Last Track, The (14 page)

“I try,” Jessica said, modest. Now she wondered how many might have been studying her as she watched the crowd. She had not considered such a thing.

“You do a fair bit more than try. So I’ve read, anyway.”

He started to leave. “One more thing, Erich. I wanted to tell you that something is missing from my room. I don’t believe it’s lost or misplaced. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a picture of myself and Andy, but I thought you should know.”

Erich stopped, turning back toward her as if in slow motion. “That is not the sort of thing we take lightly here. Rest assured, I’ll take care of it personally.”

And at that, he left. He weaved through the crowd, chatting with guests. She wondered what else Erich had heard about her. Watching him through her hair, she bet he would glance back. Jessica realized she was acting liked a schoolgirl, surprised at the intensity of her attraction to a man she hardly knew. Regardless, she waited for the sign all the same. Moments later he glanced back. Delighted, she checked on Andy, and rejoined the party.

At last the fire peaked.

She stepped beyond the perimeter of warmth looking for Andy. A chill surrounded her. It seemed much later than it was, because so many guests had retired for the evening. She took the cue. She locked eyes with Cara across what remained of the flames, and smiled.

Andy held a jar full of tiny flashing lights, looking so very proud of his haul. She waved to him. Suddenly Jessica’s knees buckled, and she collapsed. The background noise stopped. What was left of the crowd froze except Cara, who dashed over.

“Jessica! Are you okay?”

And then blackness.

08:13:50 PM

Right after his conversation with the Partner, Mike dialed all the numbers he had for the ranch. The front desk, the nurse’s station, the owner—each attempt to reach a live person failed. When he did get through, no one knew anything that could help. He tried Lisbeth—she did not answer. Mike tried every person he had numbers for who might have information. When he exhausted his supply of contacts, he called directory assistance and requested more numbers. And when the new ones tapped out, and he didn’t hear from Lisbeth, he called Erin in California and set her loose.

His business associate Erin was a bulldog with details. Better yet, Erin knew when not to ask
why
he asked for what he did, and when to call him on being stupid or paranoid. He knew she took the request seriously and went to work, exploring additional venues, like emergency services or cab companies.

Besides how Jessica and Andy were doing, and whether they were all right, he needed more information: principally, who the Partner was. There were ways to get those details, though none of them were easy in the middle of nowhere and past the close of the business day. For that assignment, he enlisted Shad, the gear guru who set them up that morning. A long shot, and Mike knew it, but he figured the tech was up for the challenge.

“So you want a reverse lookup on all the calls to your number for the last day?” Shad asked.

“Absolutely,” Mike said.

Shad hesitated for a moment. “That’s a gray area, Mike. Legally speaking.”

“But you’re law enforcement. What’s the problem?”

“I’m a police officer, not a Homeland Security agent. There are privacy laws protecting phone records. Officially, requests like that take subpoenas. And those take a judge.”

“I understand. I’m sorry I troubled you so late at night,” Mike said. “I’m out of people to try, and I thought of you . . .”

“Were you threatened by one of the callers? That could speed things along.”

“I just need a name,” Mike said.

“And not one you want Lisbeth catching wind of either, I bet,” Shad said.

“Exactly. Can you help?”

“Hey, you need data and not a lot of questions, you need the Shad. I can do this, but it will take time.”

“How long?”

“Give me six hours.”

While Mike waited for Erin’s and Shad’s results, he and Dagget began setting up camp.

They settled on a level patch at the peak of a hill. The location was Mike’s choice and Dagget followed without griping. Climbing the thirty-five-degree grade, their fingers grappled for holds. Moonlight threw tall shadows from their bodies across the rocks.

Scaling the crag took the tracker moments and Dagget minutes.

Close to the trail, the site provided an unobstructed view down either slope. Mike leaned the backpack against a boulder and sat, bent at the knees. For the first time since breakfast he relaxed. He sipped from the canteen in between bites of a protein bar.

Rifling through the sack, Dagget grumbled. “We’re almost out of packaged food?”

“Not quite,” said Mike, finishing his protein bar. He folded the wrapper into a square.

“You have food left?” Dagget asked.

“A bit.” In Mike’s pocket were two protein bars, the final reserve.

“Can I have some?” Dagget said.

“You were down there long enough. I figured you rolled some sushi.”

“There were fish. They weren’t biting.” Dagget rubbed his temple. “I’ll get up early and try again.” He shook his head. “Christ. It’s hard concentrating with my head throbbing like this.”

That sounded like carbohydrate withdrawal to Mike. There was no easy fix for addictions. “Suggestion?” Mike said.

“At this point,” Dagget said, sounding resigned, “I’ll even consider advice from you.”

“Let yourself feel the discomfort instead of fighting it.”

“What?” Here the officer almost shouted.

“Yield to the pain,” Mike said. “I think you’ll find it will hurt less.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Dagget said. “Where did you learn that?”

“Try it and see if it works.”

Dagget was silent for a while. “If I don’t catch any fish tomorrow morning, and we run out of food, what’s the plan?”

“We find some.” A simple solution to a complication—just how Mike rolled. Dagget’s question begged another question. “What sort of survival training have you had exactly?” Mike asked. “I was led to believe you had skills.”

“I do have skills, all right?” Dagget said, exasperated. “But Lisbeth says a lot of things when she wants a yes. Truth is, about three years ago I took a four-day course on search and rescue, and a two day seminar on wilderness survival.”

“And have you used any of that training since then?” Mike asked.

Dagget shrugged. “I went hunting once. I really can catch fish. I’m pretty good when I have my rod and reel.”

Mike stifled a sigh.

“I’ve been thinking a lot today.” Dagget wiped his brow with his sleeve. “This terrain is pretty rough. Why did Sean wander so far?”

This was a question that Mike had also considered.

“Fear can be a powerful motivator,” Mike said. “Something scared him from the clearing. Something else spooked him enough to . . .”

A burst of illumination below and the sound of tires over loose stones preempted his statement.

Heading south, on the opposite side of the hillside, a row of lights raced along the basin floor. Round beams, four pairs. Maybe Humvees, definitely trucks.

Both men watched the action below the ledge from their perch.

“Odd,” Dagget said. “We’re miles from the nearest road.”

Mike fished out his long-range binoculars, zoomed in tight, and watched the vehicles race under the big sky.

One by one, the lights disappeared into the night like snakes beneath a curtain.

09:15:27 PM

Cell service on top of the ridge was sketchy. Signals dropped out without warning, disconnecting calls in progress. After trying a few different spots, Mike climbed down and walked for a minutes, stopping when he locked onto a stronger signal. Cool air whistled against his exposed arms. A call from Erin reached him before he could dial her number. She brought mixed news.

After exhausting the usual channels, she had located Jessica Barrett at Washington Memorial Hospital, a facility about an hour from the ranch. Since Erin was not a family member, the staff would only confirm that Jessica was a patient, and did not release any details about her medical condition. But Erin did convince a nurse to give her the physician’s cell number. Mike took down the number, grateful for Dr. McCrane’s contact information and Erin’s efforts.

If Mike had tried the same moves, he would have left a trail of irritation behind him, and gotten maybe a twentieth of the results. Besides following details to the end, Erin had a way with people over the phone. Something about her voice made people weep and confess their sins. He believed this implicitly, had seen her handiwork up close, though Erin often had disagreed.

Another concern was tougher to address: Andy, and where he was right now. Once again, since she was not a relative, hospital staff had been reluctant to discuss private family business with Erin. Her hope and Mike’s was that the boy was resting with Jessica in the hospital. Erin bowed out then, and told Mike if he needed to talk, he could call at any hour.

Before trying to find out how Jessica was, he wondered whether her predicament was connected to the earlier phone threat. His cell phone rang. With the second call from the Partner came the answer.

The Partner said, “I heard Jessica passed out at the bonfire and was rushed to the hospital. That must be unnerving for you.”

“Are you saying that’s not a coincidence?” Mike asked. His stomach sank. He wanted to throttle the Partner, but kept his cool.

“Thirty-four-year-old woman in perfect health, with no history of fainting, a light social drinker, collapses at a party. A coincidence?” The Partner tsked. “Do you think her doctor can explain how it happened? I’m betting he can’t. Not to your satisfaction. He’ll say something like Jessica was drunk.”

“What did you do to her? Drugs?”

“Let’s just say,” the Partner said, “she’ll recover.”

“I don’t appreciate your involving my family. They have nothing to do with this.” Mike knew enough not to make threats.

He was at a disadvantage and it was too early to even determine how great that obstacle might be. First he needed to get the Partner talking, and figure out what he was dealing with, then find a wedge to drive into the weakest point.

The Partner left him with this advice: “Give Dr. McCrane my best, would you? And rest up, Mike. You’ve got a lot of work tomorrow.”

09:27:34 PM

Mike heard the weariness in Dr. McCrane’s voice. “Pending final tests results,” Dr. McCrane said, “the initial diagnosis is dehydration, a deficit of electrolytes and sodium, compounded by exhaustion. A few nurses indicated she appeared drunk. Alcohol consumption would certainly aggravate already low hydration levels.”

Plausible, but Mike did not entirely believe the doctor. Because of the Partner he could not. He had another reason to doubt the diagnosis.

In all their years together, Mike had only seen Jessica drunk once—at a late summer wedding where everyone got blitzed, including the bridal party and both sets of parents. She drank so responsibly he trusted her to know when she had enough.

For now, according to Dr. McCrane, Jessica languished in room three-twenty-three, still asleep, her vital signs stable. Dr. McCrane anticipated a full recovery after she slept off the effects. Mike asked to speak with Jessica, but the doctor advised rest was paramount.

This development marked uncharted territory for Mike. For the past few years, besides his recurring knee issues, his family had been very fortunate. Normal colds, a light touch of stomach flu, nothing serious. Her last trip to the hospital was for Andy’s birth, almost a lifetime ago.

“About my son, Andy,” Mike said. “Is he in Jessica’s room?”

“Let me think about that for a second,” Dr. McCrane said. “I see a lot of patients every night, and I focus on them much more than visitors. It’s been awhile since I was up there. When I first treated Jessica, there were three people in the room with her: a man, a woman, and a boy. The boy had red, curly hair and looked about eight or nine. The man introduced himself as Erich Reynard. I didn’t catch the woman’s name.”

To Mike, the description sounded like Andy. “So Andy is with Jessica?” Mike said.

“I think so, but I’m in the middle of rounds on the opposite wing of the hospital,” said Dr. McCrane. “I’ll send a nurse up there to check and call you back.”

The long silence weighed heavily on Mike. He did not want more time to think about forces he could not reason with, much less control. The tense moments were painful, almost more wrenching than the thought of not knowing where his son was. And if anything happened to Andy . . . if the Partner was involved . . . he had the training for most any situation. He doubted he would have the restraint.

Dr. McCrane called. “I just heard from the head nurse on duty. Jessica is still resting comfortably. But . . .” Dr. McCrane trailed off.

“But?” Mike pushed, prompting the doctor.

“Andy’s not there. The nurse says Jessica has been in her room alone for the last half hour.”

09:47:59 PM

After a lot of dialing, Mike caught a break and reached Erich at the front desk, who explained what happened after the three left the hospital together. Andy had ridden to the hospital with another ranch guest, Cara, in the ambulance. Erich followed—and stayed as long as he was permitted by the guest policy. Partly because Andy was under fourteen, and because it was way past visiting hours, the hospital urged all three to return in the morning. Erich and Cara agreed Andy could stay with her until they heard otherwise from either Mike or Jessica. The real hitch was Andy, who did not want to abandon Jessica, and protested with great fury. Mike knew exactly what kind of fight Erich was talking about. He had taught the boy a number of self-defense maneuvers. Complaints about the ruckus on floor three reached security; they summoned the police.

When Lisbeth caught wind of the radio chatter on the police band, she intervened and vouched for Erich. Instead of starting a case report with a social services agency, the police escorted all three back to the ranch, trailing Erich’s sports car.