Backcountry Read online

  “Does the name Klapton mean anything to you?”

  “Was that the nephew’s name? I was thinking it was Ethan or Evan or something like that.”

  “Erik.”

  Judy’s chin came up. “His name was Erik Klapton?”

  “No.” Sam explained that Klapton was a nickname. If Judy remembered Erik, then Aidan might, too. But the Klapton name hadn’t meant anything to Judy Callahan, just as it hadn’t meant anything to Aidan. Or so it had seemed when she asked him.

  “The answer is pears.”

  “What?” Sam was startled.

  “You wanted to know a favorite food to take to Aidan. He loves dried pears.”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “That’s easy.” She stood up, and then remembered the pooch in the car. “Say, you don’t know anyone who’s missing a dog, do you? A brown and white basset mix?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Do you want one?”

  “Like I want a root canal,” Judy Callahan responded. “One boy who takes five years to get through college and two girls waiting in the wings are more than enough to deal with.”

  “I’ll bet,” Sam said. “Thanks for your time.”

  As she pulled into her driveway at home, she realized that she’d wasted most of the day and learned only that Chris was drinking too much and Greene still suspected everyone. Plus, she’d ended up with a dog she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do with.

  The pooch was happy to eat Simon’s dry cat food, and much to the cat’s dismay, laid down in the corner of the living room as if planning to stay there. When Blake came home from work, the basset-beagle transferred her sad-eyed gaze to him, lying in front of him with her muzzle on top of his foot.

  “He looks like a Barney,” Blake decided.

  “We can’t keep her.”

  “Correction: she looks like a Sophie. And how can you resist that face?”

  The dog’s focus transferred from Blake to Sam. Her heart lurched. Those were Kyla’s big brown eyes, definitely.

  She reminded her housemate, “I’m going back to the mountains tomorrow. I’ll be gone for ten days. Could you take her to the animal adoption center?”

  Blake patted the dog’s head. “I’ll deal with Sophie until you get back. Look at that face!” The pooch gazed lovingly at him.

  From the arm of the couch, Simon slitted his green eyes, glaring at the canine intruder. Blake stretched out an arm to pet the cat. “I still love you, Simon. You’re the best cat in the whole house.”

  Simon jumped off the couch and stalked regally into Sam’s bedroom.

  Blake turned to her. “Anything new on the case?”

  “Not really.” The only possibly useful information she’d gleaned from her meanderings today was that Aidan had a grievance against Kim and maybe Kyla, too. She pulled out the business card that Detective Greene had handed her and called. She got the detective’s voice mail again.

  “You should check out Aidan Callahan.” She summarized the Callahans’ resentment of the Quintana-Johnson family. “Aidan knew Kyla’s schedule because he worked with her.” Then a wave of anxiety rose up and smacked down over her, and she hastily added, “Please don’t let on that you got this tip from me. I will be camping in the mountains with him for the next ten days.”

  Had she accomplished anything? She briefly considered driving south to the Pinnacle Lake trail and hiking up and down that mountain until she stumbled across something that could be a clue. Which, after another minute, seemed a stupid idea born of desperation.

  No wonder law enforcement seemed inept. At this point, they probably were just as clueless as she was. The only promising lead, if anything could be said to allow even a glimmer of a clue, was that Erik Heigler, a criminal with connections to and a grudge against the Johnson family, might be back in the country.

  Could Kyla have been in touch with Heigler? Troy said she’d admired Klapton in her younger years. Although Chris had advised his girlfriend to keep her distance, like Sam, Kyla was not the obedient type.

  A new possibility occurred to her. Could Chris have slipped the note into her tent? He had hiked up with the counselor only a few days before. It would be easy for Chris to find out where the group was camped, and he’d know by its color which one was her tent. The cops were continuing to investigate him, but she didn’t believe they were keeping him under surveillance. With a good headlamp, he could probably hike in and out the same night and be back in his bed before anyone noticed.

  While possible, that scenario seemed improbable. What motivation would Chris have to place that note? The only plausible reason she could come up with was to shift suspicion from himself to this Heigler character. Troubling.

  Everything about that note was troubling. It seemed highly unlikely that Heigler would be tracking them in the mountains, but she couldn’t shake the image of that hunter out of her head. And the roving light the kids had reported on the solo campouts. Klapton?

  It was terrifying to think that a violent criminal might have been tracking her expedition through the backcountry. Thank God Troy had relocated her group.

  Still, she favored the idea of Heigler as a suspect over Chris. Or Aidan. She didn’t want to believe that she might know her friends’ killer. Or be working alongside him.

  Chapter 12

  That evening, Chase told her something even more alarming.

  They were Skyping, which was still unsatisfactory, but at least she could see him. He leaned toward the screen as if sharing a secret. “Heigler’s a known coyote.”

  Her wildlife biologist brain was momentarily bewildered by his statement. Then she clued in that Chase wasn’t talking about wild canids. “You mean he smuggles illegal immigrants across the Mexican border?”

  Chase nodded. “Well, he did at least once, according to the group he abandoned in Organ Pipe National Monument. But Heigler himself wasn’t actually apprehended.”

  That was bad news on multiple counts. A coyote who smuggled people into the country through a national park probably had backcountry skills. And obviously knew how to slip into the country undetected. And no doubt could get his hands on weapons, although that was obviously a no-brainer in the U.S. for anyone with ready cash. Probably in Mexico, too.

  Chase gazed intently into her eyes or, she reminded herself, into his laptop camera. “Coyotes usually have connections to Mexican drug cartels. I don’t want you going back up to the mountains tomorrow, Summer.”

  “And I don’t want you going back to Salt Lake,” she retorted.

  “I am back in Salt Lake. I’m calling from my condo.”

  “I know; I can see your kitchen behind you.” She squared her shoulders and sat back in her chair. “My point is, here we are, Chase, both doing our jobs. My crew has been relocated to a new area. Troy and the kids are depending on me. And the nation is depending on you.”

  He snorted. “It’s not as grandiose as that.” After taking a sip from the wine glass that sat on the table beside his elbow, he added, “And I hope it will never be.” Then he cast his gaze down at the table top.

  She knew that look. “What, Chase?”

  “I have some more bad news to tell you.” He sipped again at his wine. “My ASAC found out I was sniffing around about job possibilities in Seattle. So she suggested I transfer soon.”

  Sam’s mood brightened. “How is that bad news? I can’t wait for you to be closer!”

  “She suggested I transfer soon to North Dakota.”

  “Gex!” she yelped. Their relationship couldn’t be stretched all the way across the country.

  His eyebrows came together. “Gex?”

  “Never mind.” She waved a hand as if erasing the word from a blackboard. “Chase, you can’t go to North Dakota! Please tell me that’s not happening.” Salt Lake City had been at least a consideration. It was in a state that had mountains and streams and five national parks, not to mention a variety of amazing natural monuments and other wild places. But North Dakota! Her
rational mind knew she wasn’t giving that state a fair chance because she’d never been there, but her imagination instantly filled with endless windy prairies and drifting snow.

  “It’s not official,” Chase said. “She was demonstrating how irritated she was that I was disloyal enough to want to leave.”

  “She wouldn’t really have you transferred, would she?”

  “I think she’ll let me stay; Nicole promised to put in a good word for me.”

  Nicole Boudreaux was another FBI agent who often worked cases with Chase, a woman who was smart, well-spoken, and always immaculately groomed. In other words, instantly annoying to someone like Sam who suffered from foot-in-mouth disease and wore dirt on her face more often than makeup. “Aren’t FBI agents allowed to have personal lives?”

  His expression was pained. “They’re expected to drag their families with them wherever the Bureau assigns them.”

  Sam understood Chase’s dedication to the FBI. She also knew Chase wasn’t precisely referring to how she’d turned down his offer to move in with him in Salt Lake City, but his words felt like a dig nonetheless.

  She gritted her teeth. Wildlife and greenery were essential to her sanity; she had no desire to live in any big city. There were days when even mid-sized Bellingham felt far too crowded. She needed space. But she would no longer be able to use that excuse if Chase was transferred to the remote stretches of North Dakota.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, Sam, Aidan, and Maya reunited with their crew in a wilderness area dozens of miles south of the one they’d left. The crew kids were glad to see them back, but they seemed to be in foul moods. That was normal, the counselors warned Sam, after a couple of days of intense therapy to make them reflect on their histories of bad behavior. She was thankful that her job was to teach outdoor survival skills and guide these kids through the backcountry, not to teach them how to navigate the morass of teen emotions and family issues.

  Throughout dinner, all six of her crew complained about the counselors’ insistence on working on their contracts. Even more irritating to them were the letters they’d received from their families offering support only if the teens changed their behavior.

  It seemed to her that they were changing, learning to appreciate each other and the world around them. But out here that didn’t include school attendance and family expectations. She had to constantly remind herself that she was dealing with only half the equation; the company counselors were talking to both parents and kids, trying to pave a constructive path to the future.

  The exercise she was instructed to lead that evening seemed designed to prolong the painful process.

  After surreptitiously activating the recorder in her pocket, she sat with the kids around the campfire and read from her instruction book: “Come up with one word to describe what you want to achieve when you’re back home. No explanation or response needed.”

  Her request resulted in expressions ranging from annoyance to confusion on the faces of the six client teens.

  “For example,” she added, “I would say ‘tranquility.’ I’d like to achieve tranquility when I return home. Who wants to go next?”

  “Revenge,” Ashley blurted. “I want revenge.”

  That was new. All heads turned toward the girl, questions on their faces.

  “Not you guys,” she said impatiently. “It’s a family thing.”

  Sam wondered if the Spokane paper would be reporting a domestic violence incident at Ashley’s home in the near future.

  Gabriel said, “Respect. That’s what I want.”

  “Reincarnation.” Justin.

  Interesting. And sad.

  Olivia quietly murmured, “Peace.”

  “I want freedom,” Taylor said.

  Nick twisted his lips, then finally said, “A do-over. That can be one word, right, with a hyphen?”

  What a downer exercise. All their answers were disturbing to Sam, but poignant reminders that everyone involved with this expedition had real problems to face back home. It was depressing to think about, even to her. The reality she was returning to wasn’t so rose-colored, either. She was going back to unemployment and the need to widen her circle of friends, now that Kyla and Kim were gone and Chase wasn’t likely to join her any time soon.

  “Enough of that,” she told them. “Let’s do something fun now. Maybe a game?”

  All six kids eagerly leapt to their feet. “We’ve got it, Cap’n.”

  Over the staff break, her crew had somehow found time to escape thinking about reality too much, because they’d planned to act out a short scene from the video game Gabriel was creating. The role assignments were not what Sam would have expected. Olivia and Taylor played diabolical alien queens.

  “In the game, we’re twins,” Olivia explained, gesturing between her small dark self and willowy blond Taylor. “You have to use your imagination. Our species plans to exterminate the inhabitants of Planet X.”

  “We totally screwed up the environment on our own planet,” Taylor added, “so we need a new place to live.”

  Nick and Ashley were rebel warriors from Planet X, battling the invasion. “Imagine a whole horde of rebels behind us.” Ashley brandished a broken branch like a sword.

  Sam frowned at the weapon, but the counselors had assured her that the teens had been on their best behavior for the last few days.

  Justin was a cyborg on the rebel side, but it was clear that everyone doubted his loyalties because his programming could be hijacked at any time by the self-serving president of Planet X, who was played by Gabriel. His role seemed to be to manipulate everyone into doing his bidding.

  Aidan and Maya were extras, Gabriel explained, motioning the peer counselors to stand up. “You’ll have to ad lib or just keep your mouths closed.” He assigned Aidan to the role of an invading warrior and Maya was recruited to the rebel defense.

  Sam found the scenarios difficult to visualize, but the kids filled in the backstory. After the horrific and deadly invasion, the cowardly Planet X president made a deal with the evil alien queens, selling out his people in exchange for saving his own family and reaping the rewards of riches and property.

  Gabriel was appropriately despicable in his role of the puppeteer president, which Sam guessed might be close to that of a Master Wizard on Vebulaze. Olivia and Taylor were masterfully evil and Aidan appropriately subservient, although at times his tone seemed mocking.

  To soften the sharp divisions of good versus evil, Gabriel explained that if the aliens’ mission failed, their species was doomed to die in the frigid expanses of outer space. The rebels—Nick, Ashley, Justin, and the recently drafted Maya—demonstrated courage and conviction in their valiant resistance to the invaders and to their own corrupt government.

  Justin swore his allegiance in a mechanical voice that sounded as if he were mouthing whatever he’d been programmed to say. He also made a few unrehearsed comments, judging by the annoyed expressions that flashed from Nick and Gabriel as the cyborg character spoke.

  Then, just when Sam was really getting into the performance, the cyborg ran completely amok as Justin grabbed Ashley and bent her over backward, kissing her roughly. Ashley struggled, beat her fist against Justin’s arm. “Get your hands off me!”

  Not in the script, obviously. Sam shouted, “Hey!”

  Maya and Aidan rushed toward the grappling pair.

  Nick’s stick sword accidentally whacked Aidan in the back as the college student stepped into the fray, and Aidan turned, wrenched it out of Nick’s hand and shoved the small boy down on the ground.

  Nick raised both hands into the air toward Aidan. “Sorry, dude, that was an accident! I was aiming for the stupid robot.”

  Her face twisted with disgust, Ashley wiped her lips with the back of her hand and growled at Justin. “Idiot! Don’t ever try that again.”

  Justin raised his hands in the air, grinning sheepishly. “What can I say? My cyborg programming has a few bugs in it.”

&n
bsp; “Shithead,” Taylor remarked. “You ruined it.”

  Sam debated whether or not to demote Justin to Zombie again. “The play was good up to that point, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel gazed sadly at Justin. “I think I’m going to fry the cyborg’s circuits in the next chapter.”

  “Oh, no, dude,” Justin objected. “The cyborg is the coolest character.”

  “The cyborg is clearly out of control,” Sam said. “Apologize to Ashley, Justin.”

  “I ... am ... sorry ... Sparky,” Justin recited in a robotic voice. “Fun ... though.”

  Ashley narrowed her eyes at him, but a trace of a smile played across her lips. “Bad cyborg,” she scolded.

  “That’s it for tonight.” Sam stood up. “Gabriel can write whatever he likes, but there will be no more acting during this expedition. You should have been working all this time on your contracts with the counselors, anyway.”

  Scoffing and eyerolls all around.

  “There were only three of them,” Taylor explained. “And six of us. We couldn’t all be in therapy”—she put the word in air quotes—“all the time.”

  Sam kept her expression noncommittal. She and Maya and Aidan were also a staff of three. Was a mutiny imminent?

  “We spent a lot of time writing in our journals.” Nick’s sarcastic tone implied that they’d been working on the story instead. He then proceeded to prove her right by showing her his drawings depicting the characters.

  “Wow.” Sam flipped through the pages. The aliens had reptilian features but managed to be exotically attractive at the same time. The rebels were more human in shape but covered in dramatic tattoos and clothing that mainly consisted of leather straps and metal. “These are fantastic, Nick.”

  His face glowed with the praise.

  “I want my scales to be blue-green,” Taylor said, flicking her tongue out like a lizard. “But Gabriel says gold, because we’re queens. What do you think, Cap’n?”

  Yeesh, she wasn’t going to side with one over the other, especially not in so trivial a matter. “That’s not my call. Personally, I’ve always loved chameleons. They can change into almost any color, and even create patterns on their skin.”