Читать книгу Finding His Child - Tracy Montoya - Страница 7

Sabrina Adelante’s sturdy Casio Pathfinder watch beeped once on the hour, the shrill noise causing her skin to prickle with restless anxiety.

Time was working against one very young and very lost girl, and even her watch had something to say about that.

Time, and some idiot at the Port Renegade PD. Tara Fisher had been missing for nearly two hours inside the state park. Two hours before the police had thought to call in the park search-and-rescue unit—never mind that the hiking trails on which Tara had disappeared were as familiar as breathing to every member of the SAR team. Two hours during which Tara, walking at an average pace, could cover about five miles.

Given that Tara could have traveled in any direction from point last seen, or PLS, their search area was a circle with a radius of five miles and, as any geometry student could tell you, an overall area of nearly eighty miles.

Damn the Port Renegade Police to hell.

With a snap of her wrist, Sabrina wrenched the steering wheel to the right, executing a too-quick turn into the parking area at the Black Wolf Run trailhead and sending a spray of gravel into the air. She barely registered the sound of tiny stones raining against her shiny black paint job as she stomped on the brake, bringing the car to a skidding halt.

Muttering a few Spanish curses that years ago would have had her mother stuffing a bar of soap in her mouth, Sabrina angrily kicked open the Jeep’s door. As she stepped out, Alex Gray and Jessie DiCosta, the other two members of her tracking team, jogged across the parking lot to greet her. She gave them a quick nod of acknowledgment as she hefted her bulging backpack in front of her to rummage through it.

When the two of them reached the Jeep, Alex reached inside its open back to pull her walking stick out, just as he had a hundred times before. “Here you go, beautiful.” Holding the stick out with one hand, he used the other to readjust the backward Mariners baseball cap that had already flattened his short, dark hair. He wore the thing so often, it was a wonder it hadn’t fused to his head.

She glared at him while leaning her body against the driver’s-side door until it closed with a heavy click. Normally she would have laughed or at least snorted at the “beautiful”—her mom had always said Alex would flirt with a broom in a dress if one presented himself. Today, she merely smacked the sheet of paper she’d dug out of her pack against his chest, leaving him scrambling to grab it when she let go. She tucked her stick under her arm and then handed a second sheet to Jessie, who’d been quietly waiting beside her.

And then her skin started to prickle and crawl with the peculiar kind of restlessness that her family generally referred to as “ants-in-her-pants syndrome.” Whatever they wanted to call it, all she knew was that her body needed to be in motion, because standing still in the parking lot had suddenly become unbearable. Knowing Jess and Alex would understand, Sabrina pulled her pack onto her shoulders and started off toward the trailhead without another word.

A few seconds later, Jessie came up beside her, her long, athletic legs matching Sabrina’s stride for stride and then some. She reached out with one pale, freckle-dotted hand and untwisted one of the shoulder straps of Sabrina’s backpack as they walked. “Jacket?” She motioned with her head back toward the Jeep, then caught her shoulder-length blond hair in her hands, tying it up with a rubber band into a messy knot. “Smells like rain.”

Sabrina slanted a glance at Jess and kept moving, her hiking boots crunching down hard on the gravel as she headed toward where the trailhead sat enshrouded by a thick cluster of hemlock and giant sequoias. “Screw the jacket,” she said, then immediately regretted her harsh tone. While she didn’t mean to direct her anger at Jessie, she knew her tracking partner well enough to know that her colleague’s sweet nature also came with a highly sensitive side. “But thank you,” she added.

Alex whistled as he jogged up to take his place on Sabrina’s other side. “Damn, you’re tense today. Whaddup, boss?”

“We’re looking for Tara Fisher.” All three of them were finally on the move, but that fact did little to settle the butterflies of anxiety knocking against Sabrina’s rib cage. “Senior at Port Renegade High. She’s five foot one, weighs 110 pounds, and is wearing a navy-blue zip-up sweatshirt and jeans. Her point last seen is Hot Spring Seven, which is where she and her friend Paula Rivers were soaking when she decided to try to find a sweet spot on the mountain where her cell phone might work. Paula said she waited about twenty minutes and then tried to look for Tara, but she never found her.”

Hot Spring Seven was one of at least twenty hotspring pools along Black Wolf Run, an intermediate five-mile hiking trail that wound up the first third of Renegade Ridge, through what was arguably one of Washington state’s most beautiful forests. The springs—some hidden, others out in plain view—were what made Black Wolf Run one of the more popular trails in the whole fourteen hundred square miles of Renegade Ridge State Park. Despite the unpredictable terrain in the park, visitors rarely got loston or near Black Wolf, as it was pretty straightforward—go straight up, soak in a spring, come straight down. But that’s not to say Tara couldn’t have wandered off the path or jumped onto another trail in the weblike network that wound through the park.

“Who reported her missing?” Jessie asked as they moved into the cool, damp shade of the forest canopy. Almost as if they’d choreographed it, Jessie and Alex fell back about five feet and fanned out behind her. Sabrina was the point person of their SAR team—the one who would follow the girls’ trail, step-by-step. As flank trackers, Jessie and Alex’s job was to look forward while Sabrina looked at the ground, shouting out warnings when another set of tracks was about to intersect the ones they were following, or when Sabrina might be about to run into a tree or a person.

“Paula bypassed the ranger station and called the police as soon as she came down the mountain,” Sabrina said.

To Sabrina’s left, Alex muttered a soft curse under his breath, letting her know she didn’t have to explain any further. She did anyway. “The police, in turn, bumbled around from two-thirty to four before calling us. Add twenty minutes for us all to get here and for the tracking team leaders to get briefed, and you have…”

She let the sentence trail off. All three of them knew what they had. They had a lost, undoubtedly frightened girl who’d been missing for way too long. The first few hours were critical when it came to finding a lost hiker.

Her walking stick struck packed dirt with a frustrated thump as the gravel portion of the trail ended, and the sounds of Alex’s and Jessie’s followed. It only took them seconds to reach the bend in the trail, where the ferns lining the side of the gravel path marched inward, narrowing the passage on Black Wolf Run. Tall, densely-packed coniferous trees—mostly Douglas firs, Sitka spruce and the western hemlocks that marked the area as temperate rainforest—also closed in around them, dripping with moss and blocking out much of the pale-gray light overhead.

“Two hours.” Jessie sighed. “What is the matter with these people?”

If they were lucky, Tara would be sitting on a rock somewhere, waiting for them. But as they’d all learned from experience, teenagers rarely held still, especially when caught up in a panic.

A flurry of footprints that looked like the right size caught her eye, and Sabrina stopped to examine them. Crouching near the loose dirt dusting the edge of the trail, she scanned the area, piecing together a complete print in her mind from the partials before her.

The muffled sound of thunder rumbled from the east, and she glanced upward at the fast-rolling gray clouds, the fall breeze that drove them sending a chill across her exposed face and hands. This part of the Olympic Mountain Range, in a region where southern maritime and northern outflow winds combined, was known for bad weather and heavy precipitation—both of which would undoubtedly strike before the afternoon was over.

Jessie crouched down beside her, careful to stay back out of her line of sight. “Those papers you gave us, that was Tara’s footprint, right?” She tugged the sheet out of her pants pocket and unfolded it, examining the footprint image on it once more.

“Not exactly,” Sabrina replied. “And these aren’t the ones we’re looking for.” She stood, dusting her hands off on her pants leg.

“Nope,” Alex concurred from her other side as he and Jessie rose as well. “Close, though.”

Leaning over, she traced the footprint on Jessie’s sheet of paper with her finger. “This image is actually of the friend’s boot. Paula and Tara like to shop together, so they bought the same brand of hiking boots on the same day from the same store. Tara’s are size-six Ecco brand hiking boots with a hexagonal lug print. Paula’s about your height, so….”

“So Paula has monster feet, as evidenced by what’s on this paper, and Miss 110-Pounds has the very tiny version,” the six-foot-one Jessie finished with a wry smile. As usual, Sabrina was surprised at Jessie’s self-deprecating comment. The woman was all lean muscle with a dancer’s grace, and that, coupled with her long blond hair and freckled complexion, gave her the wholesome look of an outdoor-gear model.

“You have very nice feet,” Alex said, wagging his dark eyebrows at her. “Nothing monster about them.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Jessie returned in a bored, exaggerated monotone, more than used to Alex’s flirtatious ways.

Sabrina barely registered the conversation. She could still feel Paula’s hand clutching her arm. Something’s wrong. Tara’s scared to death of hiking by herself. She’d never disappear like this.

Not that she hadn’t heard those words a hundred times before, but still…Sabrina couldn’t shake the feeling that despite her SAR team’s excellent record when it came to finding the missing, today wasn’t going to be their lucky day. Call it intuition, call it her reaction to the smell of storms in the air. It felt too much like the day Rosie Donovan went missing, the day the police started their vendetta against everyone on the park’s search-and-rescue team because of her.

Don’t think about Rosie.

The sound of a polite cough accomplished what her mind couldn’t, drawing her attention to Jessie, who shifted her lanky frame from side to side, obviously itching to get going again. She’d been a star basketball player at the University of Washington, so sometimes when she grew impatient she’d get a look about her as though she was about to swat you to the side and go for a layup.

Grabbing her radio off her belt, Sabrina pressed the talk button down with her thumb. “Base, this is Tracker One,” she said into it. “We’ve passed the trailhead and are heading to the PLS. I need someone up here to close off this trail, stat, over.” She lifted her thumb off the button.

“Tracker One, there’s a park ranger on her way. Should be there in two minutes, over.” A spectacular burst of static punctuated the end of Skylar Jones’s statement. Skylar was the site coordinator, the one who briefed tracking teams and dispatched them when someone went missing inside the park. Several months ago, Sabrina had had her job, but she’d quickly demoted herself back to lead tracker shortly thereafter. Being cooped up in the ranger station while everyone else hit the trails was not her idea of a satisfying workday.

Alex moved up next to Sabrina, squinting down the trail. Just after taking a sharp bend to the right, a series of switchbacks climbed up the steep initial portion, and then it was a fairly moderate climb to the hot springs. “You okay, Bree?”

Tara’s scared to death….

Blinking out of her thoughts, she turned to look at Alex. His close-cropped dark hair, mostly hidden today under the Mariners ball cap, held not a trace of gray, and very few lines marred skin that seemed to stay perpetually tan, despite Port Renegade’s infamous lack of sunshine. Other than not sporting the permed mullet that had been all the rage back in the day, Alex looked exactly the same as he had when they’d graduated from high school together. “I’m fine,” Sabrina said, as the ants in her pants kicked in in a big, bad way. She started walking.

“Yes, you are fine.” Alex bared his teeth at her in a vulpine grin.

Sabrina rolled her eyes and kept moving, the two flank trackers following suit.

Alex sighed. “Ah, come on, Bree. You know you want me.”

“Gross. You’re like a brother. Knock it off and get back there.”

“We’ll find her, Bree. At least, if someone can stop sexually harassing his tracking partners for two minutes and concentrate.” Jessie widened her eyes and pursed her lips at Alex, then fell back herself and moved to the outer edge of the trail on Sabrina’s right. “We always find them.”

Normally Alex would have pretended to take offense to the harassment comment, but this time, he was quiet, and Sabrina found his silence unnerving as she turned her eyes back to the ground. “Not always,” he finally murmure.

Usually, you couldn’t beat the positive out of the man with a stick, but maybe he, too, felt something was different about today’s search. Though they didn’t like to talk about the ones they found too late, they were always in their minds on every search. And six months ago, there had been one they hadn’t found at all….

They moved slowly along the edge of the trail, walking perpendicular to the footprints on the ground, searching for the sets that would signify that Paula and Tara’s Ecco hiking boots had put their stamp on the ground. They hadn’t even made it to the switchbacks before Sabrina found the telltale hexagonal lug pattern of Tara’s size-sixes, and Paula’s larger prints were right beside them. Bending down, she once again slipped out of the backpack’s shoulder straps, setting the bag on the ground and fishing out a piece of sturdy wire and some crepe paper.

“Nice work,” Jessie said, once more holding out the copy of the footprint they’d made from Paula’s boot back at the ranger station for comparison.

“Easy enough in the middle of the afternoon,” Sabrina replied, bending a piece of wire and tying a bit of crepe paper to the end to make a miniature stake to mark the tracks. Sticking the tiny flag into the ground next to one of the prints, Sabrina rose, pulling her radio to her mouth as she did so.

“Base, this is Tracker One. We’ve IDed the trail and are continuing to the PLS, over,” she said.

“Roger that, Tracker One. Over,” came the reply.

With the trail found and freshly laid, Sabrina didn’t have too much trouble following it—especially since they knew it was heading toward Hot Spring Seven. It was very rare to find non-locals who’d discovered number seven—well-hidden as it was by lush ferns and the tangled roots of an ancient moss-covered Douglas fir. The girls were local, and they knew these trails well.

But that fact didn’t make the thought of Tara leaving her friend any less strange, given that the girl was allegedly afraid of hiking alone.

Eyes on the ground, Adelante.

The three reached the spring within an hour, jogging on the flat parts of the path, walking as quickly as they could with the aid of their walking sticks on the switchbacks and steeper inclines. Because they knew where Tara had ended up, they’d had the luxury of speeding up the trail instead of searching out every last print, even though the smooth-soled prints had intersected with and rubbed out the girls’ tracks every so often. Just before they reached the spring, Sabrina slowed their pace. Fortunately, it was easy to see that no one else had been to this particular spring recently, as there were quite a few to choose from, so they wouldn’t be dealing with any other tracks on the grass.

“Looks like they stopped right here.” Jessie pointed to the cluster of telltale heel curves, smooth spots, and dislodged pebbles in a patch of dirt around the steaming waters of the spring. “They probably hung their clothes in these branches.” With an impatient flick of her hand, she brushed her ponytail behind her, then patted a low-hanging branch that hit her at waist level. “Took off their shoes here and slipped in.” She pointed to several overlapping prints, made by booted and bare feet.

All business now, Alex took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair, then jammed the hat back on his head, never taking his eyes off the ground. “We know that Tara got out of the spring before Paula did, saying she had to make a call on her cell phone. So where did she exit?”

Sabrina scanned the edges of the clear pool, the soft, mineral-packed mud at its bottom long settled after the girls’ departure. A few tiny bubbles surfaced from the bottom, as Mother Nature piped in steaming water from an underground river.

“There,” she said finally. Though it wasn’t a full print, Sabrina could clearly see a flat spot in the dirt, on the other side of the spring just behind the Douglas fir’s rough trunk. Pretty much the only things in nature that created flat spots like that were humans and hooved animals, and she didn’t think any hooved animals had decided to climb the ridge and go for a dip today.

Grabbing a low-hanging branch, Sabrina negotiated her way around the spring and moved into point once more, Jessie and Alex falling into place behind her. She marked the first print with one of her wire-and-tissue-paper stakes, and then followed Tara’s tracks, which ran along the side of the ridge.

She could see where Tara had stopped in the pine-needle-strewn dirt, obviously shifting her weight around as she’d tried to use her phone, and then, for some reason, the girl had continued forward, starting to snake upwards as well toward a break in the trees up ahead. When Sabrina and her team reached the break, they spilled out into a small, grassy clearing.

“Trail intersecting about fifteen feet ahead, coming from above,” Alex called out. Sabrina took her eyes off the ground.

With their years of experience, tracking in grass was as easy as tracking in dirt. You just had to know what to look for. And the still-flattened line in the grass practically screamed at her that another person had been here, too. But whether that person had come down the mountain at the same time Tara was wandering up remained to be seen.

Turning her attention back to the trail, Sabrina moved forward once more, finding and following every place where Tara’s feet had left a spot of bent grass or broken and bruised plants.

“Trail intersection coming up,” Jessie called.

Sure enough, the line of crushed greenery came into her field of vision with her next step.

Sabrina came to an abrupt halt. Behind her, Jessie blew out a noisy breath. “Bree? Oh, no.”

She felt the two flank trackers move in beside her, as they, too, took in and interpreted the tracks on the ground. A thick silence descended as they all studied the chaotic sign once, twice, three times. Sabrina knew they were all probably hoping that one of the team would speak up, reassuring the others with a benign interpretation of what lay before them. The reassurance never came.

In her peripheral vision, Sabrina saw Jessie bend to pick up something in the grass. Jessie held it out to her, and Sabrina’s fingers closed on a cell phone.

Not again. Please, God.

Behind her, she barely registered when Alex radioed the base and told Skylar to call 911.

“Roger that,” the staticky voice replied. “Cops are on their way.”

And all Sabrina could think was, Too late.

TARA AWOKE to a sharp pain piercing her between the shoulder blades.

Ow. Not fun.

She felt groggy, sluggish. Like she’d just stayed up studying all night for a test. And her arms hurt.

Lolling her head around to loosen the tight muscles in her neck, she tried to relax, to go back to sleep. But her body hurt all over, and her head was pounding. And she was so cold. Had Dad turned the heat down again to save money on the electric bill? Drove her nuts when he did that. She felt like she was ninety years old when she woke up freezing like this, every joint creaking and groaning in protest when she rolled out of bed.

But she wasn’t in bed. She felt like she was standing.

Weird.

Too disturbed by the unfamiliarity of her situation to go back to sleep, Tara struggled to open her eyes. But for some reason, they wouldn’t cooperate. So she flexed her shoulders and brought her arms down to her sides.

Or tried to.

A faint rattle was her only reward. Her hands stayed firmly above her head, pinned by something clinging to her wrists. She pulled her arms downward again, causing the pain in her upper back to radiate throughout her body.

What the heck?

Some kind of crust seemed to have formed on her eyes, like the kind that made your lashes stick together when you’d forgotten to take off your mascara at night. But this felt stickier, like mascara times seven, and it had gunked her eyes completely shut. And her head hurt like nobody’s business.

Once again, she tried to bring her hands down, to wipe away the crud on her face and stretch her aching muscles.

Nothing. Just that sound again.

The fuzziness of sleep left her abruptly as adrenaline shot through her system. That man.

Her arms jerked involuntarily at the memory of the figure coming down the mountain toward her, quick and stealthy, like a stalking panther. Tara’s heart started to pound, in time with the pulsing ache in her head. She jerked her arms again, once more noticing the rattle that accompanied the movement. The move itself had set her off balance, and her body twirled slightly to the left, leaving her torso twisted and balanced on her toes like some freakish ballerina. Cold metal dug into her wrists, and the pain between her shoulder blades grew more excruciating as she fought to right herself, her bare toes barely coming into contact with what felt like a cold, concrete floor. God, what was happening to her?

Her breathing quickened, and she felt the first traces of panic creeping down her spine like a pointy-legged spider. Tears leaked out of her closed eyes, loosening things enough that she was finally able to pull one open. She could feel the gunk on her lashes against her cheek every time she blinked, waiting to adjust her vision to a brightness that never came.

Pitch black.

That’s when the reality of her situation hit her.

She was alone, in a dark, dark room with her arms chained above her head.

And she was naked.

The chains rattled again as her hands involuntarily jerked down to cover her bare body, though of course, that proved impossible. Her skin prickled into painful gooseflesh from the damp, unrelenting cold that surrounded her, and try as she might, she couldn’t make out even the most indistinct shapes around her.

Alone in the dark. With only the sound of her teeth chattering to keep her company.

Mommy?

Tara was seventeen years old, far too old to address her mother that way, but she would have given anything to hear her mother’s voice calling, feel her mom’s soft arms around her, taking off the chains, rubbing the soreness from her shoulders.

A soft whimper escaped her. She thought she heard a low sigh in response. A male sound. A sound of satisfaction.

Mommy? Mommymommymommymommymoy!

She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until she heard him laughing.

Her body jolted again, sending her spinning to face the sound. “Who are you?” she cried. “What the hell are you, some kind of freak?”

He must have moved, because this time, the laughter came from behind her. She turned again to face him, her bare toes scrambling for purchase on the icy floor. She felt something warm running down her cheeks and realized that she was still crying. It was all coming back to her—the hike to the hot springs with Paula, the way the warm water had felt on her aching feet, the shadow on the rocks, the tall, thin stranger standing above her. She’d tried to speak to him, to say hello, but he’d grabbed her, she’d tried to escape, and then everything had gone black.

He was still laughing. A slow fury boiled up inside her, and she clenched her hands—still stretched above her head—until her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

“What do you want?”

In response, she heard a small click, and then a brilliant, blinding light assaulted her eyes like an explosion. She turned her head abruptly to the side, squeezing her eyelids shut. She didn’t want to see. She wanted to wake up and find out that this was all just a dream, not real, not this. But after a few seconds of silence, she couldn’t stand it anymore and peered into the brightness, blinking rapidly as her eyesight adjusted.

He was standing in front of a spotlight—the large, portable kind the police sometimes used at crime scenes on TV—lighting a cigarette. The acrid smell of tobacco smoke wafted toward her, and she realized he could see her naked. Then, almost simultaneously, Tara realized that his seeing her was the least of her worries.

At that point, a horrible feeling prickled across her skin, causing her teeth to chatter again, making her whole body tremble and strain against the chains. She wasn’t going to see her mother, not ever again. Not Paula, not her school, not her boyfriend Todd, the captain of the soccer team in a football town. Just this horrible place, with this man whose refusal to speak terrified her more than anything.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice a small, shaking thing, knowing as she asked that he wouldn’t answer.

He took the cigarette from his lips and smiled. They stared at each other for a long time. And then he finally moved, putting one hand on the back of her neck, the other moving to encircle her waist. Overcome by the urge to throw up, Tara still managed not to scream. Not until she felt him crush his cigarette out on the vulnerable skin at the small of her back.