One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(66)

I manage to nod. My heart is slowing, my adrenaline fading. I feel faintly foolish, but still shaky. I pick my way slowly into the impressively large cave, Martin’s great discovery from yesterday.

The space is so tall not even Bob has to worry about head space. It’s wide, too. Like, gather-twelve-of-your-closest-friends-and-enjoy-the-bonfire kind of wide. Which is where Marty is now, sitting on the rocky ground, staring at the charred remains of wood and ash, encircled by two dozen perfectly symmetrical, golf-ball-sized rocks.

Marty’s right: The stone fire ring is a work of beauty, showing an aesthetic touch when none was required. Is this Tim’s signature? Particularly pretty campfires? Or is this how a lost, lonely hiker distracted himself? By searching through the endless supply of rubble to find the pebbles that were just right.

Marty looks up as we approach. He isn’t just studying the rocks, but once again touching them. As if he can still feel his son’s fingers upon them. Now he takes in my grimy appearance and frowns.

“What the hell happened to you?”

I do my best to explain. About subterranean pockets beneath some of the boulder piles. The potential for our watcher to be anywhere, everywhere. Above us on the cliff face. Beside us in one of the caves. Below us in a hidey-hole.

My voice grows agitated as I speak. But Marty shows little expression. His attention appears miles away. I’m not sure he’s even listening, then I wonder if it matters.

I don’t think Martin’s searching for his missing son anymore. He’s holding vigil for his lost family.

“How big was the opening again?” Bob asks me when I’m done.

“Maybe two feet high?”

“So big enough for a male or a female.”

“Yes. Though, couldn’t be a huge guy.” I glance at him pointedly. “But Martin-or Nemeth-sized would definitely fit.”

“It would have to be someone who knows this area well. Even Nemeth never mentioned anything like an underground den.”

“Gotta be a local,” I agree.

“But why would one of the townspeople attack Neil?” Bob asks.

“Why would anyone send threatening e-mails to warn Martin not to return? Then go through additional steps to sabotage this search before it ever began?”

Martin finally manages a shrug in answer to all these questions. Then he returns his undivided attention to the circle of stones. I focus on Bob, who seems to be the only other functional adult.

“Was Devil’s Canyon always the target of this year’s expedition?” I ask him.

He nods.

“And how many people know that?”

“It’s public knowledge. Nemeth filed the paperwork requesting permission months ago. It’s a matter of protocol when leading an expedition into a wilderness area. Lets district rangers know what’s going on. Also, the permit can be used to launch rescue efforts if your party doesn’t return after the listed timeframe.”

“In other words, plenty of people would know.” I pause. “Five years later, Martin’s efforts aren’t a new variable, right? And he’s never gotten threatening messages before.”

“No.”

“Then it’s gotta be this area. That’s what’s new. Devil’s Canyon itself. Someone doesn’t want outsiders here.”

Bob remains thoughtful. “Nemeth said this area wasn’t well trafficked but that other hikers do pass through. What would make our presence so special?”

“We’re not passing through,” I guess. “We’re staying and searching. And we brought a cadaver dog.”

“But attacking us would only bring more attention and people into this canyon.”

“Unless Neil wasn’t supposed to end up incapacitated. More like wounded enough we’d have to abort our efforts and return to civilization. Same with stealing our food. Further motivation for us to depart.”

“Except Neil can’t hike out. Most of us stayed, and the two other members of our party are now summoning the cavalry. That doesn’t bode well for our attacker’s mission.”

I gaze at him with troubled eyes. “Or it doesn’t bode well for us.”

“What do you mean—” Bob stops himself, arriving at the answer before he finishes asking the question. “You’re worried now the person will have to grow more serious, get rid of us once and for all.”

“I wish this canyon could talk,” I say quietly.

“Me, too.” Bob nods slowly. Then: “I think we should get back to the others now.”

“Agreed.”

We both turn toward Martin. Then our real work begins.



* * *



—

    Martin doesn’t argue, but neither does he agree. He pretends to listen but doesn’t appear to register any of our words.

I understand grief. I’ve witnessed its ravages before, felt its sharp teeth myself. I still don’t know what to do with Martin’s silent surrender. He’s gone from totally obsessed to completely shut down. I’m not sure which is worse.

In the end, Bob gives up on discussion, goes with a command. “You have twenty minutes,” he informs the man. “Then we’re leaving. All of us. Even you.”

Bob walks off, heading deeper into the cave to give Martin some space. I follow after him. The ceiling slopes down the farther away from the opening we get. There’s still plenty of distance before Bob has to duck.