Lifeline Echoes (34 page)

He checked the frequency on his way back
inside.

****

Chapter Seventeen

A deep, throbbing ache swelled in the base
of Sandy's neck, flowing like molten lava up over the top of her
head and down into her shoulders. She desperately wanted to go back
to sleep. Instead she began taking inventory.

She was slumped forward, her chest pressing
into something hard, constricting her breathing. Her chest hurt.
Her brain was starving for oxygen. She needed air. Raising herself
against gravity as much as she could, she pulled huge gulps of air
into starving lungs.

Sandy lifted an arm that felt too heavy, and
clumsily sought out the cause of her agony. When she finally found
the source, she wished she hadn't. Touching the back of her head
started a series of bright explosions behind her eyeballs. She
allowed her hand to drop, knowing the stickiness on her fingers was
blood.

"Darn it." The words sounded like a whisper
breaking through the ringing in her ears and it took Sandy a moment
to realize she'd been the one to speak.

Convincing her eyes to open took effort.
Slowly, images swirled into focus. Gearshift. Steering wheel.
Airbag? She was in a vehicle. A truck. Yes, Justin McGee's truck.
She tried to sit up straight but the cab leaned forward at a very
unnatural angle. She lifted her head and saw the dark green of pine
boughs splashed against the windshield. Had she driven into a tree?
Where had she been going?

Ryan! She was supposed to pick him up. Had
she gotten him? Was he hurt? The muscles in her neck protested when
she twisted her head to the right. The passenger seat was empty.
No, that's right. She hadn't picked him up yet.

Her right arm was tingling. Willing the
muscles to work, she moved spasmodically, reaching for her side.
She had to get the seatbelt off before the thing strangled her.

"Cross MC Unit 1, this is Sheriff Cooley.
Sandy, do you copy?"

Where was that voice coming from?

"Sandy Wheaton, this is Sheriff Cooley,
performing a status check. Please respond."

The voice was tinny and small. "That's a
radio. Keep talking, DC."

Silence.

A moan escaped Sandy's throat, becoming a
wail of despair. Pushing through the anguish, she continued to
reach for the seatbelt buckle.

Finally, her fingers connected, fumbled for
a moment. After a little effort and a lot of cursing, she depressed
the button. The loud click reverberated through her brain. Released
from the confines of the shoulder harness, Sandy flopped forward to
land with a gasp against the steering wheel again. The horn blared.
Bracing herself against the steering wheel, she pushed but her hand
slipped on the powder from the deployed airbag. Her chest slammed
against the steering column.

She would just rest a moment. Rest until she
could catch her breath again. Her eyes were so . . . heavy.

****

Ryan stood behind Deputy Sherwood while she
worked the citizen's band radio, contacting ranches and homesteads
along the route to Jackson, advising them of a missing person. His
chest squeezed with each call she made until he had to vacate the
office again.

Outside, he leaned against his rental car
and spent a long time looking up the road to Jackson. In the
distance loomed the mountains he'd always loved, now shadowy and
menacing. The sun was beginning to kiss the tops of the tallest
trees. They were on the morning side of these mountains. Once the
sun edged behind the trees, night would be on them. For the first
time since coming home, he missed the always-lit city.

Footsteps sounded on the gravel behind him.
Ryan knew without turning that his brother approached.

"They've contacted the Forest Service.
Search and Rescue is being called out."

Two pickups pulled into the parking lot.
Ryan recognized Gus Hanson's blue rust bucket, saw the old ranch
foreman getting out, then his father rounded the rear of the truck
and headed straight for them.

The warmth of his father's touch on his
shoulder was comforting. When Ryan raised his eyes, his father was
regarding him with a steady, reassuring gaze.

"We
will
find her, son," Justin told him
simply. "And she'll be okay. Nothing else is
acceptable."

"How does a bright red pickup just vanish?"
Ryan asked.

"It wouldn't, son. Not without help." Justin
rubbed his jaw as he studied the parking lot that was quickly
filling with volunteers.

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened
them.

Pickups and SUVs pulled into the small
parking lot. More vehicles lined the street. People who'd shown up
at Valentine's from other counties to find it closed and the owner
missing came instead to the sheriff's office to aid in the search.
The sun lost its battle to hang in the sky, and the veil of
darkness slipped over Orson's Folly. With it, a sense of menace
slipped over Ryan.

The county road crew arrived with
high-powered night work lights. Flashlights were handed out.
Brother Bobby drove the church van, hauling volunteers up to the
mountain road where human chains were formed to search for
Sandy.

They'd wasted so much time. Ryan knew the
longer she was missing the less chance they had of finding her
alive. He hovered in the parking lot, unable to tolerate being
inside.

DC sent off another group of volunteers. His
steps were labored as he approached. "I'm sorry, Ry. I should have
paid more attention to your concerns."

"DC." Ryan fought to get the words out. "The
pictures in your office. The ones of the missing women. . ."

The dismayed expression on DC's face told
Ryan his old friend had already considered that scenario.

"Don't go there, Ry," said DC quietly.
"We're not ignoring that possibility, and I've notified the FBI,
but don't go there in your head yet."

Headlights swung into the parking lot and a
white pickup pulled next to the sheriff's cruiser. Brody and Alice
MacKay climbed out.

"DC, we just heard about Sandy." Alice was a
lot more vocal than the last time Ryan had seen her. His radar went
up.

"We're here to help with the search," Brody
said gruffly. "I've got the lights up on my rig. We can start
looking along the lumber roads up on Diamond Peak."

"Get away from here, you miserable—" Ryan's
muscles bunched as he prepared to strike, but he found himself up
against the considerable bulk of his baby brother, planted firmly
in his way.

"Don't." Sean walked him backward a few
steps. "You won't be any good to her if DC has to lock you up."

Ryan abruptly released his fists and lifted
his arms in a gesture of surrender to Sean's reasoning. His brother
stepped back.

DC looked at the MacKays through a narrowed
gaze, apparently appraising this new source of assistance. Finally,
he nodded. "Thanks. We can use the help. I'll assign some extra
eyes to go with."

MacKay's malevolent eyes glittered his
triumph at Ryan as DC stepped back to the office.

Flanked by his father and brother, Ryan
followed DC.

"Penny!" DC scanned the room until he
spotted the deputy. "Take Wendell and ride along with Brody up by
the old logging camp."

"Wendell's out with the VFD," said Penny.
"I'll go solo."

As his deputy passed by, DC touched her on
the arm. "Watch your back."

Ryan's sharp eyes caught DC's subtle hand
motions to a lean man with black hair and black eyes standing near
the door. The man nodded and slipped outside. Colton Ford,
Junior.

"Why are you letting them help?" asked Ryan.
"What if—?" He choked on his next words.

DC considered Ryan for a long moment before
answering. "Because if he's helping, I know where he is and what
he's doing."

A Styrofoam cup of something hot was pressed
into his hand. Ryan looked down at the coffee then up to Sean's
troubled face. His brother shoved a sandwich into his other
hand.

"Mel and Charlie brought food." Sean closed
his hand over Ryan's shoulder, giving a little shake. "You have to
eat, Ry, just a couple of bites. You're a liability if you're
running on empty."

Obediently, Ryan bit into the sandwich. He
might as well have been chewing the coffee cup. Taking a long drink
of the coffee, Ryan's eyes went wide. The stuff was extra strong
and insanely sweet. It would probably give him an extra couple of
hours.

****

She stepped outside, blinking, holding a
hand above her eyes against the harsh glare of midmorning sun. Heat
rose in shiny waves off the blacktop parking lot. But Sandy felt
chilled.

She drew a deep breath, inhaling the acrid
tang of smoke that lingered from recently extinguished fires, mixed
with the smell of settling dust and the rotten-egg stench of thick
L.A. smog. The sound of heavy construction equipment could be heard
in the distance. Cleanup had begun.

How long would it be until the scars of this
quake were erased from the city? And would the scars of the past
twenty-four hours ever be excised from her aching heart?

Someone touched her on the arm. She turned
to see her petite African-American boss, Renee, her hair slicked
and neatly twisted into a perfect picture of professionalism.

"Hey, Renee." Sandy scrubbed the remaining
tears from her face with the backs of her hands. "Turns out I'm not
cut out for this work after all."

Her boss regarded her with obvious
compassion. "Don't make the decision just yet. Take some time."

Sandy shook her head. "I have four weeks of
vacation. I'm going to use that in lieu of notice. I'm sorry."

Renee sighed. "I understand. I just talked
to Marcus. Our condo was flattened. Looks like we're going back to
Baltimore."

Sandy smiled. "It really was good working
for you."

Renee squeezed her hand. "If you ever get to
Maryland, Alexandra, you look me up."

Sandy made the appropriate promises, but in
her heart, she already knew she was going to Wyoming.

"Would you like me to call you when the
funeral arrangements are made?" asked Renee.

Sandy hesitated. Mick had touched her more
deeply than anyone she'd ever known. He'd been right. They would
have had something good.

But she had never seen him in life. To see
him in death would be a hollow substitute. The parts of him that he
had shared with her, his last thoughts and feelings, hopes . . .
dreams . . . were all gone. There was simply no meaning to be found
in visiting the shell that had once held all he'd been.

She shook her head. "Thanks but no. I have
someplace to go."

****

With a sharply indrawn breath, Sandy came
awake. The damp mountain air surrounded her. She shivered. So cold.
The truck window was open. Why couldn't she see anything? She
forced herself to slow her breathing. Gradually, the absolute panic
edged back. She began to make out nearby shapes. Black on dark.
Nighttime.

She had to move. Her position was cutting
off circulation to her legs. Mustering determination, she pushed
against the steering wheel, mindful of the powder-coated airbag
this time. As she pushed back, an ominous rumbling began and the
truck shook violently.

"Oh, man!" She tried to slow her rapid
breathing but her heart pounded so hard she thought her chest would
burst.

More shaking, then the already cracked
windshield creaked, popped, and a piece of pine bough burst through
in a shower of tempered glass. Instinctively, she covered her face,
then cried out as the truck shifted.

Every time she moved, so did the truck.
Wherever she'd landed, she wasn't on solid ground. What had
happened to her? Since she couldn't move without fear of dislodging
the truck further, she forced herself to remain still while she
tried to piece together what had happened.

Someone had been with her. Who? Thinking
hurt. Oh man, she needed an aspirin. Maybe a whole bottle of
aspirin.

"Sandy Wheaton, Cross MC Unit 1, this is the
sheriff's office, do you copy?"

The radio again. It sounded like it was
coming from somewhere above her.

"Sandy, this is Gloria with the Orson's
Folly Sheriff's Department."

Justin's radio. Sandy remembered settling
the unit into a charger dock in the truck's overhead console. She
reached up, but in the darkness there was no way to tell how far
she was off the mark.

"Sandy, if you can hear but cannot respond,
be advised that Search and Rescue is in place. We're looking for
you, hon."

They were looking for her, which meant they
didn't know where she was. And that was a problem since she didn't
know herself.

She reached upward again but still grabbed
only air. Exhausted from her efforts, she drifted to sleep.

****

"You just got out of the hospital," Justin
reminded Ryan. "Park your butt in that chair for at least an hour.
I know you're not going to sleep but you're not doing yourself or
her any good pacing like a caged animal."

Ryan sat.

Many of the searchers had come in to take a
break during the darkest part of the night. A few were conversing
over sandwiches and coffee. A handful of volunteers had gone home,
if they lived close to town, but Ryan knew they'd all come back out
before first light. If they tried to continue the search now, too
much evidence could be missed or worse, destroyed by people walking
over it in the dark. Ryan had participated in enough searches to
understand that concept.

But those searches had all been part of his
job. They hadn't been his whole heart. He watched his father from
the corner of his eye. As soon as his old man turned his back, Ryan
stood and slipped out into the darkness.