Endangered (9781101559017) (10 page)

“Don't you think that went well?” she asked the deer on the wall. It stared back, eyes huge with surprise.

Footsteps and muffled voices sounded in the hall. There was the metallic jangle of a key in a nearby door. The Wagon Wheel Motel wasn't up to electronic cardkeys.

A muffled voice said, “Later, Nicole.”

Perez? Next door? She trotted to the bathroom, grabbed the water glass from the countertop. Placing it against the bedroom wall, she pressed her ear against the glass bottom and listened intently. More footsteps, a couple of muffled thumps. Kicking off his shoes? The footsteps, lighter now, neared her position. A clunk close to her ear. Assuming his room was a mirror image of hers, the noise was probably his gun thumping down on the bureau.

Thank God for small towns. Her room was next to the FBI agent investigating Zack's disappearance, in the same motel with the distraught parents. If anything of consequence happened, she'd know about it.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She ran to the bed and picked it up, half expecting to hear Perez's voice.

“Sam,” Lauren groaned. “How could it all go so wrong?”

She swallowed. “I saw the story on the news.”

“I can't believe Adam Steele did that to us.”

“Adam? I was watching Utah news.”

“Adam promised to get us some attention, and he certainly delivered. Check out the story on the KSEA website. What can we say about a big donor who just knifed us in the back? Uh-oh. I have to put you on hold for a sec.” The connection went to a soothing New Age piece playing in her ear.

Sam moved back to the computer and pulled up the television station's site. “Missing Child Taken by Cougar?” was first in the list of links under Feature Stories. Clicking it launched a video that showed Adam at the KSEA desk. He looked blond-god handsome and serious. Seriously handsome. He dipped his chin, looked straight at the camera, and intoned, “Yesterday evening two-year-old Zachary Fischer disappeared from a campground in Heritage National Monument. Is little Zack lost or is the answer something far worse? The park is known for its rebounding cougar population.” The SWF website appeared behind him on a screen—her article “Cougar Celebration” and its accompanying photo. “This story, newly launched on Save the Wilderness Fund's website, points out that cougar tracks were found close to the campground from which little Zachary disappeared.” The video stopped. Four seconds from “Dynamite!” to disaster. Adam had precipitated the media avalanche?

Lauren was back. “Harding just dropped by to thank me for all this free publicity for SWF.” Her tone was acidic. “We look like idiots. He's thinking about killing your assignment.”

“No! That would play right into their hands.”

“Whose hands?”

Good question. The media? The anti-cougar faction? “I'm sure this is only a temporary firestorm, Lauren. They'll find the kid and everything will be okay. You've got to let me report on the search.” That reminded her. “What's up with this Wilderness Westin stuff, anyway?”

“Adam suggested that, too. Said it would give you a persona people can remember, like the Crocodile Hunter on TV.” She huffed, then said bitterly, “Like we need to be remembered right now . . .”

Adam would think about names and image; five years ago he had changed his last name from Steeke to Steele, and it had made a world of difference in his career.

“The suits here loved the idea, even talked about giving all our writers and scientists nicknames. At least they did yesterday.” Lauren exhaled loudly into the receiver. “This series of online reports were supposed to bring SWF
positive
attention, not sink us like a torpedo!”

“A cougar did
not
take that child.” Sam kept her voice low. If she could hear through the walls, so could Perez. “I'll prove that. Stay tuned.”

“Do I have any other choice?” Lauren retorted. “Speaking of which, I need your article for today. We can't leave up what we've got there now.”

“I thought the chat session—”

“The deal was for a new article every day, right?”

“Right,” she said wearily. “I'm on it. I'll send you my article within the hour.”

Sam hung up and sat staring at the flying stars of the screen saver on her laptop. If only she were flying through space right now. She pressed her eyes closed and gathered her thoughts for a minute, then brought up the word processing program and threw together some notes about the events of the day. She couldn't exonerate the cougars, but she enumerated all the other possibilities and hit hard on the anti-cougar sentiment growing in the area. For visuals, she had only the bullet-riddled cougar sign from yesterday. Pulling a yellow MISSING poster from her pack, she snapped a photo of that and uploaded it as well. She couldn't think of any way to tie the rappelling video of the Outward Bound group in with her search story, but she sent it, labeling it FOR MAX. At least she'd make him happy today.

Had she helped keep the focus on the missing boy at all? Blake's prediction of future work from SWF was a ridiculous fantasy. Would they even let her continue? And if Zack was found dead or never found, this whole trek would be one big nightmare.

With transmission complete, she turned off the laptop and collapsed onto the bed. Damn the television news. Rolling over, she snatched up her cell phone and stabbed in Adam's number.

He sounded breathless when he answered. “Hey, babe, what a rush, huh?”

“I can't believe you used the SWF website in your breaking news story.”

“Wasn't that great? Everyone had the missing kid—and I can't believe you didn't give me that, by the way—but thanks to you, I was the first to throw the cougars into the mix.”

And throw me off the cliff
, she thought bitterly.

“The manager's blown away. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your fabulous story and photo! Hey, I've only got a minute—is there anything new?”

“Adam! The TV coverage makes it sound like a cougar took Zack.”

He finally paused for a breath. “We never said that. We only posed the question.”

“SWF is threatening to kill my assignment.”

“What? That'd be crazy. I'll give them a call. Don't they know controversy is everything?”

To you,
she thought,
not to a nonprofit organization.
“A cougar did not take Zachary Fischer.”

“Man, that would be great, if I were the first to break that news. Can you prove that?”

“I will.”

“Then you go, girl! Keep in touch with each development, and keep up the good work. Are we a fantastic team? I owe you two dinners when you get back. Love ya.” He ended the call.

She tossed the cell phone onto the bed and stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. Had it only been last night that she'd been rejoicing at this assignment?
Fantastic team?
Had Adam actually said that? She felt like she'd been mown down by a semi. The buck stared at her from its snowy isolation.

“Oh, shut up,” she told it. She lay back, closed her eyes, and tried to think about what to do next.

 

RANGER Rafael Castillo pulled up in the driveway of his house. His mind was on three things: dinner, a hot shower, and sleep, in that order. A blue VW Beetle was parked by the curb out front. The car looked familiar: he was pretty sure he'd seen it in the park. He fervently hoped that the driver was visiting one of his neighbors. It was ten o'clock, and after being on his feet for most of the last forty hours, he was not in the mood for socializing.

He hung his hat and jacket on the pegs in the hallway. Canned laughter from the television rumbled in from the living room. Bad sign. Anita usually turned it off as soon as the kids were in bed. He stalked into the living room, prepared to get the bedtime process under way immediately. It was a school night, those kids should be asleep.

A strange man sat with his back to Rafael on the worn couch, balancing two-year-old Katie on his knees. He was one of those aging men who couldn't admit that his hair was going; the brown thatch on his crown was clearly a rug. A shrill giggle came from the toddler's lips as she leaned back, clutching the man's thick fingers in her tiny fists.

Katie's giggles turned to excited shrieks as the man pulled her toward him. He bent over, pressed his lips against her bare stomach, made a rude noise with his mouth. She battered his thighs with a flurry of bare-footed kicks. He pulled her toward him again and nuzzled her neck. Over the stranger's shoulder, the little girl caught a glimpse of her father standing behind the couch.

Her amber eyes widened. “Papi!” she shrieked happily.

The man straightened and pushed Katie away, settling her on the couch beside him. Pressing a hand over his toupee, he turned toward Rafael.

Miranda came down the stairs, clutching a pink stuffed bunny in her bejeweled hands. “Rafael!” she said, as if surprised to find him in his own house. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Evening, Miranda.” Rafael shifted his gaze meaningfully from his mother-in-law toward the man on the couch.

She held out her slender hand to the stranger. He enfolded it in his own large paw. “This is my good friend Russ Wilson. We met at the VFW a couple of days ago.” She wore brighter lipstick than usual, and her best gold earrings dangled from her ears. On the prowl again.

The man rose to shake Rafael's hand. Wilson was half a head taller, and at least fifty pounds heavier. His handshake was soft and clammy.

“Wilson,” Rafael repeated. There was something important about that name. “Didn't I see your car in the park?”

“Probably. I go there often, especially this time of year. The leaves are so pretty and—”

Now Rafael knew why Wilson was ringing alarm bells in his weary brain. Russell Wilson was the name of the “suspicious camper” that Sam Westin had called in. But Bill Taylor, the park's other law enforcement ranger, had interviewed Wilson this afternoon and reported that although the guy seemed a tad nervous everything appeared to be in order. He was a doting grandpa who hoped his grandkids would stop by again soon.

“Are you in Site 62?” Rafael asked him now, although he already knew the answer. “The brown and tan RV? We knocked last night, but nobody answered. That was around midnight.”

Wilson held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was inside, in bed. But there was so much shouting last night, what with the missing kid, that I couldn't sleep. So I took a sleeping pill. It would have taken an explosion to wake me up.”

Rafael was a pretty heavy sleeper himself. At least Anita was always telling him so. “Mind if I check your ID?”

“Rafael!” Miranda chided. “How rude!”

“No problem,” Wilson responded. He withdrew a worn wallet from his back pocket. “I already talked to several people today, a blond search party girl this morning and then a ranger this afternoon, but if there's anything I can do to help, I'm your man.” After thumbing through a few plastic cards, he extracted a driver's license and extended it toward Rafael.

Taylor would already have this information, but it never hurt to double-check. Taking his notepad from his shirt pocket, Rafael jotted down the information. Orrin R. Wilson.

He looked up. “Orrin?”

Wilson grimaced. “If your first name was Orrin, wouldn't you go by your middle name?”

The photo was definitely the same guy, bad rug and all. The address was Rock Creek, about forty-five miles away. The plastic laminate was shiny. He checked the expiration date. Thirteen months away. “This looks new.”

Wilson shrugged. “It's a replacement. I lost the first one a couple of weeks ago. I had it in my pocket when I was out jogging, and it must have slipped out somewhere.”

Jogging? The man didn't really look the type. “Going back to the park tonight?”

Wilson nodded. “I'm paid in advance for the rest of the week.”

Rafael knew that already; he'd checked the campground receipts himself.

“Papi!” Katie interrupted, frustrated at being ignored.

Oh hell, anything more could surely wait until tomorrow. He handed Wilson the license and swept his daughter up from the couch. “Time you were in bed,
mi hija.
” Smoothing back her curly hair, he kissed her forehead. She rewarded him with an angelic smile. God, he was glad his kids weren't lost out there. Zack's folks must be in hell.

“I was just coming to get Katie.” Miranda took the toddler from his arms. “MacLean called Anita around five thirty; she's out cooking somewhere.”

Anita had recently gotten into the banquet trade. The pay was good and heaven knows they could use the money, but the MacLean fellow seemed a little too slick: Rafael wasn't at all sure that the man didn't admire Anita herself even more than her terrific cooking.

“Susie Reilly was babysitting, but you know her mother won't let her stay out past nine on school nights. So Nita called down at the VFW. And Russ and I were just getting ready to dance—”

“Sí, comprendo.”
He cut off his mother-in-law's prattling; he didn't need to hear every picayune detail. “Sorry about your date,” he said to Wilson.

The man smiled. “That's okay. I don't mind helping out; I love kids.” His expression darkened. “Any sign of the missing boy?”

Rafael shook his head.

Miranda clucked sympathetically. “The other kids are all asleep, but Katie wouldn't quiet down.” She gave the toddler a stern look. “Russ will drive me home. But first I'll finish putting this little one to bed.”