One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(49)

Nemeth, staring hard at Martin: “First hazard of any search and rescue—seeing what you want to see versus what’s really there.”

Heaven help me, I raise my hand. “I found something, too.”

Both men stop arguing, turn to stare at me. Nemeth is scowling while Martin regards me with the kind of feverish intensity only a grieving parent can know. I’m now the center of everyone’s attention.

Deep breath: “I’m not convinced Tim would take shelter. I thought he might try to climb the cliff face instead.”

“You didn’t even know him.” Miggy speaks up, tone hostile.

“I didn’t. But I’ve been learning about Tim through all of you. And all of you loved him very much.”

Neil chitters, “Saint Timothy!” Scott glares at him.

“Tim didn’t have any rock-climbing gear,” Nemeth states at last.

“Maybe he didn’t need it. Pulling back, I was able to identify a path of sorts. Tricky, and probably terrifying. But the cliff wall is riddled with protrusions and ledges. If someone was desperate enough, he could think it worth trying.”

“No way,” Nemeth says, just as Martin speaks up. “What did you find?”

“Something dark green. Maybe an article of clothing? It’s about a third of the way up. Too high for me to see clearly. But there’s definitely something there. I marked the spot with a cairn. You can take a pair of binoculars and check it out for yourself.”

Martin reaches immediately for his pack, as if to retrieve said binoculars. Nemeth grabs his arm.

“For God’s sake, man, the living matter more than the dead.”

“Take him back to camp.” Martin jerks his chin at Neil. “Do what you gotta do. But I’m not walking away. Not with this much daylight left.”

“So you can get your head bashed by the next falling rock?”

“She said dark green. Tim was wearing a green windbreaker. You know that. This is what we came here for. Now, let go of my arm, if you plan on keeping yours.”

My eyes widen at that, while the group swallows a collective gasp. Nemeth remains exactly as is, face set, hand wrapped tight around Martin’s wrist.

Then—

“Uh, guys.” Neil with his little laugh, sloppy, concussed grin. “Before you kill each other, might wanna consult with the rest of us.”

Nemeth and Martin remain fixed on each other, not inspired by the suggestion.

“I’m not going back to camp,” Neil continues breezily. “Not cuz I don’t want to. Sleeping bag? God, that sounds good. But, no way I can walk. The rocks are moving. Racing like a current. Do stones eat brains? I’ve never thought about it, but I think they enjoyed mine.”

Martin is startled enough by this new level of insanity to stop growling at Nemeth and regard his son’s injured friend. In response, Nemeth releases Martin’s arm, also considering.

“I’m gonna sit here,” Neil continues. “No. I’m gonna sit over there. Nice, shady spot where the sun can’t stab me in the eye. More water. More rest. Then maybe the rocks will hold still. And eventually I can make it back to camp. But right now? Not gonna happen.” Neil pauses. “Whoa. Why is my head bloody? Who are all of you? What the fuck?” Longer pause. “Never mind. Psych!”

We are all alarmed now, but Neil has a point. He’s in no shape to move, and given the rough footing here . . . I’m not sure we can even carry him out.

Bob tentatively raises his hand. “I don’t mind checking out the green fabric Frankie spotted. I mean, as long as Neil needs to rest . . .”

“You can’t make it up that path,” I inform him. “It’s meant for modestly sized humans, not aspiring Bigfoots.”

Bob bursts into a smile, clearly delighted by the comparison. Some of the mood lightens.

“We can go.” Miggy and Scott, united again.

We all take another breath, glance at Nemeth.

Martin speaks first: “I’ll go with Miguel and Scott to check out Frankie’s discovery.” He hesitates, then looks at Nemeth. “Maybe you, Luciana, and Daisy would like to explore the area around the cave I discovered. Given how the campfire’s been constructed in a certain individual style.”

“Someone should stay with Neil,” Luciana points out.

I raise my hand. “I can do that.”

Another moment. Then, short nod from Martin, short nod from Nemeth. We all exhale.

Miguel, Scott, and Bob move toward Martin. Nemeth, Luciana, and Daisy become a team of three. And Neil and I are now bosom buddies.

Neil starts laughing softly again.

“Saint Timothy,” he murmurs. “Oh, Saint Timothy, Saint Timothy. Everyone loves Saint Timothy.”

“Shhh,” I try to tell him.

But he only laughs harder as the others walk away.





CHAPTER 19





Enjoy . . . the show?” Neil asks me, as the others depart, leaving him and me tucked in a domed shelter created by a pile of collapsed boulders. Luciana produced an instant cold pack, which I wedged between the back of Neil’s skull and the rock he’s leaning against. His hair and neck are too bloody for me to tell if the laceration is still weeping or not, but at least he’s conscious.

“I put my money on Martin,” I say as I take a seat on the ground beside him. Smaller, scrabbly stones dig into my butt, and I shift around to get comfortable. “Nemeth is tough, but Martin is just short of crazy, and I never bet against crazy.”