Page 37 of Bait and Switch
The resulting yowl was nearly the end of him.
“Goddamn, I forgot about you,” he growled after levitating back to standing now staring at the indignant, still-needing-a-bath animal glaring at him from the mattress. “But I do not have the spoons. Scoot the fuck over, fleabag.”
His phone rang after lessthan two hours in bed, jerking Casey from sleep.
“For fuck’s sake, what does a guy have to do?” Glancing at the screen, he saw the call was from Olympic Rescue headquarters. His stomach sank. There was only one reason Tor would call this early.
“Tor, please don’t tell me we have another missing person,” he rasped.
“No can do, big guy. But heard you had some excitement last night, so you’re second string today. Consider this a courtesy call.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s two people, actually. A couple day hikers didn’t return from Big Bear last night. We got the call an hour ago. The team is getting ready to head up, but I thought you’d want to know. Sounds like they have decent equipment and whatnot, so hopefully it’s just that they took too long and decided to stay over.”
“Is the team aware that Calvin Perkins has possibly been sighted?”
He wouldn’t put it past the sheriff to keep that information to himself.
“Yeah,” Tor confirmed. “Everyone who can be is armed. And those who can’t probably are as well.”
That at least was good news. Even with no proof, Casey decided it had been Deputy Eagan who’d made sure word got around.
“Any news on Carlos?”
The medivac had flown him directly to the closest trauma hospital, which was in Seattle.
“We haven’t heard anything.”
Casey hoped they would hear from the brush worker—mostly because it meant he was on the way to recovering—but also maybe they’d learn more about the interaction with Perkins, get a clue that would point to where he was hiding out.
“Damn.”
“So, what happened with you last night?” Tor asked. “Sounds like you had a close call.”
Of course Tor had already heard about the fire. Of course he had, the man slept with a police radio near his head and Simeon Greery in his bed. Maybe it was Simeon’s bed, Casey didn’t know, and it wasn’t his damn business.
“There isn’t a lot to go on yet, but someone torched two of the sailboats moored here. The guy who’s been living aboard one of them managed to get out—and with his cat, but it was close.”
Too close for Casey’s comfort. He swung his legs out from underneath the bedcovers and rose to his feet. There was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep anyway, not with his imagination working overtime. He’d shut his eyes and see theShangri-Laburning, or Charming racing down the dock, sheer panic on his face, and sometimes Casey wasn’t there to save the day. It was too early, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to function on only a few hours’ sleep.
With his phone pressed against his ear, he padded out to the galley and flicked on the generator and then the Keurig. He needed coffee stat. Bowie licked at his empty food bowl, reminding Casey that he hadn’t eaten yet.
“The perps got away in a small watercraft. I didn’t see it, too busy gettingTheBarbarato safety.”
“Damn. Well, keep your phone close by in case we need more bodies searching today. Hopefully, we’ll find these two quickly.From what we’ve been told, they were prepared for inclement weather, so at least we shouldn’t be looking for popsicles.”
Ah yes, because morgue humor was not just cops standing around staring at dead bodies. Enough missions and a searcher learned to compartmentalize. The missing weren’t always uninjured and simply waiting for rescuers underneath the comforting boughs of a tree like something out ofSnow White. Yesterday’s rescue was a perfect example. There were times when Casey hated how unforgiving the forest was, but whenever he had that thought, he also realized that was one of the things he liked about it. A person had to respect the forest; it was a living, breathing entity, and it was perfectly willing to kill those who disregarded its power.
“I’ll have my phone with me.”
Clicking off, Casey snagged the plastic container of dry dog food from under the sink and dumped a serving into Bowie’s dish. One last can of wet cat food was hiding at the back of the cabinet, so he opened it and spooned half onto a saucer. The cat appeared out of nowhere, sniffed the food, glared at Casey, and began to delicately eat.
Casey grabbed his waiting coffee and inhaled the scent of it deep into his lungs—the smell was almost as good as the real thing—then sat down at his table. Setting the cup to one side, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he wanted, his college friend who now worked in Olympia.
“Hey, Casey.” His friend sounded out of breath, as if even at this relatively early hour she was already headed out somewhere.
“Marlene, sorry to call you out of the blue like this again. Is there any chance you can do me a favor and look up a registration? It’s for one of the sailboats at the marina. There was a fire last night, and we’re having a hard time getting hold of the registered owner.”
