Last Track, The (15 page)

Unfortunately, Jessica’s phone was back in her room, the front office locked, so the only way they had to reach Mike was to return to the ranch and look up the contact information on the computer system or through Lisbeth. “It must have been spotty coverage where she was, because we couldn’t reach Lisbeth. And that’s why I didn’t call you earlier,” Erich said. “By the way, I took care of all the financial arrangements at the hospital. It will all be first class. The charges are coming straight to me. And she’s in excellent hands. I regret this happened.”

“I’d like to thank you properly later, but first I really need to speak with my son.”

“Of course,” Erich said. “I’ll transfer you to Cara’s room.”

The line beeped twice. Cara answered. “I was waiting for the number from Erich to call you. I’m sorry about Jessica. You must be worried sick. Your son is more than welcome to stay with me and my daughters as long as he needs to. He and my girls get on fabulously.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Mike said. “Thank you very much. And thank you so much for what you’ve done so far. At the risk of sounding gruff, may I speak to Andy?”

Footsteps thundered on the other end of the line. “Dad!”

“How’s it going, champ?”

“I was so scared about Mom. I didn’t want to leave with Mr. Reynard, but the police said it was okay. They didn’t have the code phrase. Did I do okay? Am I in trouble?”

“Not in the least,” Mike said. “You did great. We never rehearsed this kind of scenario. That’s my fault, not yours. But we’ve got a new code phrase as of right now, all right? I don’t want you to go anywhere with anyone who doesn’t have it, except Mom.”

“Okay,” Andy said.

“The new code phrase is
Unchain my heart crazy diamond
. Got it? Don’t say it aloud. But do you have it?”

“Got it, Dad.”

“Seriously, it’s more important than ever before. No exceptions next time. Especially with your Mom being sick right now.”

“Are you coming back soon?” Andy asked.

“I’m working on it, champ,” said Mike.

“I hope it’s soon,” Andy said. “It was scary when Mom fell down.”

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Mike said. “I’m going to make this up to you when this is over. Now this woman Cara you’re with, is she all right? Do you feel safe with her?”

“Oh yeah. We’re right next to our room. Mr. Reynard brought a cot up for me. It’s pretty soft.”

“Are you okay staying with her tonight?” Mike said.

“Yeah,” Andy said.

“All right, let me talk to your mom’s friend again,” Mike said. The phone passed back to Cara.

“It’s so unfortunate this happened,” Cara said. “If only we had a number for you, you would have known all along. But there was no way to reach you. I’d be worried to death if I had no way to call my partner in a crisis.”

They agreed to stay in touch, especially if there were any developments about Jessica.

Afterward, his rudeness hit him. He had never thanked Erich properly. When he called back to do so, the line was busy.

11:59:00 PM

In a dark field, Sean rested against a tree. Although he was more fatigued than the previous night and craved rest above everything else, he was too anxious for sleep. His skin was cold, his lips dry and cracked. He had finished the last of his candy, back . . . well, he no longer remembered exactly when, only that he lost the wrapper earlier today. But maybe that happened yesterday. Sean was not sure.

He shuddered. The chill gripped him like a seizure. Deep undulations rippled from the base of his neck to the tip of each limb, and then thrust back up his spine. His muscles, strained from two days of wandering, twisted into tight knots, far beyond the soothing reach of massage or stretching. The soreness was inescapable. Fatigue, though, was just one problem. There were other challenges.

Using a wet book of matches that he had found earlier, he had tried starting a fire. It was too damp to cast sparks. Now the useless nubs and discarded cover stamped NJ Tavern, lay on top of a bundle of haphazardly arranged sticks. He shouted a collection of the worst expletives he knew, all phrases his father had blasted at his mom. At that instant it was all too much for him. He cursed. Instead of feeling better, he felt drained, so he stopped. Complaints were useless. Yelling at no one: pointless.

Unlike many only children, he never talked to himself. Even if he was desperately lonely, he fought the urge, and bottled the thoughts deep inside his head. This was a conscious choice, as well as a learned behavior.

Many times he was tempted to speak aloud, to express some idea, even a good one that struck him when no one was around to share it with. He dared not. The one time he succumbed to the urge, that would be the moment his dad caught him. That could only lead to disaster.

Dwelling on the possibilities of what might happen next—every last one beyond his influence—touched off his asthma. A tightness enclosed his chest. He took a quick hit off the inhaler; it tasted like plastic and cough medicine. The small canister was almost empty. Another few hits and the medicine would be gone. Yet even in the depths of his frustration there was solace.

The good news was that out in the woods his father was less scary. In fact, everyone’s expectations mattered less by the hour. For once he had license to be selfish. Consolations, even poor ones, were welcome. Anything that kept his mind off the hollowness in his stomach was a plus.

His stomach rumbled. Digestive juices gurgled and sloshed at the base of his esophagus. Starved of fuel, the booming within his belly deepened. He felt differently since stumbling into that bone yard earlier and losing his watch.

His nerves had been blown already and although the sight of human remains had frightened him less than being chased by the killer, the image had rocked Sean. Hours afterward, those piles of bones still consumed every thought.

Discouraged by his predicament, he shuddered again. The landmark that he expected would point him back to the ranch, the very one he was so convinced was just around the next bend in the trail, continually betrayed him. Certainly he was closer to that landmark than before, yet not one step closer to the dude ranch. That was the basic state of affairs in Sean’s eyes. All day he wandered. Directions were meaningless. All paths seemed wrong. Underdeveloped navigation skills had failed him. Gaps in his education had stranded him. Even his watch had quit on him.

The lost timepiece was an unfortunate turn, and it meant he failed on yet another count. The watch was a test his father had set. They had a deal.

If Sean could keep the second-rate watch in working order for a year, his dad would buy him the one he truly coveted, a waterproof dive watch with cool dials and knobs. But Sean had broken the cheap watch, and lost it no less, and blown the deal. His father would hold him to the terms. He suspected there would be no professional-grade dive watch any time soon. Another father might forgive him, given the circumstances. Not his. He was pretty certain about that.

And without a timepiece, his moments were measured now by sunrise, sunset, and two periods of endlessness on either side.

Day Three

12:11:17 AM

As Mike dreamt, images led him through the dark corners of his psyche like a beacon. Mike knew every step of the journey well. Far too well. Until a year ago, he had relived the same dream sequence four times a week, twenty out of thirty nights, for six months. Before that, it had been every night.

The dream always started with scent dogs . . .

A lean, muscular canine barked. Yanking at his leash, the beast jumped up and down frantically, testing the handler. Reaching the blockade on the country road, Mike waited in his truck while an officer verified his credentials and waved him through.

Next to the parking lot of the supermarket was a grassy field a half-mile wide, bordered on three sides by a thicket of pines. The sheer number of people in the field was a concern.

That would make things harder, maybe a lot harder. Parking near a shopping-cart kiosk, he took a final swig of coffee and hoped this time would be different.

The officer in charge approached. They shook hands and walked toward the field together. A grim and restrained look crossed the officer’s face as he shared the details. A seven-year-old boy had been missing for seventy-two hours. The surveillance tapes captured the child’s exit from the store with his mother shortly after 8 AM. One hundred searchers had worked around the clock, but the police had little so far.

Besides the boy, Mike was only concerned about two other people at that moment, and he asked if the parents were available. Nodding yes, the officer pointed to a woman near the edge of the field and asked if he wanted to talk with her. Mike said not yet.

There was a small monitor hooked up to a portable player in the back of one of the vans. The black-and-white security footage rolled a few times. Nine seconds long, the capture showed the boy wandering away toward the field, and then moving beyond view. A time-and-date stamp at the top of the picture confirmed the details.

Since the video was grainy, Mike requested a picture that showed the boy’s face. From somewhere came a snapshot, which he studied carefully. In the dream, the photo was blurry like the face in the video, the features unclear. Still, seeing the picture, he was certain he knew the face—this boy was not a stranger. Mike returned the photograph to the officer, who told him to keep it, but he refused. He had his reasons for returning it. Mike asked the officer if he could pull back the other searchers. Unmoved, the officer explained that some of the men might not understand what he was trying to do. Maybe he should dive right in, the officer suggested. The officer said a lot more, but Mike cut him off and said he needed thirty minutes and a clear field. This time the officer issued the order. Reluctantly, the searchers retreated toward the inner perimeter of the police tape.

If he found something, experience said their scrutiny would intensify. Not that they wished him failure. They just preferred that they were the ones who succeeded. Mike shared that view because he never wanted these calls. They came anyway.

A single track caught his attention. Crouching, he placed his fingers inside the depression and closed his eyes. In Mike’s dreaming mind, he saw things from the missing boy’s perspective. The boy had torn away from his mother and dashed toward the field. Reaching out for an adult’s hand, the boy clasped it tightly. It was someone the boy knew and loved . . .

 Loud crashing sounds jarred Mike awake.

12:19:53 AM

Metal ground into metal, displacing Mike’s visions of the grassy field and searchers. Freed of the night terror, his mind rejoined his body atop the hill. Maybe this round the dream had ended before it finished, but the physical consequences were identical. He was covered in sweat, his heart racing.

“That crash sounded bad,” Dagget said. “It woke me up, too.” He stared at the tracker with an incredulous expression. “You look awful.”

Mike drew three quick breaths and then exhaled. A drop of acrid sweat burnt a cut on his cheek. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Serious, man. I just nodded off again. You’ve been roaring like a beast,” Dagget said. “Punched me about a half hour ago, slammed me right in the shoulder. Would’ve capped you but I saw your eyes twitching. That must have been some nightmare.” Dagget crouched against the wall of rock.

Joining Dagget, Mike kept a space of two arm’s lengths between them.

Down the basin, a circle of identical Humvees converged near the crash scene. There was just enough light for the binoculars. One vehicle had a busted headlight and lay sideways. The other vehicles were intact, but the angle made it hard to figure out what was going on. Stray bits of conversation reached their hilltop perch. Filtered by the distance and trees, nothing said at the road made any sense to Mike or Dagget.

“Probably seventeen-year-old kids drag racing Daddy’s truck,” said Dagget.

“We should check it out,” Mike said.

“We?” Dagget said with a great deal of disbelief. “No, I’ll do it. There might be injuries.”

“Another reason for me to tag along,” said Mike.
Should bring the Marlin, just in case.
The rifle faced away from them, barrel pointed downward, still wrapped in the holster sling.

“You’ll just get in my way,” Dagget said gruffly.

“So you can hold the Maglite in your teeth while crawling down the ledge, huh?”

Without conceding, Dagget grappled for the walkie-talkie. Moments later he barked a few expletives into the night. Despite several attempts, there was no answer. Absolute radio silence. Switching to his cell phone, Dagget tapped the screen, then he said, exasperated, “No signal.”

“Mine’s been cutting in and out up here. This must be a dead zone.” By habit and as a precaution, he powered down the device.

“But what if someone tries to reach you?” Dagget asked.

“I’ll take the chance. The ringer is loud, even on vibrate. Something about those trucks looks wrong to me. If the situation is legitimate and they need help, I’ll turn it back on.”

Dagget grunted and shut off his own phone. “Maybe you are good for something.”

They brought the first-aid kit and the rifle. With reports of mountain lion sightings burning hot in both men’s minds, neither wanted to be caught unarmed. Still, Mike had grave doubts about carrying more than what they needed. Even if a big cat assaulted them, the window for intervention was very short, and sighting a rifle in the dark was difficult. All the same, Mike carried the Marlin in the sling.

Descending the ledge was more time-consuming than the ascent had been, even though the hill down to the road was less severe. Dagget scraped a few of his knuckles raw when he moved too quickly and dragged his hand across a jagged rock. Once they cleared the ledge, the real task beckoned: navigating canopy by moonlight.