One Step Too Far

by Lisa Gardner

  “Then he got a series of anonymous e-mails, telling him to stay away from Ramsey. The locals didn’t want him there anymore—he was bad for business. Martin first hired me to trace the e-mails. I couldn’t, as they’d been bounced all over global servers. I’ve seen Russian hacking jobs that were less sophisticated. Which seems out of character for a bunch of small-town shop owners.”

  Nemeth nods his agreement.

  “Then Martin’s car died a few weeks ago. Turned out someone had poured bleach into the gas tank, destroying his engine with corrosive rust. Cars can be repaired, but it takes time and money. And when you’re a guy whose wife is dying and you’re trying to organize a final search party to find your son’s remains . . .”

  “Someone wanted to make it too difficult for Martin to come,” I fill in. “Make him abort the trip.”

  Bob nods. “We think so. I am BFBob from the online forums,” he tells me apologetically. “And I do have a fascination with Bigfoot and a passion for working cold cases. I don’t want you to think it’s all been a lie.”

  I give him a look. Too little too late.

  Bob concedes with a shrug. “Either way,” he continues, “it’s been clear for a matter of months that someone hasn’t wanted this expedition to happen. Who, however, I haven’t been able to determine. To be honest, I was wondering about Josh, given he’s always been the most reluctant participant. Now, after that story the three of you gave last night . . .”

  “How sick was he?” I ask abruptly, glancing from Martin’s back to the college buddies. “When you took him the hospital, he appeared to have the DTs. But could he have been faking it?”

  No one seems to know what to say to that. “Was he shaking and sweating and trembling?” Miguel speaks up at last. “Sure. You all saw that. But could he have been faking it, or maybe have taken something . . . ?” He looks at Scott and Neil for confirmation. “Honestly, I have no idea.” Scott shakes his head, clearly taken aback. “But even if it was Josh, are you thinking he followed us up here? How? You were there for the hike up. Not exactly a hop, skip, and jump. Let alone . . . why would he be attacking us? We already know what happened that night, and we’ve never told anyone.”

  “Good point.”

  Miggy is also frowning. “Besides, it’s not like slugging your friend for getting your sister pregnant and leading her to have an abortion is a criminal offense. Tim still took off on his own. What happened after that remains an accident.”

  Martin snorts derisively.

  I ignore him. “Another good point. Except . . .” I study the three friends. “Didn’t you all say you went to bed first, after Tim left? But not Josh. Last you saw Josh, he was sitting in front of the campfire.”

  One by one, they nod.

  “Meaning you don’t actually know if that was the end of the story. Maybe Tim did return. Or Josh went after him.”

  They clearly don’t like this thought.

  Miguel speaks up. “And did what? Chased Tim down, killed him with his bare hands, then returned to camp and went to bed? Wouldn’t we have found the body by now? I mean, that particular area.” Miggy looks at Nemeth for confirmation. “Those woods have been gone over dozens of times.”

  Nemeth nods. “Course, we were looking for a missing hiker. Not something like, say, a shallow grave.”

  “The dogs would’ve found it,” Luciana provides. “Any SAR dog, even one not specifically trained for cadaver recovery, will react to a dead body. You had to have been using dog teams.”

  “We used half a dozen different dog teams.”

  “Then whatever happened, it wasn’t in that area, or . . . I don’t know. This Josh kid knew some particularly ingenious method of body disposal we’d better hope no one else ever figures out.”

  “Josh is smart. The smartest of all of us,” Miggy comments.

  “Josh is clever,” Neil agrees tiredly. “But he’s not vicious. Never.”

  No one has an answer for that.

  “I’m leaving,” Luciana states levelly. “I am taking Daisy, and whomever else, with me. Once I get to town, I’ll notify the sheriff of the situation. In addition to organizing a rescue chopper, I’m sure he can check into Josh’s status.”

  Nemeth nods, returns his gaze to me. “That leaves you,” he says. “You go with her.”

  “There’s another solution.”

  “To you staying here with no food or survival experience?”

  “I have peanut butter cups.”

  Nemeth gives me a pointed look, as if that says enough about my survival skills.

  “You should go with her,” I tell him.

  “I’m the leader—”

  “Yes, meaning you’re the one responsible for getting us help. Neil can’t make it down on his own. Given that, it makes sense to have Miggy and Scott stay with him, as they aren’t the strongest hikers anyway. That leaves Martin, who’s clearly gone rogue. No way you should be putting his safety ahead of the rest of the party. Bob would be a good choice to accompany Luciana, but turns out he’s working for Martin. So why not let him earn his keep? He can starve up here with the rest of us while you and Luciana hightail it down. You two should be able to reach civilization and summon the cavalry in record time.” I shrug, concluding bluntly, “Face it, at this stage, we need a medevac chopper more than we need you.”

  Nemeth doesn’t flinch. I respect that about him. I deal with so many people who lie, it’s always nice to meet someone who can handle the truth.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks me quietly.

  I reward his honesty with my own. “Because I don’t know how to live any other way.”

  He nods thoughtfully. He sees me. I see him. But mostly, I long for a detective in Boston.

  Nemeth never says yes. He simply turns and hands the rifle to Bob. Then he takes in Luciana and quivering Daisy.

  “How long till you’re ready?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  He regards the rest of us. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. That means start rationing your remaining snacks right now. Then look for the chopper come nightfall.”

  We nod. I’m feeling shaky and queasy and far less brave than I want to be. Secrets and lies I understand. But this, alone in the wilderness. Off the grid. Out of touch. Food gone, companion injured, whole party under attack by person or persons unknown.

  I’m used to being the hunter.

  Never before have I been the prey.

  CHAPTER 24

  The camp feels different the moment Nemeth, Luciana, and Daisy depart. With their tents whisked away, the leadership grouping has been reduced to two, while my shelter now sits alone, a sad little blue dome. I think I should move it closer to the others, except I have no idea how to do such a thing. And I’m still not sure that’s a good idea. So far, I’ve caught all five of my remaining companions in at least one lie. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

  I head back to the low-burning fire as the sun rises and warms the air around us. Neil looks exhausted and gray. Miggy wrung out. Scott depressed. He keeps rubbing at his chest and wincing each time he does so.

  Bob and Martin are in front of their tents, talking in low voices. No doubt planning their new search strategy for the day. Or really, Martin is dictating next steps, and Bob, his paid employee, is nodding along.

  The question is, what will I do? Remain at the campsite with the boys, or head back to the cliff face with Marty and Bob?

  I take the collapsible buckets and refill them at the lake while I war with my inner demons. When I return, Bob and Martin are zipping up their packs.

  They look at me in wordless inquiry. I sigh heavily. Luciana has left a small pile of chemical cold packs, which she pillaged from our collective gear. Now I pick up the top one, crunch it into activation, then offer it to Neil for his head. Next I turn to Scott.

  “Rem
ove your shirt, please.”

  This earns me a round of a stares. Scott hesitates, then gingerly raises his arms and pulls off his faded cotton top. As I suspected, the glued edges of his chest wounds have turned an angry red.

  “Shit,” Miggy mutters.

  Scott touches the swollen flesh, grimaces. “Kinda figured. Still doing better than the other guy.” He gestures to Neil, who smiles at the comparison.

  “Cold compresses for him.” I point at Neil. “Ibuprofen for you.” I point at Scott. “Which makes you head medic.” I point at Miggy.

  “You’re going to go with them?” Miggy asks me.

  “Sadly, yes. Anything else you three need?”

  They glance at one another, then shake their heads. “I have granola bars. We’ll be okay for a bit,” Scott says.

  Given the hiking distance to the canyon wall, Martin, Bob, and I will be gone for ten to twelve hours. More than a bit, but no one corrects him. We’ll also be splitting up our party, without any means of communication. Another not-so-smart move that no one is acknowledging.

  Bob steps forward, holds out a red canister to Miggy. Bear counterassault spray.

  “Just in case,” he says, and we all know he isn’t referring to bears.

  A final strained moment. We who are about to die salute you.

  I have too many memories in my mind. As always, Paul leads the pack. The man who ten years ago lifted me out of the gutter and tried to give me the world. The man I had to leave because even love feels like prison to me.

  Except I couldn’t quite let go. Until one phone call later, he’s in the liquor store, trying to talk me out of my latest mistake as a kid walks in, pulls out a gun, and everything goes wrong at once.

  Paul, who tried to save me.

  Paul, who clutched at his bloody stomach and whispered his wife’s name with his dying breath.

  I know too much of ghosts. Of past mistakes and better intentions. The drive to get things right the second time around, regardless of the cost. And the way such obsession can make each and every subsequent decision that much worse.

  We are all haunted here. Heaven help us.

  Martin shoulders his pack, stares at Bob and me pointedly. I give the three friends one last bolstering smile.

  We who are about to die, we who are about to die, we who are about to die . . .

  Miggy gives me a thumbs-up. Something about the gesture makes me shiver.

  Then I turn and follow Marty and Bob out of the campsite.

  * * *

  —

  Two days of strenuous hiking hasn’t made me magically faster or stronger. Adrenaline, on the other hand, coursing through me in alternating waves of terror and anxiety, has my legs pumping and my muscles firing. Everything still hurts, but I’m too wired to care. My mind is blasting ahead to the canyon wall. Attempt the climb up to retrieve the green fabric? Head to the mysterious cave where Daisy picked up a scent trail? So little time left; how to make the most of it?

  Marty isn’t talking, but I don’t care about him anymore. This whole thing has become something bigger than discovering Tim’s body. Something more sinister.

  An act of reckoning, Neil had said. By whom? For what? And how? The groomsmen’s big confession was interesting, but to Martin’s point, not necessarily dramatically different. The end of the story remained the same—Tim grabbing his pack and heading back to the trail in the middle of the night. Drunk, not sober, which probably explained why he got lost, but lost is lost. Same end, just a better explanation as to why.

  Unless Josh really did do something after the others returned to their tents. Except how far into the woods could he have gotten in the small window of time before the crazy noises roused the entire camp? And if he’d somehow harmed Tim, why wasn’t Tim’s body discovered immediately?

  Spinning. The wheels of my mind racing around and around while my legs pump, up-down, up-down, up-down.

  Next thing I know, we burst free of the scraggly pines, and there it is. The sprawling gray-brown cliff face. The infamous piles of rocks. And, maybe, the answer to all our questions.

  * * *

  —

  “We’re headed to the cave I discovered yesterday,” Marty informs me as he changes course toward the northern end of the wall.

  “No more attempts to climb up?”

  “Too much risk for too little reward. Daisy picked up scent near the cave, making it a more definitive target.”

  I nod, trucking along behind him. Entering the rock field, I have to pay attention to my footing, alternating from stepping on boulders to skirting around the larger piles.

  “Why did you stay?” Martin asks me abruptly.

  “Why did you stay?”

  Marty frowns at me. “Tim’s my son.”

  I shrug. “Plenty of parents lose children. They don’t all spend five years combing the woods regardless of the danger to themselves and others. Not to mention—”

  “They don’t abandon their dying wives?” he bites out.

  “You said it, not me.”

  Martin doesn’t answer right away. His stride has grown faster with his agitation. I can’t keep up and don’t even try. I figure he’ll pull away, storm off to his target, while Bob struggles to decide if he should power ahead with his boss or stay behind with me. I’m surprised, then, when Marty suddenly stops and whirls around, his weathered face glowering.

  “Are you scared?” he demands to know.

  “Terrified.”

  “Accidents happen in the wild. Could be that simple.”

  “And the person who broke into your house, sabotaged your car?” I push back.

  “Childish pranks.”

  “Then sent you threatening e-mails routed around the globe? I prefer my reality served straight up, thank you.”

  “You can be a real bitch,” he clips out.

  “And you’re a real asshole.”

  “Goddammit!”

  Martin’s curse explodes across the space, echoing off the towering cliff face. Both Bob and I draw up short, Bob taking up position behind my left shoulder. I want to believe it’s a show of solidarity, but it could just as easily be to block my retreat.

  Martin’s breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His expression has finally cracked, and beneath the surface I don’t see molten rage, but something worse. The pain of a man who knows he is wrong, and has done wrong. The agony of a man who still can’t do things any differently.

  I recognize that anguish. It robs me of my own breath. Failure, in its harsh, cruel entirety. I know it intimately. And just like Martin, I still can’t stop myself from making the same mistakes.

  “I know,” Martin shudders out roughly, “that I’m obsessive and arrogant and controlling. I speak when I should listen. I act when I should let go. I’m hard on those I love. Hell, I’m a hard man to love. I know I am these things. I also know I was all of those things before my son disappeared.”

  I nod slowly. Bob places a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t know how to watch my wife die. I don’t. I tried. I failed. I can’t spend one more second at her bedside, holding a hand that no longer feels like her hand. Listening to her struggle to talk in a voice that isn’t her voice. Looking at a body that is supposed to be my Patrice but . . . isn’t. I have loved her since I was eighteen years old. I don’t know how to just sit there now and let her go.”

  Bob and I say nothing.

  “So I left. I told her I’d bring her our boy. I promised her we’d be together again. Our family. You don’t understand . . . We were so good once. We loved each other so much.” His voice breaks; he can’t continue. Tears streak down his heavily lined face. He makes no move to wipe them away. “Patrice . . . She is the love of my life,” he whispers. “She is the best part of me, the decision I got right, the person who giv
es meaning to my days. And Tim . . . Maybe he wasn’t perfect. Maybe he screwed up and hurt his friends, Josh’s sister. But he loved us and he cared about his friends very much. Once he met Latisha, settled down, got engaged, I could see the husband and father he was going to be . . . I wanted so badly to meet that man. I couldn’t wait to share him with the world.”

  Martin releases another shuddery breath. He wipes at his face, swallowing hard to get his composure back.

  “So, yes. I’m an asshole. I should’ve done what Patrice told me to do—let Tim’s friends move on with their lives. Blessed Scott and Latisha’s marriage. But I didn’t. I dragged everyone here instead. Despite their hatred. Despite threatening e-mails and stolen camping equipment. This is where I need to be. This is what I gotta do. This is who I am.”

  “And if we don’t find Tim’s remains this afternoon?” I ask quietly.

  “We’re close. I can feel it.”

  “So close someone else feels compelled to stop us?” I push.

  Martin shrugs. He doesn’t seem put off by the idea. If anything, he leans into it. “You two take care of yourselves. If something happens to me, so be it. I’ve made my peace. No need to worry about hauling down my body. This canyon’s as beautiful a place as any to rest in peace. Hell, maybe Patrice’s parents would give permission to bring some of her ashes up here. Then the three of us would be together, just as she wanted. Tim would like that, I think. Forever under the wide-open sky. There are worse places, worse ways, to die. Just ask Patrice.”

  I dart a nervous glance over my shoulder at Bob. He’s looking nonplussed at the morbid turn to the conversation.

  “Let’s just focus on reaching that cave,” Bob says now.

  Martin gestures toward the rifle slung over Bob’s shoulder. “Keep that close.”

  Bob nods soberly.

  “Can you feel it?”

  I don’t understand what Martin’s talking about, and then in the next moment . . . I do feel it. Like an itch between my shoulder blades. The sense of being watched. Of no longer being alone.