When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(4)

She rummaged through her pack till she found the first aid kit, another purchase still bearing tags. She inspected the bare-bones offerings. Neosporin and Band-Aids it was.

Chuck flinched when she touched his heel, then made little whimpering noises in his throat. So much for the take-no-prisoners assistant district attorney. He considered himself to be the intense one, while she was his breath of fresh air.

She hadn’t the heart to tell him he had no idea how much courage it took to help wounded animals, and just how tough you had to be to realize when medical intervention wouldn’t be enough, and that last, final step was all you could offer the sweet, trusting eyes staring back up at you.

She let him have his man pride now, trying not to sigh too loudly as she gently dabbed the antibiotic cream on his raw heel, then covered it with a Band-Aid. Not a perfect fix, she already knew, as his stiff boots would continue to rub.

“We should go back,” she suggested.

“No way. Not this close.”

“We still have a mile to the summit, not to mention the hike back down.”

“I can do it. It’s just a blister.”

“Didn’t you once say blisters are the worst enemy of the long-distance runner?”

“This isn’t a long distance.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“I thought it was the puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t have puppy dog eyes!” He was already working his sock back on.

“Puppy dog hair?” she suggested, giving up the battle she already knew she would lose. She returned the first aid kit to her pack, looking off in the distance as he slid his foot back into his boot. He was gritting his teeth, hard.

Janet rose to standing, watching Chuck lace up his boot, then hobble about as if he were magically all better.

She retrieved her water bottle from the side pouch for a long drink. It didn’t help. She was hot, sweaty, and completely done with the great outdoors.



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CHUCK RESUMED THE HIKE. HE was going to destroy his own foot, no doubt about it. Would rub off all the skin and be in pain for days to come. And she’d get to hear about it. Again and again. Like the man-flu, except for feet.

New objective: Get to the top, take in the view, snap a selfie, retreat. Then, never speak of this day again.

Chuck’s limping grew more and more pronounced. Janet trudged along, waiting, waiting . . .

“I want a stick,” Chuck announced abruptly.

He stopped and she nearly ran into him.

“A stick?” she said.

“Like a walking stick. I think it will help.”

“Sure.” Because a wooden staff would stop his foot from rubbing against his brand-new boot?

But Chuck was now a man with a plan. They’d come to a turn in the trail. A slightly flatter spot, but up this high, the trees were shorter and Janet didn’t see much in the way of fallen branches. Chuck shrugged out of his pack. She followed suit, grateful for the break even if she didn’t completely understand the mission.

They set their packs beside a boulder, then Chuck took the first step off the trail, heading deeper into the shade of the trees. Janet wasn’t sure she liked this, but found herself following.

There were low leafy shrubs everywhere; Janet hadn’t a clue what anything was called. But a thin path seemed to wind between the underbrush. Chuck hobbled forward, eyes peeled for the right stick, branch, something. Janet kept casting glances back where they’d left the trail.

Isn’t this how people died? Wandering off trail, never to be seen again?

Chuck came to a small clearing. The ground was flatter and rockier here. They were definitely off the beaten path, this area covered in layers of decaying leaves. It smelled of mold, Janet thought, crinkling her nose. But ahead was a huge, broadleaf tree and around it, yes, a scattering of debris.

Chuck limped to the base of the tree. Started looping around. Janet stayed put, one eye still on the exit route behind them.

“Hey, look at this!”

Chuck emerged from the other side of the tree trunk, carrying a bleached-out stick.

Janet frowned. “Isn’t that too short?”

“Yeah, yeah. But just look at it. The silver gray tone, and it’s so smooth.” He ran his hand along its length. “Not a trace of bark and so perfectly weathered. But still hard as a rock. I wonder how long this stick has been here? How many years to achieve this perfect degree of fossilization?”

He was closer to her now, that grin back on his face. Like a dog with a toy, she thought. Which is when she got her first true look at his prize.

“Chuck . . .”

“What?” He came to a halt beside her.

“That’s not a stick.”

He hefted it up. Long, weathered, and smooth, just as he’d described it. With two distinctly round knobs at the end.

Janet did not want to say what she had to say next.

“What?” he demanded again.

“Chuck, that’s a bone. A femur bone, if I had to guess. And given the length and width, not any animal I know of. Which leaves . . .”

Chuck dropped it. And there went Janet’s romantic weekend, as her badass boyfriend began to scream.



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