One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(58)

Scott finally raises a hand. “I told Latisha. Everything. Before we got married. I felt I had to.”

“So you’re a better husband than friend,” Martin comments bitterly.

Scott returns the man’s stare. “I wasn’t that bad a friend. I’d never blamed Tim for Latisha. And once we all sobered up, I’m sure we would’ve sorted this out, too. Maybe not Josh and him, but . . .” Scott shakes his head. “But the rest of us . . . Tim wasn’t the only one who could be an asshole, not to mention, most of his ‘sins’ happened when we were young and stupid. He’d grown up since then. I liked to think we all had.”

Except Tim hadn’t made it out of the woods and they hadn’t told the truth and now, five years later, they were still living with the guilt.

“How did Latisha take the news?” I ask Scott, very curious about this woman who’d captivated three different friends.

“She understood. She forgave. Some people know how to do that.” Scott’s turn to glare at Martin.

“You two tell anyone?” I look at Miggy and Neil. Both shake their heads. Which leaves us with: “What about Josh?”

“Don’t know,” Miggy provides. “He’s pretty much gone his own way since.”

Clearly, Josh’s path involved a lot of drinking. Which is worth considering. Drunks talk.

“This changes nothing,” Martin states finally. “Either way, Tim vanished in these mountains. And now, for the first time, we’ve discovered signs of his passage. Nemeth says your dog picked up scent near the cave.” Martin regards Luciana.

“Daisy picked up a trail, but I can’t say of what, given we weren’t able to trace it back.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Martin’s tone is firm. “We’ll head back to the cliff. Give ourselves plenty of time to search.”

“Daisy are I are leaving in the morning.” Luciana’s voice is equally resolute. “This isn’t what I signed up for. I need to put myself and my dog’s safety first.”

“Now, wait a second—”

Luciana doesn’t let Martin finish. “He needs real medical assistance.” She points at Neil, then changes her focus to Nemeth. “When I get down, I’ll notify the sheriff. There’s plenty of places to land a chopper in this canyon. They can medevac him out.”

Nemeth nods.

Martin gets flustered. “Just wait. No need to make any decisions right now. It’s been a long day; we could all use some rest.”

Nemeth is looking at me. “Are you going with her?”

“No.”

“No one should be hiking alone, especially on backcountry trails.” He turns to Bob. “You?”

“I’ll stay.” His gaze slides to Martin as if for confirmation. What is the deal with them? Five-thousand-dollar donation to the Bigfoot Society, my ass.

“We’ll stay with Neil.” Miggy and Scott speak up without being asked. “We learned our lesson about leaving a man behind. We’re not making that mistake again.”

Nemeth nods, purses his lips, clearly still moving the players around in his head. I understand him wanting someone to go with Luciana. I even have an idea on the subject. But I’m already guessing Nemeth is the kind of guy who likes to arrive at solutions on his own.

“Let’s sleep on it,” Nemeth says at last. He stands, stretches out. “You two, take turns monitoring him. Wake him up every hour.” Miggy and Scott nod.

“Keep your eyes out,” I add. “For anything moving in these woods, sounds that don’t belong. Something else is going on here.”

Everyone glances at Nemeth, who slowly but surely nods. “These aren’t the woods I know,” he says.

Luciana climbs to her feet, Daisy appearing happy to be moving.

I follow them to our tents.

“I’ll touch base with you in the morning,” Luciana says, “in case you change your mind.”

“How long before this chopper arrives?”

“It’s a solid eight-hour hike out, given the terrain. Then Daisy and I will need to hitch a ride to town, contact the sheriff. Depending on chopper availability . . .” She wags her head, considering. “My guess, as early as tomorrow evening or as late as the following morning.”

“Roughly twenty-four hours,” I murmur. I’d like to think I can survive anything for twenty-four hours. “Sleep tight,” I tell her.

“You, too.”

But we both know that’s not going to happen.



* * *



—

When I finally tumble into sleep, it is a train wreck of old fears and new anxieties. I’m stumbling through a pile of bones, struggling to climb out while skeletal hand after skeletal hand latches onto my ankles.

I can hear the bones whispering in glee. I belong to them. This is my home. Then I’m staring at a grinning new skull as Timothy O’Day pulls me into his bony embrace.



* * *



—

I jerk awake, breathing hard. First I check that my knife is still tucked under my pillow. Then I take a long sip of water. Finally, I realize the walls of my tent have brightened with daylight. I’ve never been so grateful to get up.

I unzip my tent and climb out to discover three things at once: