Rescue Team (24 page)

K
ATE WEDGED A HIP
between the wooden flood barricades, grimacing as a nail caught her tights and jabbed the skin beneath. She wrestled with the fabric in the deepening dusk; it would have been smarter to have taken the time to pull on her jeans. More protection, warmer, and—

She gave the barricade a shove, heard it collapse with a clatter, amber caution beacon still flashing. There was no time. Not even minutes to spare. It would be dark far too soon.

She broke into a trot, anxiety rising. If she was cold, what would happen to a baby left down by the water’s edge? With just a little blanket. She tried to recall Harley’s sweet face, but the only thing that came was the constant loop of Wes’s words in that last phone call.
“That mother . . . dumped her baby . . . abandoned her . . .”

Kate pushed her pace, heading toward the trail and trying to outrun a painful intrusion of images: Baby Doe limp in her hands, her newborn son wrapped in that sweatshirt . . .
“dumped her baby . . .”

She stumbled, lurched forward, fell to her hands and knees in a mix of mud and gravel. She clambered upright, wiping her stinging hands on her tights. Then pulled the mini flashlight from her jacket pocket. Switched it on, focused the beam—and gasped.

The flat terrain she’d jogged only days ago was now a minefield of mounded mud and water-sluiced ruts. As if the devil himself had delighted in scraping cruel fingers across this family park. Could Trista have actually chosen this place to leave her baby? Kate’s stomach sank, the ugly truth making her shiver.
Ava Smith picked a darkened bathroom. I chose . . .
Panicky decisions, unforgivable mistakes. Kate started forward again, hustling as best she could as the flashlight beam bounced over the pocked terrain in cadence with her thoughts.
Dumped, dumped, dumped . . .

She tried not to think of her chances of finding the baby. She couldn’t. Kate only knew that she wasn’t going to let this happen again—a baby left alone in the dark. She’d find Harley.

-  +  -

“We’re stopping to listen for a minute,” Wes said, signaling to Jenna in the darkness.

“Gotcha.” She halted, just yards away, her headlight beam hitting a tree in the distance. Her whisper sounded like it rose straight from her heart. “I’ve never prayed for a baby to fuss. Until now.”

He nodded, grateful again that he’d been paired with her on the hasty-search team. It was easy to see that even as a rookie, Jenna had the dedication it took for this kind of work. Wes closed his eyes, concentrated. Heard a single whine from a live-search dog.
And the thud of boots of the other team members also coming to a halt. A cough. The droning chug of a boat motor out on Lady Bird Lake. Traffic over the Congress Avenue Bridge. But no baby. It was dark now, the temperature dropping. There had been no concrete response to the news coverage. Nothing.

The searchers were following every convoluted lead they’d gotten from Trista Forrester. Every place she’d remembered being today: Chick-fil-A, a Walmart, and here, by “that big, ugly statue in the park.” Stevie Ray Vaughan. It seemed so long ago that he’d been here with Kate. Her silly air guitar, their first date. He reminded himself to call her as soon as he got a chance. It had to be killing her to sit and wait.

“Two minutes,” Jenna whispered, checking her watch. “No crying. Do you think . . . ?” She cleared her throat. “Could Harley have cried herself to sleep?”

Or can’t cry anymore.
A baby blanket wasn’t near enough protection from the chill. Wes recalled what he knew of hypothermia symptoms in infants: reddened skin that was cold to the touch, drowsiness, cardiac disturbance.
Death.
What kind of mother did something like that?

He swallowed the anger down. Signaled to Jenna. “Let’s go.”

-  +  -

“Stop blaming yourself, Mom. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Judith set her teacup on the table, looked at her daughter. Molly’s eyes were so like her father’s and filled with worry now. “They told us in volunteer training that we should keep an emotional distance. Avoid personal involvement with patients. And with visitors. They warned it could lead to problems, for volunteers and for the hospital as well. And now . . .”

“Now the mistake has been cleared up—that poor, misguided teenager’s confusion in accusing you.” Molly slid her arm around Judith’s shoulder. “You only did what you always do, Mom. Throw your heart into helping other people. There’s no mistake in that.”

No mistake? Judith shivered against a chill she hadn’t been able to shake since the Austin police burst through her door. She glanced toward the TV, showing a repeat of footage outside the Forresters’ Blue Meadow Way house. The photo of Harley and a mention of the favorite white baby blanket and car seat. Then new clips of a search-and-rescue command trailer and a close-up of a waiting ambulance. Judith’s throat squeezed. “That poor baby. This shouldn’t be happening.”

Molly sighed. “No. It shouldn’t. But right now all we can do is pray that they find her quickly.”

Pray?
Judith glanced toward the Bible lying on the table near her wingback chair. What would Molly think if she knew that her mother rarely prayed anymore?

Her daughter slid her arm back and was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been wondering if you should maybe try something else, Mom.”

“Try . . . ?”

“With your volunteering. I’m not sure that being around a hospital is a good thing for you. Especially emergency—”

“No.” Judith sat taller on the couch. “That’s not true, Molly. It’s the best possible thing for me. And for the hospital, our patients.”

Our.
Judith didn’t think she’d ever said that before.

“They’re fortunate to have you. But I wonder if you’re investing too much of your time. It seems like whenever I call, you’re at one hospital or another. There’s more to life than carrying vases of flowers and filling balloons for kids in waiting rooms.”

And doing cardiac compressions on the floor . . . What would Molly say about that?

Judith met her daughter’s gaze. “They need me.”

“Mom . . .” The concern in Molly’s eyes increased. “I see how this situation with the baby is affecting you. I watch you putting your life on hold to be at those hospitals day in and day out. All times of the day and night now—at Austin Grace.”

“Yes. Because I’m needed there,” Judith repeated, beginning to feel too much like she was being interrogated again. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned, darling.”

“No reason?” Molly’s brows pinched together. “Daddy died in that hospital.”

-  +  -

“Harley? Sweetheart, where are you?” Kate trotted a second circuit of a slushy swath made by bulldozers near the trailhead, her light beam bouncing along the water’s edge like a firefly. Her eyes stung from staring into foliage and peering—breath held in fear—out across the shallow water. Her running shoes had to be carrying a pound of sludge in their waffled treads. “Haaaarley . . .”

She walked on, skidding, then catching her balance, her flashlight on a grove of trees. Possibly near the bench where she’d met Wes that day. Nothing looked the same now. She swept the beam across debris, searching for landmarks, and glimpsed what was probably the reported sinkhole, surrounded by a circle of barricades. Then she raised the beam—higher, higher still—to capture what she could of an immense yellow-and-green earthmover, its claw bucket poised like a scorpion. Behind it, earth and rock and debris were mounded like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption.
How can I find anything here?

Kate let the beam sweep over the mess, telling herself that though she ached to cover every square inch of this park, it was impossible. If Trista had come here, she would’ve been limited by the flood damage too. Kate was doing only what she could until the police got here, and—

What was that?

She stopped, held her breath, and swept the beam back over the course it had just followed. Up there, on the hill mounded by the earthmover and near a huge uprooted tree. A glimpse of white? Where was it? There . . . Yes, something white. Tucked among the debris. Hadn’t Wes said that Harley’s blanket was white? She started forward, beam bouncing and mind tumbling. Had Trista wrapped her baby in the blanket and . . .
dumped, dumped, dumped . . .

Kate told herself she was being foolish; Trista would have chosen an easier place to leave her baby. She tortured herself with a memory of that abandoned Vegas car wash and the darkened doorway of the fire department. There had been no “easy” in those choices. She knew better than anyone that panic didn’t give rise to rational decisions. And if the baby was really up there and Kate didn’t check—

“Harley!” There was no cry, no sound as Kate started up the muddy mound. It was impossible to focus the beam as she climbed, so she jammed the flashlight into her jacket pocket. Then slid backward, her mud-packed soles like skis. She grabbed a branch of the downed tree, hauling herself upward to where she’d seen that glimpse of white. Awkward, but possible. And she had to be sure. She grabbed another branch, tried to get better footing.

“Harley?” she called again, hearing sounds in the distance. The police or searchers—both, Kate hoped. She’d check this out, then
meet them down on the path. She stopped, breath heaving. Pulled the flashlight from her pocket. Focused the beam.

What is that? Not a blanket . . .

Kate’s beam moved over the white object she’d spotted. A canvas tarp. And other whitish things. Long, short, and several tiny pale bits as small as shells. But they weren’t shells.

“No,” she whispered, reaching out. “It can’t be . . .”

A leg bone?

Trembling, she picked it up, and her stomach confirmed the horrifying reality:
a human leg bone.
Kate gagged and then held her breath as the light picked out what were undeniably ribs and a hand and . . . She began to tremble more, the bone clutched in her hand and a hideous truth making her legs weak.

“Sunni . . . it’s you.”

She took a step backward, senses reeling, and in an instant her left leg dropped out from under her, sinking knee-deep into mud. She grasped frantically for a tree root, then struggled to free her leg. She yanked it loose at last, the momentum sending her staggering backward. Kate fell, bone and flashlight flying from her grasp. She fought to sit up, right herself, but continued to slide and roll. Downward over rocks, wood debris . . .
and more bones?

The awful thought was followed by a scream—her own—as Kate’s body slammed into the earthmover torso-first, causing a whiplash that drove her head against metal. There was an explosion of pain. Then merciful blackness.

-  +  -

“Tanner! Over here, by the pagoda and the lily pond,” the radio voice squawked.

“What have you got?” Wes glanced at Jenna in the darkness as he waited for the searcher’s response.

“Dog’s alerted on a scent.”

“On our way,” he confirmed, beckoning to Jenna.

They took off at a run and within seconds heard the crescendo of barking that could only mean one thing.

Please, Lord. Let this be a live find.

H
ARLEY
F
ORRESTER WAS UNDER A SHRUB
near the lily pond, still strapped in her blanket-draped car seat. Despite the glaring lamp beam, the baby’s eyes remained ominously closed, her head lolled to one side.

“Oh no,” Jenna gasped. “Is she . . . ?”

“Leash your dog,” Wes told the K9 handler who’d called them with the find. He dropped to his knees beside the baby. “Jenna, make the calls.” He grasped the car seat and pulled it clear of the shrubbery, fighting a growing sense of foreboding when the baby made no response to the movement.
Please, baby girl.

“Harley, wake up.” He lifted the blanket away. The baby’s skin was pale but not blue. He traced a fingertip down her cheek. Cold to the touch. Scary cold. “Hey there . . .” Wes jostled the car seat, reached for the restraint buckles. Impossible to see if her chest was
moving. He needed to get her free of the seat, in case . . . Wes ran infant resuscitation guidelines in his head, praying he wouldn’t need them. “C’mon, little babe. Give us a cry.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Wes’s headlamp beam bounced over the baby’s tiny chin as he released the last buckle and—

Harley whimpered. Her lids fluttered.

“She’s breathing,” Wes announced, finding his own breath. “Her eyes are open.”

“Awesome.” The handler grinned, giving his whining dog a pat.

“Medics on the way,” Jenna reported, still manning the radio.

“Good.” Wes lifted Harley from the car seat and cradled her against his chest, feeling the chill of her skin through her pajamas. “Grab those hand warmers from my pack; we’ll tuck them under the rescue blanket. Let’s do what we can to get her body temperature moving up.”

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Wes patted Harley’s back as she began to cry. “No sweeter sound, guys.”

In mere moments only Harley’s cherub face was visible in a voluminous nest of foil blanket—a space-age papoose. Startlingly blue eyes peered up at Wes as he held her. He said a silent prayer, grateful he could whisper his favorite words. “It’s okay. You’re not lost anymore.”

“Wes . . .” Jenna stepped close as police, rescue, and medical personnel began converging on the scene. “I heard part of a radio report. There’s something strange going on near Zilker Park.”

“Already looking for more action?” Wes teased, shifting the baby in his arms. His smile faded as he read the concern in her expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kate Callison. She’s been hurt.”

Wes’s breath caught. “How—where?”

“She fell at the trailhead. Near that big sinkhole. Paramedics are on scene. Police too.” Jenna’s brows pinched together. “The strange thing is that they said it happened after she found some human remains.”

-  +  -

“What . . . ?” Kate moaned as pain knifed her side. Her immediate shivers caused a second stab. Radios squawked over a rumble of voices. She squinted, trying to see past a beam of light that made her head throb. There was a rigid cervical collar under her chin and oxygen tubing in her nose. They’d started an IV line in her left forearm. “Lauren?”

“I’m here, darlin’.” Her friend’s face, etched with worry, loomed overhead. “I’ve got you,” she reassured, her hand warm on Kate’s. “I’ll save the ranting ‘told you so’ for later.”

“What happened?”

A paramedic’s face displaced Lauren’s. “You’re in Zilker Park, Kate. You fell and hurt your ribs.” He clucked his tongue. “And bought yourself a brain CT.”

“What?”

Lauren’s face returned. “You’ve asked, ‘What happened?’ a least a dozen times. Concussion probably. Looks like you climbed—” she glanced over her shoulder—“up that mound of dirt and then rolled to the bottom like Jack and Jill.” She patted Kate’s forehead. “I’m not allowing you to have a broken crown, though.” Lauren pulled the rescue blanket higher as Kate shivered again.

“Make room! Medical examiner’s here,” a voice boomed in the distance.

“Bones . . .” The surreal memory surfaced. Kate stared at Lauren. “I found those bones.”

“There’s an army of folks interested in that sad discovery. Trust me.”

“Lauren . . .” The visceral certainty came back as strongly as when she’d held that leg bone in her hand. “It’s Sunni.”

Her friend winced. “It will take a while to do the testing, and—”

“It’s her.”

The stretcher jiggled, clattering as the medics moved Kate toward the ambulance.

“Well, first things first,” Lauren told her, walking alongside. “We’re taking you to Austin Grace. Don’t worry; I’m sticking to you like a chigger. You won’t be alone.”

Alone.
Details came back in a rush.

“The baby.” Kate raised her shoulders, hindered by straps and a skewering pain in her ribs. “Harley. They need to find her.”

“Stay down.” Lauren pressed her hand against Kate’s sternum. “Harley’s on her way to the same place you’re going. She’s cold. And a bit dehydrated, sounds like. But I think she’s going to be okay.”

“Where was she?”

“The lily pond at Lady Bird Lake. Your handsome hero found her.” Lauren winked. “I’ll bet you’re next on his list.”

-  +  -

Wes followed Lauren toward the ER. The last time he’d taken this route was when Gabe was shot. Judith Doyle had ushered him through the security-protected doors. An angel of mercy. Today she’d been a kidnap suspect. An innocent woman accused and a
helpless baby abandoned. He’d had his fill of reckless—
criminal
—irresponsibility today. Even before those actions landed Kate in the hospital.

“Kate . . .” His throat tightened as he caught sight of her on an ER gurney. Swathed in blankets, IV hanging overhead, and a bruising welt across her cheekbone. “Hey,” he said, moving to her bedside.

She gave him a wan smile. “You’re here to read me the riot act.”

“No.” He ached to kiss her, simply brush his lips across her forehead. Except that this was her hospital, her staff. Lauren had stepped away, but several other people had already cast curious glances his way. He took her hand instead. “Lauren said your ribs are bruised, not fractured. And—”

“You found Harley.” The dark eyes were huge against her pale face.

“Team effort. Jenna was there. The dog was really the one . . .” A lump in his throat squelched his words. “She’s safe, Kate. Right now I need to be sure you are.” He tried to smile. “There’s mud in your hair.”

“Everywhere.” Her chin began to tremble. “You found the baby. And I . . . f-found Sunni . . . Sprague.”

Wes grimaced, still rocked by what he’d heard of her unbelievable experience. He’d fended off a dozen reporters outside the hospital. A baby. A body. A media feeding frenzy. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t going to lie to her. “I wish it hadn’t been you. But it probably is Sunni. We were planning to search not far from that spot.”

She groaned. “I had her leg in my hands, Wes. I never met her and then I was standing there h-holding her bones.” Kate took a breath, flinched.

“Pain in your ribs?” Wes glanced toward a nurse at the trauma
room computer, then decided he didn’t care what anyone thought. He brushed her hair back and touched his lips to her brow. “Should I get the nurse?”

“No.” Kate moaned again softly but shook her head. “I’m okay. They can’t really give me anything until after the—”

“Excuse me, sir.” A nurse with a soul-patch beard moved the IV bag to the pole on the gurney. “We need to get Kate down to radiology.” He glanced at her. “Did you want him to follow us down there?”

“No,” Kate said quickly, her gaze moving to Wes. “Brain CT. I’ll be there awhile.” She sighed. “They’re going to admit me overnight. You go on home.”

“Nice try.” Wes looked at the nurse. “When is she going to her hospital room?”

“Directly from CT.”

“Okay.” He nodded, met Kate’s eyes. “Your dad knows you’re being admitted?”

“No.”

When she glanced away, Wes knew she hadn’t contacted him at all.
Ah, Kate.

“I’ll be waiting in your room when you get back from CT. No arguments. You’re stuck with me.”

“Like a chigger.” Kate gave a short chuckle. “That’s what Lauren said. She’d stick by me like a chigger.”

He smiled. “Chiggers and sinkholes. We’ll toughen you into a Texan yet.”

Wes watched her disappear down the hallway, then headed for the stairs; he’d pick up some food from the cafeteria. At the first landing, his cell phone rang.

“How’s Kate?” his mom asked.

“Pretending she doesn’t hurt as much as she does.” Wes leaned against the wall, a delayed rush of relief making his legs weak. Food, definitely. “But so far so good. No rib fractures. Or signs of internal injuries. Her neck’s been cleared. She’s having a brain scan now.”

He heard his mom’s soft gasp.

“A precaution,” Wes assured her. “It looks like a concussion. Kate’s coherent now. Enough to remember finding the bones.”

“I can’t even imagine how awful that was. They’ve got TV crews reporting from the site right now. My heart goes out to the Sprague family. Wondering, waiting.”

Wes knew she was thinking of his father, when they found his mother’s remains at last.

“How’s the baby?” she asked softly.

“I haven’t seen her. But I hear things are improving.”

“They keep repeating this tragic news clip on TV. That young mother, looking dazed and saying all she wanted was for her baby to be safe. It’s so sad.”

“Yeah, well . . .”
Sad
wasn’t the word Wes had in mind.

“Anyway, I’m glad to hear Kate wasn’t seriously hurt. And that the baby is doing all right.” She sighed. “Such a rough day for so many people. I’ll be bending God’s ear with prayers tonight.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Come by for dinner? Dylan’s helping me make spaghetti with the ground venison from his weekend at Grandpa’s hunting lease. It will be served with breadsticks and tall tales.”

“Thanks, Mom. But I’m going to stay here for a while.”

“I thought you’d say that.” There was a knowing smile in her voice.

Wes said good-bye and started down the stairs again, thinking
of what she’d said about praying for those people. He knew she didn’t mean only Kate, Harley, and the Sprague family. His mom would include Trista Forrester in her prayers. A woman who dumped her baby and drove off without a backward glance. A heartless mother who left her child crying in the dark—cold, confused, and lost.

There was no way Wes could dredge up an ounce of compassion for someone like that.