One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(105)

Seth’s expression says, Don’t bet on it.

“If it’s not too much, I do have another favor to ask. I need access to a computer. Like, right now. I don’t suppose there’s one in the back office I could use?”

“Why do you need a computer?”

“Well, you know, to let family and friends know I’m all right. Figure out my next steps. That sort of thing.”

“Why don’t you just use your phone?”

I produce my cheap flip phone and hold it up for his inspection. He nearly recoils in horror.

“Seriously? I didn’t know they made those anymore.”

“I could use an upgrade.”

I remain standing there patiently. This time of night, there’s no real activity, meaning it’s just him and me, and he’s clearly anxious to be part of something bigger.

He takes a full minute. I count the seconds in my mind. It’s a fair shot at trying to make the management-approved decision. My respect for him ratchets up another notch. Then he caves.

“I guess I could set you up on the office computer with my password. But you can’t tell, okay? No ratting me out to my boss.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Seth.”

I walk around the raised counter to the area behind, where sure enough, there’s a door leading to a small office. Admin space. The computer sits smack in the middle of a sea of paper. Forget my research project. My biggest challenge will be not knocking anything to the floor.

Seth leans over the keyboard, taps a number of keys. Then he launches the computer’s browser, and just like that, I’m ready to roll.

“You’re not going to visit porn sites, are you?”

“Can I at least watch one adorably cute cat video?”

He rolls his eyes, then after an awkward moment, when it becomes clear the only way for him to leave and for me to enter is for him to squeeze by me, he does the world’s most nervous sidestep.

“Thank you,” I tell him honestly.

He blushes, ducks his head. “Just, uh, just yell if you need anything.”

He returns to his post at the reception desk.

I start typing.



* * *



—

Like any cold case investigator, I specialize in digging up information, especially old and seemingly irrelevant details. Local papers, with their archives of years past, are a gold mine, though fewer and fewer exist.

I’m lucky this area still has one. It enables me to start out smoking hot and downright cocky. Then I hit the first dead end. Then another and another.

But I’m obsessive, and it’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway. Pass out cold, maybe, but rest?

It’s not possible anymore.

Shortly after ten, I find a record of what I’m looking for.

“Is it okay to print?” I call out to Seth.

He’s only too happy to be of assistance again, especially as now both of us are wedged into the tiny space and he gets to rub against me several times as he revs the printer to life and feeds it additional paper.

I hit “print.” Seconds later, I snatch up the documents before he has a chance to see them.

More thank-yous, more goodbyes, then I’m on my way.

I can barely walk, my muscles having stiffened up while I was sitting, and my feet, at first enthusiastic to rediscover tennis shoes, now scream in agony. Which pisses me off, because forget walking, I should be running right now.

Instead, I hobble along, teeth gritted against the pain.

It’s time to ask for my next favor.



* * *



—

    Luciana and Daisy are back in the room when I enter. Daisy is sprawled on the bed nearest to me. She lifts her head at my entrance, thumping her tail and yawning impressively.

“Good to see you, too,” I assure her. Then, because the dog did save my life, I give her a good scratching behind the ears.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Luciana comments, gesturing to the formal lineup of gutted backpacks, each with its contents spewed out in front of it. Then, of course, there’s the pile of sweaty, dirty clothes, which isn’t doing wonders for the air in the room.

“I thought I’d get everyone’s gear sorted. Do something useful.”

“Is that the burn pile?” She points to the laundry heap.

“Exactly.”

“Frankie, you need to rest. Your body is nowhere near recovered. Hell, Daisy and I are nowhere near recovered and all we did was sprint down a mountain after a brief interval of captivity.”

“Are you two headed back to Devil’s Canyon tomorrow?”

“No. There’s more than enough cooks in the kitchen now. And Daisy and I need to recuperate, both physically and mentally. That first day, when we finally emerged from the woods, knowing the rest of you remained stranded and vulnerable at base camp . . . we had to go back. Till each and every one of you was rescued. We weren’t stopping before then.”

“But still no Martin,” I venture, with just enough question in my voice. I’m very curious about her answer but don’t want to show it.

“A party has been assembled to start scouring the ravine tomorrow. But from what I saw on the map, that’s gonna be a total bitch. Hard to access and almost impossible to navigate given the heavily wooded terrain. Better them than me.”