Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace (3 page)

Samson had lost the scent about ten minutes ago, and he crisscrossed the clearing, searching for the lost trail with his muzzle in the air. Bree unfastened a canteen from her belt and took a gulp of water. Though warm, the water washed the bitter taste of insect repellant from her tongue. She dropped her backpack onto the ground and pulled out a small bag of pistachios. Cracking the nuts, she tossed the shells onto the ground. She munched the salty nutmeats and took another swig of water.

Naomi came up behind her, short of breath. “Anything?” She pushed away a lock of hair that had escaped her braid. Naomi was like a cocker spaniel with her soft brown hair and compassionate eyes—and like a spaniel, just as persistent. Her spirit never flagged, and she always managed to transfer her optimism to Bree.

Bree shook her head and held out the bag of nuts to Naomi. “Want some?”

Naomi wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can stand to eat those things. Give me walnuts or pecans, not those funny green things. You eat so many of them, we’d never need search dogs to find you; we’d just follow the shell trails.”

Bree grinned and put the bag of nuts back in her bag. She screwed the lid back onto the canteen and fastened it to the belt around her waist. “Time to get moving again.”

“Charley’s lost the trail,” Naomi said. Charley nosed aimlessly among a patch of wildflowers while Samson thrust his head into the stream running to their right.

“Maybe the other searchers are having better luck.” Bree snapped her fingers, and Samson came to her. He shook himself, and droplets of water sprayed her jeans. She knelt and took his shaggy head in her hands and stared into his dark eyes. “I know you’re trying, buddy,” she whispered. “But can you try just a little harder?” Samson’s curly tail swished the air, and he licked her chin as if to say he’d do what he could. And Bree knew he would. As a search dog, Samson was in a class by himself.

Bree knew dogs. From the time she could barely toddle, she’d had a dog. When she and Rob had lived in Oregon, she’d been introduced to K-9 Search and Rescue, and she knew it was what she was meant to do. Margie, her first dog, had been a pro too, but she’d had a stroke three years ago, about six months after Samson had come along.

She’d never seen a dog with as much heart as Samson. His markings and size betrayed his German shepherd lineage, but his curly coat was all chow. Since the day she’d found him in a box by the river, barely alive and not yet four weeks old, his gaze had spoken to her more clearly than any human words could. When he’d turned his head that day and tried to lick her hand, she lost her heart. There was a special bond between her and Samson, and he loved search and rescue as much as she did. Together they’d been on search missions all over the country as part of the FEMA team.

He whined and sniffed the air as if determined not to let her down.

“If Samson can’t find the kids, we might as well all go home,” Naomi muttered. “He could find a flea in a hay field.”

Bree grinned. “The fleas seem to find him.” But she knew Naomi was right. Samson was special. She wanted him to prove it today.

Up ahead, Samson began to bark and then raced away. Bree’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive. “He’s found the scent again.” Her fatigue forgotten, she followed the dogs.

2

T
wilight cast deep shadows in the little clearing in the woods, but Rachel Marks had no trouble picking out the shack with the stack of split logs beside it. She could find everything in this meadow with her eyes closed. As she shuffled through the thick carpet of leaves and pine needles toward the woodpile, her feet kicked up the sharp scent of pine. Sam limped along beside her, and she slowed her pace to match his.

She frowned. His thin arms stuck out from the sleeves of his blue jacket, and his pants didn’t even come to the top of his socks. He could barely squeeze into them anymore. Thank goodness he was almost well enough to take to town. Otherwise, she’d have to buy him some new clothes. His pinched white face beneath the blue stocking cap he wore showed a tinge more color than it had last month. Day by day he grew stronger.

He was quiet, as always. Too quiet. Of course, there was no one for him to talk to but her and his pet squirrel, Marcus. She couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer.

But not yet. He’d only been walking for twenty minutes, yet his limp had grown more pronounced over the past few yards. He needed to rest. She beckoned to him, and he followed her toward the cabin.

Just outside the door, he stopped and tilted his head to one side. “I hear something.” Sam’s hushed voice seemed unnaturally loud in the still night.

Rachel stopped, her booted feet settling into the soggy leaves on
the ground. Had they been found out? Her adrenaline surged and she tipped up her head and listened. “It sounds like a little kid crying,” Rachel said.

Sam turned his face up to hers, his eyes glowing. “A kid like me?”

“You stay here, Sam. Let me check it out.” She’d heard of cougars sounding like a child, but this sounded like no painter she’d ever heard. Just to be safe, she grabbed the ax as she passed the woodshed. Stepping cautiously toward the sound, she hefted the ax to her shoulder.

She caught her breath as the sound came again. That was no wild animal; it was a child. A crying child. She pushed aside the brush and peered into the tangle of shrubs then stepped into the fir grove. It was darker here than in her clearing but still bright enough to see the two children who sat on the ground. The little girl was weeping, her arms around a smaller child, a boy. Her woebegone face was streaked with mud, and she rocked back and forth, shudders wracking her small frame.

“I’m sorry, Timmy. It was my fault,” the girl sobbed. “Now you’re sick, and it’s all my fault.”

Rachel looked around warily until she was sure there was no danger of discovery. Could these children possibly be alone this far from town? “Hello,” she said, stepping near the children. “What’s your name, little girl?”

At the sound of her voice, the little girl whipped her head around and stared up at Rachel through saucer eyes. Twigs and debris matted her dark curls. She looked about seven or eight.

Rachel saw the fear in the child’s face and realized how frightening she must seem to the children, a fifty-year-old woman with braided gray hair topped with an old leather fedora.

“It’s all right; I’m not as mean as I look.” Rachel stepped closer. “Is this your brother?”

The little girl wiped her face and nodded. “His name is Timmy,
and he needs his shot. I’m Emily. Daddy is going to be awfully mad at me.” Her voice was doleful. “We just wanted to see the raccoons.”

“I’m sure your daddy will be too glad to be angry when he gets you home safe and sound.” Rachel surveyed the little boy and frowned. He looked about Sam’s age, maybe four or five. She needed to get him inside where she could see him better.

She slid her bony arms under the little boy and lifted him up. Heat radiated off him like hot coals, and he shook like the few leaves still clinging to the trees above her head. She hoped he was as tenacious. His sister had mentioned a shot. Could he be diabetic? Rachel’s nurse’s training kicked in, and she leaned forward and sniffed. A fruity scent issued from his open mouth, and she winced. Yep. Poor kid. She had no insulin here, and town was miles away.

“Come with me,” she told Emily. “We’ll get you something to eat and drink.” Then she had to get them out of here. Without drawing attention to herself. The last thing she needed was the law on her tail.

Emily followed her into the clearing. “Is that your house? It’s sure little.”

“It suits us,” Rachel said shortly.

Sam was still standing where she’d left him. Motionless, he watched her come toward him. His gaze darted from her and the child she carried to the little girl who followed them.

“Sammy, open the door for me,” she said. He limped to the cabin and fumbled at the latch then swung the door open. He held it wide while Rachel carried the little boy inside.

The cabin wasn’t much, but it had been home for over a year. Only one room, but they made do. Sam’s cot was pushed up against one wall, the colorful log cabin quilt she’d made for him now faded but still serviceable. A battered table, four chairs, and a braided rug, faded and worn, completed the furnishings.

It was all scrupulously clean. She might live in the back of beyond, but that was no reason for slovenliness. Laying the little boy on the bed,
she studied him. His face was flushed beneath the numerous scratches, and his breathing was labored. This little guy needed his insulin, now. Looking at the sunken areas under his eyes, Rachel saw he was dehydrated as well. A saline IV would come in handy, but that wasn’t something Rachel kept on hand.

“There’s a pitcher of water on the table,” she told Emily. “Pour some water for you and the lad. I’ll fix you a peanut butter sandwich, and we’ll get you back to that daddy of yours.”

Emily looked weary, but she stepped to the table and poured two cups of water. She drank thirstily from her cup, but Timmy turned his head and closed his eyes when Rachel offered him a drink.

As quickly as she could, Rachel slathered some peanut butter on slices of homemade bread. The law would be searching for these kids, and she had to get them out of here before the rangers found her cabin. Timmy refused to eat, and Rachel waited until Emily finished her sandwich. “You ready to go back to town?”

The little girl didn’t answer. She was too busy inspecting Sam. The food and drink had calmed her, and her eyes were inquisitive. “Are you his grandma?” Emily gave Sam a tentative smile.

Rachel searched for an answer. “I’m his mother,” she said, struggling against the irritation she felt at the girl’s assumption. It wasn’t only twenty-year-olds who were blessed to be mothers. She’d seen plenty of women who’d waited until later in life to have children. Her own grandmother had given birth to her last child at fifty-two. Thank goodness Sam wasn’t as inquisitive as this child.

Emily sidled closer to Sam. “What’s your name?”

Sam ducked his head and didn’t answer.

“He’s shy,” Rachel said. She fought the panic clawing at her belly. All these questions! She could only hope the kids would remember little of what they saw here. Luckily the stocking cap still covered Sam’s hair. The children wouldn’t have much of a description.

“Sammy, you hop into your pajamas, and I’ll be back soon.”

“I want to go too.” Sam stared up at her, his green eyes pleading.

“You’re not strong enough, Sam. I’ll have to carry Timmy—I can’t carry you too.” He knew to stay inside and keep the door latched until she came back. She’d had to leave him often over the past months.

Sam’s lower lip trembled, but he didn’t argue with her. It was no wonder the poor little guy wanted to go along. These children were the first contact he’d had with other people in months. Rachel gnawed her lip. She wished she could do better by him. But sometimes you just had to play the hand you were dealt. He would learn soon enough how life threw you punches and you had to stiffen your backbone and fight back, just as she did.

Giving Sam a little push, she went toward the little boy. “I’ll be back soon. You rest.”

Sam nodded and watched with wistful eyes as she picked up Timmy then took Emily’s hand and led her out the door. “Wait!” he cried suddenly. He limped toward them and thrust his beloved stuffed koala bear in the little boy’s hand.

Rachel frowned. “You don’t want to do that, Sam.” The kid had few enough toys. He didn’t need to be giving them away to strangers. From the looks of these two, they were middle-class and probably had bedrooms full of toys.

Sam’s lip protruded farther. “I want to give it to him,” he said.

Rachel shrugged. “Just don’t come crying to me tonight when you miss it.”

“His name is Pooky,” Sam said, ducking his head.

The little girl took the bear from her brother’s unresponsive hand and cradled it in her arm. She gave Sam a brilliant smile. “Thanks. I’ll give it to Timmy when we get home.” She fumbled in her jeans pocket and pulled out a yo-yo. “Here, you can have this.”

Sam stared at the yo-yo then back up at Emily.

“You play with it like this.” Emily took the toy back, slipped the string over her finger, and threw it. Sam’s eyes grew wider as the yo-yo
returned to her hand. “Here, you try it.” She thrust it back into his hand and showed him how to put the string on his finger. He awkwardly tried to throw it, but it only came partway back.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she told him. “Just practice. Thanks for the bear.” She leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. With Pooky in her hand, she scampered out the door behind Rachel.

Carrying Timmy, Rachel led Emily across the yard and entered the forest. Stumbling over branches and brambles, they wound their way through the thick trees. Rachel’s back ached from the little boy’s weight.

Over an hour later, Rachel set Timmy down to rest her arms then stood and stretched. The road wasn’t far now, another fifteen minutes maybe. It was still light enough to see. She could park them by the side of the road, and someone would be along shortly. It was the best she could do.

Leaning down to retrieve her burden, she froze at the sound of voices. People—more than one. And dogs. That could be trouble. She set Timmy back on the forest floor.

“You’re safe now, kids,” she said hastily. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Don’t leave us!” Emily scrabbled for her hand, but Rachel evaded her, cursing herself for ever getting involved. She hoped she didn’t regret this day, but she was a sucker for kids.

Flipping her braid over one shoulder, Rachel took off at a run. “You’ll be okay,” she called behind her. “There are people coming. They’re probably looking for you.” The safety of the forest beckoned her, and she plunged into its sheltering depths. Emily’s wails followed her.

Kade’s temper was short as he organized the teams and finally got them on their way. The K-9 team he’d worked with before in Yellowstone had
represented the height of ineptitude, scattering evidence and leading searchers in the wrong direction. He knew all teams were not that bad—the media reported plenty of success stories—but this search was his responsibility, and those kids were depending on him. Bree Nicholls had deliberately disobeyed his orders. Worse, the sheriff had made it clear his sister-in-law was to be allowed to have her own way. Typical of the nepotism in a small town like Rock Harbor.