One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(69)

“Frankie?” Bob prods with concern.

But I can only shake my head.

“Did . . . did you find him? Was Tim’s body in there?”

I shrug, because I honestly have no idea.

Bob hands me my water bottle. He forces me to take a drink. Then, when I remain a silent statue, he wraps his huge arms around me. He pulls me into his massive sweaty form and I don’t mind. I focus on the feel of him, solid and warm.

I start to shake then. And once I do, I can’t stop. Then I’m crying. And once I do, I can’t stop.

Bob whispers words of soothing. He strokes my hair. He cradles me against him as if I’m a child.

I cling to him. In the way I was never allowed to cling to my parents. Harder than I even clung to Paul, because I knew from the very beginning his love would be too much.

But now, I don’t let go. I absorb every last ounce of Bob’s comfort. I soak it in and reach for more, leaching from him wave after wave of compassion, demanding it. Till he’s shaking, too, though he doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s also crying, because tears can be contagious. We shudder together like shipwreck survivors, desperate to feel saved.

I don’t want to pull away. I want to stay here, plastered against my own personal Bigfoot.

But there’s no security here. We need to retrieve Marty, then hightail it back to camp and hurl ourselves into the first chopper that appears. We need to get the hell out of this valley and never come back.

Slowly, I pull away. Till only Bob’s hands remain on my shoulders, lending me strength.

He peers at me with solemn blue eyes. “Frankie? Did you find Tim? Is that what this is?”

I lick my lips. Take a deep breath and let the words come. “I don’t know. I didn’t find one body. I found eight.”



* * *



—

We make a break for it. Both of us moving fast and low as we scramble up the steep rock pile. Eyes everywhere. That’s all I can think. If we’re being watched, then our hunter knows we’ve discovered his lair. Eight bodies later, what’s a few more?

We burst topside, and I feel an immediate gust of cold wind, while in the next instant, the daylight dims dramatically. Another thunderstorm rolling in. Meaning we really have to hustle. Grab Martin. Race for camp. Go, go, go.

Bob is still behind me, trying to make himself as small a target as a bear-sized human can be. I run flat out, leaping across the gaps between these larger stones, stumbling over smaller stones. I can see the cave entrance just up ahead.

Martin appears, frowning at us. We’ve been gone far longer than twenty minutes, and no doubt he’s also noticed the incoming storm. He seems more alert, which makes me feel guilty for the news I’m about to deliver. But there’s no time for niceties anymore.

I burst into the cave, careening past Martin, Bob hot on my heels. Marty falls back with us, clearly perturbed. Then in the next instant, as if some internal radar has pinged to life:

“Did you find it? Was it Tim? Take me to him. Now!”

He’s already whirling for the cave entrance when Bob grabs his arm. “Stop. Listen. Frankie, tell him.”

“We discovered another boulder chamber,” I babble. “I crawled inside. There were bodies. Eight bodies. I saw them. I have no idea if one of them is Tim. I’m so sorry.”

Martin doesn’t move. He peers at me as if I might’ve spoken English, but it came out as gibberish. “Eight bodies?”

“Yes.”

“You mean like an ancient burial chamber for Indigenous people?”

“I don’t think there’s anything ancient about this.”

“But if it’s recent . . . how can there be eight?”

I hesitate, glancing at Bob. “We’ve heard of other missing hikers. I don’t know. But there were eight.”

Martin cocks his head at me, clearly trying to process what I’ve said, but coming up short. I take another deep breath, then do my best to describe something I never want to see again.

“The remains appear mummified. No clothing, no gear. Some probably male, some female, though I’m judging by hair length.” Bile rises in my throat. I force it back down.

“Um, I’d guess some of the remains have been there for a while. They were . . . further along. Others appeared more recent, but not . . . fresh.” I don’t know how to explain it exactly, and I don’t want to try.

Bob and Martin remain silent.

“The bodies were laid out next to each other. A progression of sorts, oldest to newest. I could see damage to either their skulls or their chests, sometimes both.” I blink rapidly. “Maybe gunshot wounds. Also, some kind of mark on their necks . . . I think . . . I think maybe their throats had been slit.”

Bob murmurs, “Bled out?”

Martin is staring at both of us. “You’re saying these people were murdered?”

“I think there’s a reason someone tried to warn you away from coming here. Then did their best to get us to leave again.”

“But that person wouldn’t want to have called too much attention,” Bob follows my line of thinking. “Hence starting out with threats, sabotage. He wants to keep people away, his secret safe. Except now that we know . . .”

The wind has picked up outside, the sky falling darker.