The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5

by Nora Roberts

  “New boots?”

  “Ella. New boots. She’s bound to have blisters by now. The instinct would be to take easier ground whenever they can. Downhill, or level ground, and they’d probably stop often to rest if she’s hurting. The storm last night. They’re wet, cold, hungry. They—Hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  She held up a finger, concentrated. “The river. You can just hear the river.”

  “Now that you mention it.”

  “When you’re lost, scared, people often try to find high ground—to see more, to be seen. That might not be an option with an injury. Another instinct is to head for water. It’s a landmark, a trail, a comfort.”

  “What happened to the deal about staying in one place and somebody’ll find you?”

  “Nobody listens to that.”

  “Apparently not. He’s got something.” Simon gestured to Bogart. “Look up. There’s a sock on that branch.”

  “Once again, good eye. It’s a little late, but far from never. He’s started marking a trail. Good dog, Bogart. Find! Come on, let’s find Ella and Kevin!”

  When they found a second sock in roughly a quarter mile, Fiona nodded. “Definitely the river, and he’s thinking again. He could use his phone here, see?” She showed Simon the service on hers. “So something’s up with that. But he’s trying to take easy ground, and he’s moving toward the river.”

  “More blood, more bandage wrappers,” Simon pointed out.

  “Dry. After the storm. These are from this morning.”

  She lifted her voice to encourage the dog and, once again, to shout. This time, Simon heard it, a faint call in return.

  Bogart gave a happy bark, then broke into a lope.

  He felt it, a rise of excitement, a fresh spurt of energy as he quickened his pace to match Fiona’s and the dog’s.

  In moments he saw a man, muddied, bedraggled, hobbling up a small rise.

  “Thank God. Thank God. My wife—she’s hurt. We’re lost. She’s hurt.”

  “It’s okay.” Even as she hurried toward him, Fiona pulled out her water bottle. “We’re Canine Search and Rescue. You’re not lost anymore. Drink some water. It’s okay.”

  “My wife. Ella—”

  “It’s okay. Bogart. Good dog. Good dog! Find Ella. Find. He’ll go to her, stay with her. Are you hurt, Kevin?”

  “No. I don’t know.” His hand trembled on the water bottle. “No. She fell. Her leg’s cut, and her knee’s bad. She’s got awful blisters, and I think a fever. Please.”

  “We’re going to take care of it.”

  “I’ve got him.” Simon put an arm around Kevin, took his weight. “Go.”

  “It’s my fault,” Kevin began as Fiona rushed after the dog. “It’s—”

  “Don’t worry about that now. How far is she?”

  “Just down there, by the water. I tried to move more into the open after last night. There was a storm.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We tried to stay covered. Jesus God. Where are we? Where the hell are we?”

  Simon wasn’t entirely sure himself, but he saw Fiona and Bogart sitting beside a woman. “You’re found, Kevin. That’s what counts.”

  He passed out candy bars, heated bouillon while Fiona checked and rebandaged the wound, elevated Ella’s swollen knee, treated the very nasty blisters on both her feet and Kevin’s.

  “I’m such an idiot,” Kevin murmured.

  “Yes, you are.” Huddled in a blanket, Ella managed a small smile. “He forgets to charge his phone battery. I’m so caught up in taking snapshots I talk him off the trail. Then he’s all, hey let’s try this way. Then I don’t look where I’m going and fall. We’re both idiots, and I’m burning those hiking boots the first chance I get.”

  “Here.” Simon pressed the cup of bouillon on her. “Not as much fun as the Milky Way, but it should help.”

  “It’s delicious,” Ella said after a small sip. “I thought we were going to die last night in that storm. I really did. When we were still alive this morning, I knew we’d make it. I knew somebody would find us.” When she turned to lay a hand on Bogart, the shine in her eyes shimmered with tears and relief. “He’s the most beautiful dog in the world.”

  Bogart wagged his tail in agreement, then laid his head on Ella’s thigh.

  “They’re sending an off-road.” Fiona hooked her radio back on her belt. “We can get you out in that. Your friends say you won the bet hands down, and they’re adding a magnum of champagne to drinks and dinner.”

  Kevin dropped his head on his wife’s shoulder. As his shoulders shook, Bogart licked his hand in comfort.

  “SHE’S NOT EVEN PISSED at him,” Simon observed as they bumped and rocked in a second off-road.

  “Survival tops pissed off. They shared an intense, scary experience—and probably went off on each other a number of times during it. That’s done. They’re alive, and riding on euphoria. How about you?”

  “Me? I had a hell of a time. It’s not what I expected,” he added after a moment.

  “Oh?”

  “I guess I thought you went out and tromped around, followed the dog, drank cowboy coffee and ate trail mix.”

  “That’s not far off.”

  “Yeah, it is. You’ve got one purpose out there, just like the dog. Find what’s lost, and find them as quickly as possible. You follow the dog, sure, but you handle the dog, and yourself while playing detective and psychologist and tracker.”

  “Hmm.”

  “All while being a team player—not just with the dog, but with the rest of the unit, the other searchers, the cops or whoever’s in authority. And when you find them, you’re paramedic, priest, best friend, mom and commander.”

  “We wear many hats. Want to try some on?”

  He shook his head. “You’ve already got my dog. He could do this. I get that now. Thank Christ,” he added when he saw the lodge through the trees. “I want a hot shower, a hot meal, a couple vats of coffee. Does that come with the package?”

  “It will here.”

  Chaos came first. Relief, tears, hugs, even as actual paramedics took over. Somebody slapped his back and shoved hot coffee into his hands. Nothing had ever tasted better.

  “Good work.” Chuck tossed him a doughnut every bit as good as the coffee. “Helluva job. There’s a room for you inside if you want a hot shower.”

  “Only as much as I want my next breath.”

  “With you there. Ugly night, huh? But a damn good morning.”

  He glanced over, as Chuck did, toward Ella and Kevin as the medics loaded Ella’s stretcher into an ambulance. “How’s she doing?”

  “Knee’s banged up good, and she’ll need a few stitches. But they’re both better than they ought to be. They’ll fix her up. I guarantee this is a vacation they won’t forget.”

  “Me either.”

  “Nothing like a find,” Chuck said, and did another quick fist pump. “Well, go get that shower. Jill made up her spaghetti and meatballs, and you haven’t lived till you’ve eaten her meatballs. We’ll debrief over lunch.”

  When he went inside, some motherly woman hugged him before pressing a room key in his hand. He turned toward the stairs, ran into Lori, got caught in another hug. Before he could get to the second floor, he had his hand shaken twice, his back slapped again. A little dazed, he found the room, closed himself inside.

  Quiet, he thought. Silence—or nearly since the noise from downstairs and the corridors was nicely muffled by the door.

  Solitude.

  He dumped his pack in a chair, dug out the spare socks, boxers, shirt Fiona had instructed him to bring, the travel toothbrush she’d supplied.

  On the way to the bathroom he glanced out the window. People continued to mill around. The dogs, obviously too juiced up from the game, trotted after humans or one another.

  He didn’t find Fiona. He’d lost sight of her minutes after they’d gotten back to base.

  He stripped, turned the shower on full and hot
. And the instant the spray hit him every cell in his body wept with gratitude.

  He might not be an urbanite, Simon thought as he just braced his palms on the tile and let the hot water pound over him, but Mother of God, he worshipped indoor plumbing.

  He heard the tap-tap on the bathroom door and would’ve snarled if Fiona’s voice hadn’t followed it. “It’s me. Want company or do you want to ride solo?”

  “Will the company be naked?”

  His lips curved as he heard her laugh.

  There was solitude, he thought, and solitude. And when she opened the shower door, tall, slim, naked, he decided he much preferred her kind.

  “Come on in. The water’s fine.”

  “Oh God.” As he had, she closed her eyes and wallowed. “It’s not fine. It’s bliss.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Oh. I needed to feed and water Bogart, touch base with the sergeant, set up the debriefing. We’re doing it over food, glorious food.”

  “I heard. I haven’t lived till I eat the meatballs.”

  “Solid truth.” She dunked her head, tipped it back so the water rained on her hair. Then just stood with her eyes closed and a hmm of pleasure in her throat.

  “I called Syl, told her we’d pick up the boys on our way back.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Things that must be done.”

  “I’ve got another one.” He turned her to face him.

  “Everyone celebrates in their own way.”

  She sighed her way into the kiss. “I like yours.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  He couldn’t argue about the meatballs. As he ate, Simon realized the meal reminded him of one of his family’s dinners back home. A lot of noise, interruptions, that situational shorthand again and a stunning amount of food.

  But then, he supposed families came in all shapes, sizes and dynamics.

  He suspected his pecking order was “the boyfriend”—annoying but predictable—who was still being measured and weighed, but welcomed warmly enough.

  He couldn’t argue about the charged, happy mood, not when it infected him, too. Watching Kevin hobble toward them after all those hours, all those miles, had struck hard and struck deep.

  More than satisfaction, Simon decided, it had been like a revival, like a shot of a really good drug that settled into a sense of pride.

  Both Mai and Fiona took notes, and there was talk of documentation, logs, mission reports.

  He noticed, in the playback, Fiona deleted her panic attack.

  “Anything you want to add, Simon?”

  He glanced over at James. “I think Fiona covered it. I was just along for the ride.”

  “Maybe, but you pulled your weight. He did okay, for a rookie,” Fiona added. “He’s got endurance, a good sense of direction. He can read a map and a compass, and has a good eye. Some training? He could be ready when Jaws is.”

  “You’re in if you want a shot,” Chuck told him.

  Simon stabbed a meatball. “Use the dog.”

  “We’d bring you in at the top pay scale.”

  Amused, Simon studied Meg as he wound pasta around his fork. “That’s goose egg, right?”

  “Every time.”

  “Tempting.”

  “Think about it,” Mai suggested. “Maybe you could bring Jaws to one of our unit practices sometime. See how it goes.”

  THE MOOD MELLOWED OUT on the trip back, with the dogs dozing in the boat. Lori and James did the same, their heads tipped together, while Mai and Tyson huddled in the stern, fingers linked.

  They’d drifted from unit to couples, Simon thought, sending a sidelong glance at Fiona, who sat beside him, reading over her notes. And it looked like he was one of them.

  Once they reached Orcas, there were more hugs. He’d never seen people so addicted to squeezing one another.

  He took the wheel for the drive home.

  “We got dinner out—sort of,” Fiona said. “I ate so much pasta I may not eat for days. Plus, as date nights go, it was unique.”

  “You’re never boring, Fiona.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “Too much going on, in your life, in your head, to be boring.”

  She smiled, flipped open her phone when it signaled. “Fiona Bristow. Yeah, Tod. That’s good. I’m really glad to hear it. We all are. You don’t have to, we got ours when Kevin and Ella got home safe. Yes, absolutely. You take care.”

  She closed the phone. “Five stitches and a knee brace for Ella. They hydrated both of them, treated the blisters, the scrapes. Short version, they’re both going to be fine, and shortly on their way back to the lodge. They wanted to thank you.”

  “Me?”

  “You were part of the team who found them. How does it feel?”

  He said nothing for a moment. “Pretty damn good.”

  “Yeah. It really does.”

  “You have to buy all your own equipment. The radios, tents, blankets, first aid, the whole shot.” Not that he was thinking about joining up. “I saw you note down what we used. You have to replace it on your own nickel.”

  “That’s part of it. The radio was a gift, and boy did we need it. The parents of a kid we found bought it for us. Some want to pay us, but that’s a dicey area. But if they want to pick up some blankets or supplies, we don’t say no.”

  “Give me the list. I’ll replace the stuff. I was part of the team, wasn’t I?” he asked when she frowned at him.

  “Yes, but you don’t have to feel obligated to—”

  “I don’t volunteer to do things out of obligation.”

  “That’s true. I’ll give you a list.”

  They stopped off at Sylvia’s, loaded up the dogs, which took twice as long as it might have due to desperate joy. He had to admit he’d missed his own idiot dog, and it felt damn good to be driving home with Fiona beside him and the back full of happy dogs.

  “You know what I want?” she asked him.

  “What?”

  “I want a long, tall glass of wine and a lazy hour in my custom-made porch rocker. Maybe you’d like to join me?”

  “I just might.”

  When she reached over for his hand, he linked it with hers.

  “I feel good. Tired, happy and just good all over. How about you guys, huh?” She shifted to look back, rub faces and bodies. “We feel so good. You can play while Simon and I drink wine until the sun goes down. That’s what I think. We’ll all be tired and happy and just good all over until—”

  “Fiona.”

  “Hmm?” Distracted, she glanced over. The hard set of his face had that happy lift dropping into worry. “What? What is it?”

  She swiveled back as he slowed at her drive.

  The red scarf tied to the lifted flag on her mailbox fluttered in the fitful breeze.

  Her mind emptied, and for a moment she was back in the tight, airless dark.

  “Where’s your gun? Fiona!” He whipped her name out and slashed her back.

  “In my pack.”

  He reached in the back, shoved her pack into her lap. “Get it out, lock the doors. Stay in the car and call the cops.”

  “No. What? Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To check out the house. He’s not going to be there, but we don’t take chances.”

  “And you just walk out there, unarmed, unprotected?” Like Greg, she thought. Just like Greg. “If you get out, I get out. Cops first. Please. I couldn’t take it a second time. I couldn’t.”

  She pulled out her phone, hit speed dial for the sheriff’s office. “This is Fiona. Someone tied a red scarf to my mailbox. No, I’m with Simon, at the end of the drive. No. No. Yes, all right. Okay.”

  She drew a breath. “They’re on their way. They want us to stay where we are. I know that’s not what you want to do. I know it goes against the grain, against your instincts.”

  She unzipped her pack, took out her gun. With steady hands, she checked the load, the safety. “But if he is there, if he’s wait
ing, he’d know that, too. And maybe I’d be going to another funeral for a man I love. He’d have killed me too, Simon, because I can’t come back from that a second time.”

  “You put it that way to close me in a box.”

  “I put it that way because it’s God’s truth. I need you to stay with me. I’m asking you to stay with me. Please don’t leave me alone.”

  Her need pushed against his. He thought he could have fought hers back if she’d used tears, but the flat, matter-of-fact tone did him in. “Give me your binoculars.”

  She unzipped another section of her pack, handed them to him.

  “I’m not going anywhere, but I’m going to look.”

  “Okay.”

  He stepped out of the car but stayed close. He could hear her calming the dogs as he scanned the drive, the trees. Spring had leafed out those trees, forcing him to try to angle through the green and search the shadows. While the pretty breeze fluttered, he took a few steps away to try for a better vantage point, and followed the curve of her drive.

  Her pretty house stood quiet before the dark arches of the forest. Butterflies danced on the air above her garden, while in her field, grasses and buttercups barely stirred.

  He walked back, opened his door. “Everything looks fine.”

  “He read the article. He wants me scared.”

  “No argument. Stupid to leave the marker if he’s still around.”

  “Yes. I don’t think he is either. He accomplished what he wanted. I’m scared. The cops are coming. It’s all in my face again, and I’m thinking about him. We all are. I called Agent Tawney.”

  “Good. Here come the cops.”

  He closed the car door, watched the two cruisers approach. He heard her get out the other side, nearly snapped at her to get back in. She wouldn’t, he thought, and it was probably unnecessary.

  He watched the sheriff get out of the first cruiser. He’d seen the man around the village a few times, but they’d never had a conversation—or a need for one. Patrick McMahon carried a hefty girth on a big frame. Simon imagined he’d played high school football—maybe a tackle—and likely continued with hard-fought Sunday games with friends.