Page 7 of Chasing Justice
The tourniquet was holding, but Doug was getting pale. Juniper kept her head on Doug’s chest. Maya flew to her feet and helped direct the helicopter to a landing zone. The giant bird sat down on its skids, the grass flattening as the blades thumped and the engine roared. Small branches and other debris skittered across the ground.
The side door opened, and two flight nurses hopped out. They went over to Doug and went to work. Maya helped them lift and secure Doug on the gurney that fit into the tight quarters of the helicopter.
One of the nurses examined Juniper. “We have a special kit for dogs. Here, help me get this on her.”
Maya secured a basket muzzle on Juniper. Under stress a dog could try to bite, and the muzzle would help keep everyone safe. Together they loaded Juniper into the helicopter. The other flight nurse had already started an IV for Doug.
“What about you?” the nurse asked.
“What about me?”
“You look like hell.”
“I’m fine,” Maya said. “I need to secure the scene. Promise. I’m good.”
“Okay, I don’t have time to argue with you.” The nurse shut the door to the helicopter and Maya stood back covering her eyes so that debris wouldn’t hit her. The chopper took off and within a few minutes the sound was distant.
Then silence.
Maya collapsed to the ground. Her hands shook so bad she had to place them on the earth to stop the vibrations. Each breath in and out came short and harsh.
What the hell just happened?
Death?
The very thing she’d been trying to escape.
Doug had to be okay. Juniper had to be okay. Death didn’t happen at home. Death happened in war zones.
With her chest constricting, Maya let out sobs. Sobs she had kept in since Zinger died. The day she messed up and messed up her dog. She hadn’t cried once. She’d been strong and tough, never showing any emotion, but now it all came rushing out and Maya sat in the grass, letting the mountain air surround her as she cried for her dog. Her grandmother, and now Doug and Juniper.
Chapter Four
Maya wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She’d lost about thirty minutes crying—valuable time she should have been using to secure the scene. She needed to get herself together. She rubbed her palms on her thighs to get rid of the dirt stuck to them. Her pants were torn and tattered, and her auburn hair fell around her shoulders, stringy pieces sticking to her face. She was a mess.
Maya stood up, her moment of emotion done.Over. But she knew tonight the nightmares would come. Although with everything going on, she wouldn’t be getting sleep anyway.
Her legs were stiff and tight. Her shoulders were sore from dragging Doug and carrying Juniper through the woods. Maya didn’t care. Pain and soreness meant you were alive.
She picked her way back to the cabin—the long way this time, avoiding the pine trees, since the wind was blowing again.
In the distance she could see what was left of the cabin. One wall still stood and appeared normal. Glass littered the ground, the smell of gunpowder still hung in the air. She would secure the scene until the sheriff’s department could come help with the perimeter. Then she would contact her boss and wait until the FBI showed up to investigate. This time Maya stayed farther back. A bomb squad would need to check out the cabin and clear the area to process the scene.
A scrub jay screeched in the distance while a chipmunk scurried up a tree, chirping its disapproval at Maya for approaching its territory. Everything seemed so normal. Surreal. As if nothing had happened. Maya needed to tape off and secure the scene, but the supplies were back at the patrol vehicle. She would have to wait for one of the sheriff’s deputies to arrive. Due to the remote location, that could take a while.
Who had done this? And why? Why hadn’t Doug stuck to normal protocol? He didn’t get behind anything to protect him or his dog. He never asked the suspect to drop their items.
Maya crossed her arms and took in the wreckage around her. Someone knew their explosives, but parts of the cabin still stood, leaving the crime scene techs plenty of evidence. They would be able to piece together the bombs and find fingerprints or even DNA.
They would catch this person. No, theyhadto catch this person.
The sound of a vehicle lurching up a logging road behind the cabin broke the silence. Maya took out her Glock and held it pointed down, finger off the trigger but ready, just in case.
The front end of a white sheriff’s vehicle appeared and then parked near a grove of aspens. Maya relaxed and holstered her gun.
The thought struck her: why hadn’t she and Doug driven up here? Why did he insist on parking at the trailhead and hiking here?
The deputy unfolded out of the vehicle. His tall frame and broad shoulders gave him an intimidating presence. At least to most people. But not Maya. She put her hands on her hips.
