Page 23 of Canyon of Deceit
“Maybe I’ve heard of them. I’ll keep thinking.” She tossed me a weary smile. “You look exhausted. And I’m operating on fumes.”
A look at her drawn features and a few fine lines around her eyes confirmed they’d endured the same grueling type of day. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep and search tomorrow. Leaving at five a.m. stretches my beauty sleep, but I’m looking forward to a Guadalupe Mountain sunrise.”
She massaged her neck muscles. “Part of the road there is free range, so we’ll also need to keep our eyes open for cattle and deer.”
I nodded. “Cattle I can manage from the time I spent working on my uncle’s ranch. Negotiating with potential terrorists is a game of wits, and I thrive on the challenge.”
“Well, a challenge you will get,” she said. “Dog Canyon’s labyrinthine structure disorients many hikers. People can wander around dehydrated, suffer with the warm temps during the day and the freezing temps at night, until they find help or die.”
“Like you, I’ve given all I had to a situation only to find a victim dead,” I said.
She swallowed hard. “Those incidents haunt me for months. Where did you receive your training before becoming a Ranger?”
“Total of ten years with Houston Police Department and the Texas Department of Safety. I was attracted to the Rangers’ versatility, and not once have I regretted my decision. I went from riding broncs and stopping bad guys to negotiating with them.”
“How long have you been with them?” she said.
“Six years in January.”
“You’ve accomplished a lot. I read your personnel report during the time I taught the survival class.”
“Did you think I was hot?” I bit back a chuckle at her look of surprise.
“I examined every Ranger’s background.” She fought to hide a hint of a smile.
“I’ll bet mine was the most impressive.”
She laughed. “Oh, of course. I’d forgotten about your humility and incredible charm.”
“Therese, we need sleep.”
TWELVE
THERESE
At 5:00 a.m., I waved at Blane in the hotel lobby, his mass of rusty-red hair wet from the shower. And hosting a cowboy grin minus his Texas Ranger gear.
“You look rested,” I said.
“You mean I’m not wearing saddlebags under my eyes?”
“I call them pits, but your description works.”
He’d opted for hiking pants, a brand with sun protection and water-resistant. A long-sleeved shirt with the same qualities, hiking boots, a puffer jacket with a hood tossed over his arm, and a backpack. A wide-brimmed sun hat sat angled on his head, giving him a seasoned hiker flair. I sorta missed the Stetson. His five-pointed-star badge must be in his zippered pants pocket. A Ranger never went anywhere without it. He’d listened in class those months ago, and together we looked like pro hikers.
We filled paper cups with the hotel’s freshly brewed coffee.
“I have a favor to ask,” he said in his best Texan drawl. “Would you drive since you’re familiar with the area?”
“Sure.”
He tossed me the keys, and we set out on US Highway 180 to find Alina and scale whatever obstacles the kidnappers placed in our way.If the sun had been up, we’d have taken the extra time to stop at the abandoned airstrip south of Hobbs to scan the area.
“I’m sure the wind has blown dust and dirt across most of the tracks of a private aircraft, vehicle tire tracks, or footprints,” Blane said. “Sergio told me the FBI are on their way to the landing strip this morning.”
“Their own agenda?”
“He said the FBI questioned and requestioned Rurik. A search team was assigned to his home, office, and car. I’m glad they and the Rangers are investigating this with technology that you and I can’t carry in our backpacks.”
