Tyrell issued final instructions and left the ranch in Daniel’s care. He climbed into his freshly serviced Durango and was buckling his seat belt when his cell phone—nearly out of juice—beeped at him. Renee again.
“They’ve found it!” she cried.
His stomach clenched at her words, and then the tone of her voice registered. For the first time in hours, he heard hope. But he also heard dread, and a contagious urgency.
“Tyrell, they found the truck that was stolen earlier this morning in Kansas City. The old brown truck. They found it!”
“Who found it? Where?”
“You know Andy Griswold, Dad’s buddy who lets you guys hunt on his land, west of River Dance?”
“Andy found the truck?”
“In that swamp near the road. The license plates matched. Now tell me, why would someone who knows he’s in deep trouble with the law not change the plates if he wanted to get away with his crime?”
“Stupid? High on drugs? Was anybody found at the—”
“It was empty, but the Feds are on their way there now.”
“How many agents are coming?”
“Not sure, but, Tyrell, you know that place so well. If Dad were able, he would be out there in—”
“I’m on my way.”
“I love you, big brother.”
“Then you can bail me out of jail.”
He disconnected, leaned his head back against the headrest as he considered what might be happening. How he wished he could talk to Jama.
Jama’s cell phone call tone rang from her pocket as she began to organize the new desk in her new office. She’d never had her own office before.
The call was from her foster sister, Renee Abramovitz. “Jama, how are your tracking skills now?” were Renee’s first words, no greeting in the mezzo-soprano voice.
“My what?”
“Remember that trick Dad used to teach you and Tyrell on his hunting trips? Actually, he tried to teach all of us, but you and Tyrell were the only ones who caught on.”
Okay, something was definitely wrong with her. “Renee, are you okay? I know this awful ordeal with Doriann—”
“Listen to me! She’s there, Jama. Near you, near River Dance. That’s where the Feds think she is. What I need you to do is meet up with Tyrell, get out there before a whole squad of strangers can mess up the tracks, and work with Tyrell to find out where—”
“Hold it. Why do the Feds think Doriann’s in River Dance, specifically? And if the Feds are coming—”
Renee sighed. “Tyrell hasn’t kept you in the loop today, has he?”
“He didn’t tell me she was in River Dance.”
“He’s probably calling everyone he knows from Columbia to St. Louis.”
“So what’s up?”
“You remember that swamp just off the road west of town on Highway 94? It’s where sophomores dunk all the freshmen during initiation.”
“Okay, I remember.” When Jama and Amy had been initiated, they’d been expected to find their way home in the dark without flashlights. But the sophomores hadn’t counted on Jama’s navigational skills to lead them to Andy Griswold’s house.
“A brown truck was found in that swamp today, and the license plate numbers matched the vehicle we suspect was used to abduct Doriann.”
Jama felt suddenly sick. “Has the swamp been dredged?”
“Andy saw recent tracks leading from the swamp. There was no one in the truck. He checked. That means Doriann could be someplace between Andy’s place and River Dance.”
“Renee, that’s dozens of square miles of forest—”
“Which means you’d better hop to it. Do you have your hiking boots and jeans?”
“Not on me,” Jama said dryly.
“Do you have clothes at the ranch?”
“No.” Jama had given all but a few of her clothes to a homeless shelter after Amy’s death. She’d cleaned out her closet at the ranch house, but she decided not to remind Renee about that.
“Then you’ll have to make do with some of Amy’s things,” Renee said. “Mom’s still storing all of it in the attic at the ranch, and if I remember right, you and Amy wear the same size shoe. You can use her hiking boots.”
Jama hesitated. Renee’s anxiety could be affecting her judgment. Was this expedition sanctioned by the FBI? Renee had always been the most excitable of the Mercer clan; as a child, she’d screamed at scary stories before they even got scary, she’d laughed more loudly and talked faster than her twin in a bid for attention.
It was Renee who had been the holdout in the family when Jama became a foster sister. Though Renee had accepted Jama as Amy’s friend for so many years, Jama became a threat to Renee’s place in the family when she joined it. Jama got the attention, for a while, because of her father’s death, her rebellion and Fran Mercer’s compassion. It was months before young Renee thawed enough to welcome Jama to the fold, though her twin, Heather, had embraced Jama from the beginning.
“Jama, we need you and Tyrell out there looking for Doriann before the place is overrun by people who don’t know the area like you do.”
“Where’s Tyrell?”
“On his way to pick you up as we speak.”
“So he’s agreed to this crazy plan?”
“Crazy? Jama, Doriann’s life is at stake. You’re the only person I know who’s better at tracking than Tyrell.”
Jama continued to ponder this deluge of information.
“Hey!” Renee said. “Are you listening to me? You’ve got to get moving now!”
“Andy did see footprints coming out of the swamp?” Jama had known the place well at one time…many years ago. “Nobody was in the truck?”
“No, but one set of prints leading away from there was small. That’s got to mean Doriann’s still able to walk on her own.”
“If those are Doriann’s footprints. Are you sure you aren’t jumping to—”
“No, I’m not,” Renee retorted. “It’s got to be her.”
Jama was once again alarmed by the edgy sound of Renee’s voice. With all the pressure she’d been under today…
“Look,” Jama said, “it’s been months since I’ve hiked, longer than that since I’ve done any tracking.”
“Dad always said you were a natural, that you were born to it. Don’t give the Feds time to trample the site, Jama.”
“Are dogs being brought in?”
“Of course,” Renee snapped, “but it’ll be a few hours before Search and Rescue can get here. A young couple went missing two nights ago over the state line in Kansas, and I suspect they might have been victims of these same killers. Come on, Jama, why are you stalling?”
Jama sighed and cast her gaze to the ceiling. Tyrell was no pushover, and Renee said he was on his way through town. He was agreeing to this aggressive plan. He had more sense than to allow his excitable younger sister to browbeat him into anything. After all, he was the eldest, pragmatic beyond bearing sometimes.
“It would be crazy to wait,” Renee said. “Every moment that passes means more danger to Doriann. You’re right there. Utilize your skills.”
“Okay,” Jama said at last. She heard Renee’s soft sigh of relief. “I won’t take time to suit up.”
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“Several good ones in my car. You know the Mercer men all give them for Christmas and birthdays.”
“Dress warm.”
“You’re sure Tyrell is picking me up?”
“He’ll be there shortly.”
“Which means you were pretty confident you could maneuver me into this, or you haven’t told him yet, and you’re going to call him and browbeat him into picking me up.”
“This is the right thing to do. It’s our best option.”
“It’s foolhardy.”
“You’ve played the fool a few times, Jama. It won’t hurt you to do it one more time.”
Jama scowled at that uncalled-for remark. “It’s also dangerous.”
“Which is why I’m calling. Tyrell wouldn’t dream of asking you to do this. But you know how to take care of yourself. You took that self-defense class. In fact, didn’t you teach self-defense for a while?”
Jama closed her eyes and thought of Amy, who had talked her into taking that first class. Amy, her best friend in the world. If Jama could do something to help make up for this family’s loss, then shouldn’t she do it?
Or am I being a little overconfident? What makes me think I can do something the FBI can’t, just because Renee wants me to?
On the other hand, the FBI may not have enough personnel for a thorough search.
Renee was right. The more time that passed, the higher the risk to Doriann.
“I can drive to Andy’s,” Jama said.
“His place is going to be overrun with cars before long, and the fewer civilian vehicles on the property, the better.”
“In other words, this is a covert operation.” Jama’s unease mounted, but nothing about this day was comfortable.
“Tyrell will be there. Be ready.” Renee disconnected, and Jama sat staring at the cell phone in her hand.
She couldn’t tell if her racing heart was from fear, or excitement that she might actually be able to help find Doriann, or from trepidation about spending still more time with Tyrell.
Doriann took precedence. Her safety was top priority. Jama would do this for her.
Tyrell was driving through downtown River Dance—total distance, four blocks—when he received yet another call from his sister.
“You need to stop at the clinic and pick up Jama.”
Why was he not surprised? “No.”
“She’s agreed to help search.”
“It’s dangerous out there. We don’t have any idea where these killers might be.”
“You’re right, and Doriann’s out there with them somewhere. Jama’s an adult with self-defense training, Doriann’s a helpless child. Jama’s waiting for you at the clinic, because I told her you would pick her up.”
In spite of his doubts about Renee’s plan, he found himself automatically turning toward the clinic when he reached River Street. “Since when did you become the head of this family?”
“You try homeschooling four strong-willed children and caring for a baby, while helping your husband with his landscaping business.”
“I don’t have a husband. Come to think of it, I don’t have children.”
“Stop fooling around. You’re picking Jama up, aren’t you? She’ll be out there tracking, anyway, she might as well be under your watchful eye.”
He pulled into the clinic parking lot and saw Jama waiting beside her car, wearing a pea-green army coat over navy-blue scrubs. She still wore her bright white, thick-soled shoes, which would be caked with mud by the end of the night…whenever that end may come.
She was in the passenger seat before he could get out and open the door for her.
“I’m in, Renee,” she called loudly enough for Renee to hear.
“Then my work is done,” Renee said. “Call me as soon as—”
“My cell phone’s out of juice,” Tyrell said. “I’ll call you when I can.” He flipped his phone shut and tossed it into the console.
Jama reached for it, pulled an electronic charger from one of the many pockets in her coat and plugged it into Tyrell’s phone. “It’ll be recharged by the time we reach the trailhead. It’s a good thing I talked Monty into the family plan when I changed phone companies. Your phone’s compatible with mine and Monty’s. Now that Fran’s agreed to get a cell—”
“Wait a minute, which trailhead?”
“Well, okay, it’s not an official trailhead, but you know where the Katy Trail comes closest to the road without actually crossing it, about a hundred and fifty feet east of Andy’s swamp?”
“Sure. There’s an open field and a creek where we used to have bonfires.”
“It’s the best place for you to park.”
He thought about that for a moment, realized she was right and grunted. So now, not only was she a better tracker than him, she was also a better strategist.
“It’ll be dark soon,” she said.
“I brought plenty of flashlights.”
Jama turned around to study the contents of his backseat. He studied her.
Jama Keith had outgrown the awkward adolescent stage at about the age of thirteen, and from then on had grown more beautiful every year. Her hair, long and golden, her body with appealing curves, her face, oval with a firm-but-feminine chin. Her cheeks right now were flushed with excitement.
Tyrell’s parents had always warned their children—all of whom were considered attractive by their peers—that good looks could be the bane of a person’s life. Jama had struggled with that in high school. She had the attention of lots of guys, with her beauty and her free spirit. After her father’s death, the free spirit had become outright rebellion, and it had taken over her whole life for a while.
Tyrell still wondered if that rebel had been completely tamed. He thought he still caught glimpses of that facet of her personality from time to time, and he hoped that aspect of her wouldn’t completely go away.
She turned to him, nodding with approval. “Good backpack.” She patted one of her pockets. “I brought mace and I’m packing my piece.”
“Uh…”
“Brought my pistol. Don’t worry, I have a license to carry.”
He blinked as he turned onto Highway 94 and headed west. “You never mentioned it before.”
“I guess the subject never came up.”
“Really? You have a license to carry, and you never thought to mention it to me?”
“I’ve had it for a couple of years, so I guess I just tend to take it for granted.”
“You just up and decided to get a gun license one day?”
Jama sighed. “A fellow resident was raped in her apartment building one night. She needed moral support afterward, and I thought if she had a way to protect herself, she’d feel safer. So I taught her some moves, and while we were practicing we decided we couldn’t be too careful in the city. Monty had already taught me how to shoot. I taught her, and we got our licenses.”
“You didn’t tell any of us what you were doing?”
Jama looked at him. “Tyrell, my friend never reported the rape. She didn’t want anybody to know, and I promised her I’d keep her confidence. We didn’t deliberately conceal what we were doing, but we didn’t advertise it, either.”
“You didn’t report—”
“How about you? You’re carrying, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” He was still trying to wrap his mind around the life she had apparently lived, the experiences she’d had, without sharing it with the Mercer family. He felt a sense of loss. What else had she never told him?
“Have you been to target practice lately?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Maybe a few months ago.”
“Bull’s-eye every time?”
“No. You?”
“Not every time.”
He shot her a glance. She was serious.
“We’re going to do this,” Jama said. “For Doriann.”
“For Doriann.”