One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(36)

“Figures you’re a morning person,” I grumble at her.

She wags her tail again, then licks my cheek, as we are at face level. I think her breath might actually smell better than mine.

Then another fragrance hits me, rich and beguiling. It pulls me from my tent to standing position. Coffee. Thank God, hot java. I might make it after all.

I appear to be the last one awake, but not the only person to be suffering. Scott, Neil, and Miggy have taken up positions on the longest log, clutching stainless steel thermoses filled with steaming brew and staring sightlessly at the dancing fire. Their hair is unkempt, their clothes rumpled, their shoulders slumped. Scott has replaced his torn shirt from last night but still has bloodstains on his sweatpants. No one seems to notice.

Nemeth is working the fire. At my approach, he offers up a tin of instant coffee, followed by a box of instant oatmeal. I start with the coffee, spooning it into my stainless steel water bottle, then adding boiling water. I think I’m getting used to the cooking aspect of camping, as well as the one cup, one spork approach to fine dining.

Martin is puttering in front of his tent. He appears to be tidying up, though what exactly there is to be set to rights remains a mystery to me. I suspect he’s mostly keeping himself distracted, funneling his emotions into busywork. I recognize the technique.

I take a seat next to Luciana, who is appallingly gorgeous even at this hideous hour. Glowing brown skin, glossy black hair, thickly lashed eyes.

As if reading my mind: “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” she intones perfectly and shoots me a wicked smile. I have to laugh, which quickly devolves into a wince.

Bob sits across from us on the ground. He lifts his cup as a morning greeting. I return the gesture, then take the first bitter swig of boiling-hot java and scorch my tongue. It burns, but I savor the pain.

Luciana holds out her hand to me. It takes me a moment to spot the two white tablets in her hand. “Ibuprofen?”

“Do you want a hundred for both, or a hundred per tablet?”

“I’ll take your firstborn child.”

“Deal.”

I toss back the pills with more hot coffee, searing off some of the lining in my throat. Still don’t care.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Best not to think about it.”

“Agree. Daisy and I get out and about, but an entire day of hard hiking is still an entire day of hard hiking. Definitely a different experience from disaster recovery.”

Daisy has left us for Bob, sniffing around the redheaded giant, before sitting and staring at him with clear expectation.

“Dogs don’t like oatmeal,” he informs her, clutching his cup of breakfast more tightly to his chest.

Daisy’s expression disagrees.

“She’s recovered nicely,” I comment, gesturing to the yellow Lab mix.

“Daisy always bounces back. Hence her name. I’ve never seen anything that could keep that dog down.”

Daisy wags her tail at Bob again. He stubbornly shovels several sporkfuls of oatmeal into his mouth.

I wonder if he or Martin and Nemeth have broken the news to the group yet about our missing food. Judging by everyone’s sleepy looks, I doubt it. The mood is much too mellow for people who have woken up to impending doom.

Scott is rubbing absently at his chest.

“How are you?” I call over to him.

“I’ll live.” His tone is subdued. He doesn’t look happy this morning, but neither do Miggy and Neil. I wonder if the three of them were able to go back to sleep last night. Or if they lay awake, thinking of that other night, five years ago. When Scott also went missing. And nothing was ever the same again.

Will they be relieved to learn their mission just got cut short? Or at this stage, do they just want to keep on trucking till they finally locate Tim’s body and can then get on with their lives? I know which way Miggy would vote. Neil, I have no idea. And Scott . . . Assuming we stumble upon Tim’s remains and Scott gets to gaze at last upon his best friend’s sun-bleached bones . . .

How in the world was he going to go from that to his new life with Tim’s former bride-to-be?

Scott rubs his chest again, stares at the glowing fire.

I finish my coffee, then hobble over to the breakfast pickings. Instant oatmeal it is, topped with almonds and brown sugar for extra energy. One thing I will say for this level of physical exertion, it makes all food taste amazing. I already want seconds and thirds—which isn’t going to happen given last night’s events.

I flicker a gaze at Martin, who is still avoiding us, then stare hard at Nemeth. He seems to take the hint, clearing his throat, rising to standing.

“We’ve had a development,” he states. One by one, the guys look up at him. Across the way, Martin finally ceases his puttering. “Last night, an animal got into our food supplies, shredding two of the bags. Daisy’s stash is fine. The rest of us are down several dozen meal kits.”

“What?” Neil stands up. “Some beast got into our food? I thought those were animal-safe bags.”

“What matters is that the same animal didn’t enter our camp—”

“You mean like a bear?” Miggy, also rising to standing.

Nemeth’s jaw tightens. “We’re safe. We were also able to recover most of the MREs—”

“How much is most?” Neil again.