Travis

“You just got out of the hospital,” dad reminded me, pointing at a green vinyl chair next to DC’s desk. “Park your butt for at least an hour. I know you’re not going to sleep, but you’re not doing yourself or her any good pacing like a caged animal.”

How many times had my dad tried to get me to rest? At least a dozen. And the old man was probably right. Ever since that first shock of coffee had worn off, my muscles had screamed with exhaustion. With a sigh, I sat.

Many of the searchers had come in to take a break during the darkest part of the night. A few were conversing over sandwiches and coffee. A handful of volunteers who lived close to town had gone home, but with promises that they’d all come back out before first light. Trying to continue the search now was not only dangerous for the searchers, but too much evidence could be missed, or worse, destroyed by people walking over it in the dark. I had participated in enough searches to understand that concept.

But those operations had all been part of my job. They hadn’t been my whole heart. I watched the people left in the office. As soon as my old man turned his back to talk to a neighbor, I got up and slipped out into the darkness. I stood against the back of Grant's truck, staring in the direction of the mountains where I knew without a doubt Christine was stranded, unable to contact us, probably hurt, likely injured. I struggled in the dark to see.

It was her face I conjured.

Christine’s face, with the Bluebell eyes flashing fire at me on a mountain road. Christine, flirting with me at her bar, performing a sexy song and dance. Christine looking over her shoulder with that half-smile, enticing me to follow her. With eyes darkened by passion when we kissed.

I imagined her face as she slept, her vulnerability slipping out. Eyes that held compassion for a defenseless baby animal. Her face, streaked with soot and set with defiance… lit by concern as she sat a vigil by my bed in the hospital. Then as I’d last seen her, eyes filled with hurt because she’d misunderstood my astonishment when she’d told me about Mac.

“I know you’re out there,” I whispered into the night. “You’re out there somewhere and I know you’re still alive. Sweetheart, I will find you.”

Not for years had I felt the sort of connection with another person that I had with Christine. Without her in my life, I might as well be dead, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be truly alive.

Headlights sliced across the blackness of the parking lot and I stood, prepared to meet the newcomers. But a sudden sense of misgiving kept me pinned to the safety of the shadows.

When I recognized the MacKays, my stomach heaved and I was glad I’d stayed put. I watched old Robert park directly in front of the door, as if he were somehow entitled to the best parking. Then MacKay and his wife entered the sheriff’s office, Deputy Sherwood on their heels.

A figure slipped through the darkness and joined him.

I was taller than average, but Max Freeman had a good three inches on me. Broad-shouldered, with muscular arms built by years of hands-on ranch work, he nonetheless carried himself with cat-like agility. Because Max was four years my senior, we had never really traveled the same circles, but we’d always been friendly on the few occasions our paths crossed.

I nodded. “Freeman.”

With typical reserve, Max nodded in return. “If DC’s not looking hard at those two, he should be. Something about them…” He shook his head. “She’s batshit crazy and he’s too quiet.”

Interest piqued, I focused on Freeman. “What happened?”

“We were up by the old logging roads.” Max adjusted his Stetson. “That’s an area that bears another look in the light. The old lady was pretty anxious that we officially mark the area as already searched.”

My head popped up. “Go on.”

Max shrugged and shook his head again. “It’s just a feeling. But if I’m right, McGee, we don’t have much time to find your lady.”

His message delivered, the taciturn man strolled toward the building, leaving me alone in the dark, with a renewed sense of urgency squeezing my lungs. The earliest fingers of dawn were just beginning to creep into the eastern horizon, when the first of the returning volunteers arrived.

I pulled a weary hand down my face, wishing I could wipe away the exhaustion that was as much mental as physical.

* * *

Christine

Daylight filtered into the cab when I opened my eyes again. The sharp scent of pine sap had become a dismal companion throughout the dark night, and with the coming of dawn it was easy to see why. At least a third of the cab was occupied by the branch that had crashed through the windshield. One leg was cramping. I had to move it. Praying the motion wouldn’t set the truck into more shifting, I managed to straighten the leg so it wasn’t underneath me. Blood rushing into the foot burned as though I’d walked over hot coals. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths until the searing eased.

How long had it been? Why hadn’t someone found me yet?

And Travis! Did he think I’d abandoned him?

Yellow-orange rays of sunlight touched the edge of the driver’s door window.

I could make out the radio overhead but it was beyond my reach. Every time I tried to stretch, the truck teetered and the tree outside the window groaned. In frustration, I slapped my hand on the seat, then froze as I felt the truck rock. How high up was I? It could be anywhere from several inches to a couple hundred feet. I wasn’t keen on the idea of answering that question with a long fall to the bottom of some canyon.

Slowly, moving mere centimeters at a time, I managed to settle myself, lying crossways on the seat. It was marginally more comfortable than being bunched behind the steering wheel. My foot brushed something at the end of the seat. Justin’s tool belt.

Stopping every time the tree groaned or the truck shifted, it seemed to take forever, but at last I managed to hook the tool belt with the pointed toe of my boot.

“Oh, thank you, God.”

It took even longer to work the tool belt up my leg until I could reach it with my fingers. When it was finally in my hands, I explored the contents. Wire cutters, pliers, a couple of screwdrivers, a utility knife, and a pair of gloves.

One of the screwdrivers was just long enough to touch the tip to the radio. I should be able to slide the radio out of its dock.

I drew in a couple of deep breaths to steady myself. I had one chance at it. If I popped the radio out of the dock and it landed out of reach, I might never be able to retrieve it.

“One, two, three!” I stretched up with the screwdriver in hand and caught the handheld radio on the side by the strap. It was so anticlimactic when the little radio was finally nestled in the palm of my hand that I cried with relief.

* * *

Travis

My cell phone rang, ripping through the tense silence that had fallen in the sheriff’s office during the briefing by search and rescue. Dan again. This time, I answered.

“You’re hard to get hold of,” said Dan.

“Hey, man, this isn’t a good time.”

“McGee, wait! I found your Jackie. We had her name wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll give you a call next week and explain.”

“Travis! She moved to your hometown. Her name’s—”

From across the room, the citizen band radio squawked. “Pine Haven Sheriff Department, this is Jocelyn Willow, operating Hawk MC Unit One on your frequency. Please show me Code 60, unknown location. Over.”

The voice I’d been seeking for seven years was coming from the sheriff’s base unit. “Angel?” My cell phone slipped from boneless fingers.