In Harm's Way by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online

in position, you’ll return with two; if you need another minute, three clicks; two minutes, four.”
    Menquez nodded and took off into the woods without anything more said. He moved as silently as a cat.
    “You,” Walt said to Fiona, “will stop when I motion for you to stop. I want you behind a tree in case any shots are fired. You’re not to move until I call for you. The best way you can help me right now is not to think; just follow orders. I know that runs against your grain—against your brain—but . . .”
    “No problem. I get it.”
    “Okay. Good.” He addressed Brandon. “Let’s go.”
     
     
     
    W alt received three clicks from Menquez, kept an eye on his watch, and sent the two-click signal a minute later. As two clicks were returned, Walt pushed up the final incline and popped out through the forest into the gleaming sunshine. The effect on his eyes was as if he’d left twilight and stepped into the glare of spotlights. He slipped on his aviators, picking up Menquez in his peripheral vision.
    Brandon, who’d beaten them both to the site, stepped out from behind a tree near the trickling stream fifty yards to Walt’s left.
    At the back side of the small clearing, near the stream and against the hill in a copse of aspens, was a fire ring of stones producing steam, some litter, a lean-to, and a small stack of sticks and firewood. The men came at it from three sides, an adrenaline-charged spring to their steps.
    Walt dropped to a knee, placed his hand first on the firestones, then into the steam and charred wood at its center. He held up five fingers on his right hand: five minutes . He silently signaled Brandon, directing him up the hill. Brandon took off.
    Walt turned around and motioned at the woods, and Beatrice came running toward him at full speed. He dropped her into a sit with a second hand signal, recharged her nose with the can of evaporated milk, and pointed into the woods.
    “Find it!” he whispered.
    The dog hurried off in the same direction as Brandon had gone.
    Walt stirred the litter with a stick, looking for an expiration date, but found nothing.
    “Our boy?” Menquez asked, studying the inside of the open lean-to.
    “Someone . . . two people . . . bedded down here. Recent enough that the wind hasn’t disturbed it.”
    Walt joined him. “Like last night,” he said.
    “Be my guess.”
    “Two? That doesn’t fit.”
    He was reaching for the handheld radio as Brandon spoke. “I see two individuals,” he said harshly, keeping his voice low. “Bea had a dead reckoning. It’s a couple. They’re on a trail maybe a half mile ahead, traversing to the south. Up and over into Greenhorn. You want me to pursue?”
    “Stop them if you can,” Walt said. “We’re on our way.”
    He called to Fiona, and a moment later they were off at a run.
     
     
    The couple were in their late twenties. The granola set. He wore a red bandana over his hair; she carried a CamelBak and backpack. They had a bitch Labrador that got along well with Beatrice. The dogs chased each other around the woods, throwing pine straw and growling.
    “Just the one night,” he answered.
    “We got off late this morning,” she said. “We’re going to circle around the end of Greenhorn and head out that trail.”
    “And in what condition did you find the campsite?”
    “The litter wasn’t ours,” the man said. “We burned what we could—”
    “And I packed out some,” the girl added.
    “But there was just too much of it,” the young man complained.
    “Can I see the trash you packed out?” the sheriff asked.
    The woman surrendered a plastic bag and Walt dumped it and rummaged through it. She stared long and hard at Fiona.
    Brandon said, “Have you seen anyone in the last day or so? Single male?”
    “No,” the man answered.
    “Wildlife?” Menquez asked.
    “Nothing bigger than a squirrel,” the woman said. “What’s this about?”
    “When you arrived to the campsite,” Brandon said, “what