Page 24 of Bait and Switch
“Who says that kind of stuff anymore, ‘get laid’?”
“Obviously, I do,” she scoffed. “It sounds like you’re having a carnal relationship with that java you’re holding there.”
“I do not need to get laid.”
“Methinks the ranger doth protest too much.”
“Do not even misquote Hamlet to me.”
A small smile playing across her lips, Greta shrugged as if to sayI’m right and you know it.
There was no way in hell Casey was telling her he’d had a dream about Gabriel Karne. More than once. The same drawn-out, sensual, suggestive dream, several times over the past week. And each morning he’d woken up sweaty, hard, and wanting. But he refused to give in, so he’d also been unbearably grouchy. Casey had never felt the need to get laid before in his life, and Gabriel Karne was not relationship material.
Casey pressed his lips together to keep himself from continuing the conversation. Not that it was one. Greta would only take any denial as a challenge. Damn her and her Spidey senses. Because yes, Karne was attractive. And sexy. Something undefinable about him had Casey’s attention in a way very few ever had. But on the other hand, he was a dissolute grifterwith the moral compass of an alley cat. It was beyond Casey’s comprehension that Elton seemed to not only like Karne but also trust him. Charming Fucker he was and would remain.
For another couple of minutes, the two of them stood in place and listened to the sounds of the forest. What could it be telling them? The soft sounds that reached their ears were unremarkable. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but what they did hear was typical of a cold, snowy day.
A small creature scuffled in the salal and bearberry that grew on the hillside above them. Regardless of weather forecasts, the forest creatures needed to eat. Wet snow slid off a tree branch and plopped to the ground with an audible smack.
The critter squeaked again, higher pitched this time and a bit louder.
Greta cocked her head in the direction the sound came from.
“That doesn’t sound like any bird call I know of,” Casey said. He wasn’t a bird-call expert, but he’d spent a lot of time in these woods.
In tandem, he and Greta turned to face the incline. It was a dirt-covered boulder that didn’t quite qualify as a hill. There was just enough soil to allow the shallow-root shrubs to grow there, but no trees had found purchase.
“Carlos?” Greta called out.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence; the forest seemed to have inhaled a deep breath and held it. Then Casey heard a sound. Not a bird or a squirrel—a low moan. A human moan. He and Greta stared at each other.
“Carlos?” Casey said, making his voice gentle as possible. “We’re here to help. Can you make another sound? We’ve been looking all over the forest for you, buddy.”
The silence was amplified. As hard as Casey listened, the only things he could hear were the soft sound of Greta’s breathing, the wind through the treetops, and the irregular dripof raindrops falling from branches overhead. If Greta hadn’t heard the sound too, Casey might have convinced himself he was imagining things.
Leaning in a bit closer, Greta whispered, “Let me try.”
Casey nodded. If Carlos was afraid for some reason, he might respond better to a woman’s voice.
“Carlos?” she called out. “My name is Greta Harris, and I’m one of the park rangers. Casey’s one too. Are you injured? We want to help you.”
Whoever—if anyone—was out there, they were silent for so long that Casey was back to thinking they’d both imagined the moan of pain. Maybe it had been the wind or tree branches rubbing together, and they were wasting precious time. He peered up the steep hillside and glanced over at Greta. Her nose was pink from the chill. Casey knew that his was too.
“We’re losing valuable time—” Casey began.
“Shh!” Greta clapped a mittened hand over his mouth and mouthedbe quiet. Blinking, Casey nodded, and Greta dropped her hand.
Almost immediately, they were rewarded with a half groan and a ragged voice calling out, “Here, over here.” And this time they were both looking in the right direction.
Greta pointed up and to their left. “Up there!”
Squinting into the quickly increasing shadows, Casey peered upward to where Greta had indicated. About halfway up the hill was an odd hollow space in the shrubbery. Greta flicked on her flashlight and shone the beam in that direction. A single, slender branch of salal appeared to move of its own accord.
“Yes,” hissed Casey. “Let’s go.”
Side by side, they began to scramble up the rocky hillside, grabbing onto branches and vines and whatever they could reach to help pull themselves up. Leave no trace was thrown away in the hopes they’d found Carlos.
Halfway to where they thought he was, Casey stepped into a hole hidden by fallen leaves. If it weren’t for his boots, he would have wrenched his ankle or worse.
