by Jen Doyle
So the other day? No fucking clue.
The only explanation he could come up with was that it had been a brutal, exhausting, kick-you-in-the-ass kind of day. Either that or Nanabozho seriously had it out for them.
Yep, he thought, watching as Lyndsey stood up and stretched. He was pretty much going to leave it at that.
Brooks put his equipment away, saying to Lyndsey, “So I guess you don’t want to take it easy today.” Pointedly, he added, “Your first day back and all.”
It looked like she was about to say something that might be considered impolite, but she changed her mind and settled for, “No.”
Brooks shrugged and looked at Ian. “Okay.”
Good. Despite Ian’s thorough enjoyment of the last forty-eight hours, he was anxious to get moving again. There was work to do. He nodded to where Joe and Malek were standing by the canoes.
They were almost ready to push off when they noticed a canoe heading towards the shore.
“Again?” Brooks muttered as he noticed the two rangers. “Don’t these guys have anything else to do?”
Ian knew the rangers had stopped by each of the last two mornings while he and Lyndsey were still sleeping. The first day Julie Langdon had come with them just to see everything for herself. She’d been entirely cordial according to Brooks, had even brought a small bouquet of flowers for Lyndsey. Yesterday, however, Frank had given Brooks a hard time about keeping Lyndsey at the camp, suggesting instead that she be transported to a hospital since she was now stable. Apparently, Matt and Zachary had been pulled into it as well and, in turn, Monica Cain on the park ranger side and General Cutting to speak for the team and Lyndsey. Ian couldn’t thank his team enough for leaving him out of it by deciding not to wake him up for that particular conversation; otherwise he’d be as irritated as Brooks was right now.
As it was, Ian was cursing Brady. If he hadn’t already taken his team and left, Ian would have made him be the sacrificial lamb and deal with this. The man could talk anyone’s ear off and within five minutes would probably have had the rangers turned around and heading home out of sheer desperation.
As the canoe got within hearing range, Frank called out, “Colonel Fox.”
Ian wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing they were back on such formal terms. “As I’ve said before—call me Ian.”
Frank nodded as the boat drifted up on the beach and he stepped out. He turned to Lyndsey, the shock evident on his face. “Ms. Daniels, how are you feeling today?”
Not that Ian could blame him. She had basically been dead when the rangers had seen her last.
Lyndsey was clearly determined not to answer too many questions. In a decidedly perky tone, she answered, “Just fine.”
“I thought you’d be in worse shape.” Frank stared at her, completely unable to hide his astonishment. “When we were here the other day, you weren’t exactly doing too well.”
Lyndsey shrugged uncomfortably. “The surface stuff always looks the worst.” She did not seem at all happy with the way the two men were looking at her.
Nor was Ian. “Is there something we can do for you? We’re a little behind schedule.” Which wasn’t technically true given how much they’d gotten done in their first week, but the bear attack had definitely negated any gains.
Frank’s eyes lingered on Lyndsey for a few more seconds before he turned back to Ian. “We’re actually here for Joe.”
Everyone turned to look at Joe.
“Me?” the guide asked, as surprised as everyone else.
“Just a few questions,” Frank said. “It won’t take long.” He turned to Ian. “Would you mind excusing us?”
Yes, actually, although Ian wasn’t sure why. There didn’t seem to be any love lost between the guide and the ranger, so it wasn’t as though Ian was worried they were conspiring or anything. He didn’t really trust either man, however. Frank, mostly because he just didn’t like the guy; Joe, because, well, he wasn’t really sure.
He still couldn’t get a handle on Joe. Throughout the week of traveling with him, Ian had barely heard the guide speak more than two words in a row until the day of the bear. And even then, despite spending the whole day with the man, Ian didn’t feel he knew much more about him.
The particulars were easy: five-ten, two hundred and fifteen solid pounds, late thirties/early forties. Dark, leathery skin, brown eyes, and black hair that hung past his shoulders when it wasn’t tied back. Descriptors, no problem. Description? Not so much. The man was strong, no doubt about that—lugging that bear and digging that hole had involved a lot of muscle. Ian was still feeling the effects. Smart, too. Ian had spent an entire day with Joe without being able to find out a damn thing about the warrior princess; he had, however, learned the guide had just finished up his law degree at Northwestern. There was also that whole spiritual thing going on. Every gesture, every word conveyed a tranquility Ian had only seen in religious men. Shamans, Imams, Priests, or Rabbis: didn’t matter what religion, what god or gods they believed in—the serenity was universal. Of course, the evil guys could be just as calm and peaceful as the good ones. That always had to be kept in mind.
Looking back to the other day, though, Ian was almost positive he’d been mistaken in thinking it was shock on Joe’s face as he looked at Lyndsey. Instead it had been an epiphany. Whether or not Joe believed Lyndsey was the warrior princess—the very one who had come down from the sky to join her true love—he had certainly seen something in her. Threat? Salvation? That had yet to be determined.
And then there was the whole magic thing: the more Ian thought about it, the more he was sure they’d had some metaphysical help in burying the bear, even though he’d seen absolutely nothing he could point to as proof. Sure, he’d been entirely out of it for most of the day, but, well, the summer before, Ian had spent three hours one afternoon helping his nephew bury a seventy-pound Black Lab—and they’d had actual shovels. Even taking into account that his grave-digging partner had been a grieving twelve-year-old kid: three hours for a dog; nine, maybe ten, hours for a bear over ten times the size. No matter how you did the math, it didn’t add up. Plus, Lyndsey seemed to trust the man. And she wasn’t the type to give that trust lightly, even to someone who had saved her life.
Put all that together and add it to the fact that Joe didn’t seem any more comfortable chatting with the rangers than Ian, meant the answer to Frank’s question was, “I’d like to stay.”
Frank started to protest but didn’t get much out before Joe said, “That would be fine.”
“Very well.” Frank pointedly looked at Lyndsey, Brooks and Malek until they’d moved out of hearing distance. He turned to Joe. “We’re concerned about your safety.”
“Joe’s safety?” Ian asked, incredulously.
Frank ignored Ian. Speaking to Joe, he said, “Clearly, Ms. Daniels put this group in danger through her carelessness.”
Though Ian started to protest—he was pretty sure they’d cleared that up the morning of the attack—Frank spoke over him, saying, “They’re here by choice.” He gestured to Ian, Brooks and Malek. “You, however, were assigned to this group by the Minister’s office. We’re offering you the chance to leave if you’d like.”
Monica fucking Cain. If Ian weren’t so annoyed, he would have laughed when he heard Matt say the exact same thing over the comm. “And if he leaves?”
Frank turned to Ian. “I believe the terms were that you’d be accompanied by a guide. If that isn’t the case, your agreement is nullified and we’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Leave a provincial park that was open to anyone in the free world? Yeah, right. Ian started to answer but was surprised when Joe cut him off, saying, “I have no issues here.”
Frank obviously hadn’t expected that. “More people could have been—”
“Is there anything else?” Ian said, trying not to gloat. “As I said, we’re behind schedule. We’d like to get moving.”
Frank clearly was unhappy wi
th that answer. He seemed to realize it wasn’t a winnable fight, though, and without another word he nodded curtly before turning and heading back to his boat, followed closely by his partner.
Ian watched Frank and the other man push away from shore. Waiting until they were out of hearing distance, he turned to Joe. “I appreciate the support.” Following Joe’s gaze up to Lyndsey, Ian continued, “If you have any concerns whatsoever, though, you’re free to go.” And if that affected whatever agreements had been signed, Ian would park himself in front of Julie’s desk until she drove up to Ottawa with him and changed Monica’s mind. At least that’s where he assumed this was coming from. “Don’t feel obligated to—”
“I know she’s not the Princess,” Joe said, cutting Ian off with an odd smile on his face. “I won’t mention that she almost killed you the other day, or that there’s no earthly explanation of how she’s up and walking today, but…” Despite the lighthearted tone he took, there was no doubt the man had a point he was determined to make. “She fought the bear.”
After a split second of thinking he should try and come up with some explanation, Ian grinned and looked down. It really wasn’t worth trying to convince Joe otherwise. “Yeah. She did.” Raising his hand, he waved at the others, indicating they should come back down to the boats.
He turned suddenly back to Joe when the man said, “Was your wife a fighter, too?”
Caught off guard, Ian’s only response was, “My wife?”
Joe looked at Lyndsey and then back at Ian. “Would you die for her?”
The words had been uttered without any hint of a threat, in the same tone as if Joe had been asking Ian for the time. Still, it wasn’t the kind of question that came up on a regular basis, and it certainly wasn’t one Ian had any intention of answering. “Excuse me?”
There was a smile dancing in Joe’s eyes—he clearly wasn’t surprised by Ian’s response, or, rather, lack thereof. The guide turned and walked back to the boats. Ian almost jumped when Lyndsey came up behind him and took his hand.
“Are we ready?” She stood up on tiptoes and gave him a kiss. She stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. “What?”
Would he die for her? Could he give her that?
Did she expect him to?
“Nothing,” he said gruffly, before leaning down and brushing her forehead with his lips. “Let’s go.”
25
Ian leaned his back against the rock’s granite face. It was good to feel the solid mass behind him. It was better to feel Lyndsey’s warmth in front of him, her back to his chest, her arms resting on his legs. He could hear the campfire crackling in the distance; Malek hollering at Brooks and Joe, yelling something about a full house.
“What did he mean by it?” Zachary was asking.
“I have no idea,” Ian said wearily into the comm. He’d barely thought about anything other than Joe’s ‘would you die for her’ question all day and still hadn’t been able to come up with a definitive answer.
“But you still think he had nothing to do with the bear.”
“No,” Ian answered with a conviction he hadn’t realized was there. “I don’t.”
“Sorry, Ian,” Zachary said, clearly not. “I’m not so sure I trust your gut.”
Ian could feel his muscles tense. He was about to answer when Lyndsey stepped in, “Matt, do you think Monica was behind the thing this morning with the rangers?”
“I don’t think Frank did it on his own,” Matt replied, “and I grilled Langdon pretty hard this morning before talking to Monica. Julie seems to have made peace with our being here—I’m not even sure she knew about what happened. Monica didn’t mention it, though. Of course, that doesn’t mean she had nothing to do with it.”
“Has she said anything at all?” Lyndsey asked.
“About the attack?” Matt clarified. “No. Except she’s glad you’re okay.”
“Zachary?” Lyndsey said. When he didn’t respond right away, she added, “Spill it. Whatever it is.”
“It’s just going to piss you off,” Zachary said.
“Zachary…”
Zachary’s sigh was audible. “She questioned whether you were capable of carrying this through.”
Lyndsey gave a very un-Lyndsey-like snort. “Of course she did.” Then she muttered a few things under her breath that Ian couldn’t catch. Not that he had any question of what they were.
“Anything else on your end?” Ian asked.
It was Zachary who answered instead of Matt. “I want to get back to what Joe said.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Ian said, not entirely sure if he was actually defending the guide or merely picking a fight with his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. “Say he did do it. Why would he threaten Lyndsey two days later? Isn’t that a little obvious?”
“He wasn’t talking about Lyndsey.” Matt’s voice rang of confidence.
“Fine.” Whatever. The idea was still the same. “Whether he was talking about Lyndsey or about me—”
“What conversation were you listening to?” Matt asked.
Ian leaned his head back. He was tired and sore and not in the mood for playing games. “I didn’t need to be listening to it, Matt. I was actually part of it. But go ahead—enlighten me. Who did you think he was talking about?”
“Abby,” Matt stated. “It was pretty obvious.”
“Abby?” Ian, Lyndsey, and Zachary asked at the same time, all with the same incredulous tone.
“You want me to read back the tape?” Matt said. “Joe says, ‘Was your wife a fighter, too?’ Ian suavely answers, ‘My wife?’ Joe says back, ‘Would you die for her?’” Triumphantly, Matt added, “See? Obvious.”
“That’s really how it went?” Ian thought back to earlier that day. “No. Joe was looking at Lyndsey when he asked that. He was talking about Lyndsey.” Definitely.
Maybe.
Did it matter?
“Would you?” Zachary asked.
“What?” The question took Ian by surprise, even though it shouldn’t have. Sixteen years ago, the answer would have been a flat out yes. No hesitation whatsoever. Now though? It wasn’t quite as simple. Not nearly as simple, for four obvious reasons: Annie, Kate, Liam and Jack.
“Would you?” Zachary’s voice was cold as he pushed.
“Zachary…” Lyndsey warned.
“What, Lyndsey?” Zachary snapped. “The stakes have already been raised. I’d like to know how far—”
“Is that really necessary?” she snapped back. “He needs to prove how much—?”
“Last time I checked, he took off—”
“I think we’re getting a little off track…” Matt said, jumping in.
Ian, who’d normally be more than happy to sit back and watch Lyndsey defend him to Zachary, was only half listening. Did it matter who Joe was actually talking about? As he’d finally come to realize, the answer was the same.
“Yes,” he said, no longer aware of the conversation around him. “I would.”
“Which is irrelevant,” Lyndsey said, glaring at him as she turned to face him. “Because it won’t get that far. Could we move on?”
Ian couldn’t help but smile. Good thing he hadn’t intended to make some sweeping romantic gesture. Clearly, she wasn’t impressed. Come to think of it, Abby wouldn’t have been either. Abby would have just rolled her eyes and muttered something about men.
“Okay,” Ian said, deciding the topic Matt had introduced the other night was as good a subject as any. “What’s the deal with the storms you were mentioning?”
Matt switched gears easily. “Right. According to the satellite photos Emily’s gathered, there’s been a storm of some kind on the morning of every disappearance.”
“A thunderstorm you mean?” Zachary asked.
“I guess so,” Matt answered, “but it doesn’t really track like a thunderstorm—there doesn’t appear to be any cloud coverage that builds up or dissipates. Or any precipitation to speak of. It’s just a flash and then it’s
gone. For that flash though…”
“Has anyone even mentioned a storm?” Lyndsey asked.
“Well, kind of,” Zachary said. “Don’t the transcripts have something about sunrises?”
“Yeah,” Matt answered. “From a few people.”
Zachary waited a beat before saying, “You guys clearly aren’t Navy, are you?”
“So?” Ian asked.
“‘Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,’” Zachary answered. “Ever hear that before?”
“That’s a pretty big leap to make,” Ian said, although he had to admit, he’d had enough experience on a farm to know that spectacular sunrises often meant it was time to batten down the hatches.
Zachary’s voice was somewhat cold. “You tend to think a lot about how the sun works when you can’t actually go out in it. I’d say I’ve learned a thing or two over the last couple hundred years.”
At almost the same exact moment Ian tensed, he felt Lyndsey’s hands travel slowly down his legs in an obvious attempt to keep him from escalating the tension.
Okay, he thought, as she reached his thighs. So it was working.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he listened to her say, “If it’s some kind of supernatural thing, would it behave the same way? Would the sunrise thing hold?”
Ian answered, “There was a pretty nice sunrise the morning of the bear. There wasn’t any thunderstorm that day. No one disappeared.”
“No,” Zachary responded. “But Lyndsey almost died.”
You think I didn’t notice? Ian was about to say when Matt offered, “Maybe this thing has a sense of humor. The sunrise is its way of saying, ‘Tag, you’re it.’”
Wonderful. As if they needed one more cryptic thing to watch for: butterflies, tall men, and beautiful sunrises that came with a flash storm attached and/or murderous bears. “Anything else?”
“Sure, why not?” Matt answered. “Our pathologists went over the autopsy reports. First off—the dye that’s used for the markings is completely organic; all the components are native to this area. And it washes off with water and soap. Eventually, at least.” There was a pause and a shuffle of papers. “Cause of death—nothing new there: the hearts just stopped working. No indication of any disease or trauma. One of the doctors said the only time he’s ever seen anything that clean was from a man who died after his wife of sixty-something years passed away. Said the guy died of a broken heart—which is a thing, actually. Broken Heart Syndrome. Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy, if you want the technical term. But highly unlikely to result in death, especially in the case of men in their twenties and thirties who are physically fit. Nearly statistically impossible, in fact, considering how many we’re dealing with here.”
