direction of a boulder the size of an elephant sitting at the edge of the parking lot.
“I’m going to talk to the deputy,” Gracie yelled to Cashman’s back. She yelled the same information to Ralph, who gave her a thumbs-up in acknowledgment.
Leaning into the wind, Gracie fast-walked across to the Tahoe and tapped a finger on the driver’s-side glass. The window slid open.
The Deputy inside sure was cute. Gracie wished she could remember his name. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” the cute deputy returned.
“You interview the RP?”
“RPs. As in plural. They’re in the motor home,” he said indicating the RV with a nod of his head. He handed her a copy of the team’s own LPQ—Lost Person Questionnaire. An accurate, complete LPQ provided a Fort Knox of invaluable information: clothing, equipment, experience, mental state, medications. An already completed questionnaire would save them half an hour, maybe an hour, and could literally mean the difference between a successful mission and not, between life and death, between rescue and recovery.
Gracie glanced down at the form. Half the questions remained blank. Only the most basic—contact information and physical descriptions of the multiple missing persons—had been completed in the deputy’s neat cursive.
“Sorry,” the cute deputy said. “It’s all I could get out of them.” He followed up with a brief overview of what had happened, which essentially was that fewer people came back than had started out.
“Okay, thanks,” Gracie said. “Guess I’ll go over and give it a try.”
“Good luck,” the cute deputy said in a tone that implied Gracie was really going to need it.
The Tahoe window whispered closed.
CHAPTER
13
T HE wraith that was Diana crept down the trail.
Overhead the last of daylight’s glow outlined the ragged mountain peaks. But the black velvet curtain the approaching night had already laid across the canyon was so opaque, so complete, that Diana could see nothing of her hands stretched out in front of her. The harsh wind moaned up the canyon, rocking and creaking the unseen trees on all sides.
Diana slid her feet along the ground, feeling for the smooth dirt of the trail. She squinted ahead, but saw no sign of anyone, no movement ahead on the trail. She listened, but could hear nothing above the wind.
She froze.
She had caught a hint of something in the air.
What was it?
She closed her eyes and breathed in the frigid night air.
Cigarette smoke.
Her eyes flew open. She half turned, muscles tensed to run. Her breath came in quick shallow puffs through her nose.
She peered down the trail over her shoulder.
Then she saw it—a black shape moving slowly, methodically up the trail. The burning end of a cigarette flared—a red eye winking in the darkness.
Milocek.
Searching for her, for where she had left the trail.
Panic rose as sour vomit in Diana’s throat. She took a step backward. Then another. And another. Until she rounded a curve in the mountain.
Then she turned and sprinted on silent feet back up the trail.
CHAPTER
14
G RACIE slammed the door of the Command Post trailer so hard the windows rattled. The clock on the wall shook loose from its nail, zipped past Ralph’s right ear, and smashed onto the metal desk an inch from his arm. The single battery flew out of its casing and landed in the wastebasket next to the door.
Without so much as a flinch, Ralph swiveled around in his chair sat and glowered at Gracie.
“Sorry,” she said, pulling off her gloves. She flopped into another chair, forgetting about its broken back, and almost tipped over backward. “Dammit!” She flailed with her legs to regain her balance and plant her boots back on the linoleum.
“All right, Kinkaid,” Ralph growled. “Spill it.”
The use of her last name told Gracie that the reason for her behavior and the near-miss with the clock had better be a good one.
• • •
PAVEMENT QUEEN, GRACIE thought as
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley