The Wrong Bones (Widow's Island #10)(11)

“Let’s get out of sight and surprise him.” Tessa brought the pack with her.

They backed out of the clearing and crouched behind a patch of thick underbrush twenty feet from the campsite. The dirt bike approached and came to a stop on the other side of the clearing. Logan peered around a tree trunk. Through the foliage, he saw a teenage boy of about sixteen dismount and make his way to his tent. The kid obviously had little experience in the woods. He sounded like a bulldozer plowing through the brush. Tessa tapped Logan’s arm, pointed to herself, and then motioned to the other side of the clearing. Logan nodded, and she eased away.

The boy brought an armload of sticks to the campfire. Squatting, he arranged the wood in the circle of rocks, then dug in his pocket and produced a small box of matches.

Logan stepped out from behind the underbrush. “Do not light that match. The entire state is under a fire ban.”

The boy jumped to his feet and whirled around. “Who the fuck are you?” He wore jeans, a filthy gray T-shirt, and sneakers. His blond hair was cut short on the sides and a little longer on the top.

“Ranger Wilde,” Logan said. “Who are you?”

The boy took a few steps backward. He glanced at his tent. Calculating the distance, Logan thought, and deciding if he could grab the pack and take off.

“This is an illegal campsite,” Logan said in a calm voice. “You could have started a major forest fire.”

The boy shrugged. “It’s out.”

“Because I put it out.” Logan took in the kid’s dirty clothes and leanness. Teen boys were often skinny, but this kid seemed stressed as well.

“I need the fire to boil water,” the kid said.

“Right now, hikers and campers need to pack their own water into the park or use a purification system,” Logan said. “What’s your name?”

Instead of answering, the teen spun and darted toward his tent. He ducked inside for a second. Straightening, he glowered at Logan. “Where’s my pack?”

On the other side of the clearing, Tessa stepped out, holding up the backpack. “Looking for this?”

“Hey! That’s mine!” the teen yelled. “You can’t steal my stuff.”

“I’m Deputy Black, and you are breaking the law here.” Tessa used a stern voice.

The boy glared at them, his eyes full of resentment.

“How old are you?” Tessa asked. “You don’t look eighteen.”

“Fuck you.” For all his bravado, the kid was trembling. “I can camp wherever I want. I have rights! This is a free country.”

“That’s a slogan, not reality.” Logan didn’t bother to disguise his irritation. “You need a permit to camp, and you have to use an authorized site. The state park isn’t free. Land and facilities don’t maintain themselves.”

“Fuck you!” the kid repeated before spinning around and running toward the woods.

Logan sprinted after him, with Tessa right behind him. He could hear the kid’s ragged breathing already. The teen glanced over his shoulder.

“Look out!” Logan yelled. “There’s a drop-off ahead.”

The boy skidded to a stop mere feet from a twenty-foot cliff. Turning, the teen whipped a folding knife from his pocket and extended the blade. He backed up, glancing down at his feet and behind him at the drop. He shifted the knife back and forth in the air. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Give me my backpack.”

Tessa automatically put her hand on her gun. “Drop the knife. Now.”

The last thing Logan wanted to do was hurt a scared teenager. Plus, it was more of a multitool than a knife. The blade was small. But it was pointy.

Logan assessed the wind and pulled the bear spray off his belt. Tessa would have pepper spray on her duty belt, but Logan’s had a twenty-five-foot range. “Drop the knife. You can’t get away, and you don’t want a spray of this. Trust me.”

The kid swallowed. A tear leaked from his eye. “You can’t make me go back.” He looked behind him again.

“Go back where?” Logan asked. “Home?”

The kid didn’t answer, but his eyes projected misery and desperation.

Logan softened his voice. “You look hungry.”

The kid licked his lips. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“I won’t lie to you. I can’t make any promises,” Tessa said in a coaxing voice. “I don’t know what’s going on. Put down the knife, we’ll get you a meal, and we’ll talk, okay?”

The kid dragged the toe of his black Converse through the dirt. “I don’t know.”

“How long do you think you can live out here?” Logan asked. “It’s going to get cold. You don’t have any food.”

Defeat weighed down the boy’s entire body. He slowly lowered the knife to his side. He opened his hand, and it dropped to the dirt.

“Kick it away,” Tessa instructed.

The teen flipped the knife’s handle with the toe of his shoe, sending the knife a few feet across the ground. Logan walked closer and picked up the weapon. After folding the blade, he slid it into the cargo pocket of his pants.

The kid stepped away from the cliff, turned around, and put his hands behind his back, as if expecting to be handcuffed. Logan and Tessa shared a glance. She shook her head.