One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(80)

My attention is so distracted I almost don’t see it at first. Then, just out of the corner of my eye, a spot of red. Bright red.

Carefully I creep my way through the trees, till I have a better view of the object. I cross over, pick it up, cradle it in my hands.

My stomach plummets. My blood runs cold. I don’t want it to be. It can’t be. It shouldn’t be.

And yet it is.

Much more slowly, I return to the others, my sad discovery clutched tight against my chest.





CHAPTER 32





Everyone is sitting around the hollow when I first approach. Miggy glances up sharply as a twig snaps beneath my foot. I wave my hand frantically before he starts pointing his firearm. It would figure that I survived all of yesterday’s trials just to be shot by a paranoid companion now.

“I’m sure the SAR team will be here anytime,” Bob is saying as I join the group. My water bottle is nearly empty. At least I had a moment to pee behind a bush before reappearing. Luciana was right—outdoor life is changing me.

I don’t really know how to announce what I’ve discovered, so I simply hold out the torn red fabric.

Bob’s voice fades. He blinks his eyes several times.

Scott beats him to the punch: “That’s Daisy’s vest.”

I nod.

“The one she wears when not working. She had it on yesterday morning.”

I nod again.

Scott takes it from me, fingers the fabric. “It’s been ripped. Several places. Like . . .” He pauses, looks up at me. “There’s some blood.”

I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry. I nod again.

Now Bob takes the vest, then Neil and Miggy after him. All of us must see it for ourselves, feel it for ourselves. Process the significance, all by ourselves.

“Where did you find this?” Bob asks finally.

“Near a pine I’d climbed up, opposite side of the stream. It looks like it got snagged on a downed log.”

Neil takes a deep breath, then states what the rest of us have realized but don’t want to know. “They went off trail. Like us. Meaning . . . they were most likely being pursued. Like us.”

Reasonable assumptions.

“When did you first start hearing activity at the camp yesterday?” Bob asks Miggy, Scott, and Neil. “When did the stolen meals start reappearing?”

Miggy shrugs. “Late morning, maybe? Elevenish?”

“This is only a mile from the campsite. Nemeth, Luciana, and Daisy took off shortly after seven. If someone was following them . . . They could’ve been attacked here. Killer would still have plenty of time to hike back to the canyon.”

“We have Nemeth’s rifle,” Neil murmurs quietly.

Meaning the guide would’ve been unarmed. “Luciana told me she didn’t do guns,” I speak up now. “Still, I wouldn’t want to take on the three of them. You know they’d put up a helluva fight.”

“Unless he ambushed them like he did Martin,” Bob says slowly. “Had already taken up position with his rifle. Shot Nemeth first, eliminating the biggest threat, then hit Luciana. After which Daisy would’ve taken off into the woods. Maybe she snagged the vest herself, ripped it pulling herself free.”

I feel both nauseous and hopeful considering Bob’s words. Ill because of what it meant for Nemeth and Luciana. Optimistic for Daisy, who might still be out there, racing through the forest.

“We should go back to the main trail,” Scott says. “Look for signs of violence. We could’ve missed them last night in the dark.”

“And walk straight into the killer’s sights?” Miggy counters. “No way. Whatever happened, happened. Real question is what do we do now?”

“Hope for the best, plan for the worst,” I murmur. “Meaning . . . if we assume Nemeth and Luciana didn’t make it, then we also have to assume no chopper is about to magically arrive. We’re on our own.”

“I want to go,” Bob states suddenly. “I need to see for myself what happened. I need to know.”

We all stare at him, uncertain how to argue with a crazy man, let alone a crazy man twice our size.

“I’ll go on my own,” he continues. “Sneak back to the clearing, do some investigating, then return.”

“And if you get shot?” Scott asks.

“Then you’ll have your answer. Hunter is here and ready to rumble.”

“Don’t get shot,” I inform Bob, rubbing my shoulder self-consciously. “I can, um . . . I can return to where I found Daisy’s vest, see if there’s anything more to discover.”

“To what end?” Neil asks tiredly. “Either way . . . on our own.”

Scott raises a hand. “I, uh, I need some help.”

We watch wide-eyed as he slowly unpeels his top layers, then pulls off his T-shirt. I might’ve gasped first, but the others weren’t far behind.

The wounds on his chest, the two jagged gashes superglued by Luciana two nights ago . . . They aren’t just red and inflamed. I can see yellow pus now weeping out the edges, let alone more pockets of infection sitting there, right under his skin.

“Dude, how are you even sitting up?” Miggy asks him.

“Are there supposed to be two of you?”