Page 32 of Canyon of Deceit
“Negotiations take self-restraint to read people. Here’s my take. Find out what’s driving Chandler and the ROC, learn about their past, read and interpret their body language, trust your instincts, and be ourselves. We’re not alone in this. I’m having a tough time proceeding without a clear picture, with only speculation... Are we walking into a trap?” He held up his hand. “We talked about this on the way here. Doesn’t mean I’ve given it a rest.”
The compassion in his tone failed to soothe me. “Alina’s life hangs in the balance.”
Blane let out a long sigh. “Years ago, my mother said children were to be protected at all costs. They are our future, our world’s treasure and hope in humanity.”
“Wise woman.” But I hadn’t protected Kate...
“I’ll introduce you after Alina is found.”
“Thanks.” I’d wanted an older woman as a friend and mentor for years. Preferably one who shared my faith, and perhaps Blane’s mother shared those traits. My mother had been too occupied with caring for Kate during her illness to help me through my rough times, but I missed Mom after all these years—or the relationship we could have shared.
I peeked at my watch. “We’ve been hiking for seven hours. I’d like to search another thirty minutes or so before we set up camp.”
Time. Alina’s biggest predator. Our biggest enemy. The FBI were on schedule to arrive in the morning, and a delay meant Alina’s captors might hike out of the park.
“Therese?”
I kept walking.
“Therese, you can’t ignore reality. Bringing a child into these mountains is an easy way to dispose of her.”
I fought a nasty churning in the pit of me. “You’re right. The odds are against finding Alina alive, except I refuse to give up hope.”
“Where has that gotten you? I’m not criticizing but trying to find out what drives you to attempt the impossible.”
His gentle tone wrapped me in a safe cocoon. “Hope is a reason to live when the world erupts into madness.”
SIXTEEN
BLANE
We’d hiked miles today over off-trail terrain and often doubled back to recheck obscure signs, but nothing surfaced. If Chandler had trekked this way, he’d left no visible trace. The view displayed nature’s paintbrush in unexpected ways. Shades of brown and gray swirled into deep rose stood as a stark contrast to a cloudless blue sky.
We pitched tents and made camp. Cold gusty winds blew around and through us, much like my attitude. My sixth sense had never failed me, and it warned me we were being watched. Who was obvious. But how and where from? I slipped behind one of the trees and reconned our surroundings. Nothing looked off, but foreboding pressed down hard. My teen years on the rodeo circuit were useless, but my wilderness-survival class gave me a little insight.
Therese eyed me warily. Did she feel the same sensation? “You feel the uneasiness?”
“Yep. Keep your eyes open.”
“I have. Creepy.”
“Make sure your gun is within easy reach.”
She patted the side of her backpack. “I’m good. Ready to help build a fire?”
She’d explained the process months ago during our Rangertraining, and I hadn’t practiced other than barbecuing. Fortunately, my recall was good. I dug a hole according to her instructions using a small trowel from my backpack, and we laid stones around it. We gathered dried grass, kindling, and a few pieces of dried wood. She arranged them, and as I watched her at work, she stoked my admiration. Not sure why I let myself continue to fall for a woman who had this God-thing going.
She bent to the pit with her fire starter and fanned a fledgling spark into a flame. Shielding it with her hand, she blew lightly, nursing it with patience and skill. She added dry tinder just like I’d been taught as a Boy Scout back in the day. She roughed up finger-size kindling and carefully placed it on the fire. Dried wood came next, forming the fire into a triangle. Her skill impressed me as... intrinsic.
“Glad we have permission to build this,” I said.
“Right. We’re cold, and I much prefer nature’s cookstove. I’ll build it low—”
“Chandler’s already on to us.”
Her gaze darted to me. “You still feel him breathing down our necks?”
“Yep. My SIG always stays within inches of my fingers. I’ll take the first watch tonight.” No one ever lived to say they saw Chandler coming, but I wouldn’t state it.
