Page 17 of Bait and Switch
“Did any of you see him wander off or go in a different direction?” Greta asked. They all shook their heads.
Most of the brush harvesters were migrant workers and all were paid in cash for what they cut. Possibly, they were nervous about sharing information or felt like they were ratting on afriend. Or they could even be worried about having to talk to authorities themselves. Casey sighed; he didn’t give a crap what their status was. He didn’t want anyone dying on the unforgiving terrain.
The harvest leases were generally divided into grids so the shrubs and evergreens weren’t overharvested during the season. Crews were instructed precisely where to go, and each team was supposed to have an experienced lead, but Casey wasn’t impressed with Cap Guy.
“So,” Casey said, drawing out the word. “Carlos could have gone missing at almost any time over the day?”
Looking around at each other, the workers nodded, some hesitantly, some more vigorously.
Dammit. Not having a time frame for when he disappeared made things more complicated. Carlos could have been missing for almost twenty-four hours instead of just the twelve they’d calculated. The likelihood of his being okay was plummeting with every word spoken and minute lost. They all had training and first aid supplies, but if they found him, would it be enough until they could get him to safety? Was he close by, or had he wandered miles away?
“Yeah, I guess he could’ve.” The only woman on the crew pointed at the earbud dangling from one ear. “I’m usually listening to something. It’s not easy to talk when we’re working, and I get bored. I might not have noticed Carlos going somewhere.”
Everyone nodded at her words.
Cap Guy directed them to the general area Carlos had been assigned to and then the rescue team let the crew get to work.
Greta glanced around, taking in the deeply forested area with its steep hills and hidden inclines. “Needle in a damn haystack.”
At least there were signs that someone had been there. There was a stack of cut boughs and boot prints in the mud. A red and yellow knit cap lay at the base of a tree.
“We might need more people,” Casey agreed.
“Fuck this, I’m radioing in and asking for all hands.” Greta unhooked the sat phone from her belt and punched in a number she knew by heart.
“Jim? Yeah, it’s Greta. We have a missing person.”
All hands meant every local agency with trained search and rescue staff would get the call. Quickly, Greta explained what they knew about the missing person to the coordinator for the all-hands teams, Jim Reilly.
“Yeah, Tor’s here already. One sec.” She pulled the phone away from her mouth and asked Casey, “What are the coordinates again?” He told her and she repeated them to Jim.
“All right, hopefully this will be a quick one.” Ending the call, Greta tucked the phone back into her backpack. “Let’s get started.”
Shoulder to shoulder, they began to slowly make their way down the mountainside in the direction they hoped Carlos had headed, looking for signs that someone had passed that way recently. Nothing like a rescue mission to reinforce the square acreage of the forest.
“Snowflake in a blizzard, eh?”
“I think we have a better chance of finding that needle in a haystack you mentioned, to be honest,” grumbled Casey.
They started walking, and a steady, slushy snow began falling. Yay for precipitation, Casey thought, but maybe not today while they had a missing person. They were dressed for the weather, of course, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get cold. And so would Carlos Garcia.
“So, your new neighbor,” said Greta as they moved along.
“Seriously, Greta? We’re on a rescue.”
“I can probe into your life and search at the same time,” she insisted.
“No, you cannot. We find this guy and you can ask all the questions you want.”
She grinned and Casey realized he’d fallen into her trap. “I’m holding you to that.”
EIGHT
Gabriel
Tuesday morning
Gabe was draggedfrom a deep sleep into an irritated wakefulness by an impatient buzzing and raindrops thrumming insistently against theTicket’s deck and the wooden pier. Sleep-addled, he blinked uncertainly up at the ceiling, forcing his brain to break through the crust of slumber. Overnights on the sailboat had been hit-and-miss so far, sleepwise, but he was going to have to get used to it. There wasn’t an alternative.
