Missing

by KH LeMoyne

  That didn’t stop her from walking to the bathroom and flicking on the light before she started unbuckling her shoulder holster. Never hurt to be too careful.

  Her thumb slid over the gun, checking the safety. Of course it was on. She could grab, switch, and shoot within seconds.

  But guns had never saved her life. Only gut instinct combined with knowing where to look and when to pay attention had. A broken tree limb, misplaced rocks, animal droppings or lack thereof, a faint howl, a ripe scent floating on a change in the breeze—all signs alerting her to potentially fatal consequences. All signals she’d need in Kootenai.

  Well, that and trusting the right people.

  Tightness gripped her heart. She forced images of bright eyes, fast limbs, and rainbow colors of fur from her mind. Beautiful people with extraordinary skills had been the light of her life—aside from the joy she’d taken in the hard rigors and challenges of the park service. Unfortunately, she’d deluded herself that her ability to see them, to work beside them, meant she was special, chosen.

  “My people need you, little human.” The remembered words echoed in her mind.

  Those people needed her like a death sentence. The distant memory, or more likely a figment of her childhood imagination, had bolstered what she wanted to believe for years. A lie that Hubbard Morten’s bullshit detector would have scouted out in an instant.

  The only thing special about her was how starstruck she’d been with her special team. Her superiors claimed she had a way with picking out talented staff. What she had was a startling ability to see through to the truth of some people—the unbelievable paranormal center that lay at the heart of the most incredible people she’d ever known. She’d let that interfere with her judgment, losing lives she never should have jeopardized. She’d sworn off supernatural thrills and adrenaline rushes.

  Lena shook off the memories, but the tight knot between her shoulder blades remained. She couldn’t be lured in again. If supernatural circumstances were behind Shanae’s case, then Lena would better serve her by finding a replacement on this case. Yet even with her brain churning with logic, her gut rebelled at the notion. A conflict without resolution. While her gut rarely misled her, when it did, it left behind regrets that burrowed beneath her skin and blistered into her memories like hellfire.

  One death was a mistake. Two, a rare tragedy. Three—never again. She would have given her life for any of them.

  Without a ready replacement to take Shanae’s case, she had no choice but to continue, no matter how the situation evolved.

  At a rap on the door, she moved to answer with her gun in hand. A town a hundred and fifty miles from her apartment, where she knew no one, didn’t seem a good place to open the door for a howdy.

  Parting the blinds, she stifled a curse. Gun tucked back in her waistband, she swung the door wide. “A bit out of your way, isn’t it, Mr. Philmont?”

  He had the decency to look sheepish. “I’ll admit, you almost lost me back at the impound yard in Sandpoint, but I followed my instincts that you might be headed this way.”

  Lena didn’t move. She didn’t offer him a chair, much less any indication for him to enter. That he’d followed her wasn’t exactly a surprise. His attention to the details of her investigation had made her wonder if he’d show up.

  “I want to help find my wife, Ms. Juarez.”

  “Perhaps you should consider whether you really want me on this case. I work alone. I was clear on that point.” Hand to the door, she started closing it. He didn’t budge. “I don’t work alongside my clients.”

  “I have more I can offer. For your search, I mean.”

  She paused. “Really? After I’ve tracked your wife and son through three towns and used my personal contacts to locate her abandoned car, you admit holding something back? Why would that make me trust you, much less believe you?” She tapped her foot and crossed her arms, contemplating whether she’d missed some clue of a hidden devious nature in him.

  “Don’t look at me that way. It’s not what you think. I’ve disclosed everything I know. Hell, I gave you access to my banks accounts, phone records, personal files.” He tightened his lips for a minute. He lifted a small duffel bag. Then gulped. “Your next move has to be into the forest. I have tools.”

  Heaven help her. He was an inventor by profession. She should have anticipated something along this line. Too tired to fight him, she stepped back and waved him inside. It wasn’t as if she suspected Matthew Philmont was a closet killer. The police had investigated Matthew as a suspect, but they’d found no evidence or even motive. To be fair, he was so clean he squeaked.

  Neighbors insisted the Philmonts kept to themselves but appeared a happy couple. They were affectionate with their son and each other, shocking those around them by holding hands and even kissing in the supermarket, the park, the library, and other local places. Sweet kisses, their next-door neighbor mentioned, blushing, but still. The seventy-year-old woman insisted the couple had been married long enough that public displays of affection should be out of their system.

  Evidently not. Lena had a hard time keeping a straight face for that interview.

  She’d spoken with several officers who were glad he was out of their hair. He asked too many questions, tried to follow up after their leads. His efforts constantly landed him in their way.

  She’d let him wind down with his pitch tonight, and then she’d toss him out.

  “You’ve found her car. What options do we have if someone took them?” he asked, some of his fervor returning as he gripped his duffel with both hands.

  “Why don’t you stop getting ahead of my investigation and tell me what you can offer.” She couldn’t fault him for persistence, but his stealth skills needed work. She’d observed him trailing her miles after she left Hayden. Though it pricked her ego a bit to realize he’d picked up her trail after she thought she’d shaken him in Sandpoint.

  Half of her hoped he’d get weary of playing junior detective and go home. The other half kept counting the hours that Shanae and Trevor Philmont had been missing and hoped she’d find them any second. The more time that lapsed, the less the likelihood of a positive outcome. She knew that.

  Evidently, so did Matthew. His face was gaunt, and his shirt hung on his broad shoulders. His pallor and the tight lines around his mouth made him look more zombie than human. If he’d slept since his wife had disappeared with their four-year-old son, she’d at least worry less about him as a liability.

  At least he didn’t exhibit unstable behavior. Other than tailing his private investigator.

  “If it helps,” she added, “I found no blood in the car. No signs of a struggle and no reason to assume that Shanae left the car under duress.” She didn’t add that she’d checked the bus stations, cab companies, and rental agencies. There was no sign that Shanae was backtracking. The only option, as Matthew had indicated, was tracking her through the forest toward Glacier National Park.

  Unfortunately, Lena had constructed other scenarios. As her partner Sam used to say, find at least three reasons and don’t count on the simple one to close the deal. It went against the rule of Occam’s razor, but often the simplest explanation didn’t lead to success. “I’m heading out in the morning, and we’ve been through this before. So you can turn around and go home.”

  “Damn it. They’re out there somewhere—alone.” Mouth tense and fist clenched, he stood rooted and looked almost defiant. “They—need me.”

  Well, he stuck to his story.

  “I won’t hold you back. I can prove I’m worth bringing along.” He held up one palm and lifted the duffel. “These are the tools we can use. I’ve been in the parks before. I’m trained. I won’t drag you down. Please. Just let me show you.”

  Lena exhaled, shook her head, and gestured toward the table in front of the windows. Matthew was too emotionally invested, but at least she could monitor him. Just finish this job and head on. No roots. Finish and don’t look back.

  He
unzipped the top, and she tried to ignore the fuzzy blue stuffed bear wedged into the end. So grossly out of place with the myriad technical gadgets, it was obviously a visible reminder for Matthew to keep up the fight. She couldn’t quite swallow past the hard lump in her throat, but breathed through it. Emotions only clouded judgment. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She refused to get attached to these people. This was a job, not a bond.

  “What exactly is all this, Mr. Philmont?”

  “Call me Matthew, please. I—this is what I do. My job. I told you that I consult for the air force and the navy. Some of what I do is classified…but at a non-secret level, I develop tools for them.” He grasped a rectangular plastic box embedded with a console of some sort. “These are still in my test phase, so I don’t have patents on them yet and no security restrictions. No one but Shanae has ever seen them.” He bit his lip and then shook his head once. “This one can detect heat signatures through structures up to one-mile deep: rock, cement, even steel. I haven’t perfected it for more depth yet, and it’s not quite bug proof around water, though it operates reliably over solid ground.”

  He switched it on as she stared over his arm and pointed it toward one wall. Several red blobs flickered together and then separated.

  An interesting toy, but she’d seen park rangers retired from military service introduce more advanced scopes. However, separating humans from wolves, mountain lions, and bears in the mountains would be handy. “How accurate is it?”

  “Hold on. Takes a few minutes for the sensor to catalog the surroundings.”

  With a brilliant flicker, the images resolved with a crisp clarity. Lena stepped back and blinked. Sharp outlines resolved out of red fluff into the images of three men and two women. Smaller height and orientation indicated one male/female couple as farther away, perhaps several rooms down. The women were obvious from their generous curves, as well as their lack of clothes. The three figures next door joined in an intimate and embarrassing pretzel of naked limbs. Okay—too much information.

  Seemed she was later returning to her room than she thought. Everyone else had started their parties in this small town.

  Lena held out a hand to avoid watching the screen, pressed her lips together, and glanced up at Matthew. He seemed fixated on adjusting his reception, frantic to convince her of the effectiveness of his science and uninterested in the activities around them. “What else do you have in the bag?”

  He looked up, eyes widening as eagerness crept into his expression.

  Damn, she’d be bringing the Boy Scout along after all.

  By the time he’d shown her his three scopes, a sound filtering device, and a laser baton—several things she hadn’t seen before—she’d resigned herself to his tagging along.

  “Again, I’m leaving at dawn. Pack light. Wear layers. Make sure you’ve got good socks.” She glanced at his shoes and hoped he had something other than loafers and khakis.

  “I have gear in my car,” he said.

  Really? Make that Eagle Scout Matthew Philmont.

  “I demo my work on the bases, and in the field when they can accommodate me. So I’m always ready.” He licked his lower lip and picked up the sensor again, staring at her. “I found this in my closet.”

  Puzzled at his point, she waited.

  He frowned, obviously expecting her to make the connection. “Next to the shoes where I found Shanae’s coin.” His brows drew together as he nodded. “Right next to it. I didn’t really connect the two for a while. Then you headed this way and I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. I drove back home to get this.”

  Coincidence—maybe not, though assuming his runaway wife was leaving breadcrumbs was a stretch. Lena exhaled and chewed on the inside of her cheek. The hopeful gleam in his eyes twisted her gut. No amount of money was worth having an honest discussion about outcomes that might break his fine line between hope and disaster.

  “I can’t take that as evidence, Mr.—Matthew. But we’ll use your tools. With persistence and a lot of luck, hopefully we’ll find them safe.”

  He nodded and shoved the sensor back in the bag, lingering briefly to touch the teddy bear. “I’ll be ready.”

  Well, he’d better keep up, because an odd sensation kept creeping along her spine. She’d once relied on those signals to guide her. At least before they’d betrayed her.

  There was nothing simple about heading into the National Park after a mother and young child. She’d narrowed her scenario to someone threatening Shanae, the most logical reason for Mrs. Philmont to drop out of sight and adopt a methodical obsession for avoiding detection. The approach required Lena to silently track without help. Controlling all the variables and potential triggers was critical.

  This one last time, she’d trust her instincts. Someone less harmless than Matthew could be following Lena’s trail. The last thing she needed was to lead any possible pursuers to Shanae and her son.

  So, no helicopter searches. No search and rescue teams. Lena had enough experience to flush out whoever had instilled the fright and flight into Shanae. Then she’d deal with them.

  Her issues with committing illegal actions aside, threatening a mother and child until they fled into the wilderness pushed her moral compass to the background.

  4

  Sandpoint, Idaho

  Deacon took in the rows of brick buildings framed by snowcapped mountains as he waited for Trim and Wharton to finish their reconnaissance and join him. Sandpoint’s moniker as the “most beautiful small town” struck him as subjective. It was quaint and picturesque, but he preferred his spaces more open and wild.

  His cell phone buzzed. He glanced around the nearly empty impound lot before answering the Seattle number. “Marsh, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got a problem.”

  “Aside from the issue of circumventing my second in command?”

  “I don’t blame Trim for being pissed. But I’ve had a shifter accuse a human of shifter deaths and disappearances. Hold on one second.” A clatter in the background ended with a door slamming shut. “I can’t substantiate the claims. I think it will take your level of contacts and definitely your final judgment. It’s a volatile accusation. One wrong slip and we’ll have everybody suspecting their neighbors and friends.”

  Deacon closed his eyes and rubbed them as he exhaled. “Who issued the allegations?”

  Marsh was silent for too long. “Hansen Sanders just got back from duty in Afghanistan. His father, Sanders senior, died while Hansen was overseas. Hansen was sorting through his father’s belongings and found a cache of letters from his brother. Grant died several years ago, their twin sisters several years before that. The letters indicate a close tie between Grant and his immediate supervisor, with details about their missions. Some very risky missions. Seemed the female supervisor not only pulled a lot of weight with Grant, but to Hansen’s surprise, his sisters had also worked for the same supervisor.”

  “Any chance she was Grant’s mate or had some connection to the family?”

  “No. Friendship seems clear from the letters. There was no hint of intimacy. Romance would have at least explained Grant’s relationship. With Hansen overseas for all the deaths, he didn’t have enough information to be concerned. Once he returned and found the letters, he tried to search for explanations. Then he realized all the teammates his siblings worked with had dropped off the grid after the deaths. A little odd.”

  “What did Grant do for a living?”

  “Park ranger. Participated in exchange programs with a natural resources division of the state parks in his area. Your area, actually. They were doing training exercises in wildfire management down in California when he died. Big fire a few years back near San Diego took the teams by surprise. The twins died during a mountain climbing rescue.”

  “Dangerous jobs, but I’m not hearing murder yet.”

  “According to Hansen, several of the—what do you call the fire jumpers?”

  “Ground pounders.”

 
“Yeah, two of those complained Grant shouldn’t have been allowed access to help in that area. His supervisor pushed for his participation.”

  “And the rest of the team?”

  “They all helped in the effort and survived, but disbanded after they lost one of their own in the fire. The supervisor left the park service afterward. Hard to know what to make of it, but daredevil jobs and living incognito has always appealed to our youngsters.”

  “Were there other shifters on the team?”

  “According to Grant’s letters, shifters gravitated there. Good challenges, supportive environment, and no prying questions. As well as too many holes that don’t fall into my jurisdiction. There’s even less on the sisters’ deaths. It would be hard, though not impossible, to kill two people at once.”

  Just what Deacon needed, to track down and resolve ancient history. But if someone was targeting his people, he was responsible for reviewing the evidence and making the final decision. It had been a long time since he’d authorized the death of a human for shifter hate crimes. At that time, he’d hoped it was the last. “Tell Hansen I’ll handle this. He stands down until he hears from me. Only me. And he keeps this locked tight. I’ll call him in when I’m ready for him.”

  “Got it.”

  “Name of the ranger supervisor?”

  “Malena Juarez. By all accounts, her teams never escalated any mistreatment through my ranks. You’re closer to the park ranger stomping grounds than we are.”

  Too close. Deacon couldn’t stomach the notion that some human black widow had targeted his own kind right under his nose. “I’ll let you know what I find out, but it may not be soon. I have another high priority for the next few days.”

  “I understand. Hansen’s father left a big complicated estate with Hansen as executor. Should keep him busy. If not, he owes me hours on clan business.”

  “Good. If he balks, remind him I said that we can’t fund college educations and new businesses without everyone’s efforts.” A light rebuff from his alpha should at least keep Hansen focused and discourage vigilantism. The last thing he needed was a battle-trained and weary marine shifter seeking his own justice.