enforcement for reports of other thefts in the area or recently escaped convicts or missing campers.