Chapter 9
Nine
Ethan checked off the volunteer groups as they trickled back into the command-center lot. One by one, they filed by, tired faces, dusty boots, radios returned with sheepish half smiles and apologies for coming up empty. The clipboard in his hand grew heavier with each slash of his pen.
Still nothing.
Ethan had been sure the teams were searching the right grid. Which meant the mountain was either hiding the wreckage…or the plane wasn’t where it should be.
He dropped into a camp chair beneath the awning and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that had built between his shoulder blades all day.
The command center smelled like dust, pine, coffee gone stale, and the faint chemical bite of hand sanitizer.
Clipboards. Flagging tape. Mud on boots.
A thousand small signs of movement without progress.
He pulled up Aubrey’s phone number and stared at it for a beat.
He hit Call and it went straight to voicemail.
Ethan frowned and tried again, thumb pressing hard against the glass.
Voicemail.
That was odd. If she’d stepped out from an area where there was signal, the phone should still ring first. Even if she’d silenced it, it should bounce once or twice before the carrier gave up. Straight to voicemail meant her battery was dead. Or her phone was off.
Or she was somewhere she shouldn’t be.
He forced his mind away from the obvious spiral.
He didn’t do spirals. Not anymore. Not after losing too much.
This was the first major task force he’d headed up since the fiasco two years ago.
Since he’d walked away with a file full of dead names and one living man in a hospital bed who would never walk again.
He needed this search to bring results.
To prove to his superiors, and to himself, that he was still capable of leading a team.
With all these volunteers, they should’ve been able to find at least a trace of the downed plane: a shred of metal, a gouge in the tree line, the scent of fuel, anything. But the mountain had swallowed it whole.
A few gray clouds scuttled across the horizon, low and fast, dragging a cool breeze over the parking lot. The air shifted the way it always did in Colorado right before the weather turned—sharp and restless, as though the sky couldn’t decide whether to forgive or punish.
If it rained like the forecast predicted, it would wash away evidence and turn the trails into slick mud and gravel.
It would create havoc for the volunteers, who were already tired.
Mudslides weren’t uncommon after a heavy rain, especially in ravine country, where loose shale and debris waited for an excuse to move.
Daylight was bleeding out. The sun slid behind the mountain range, leaving the peaks silhouetted in bruised purples and deepening blue.
Supervisor Howard stepped beneath the awning and handed back a roll of flagging tape with the same absentminded ease a man might return a borrowed pen.
He and Aubrey had shown up this morning with a bunch of supplies, but Ethan had assumed they’d returned to the office after that.
Maybe Howard had come back out to check on the progress of the search at the end of the day.
“Did you ever hear back from the FAA about the black box?” he asked Ethan now.
Ethan forced his gaze away from the line of volunteers and down to the map spread across the folding table. “Yeah. It’s not good.”
He tried calling Aubrey again. Voicemail.
Ethan kept his voice even. “Apparently, instead of writing over the recording from the previous flight, there was no information. It was blank. Probably a malfunction of some kind, or so they think.”
Howard’s brows went up. “Is that normal?”
“From what I understand, if the boxes aren’t maintained, yes. It can be.”
Howard stared at the mountain like he could intimidate it into producing the wreckage. “So we’re back to square one on who broke out Donovan and brought him here.”
Ethan exhaled through his nose. “It appears so.” He lifted the walkie and thumbed the channel. “All remaining volunteer groups, return to the command center. We’ll resume the search tomorrow.”
Static. Then a chorus of tired voices.
“Ten-four.”
“Copy.”
“Returning.”
Ethan lowered the radio and looked at Howard. “And given the weather conditions and the terrain, we were hamstrung today. We’ll regroup in the morning with SAR, when the light’s better.”
Howard’s expression softened, an unfamiliar sight. He clapped Ethan on the back. “You’ll find the wreckage. It’s just a matter of time. I’m heading back to civilization to grab something to eat.”
Praise from Howard felt like rain in a drought: rare, and somehow still not refreshing.
Because they didn’t have time. Time was always the thing they ran out of.
Ethan didn’t deserve the praise. Not when he couldn’t even get a straight ring on Aubrey’s phone.
The longer Finn Donovan was out there, the higher the chance someone innocent got hurt.
Ethan pulled his phone out again and tried Aubrey another time.
Still no answer.
The volunteer groups were trickling in now, handing over walkies, returning maps, nodding farewell as they headed off to homes and loved ones.
He glanced up. Heavy clouds concealed what remained of the late-afternoon sun. Wind picked up, leaves and grit swirling across the gravel parking lot. Montgomery and Roberts were still out there—staying late to chase a last promising lead.
Ethan checked his watch.
Almost six.
Which meant the Renegade Marshals office staff should be gone for the day, unless someone had stayed behind.
He turned away from the commotion and walked to the edge of the lot, where the reception improved by a bar or two. He dialed the office.
“US Marshals Service, Renegade Office, this is Deputy Marshal Kennedy speaking.”
“Kennedy.” Ethan kept his voice level, even as his pulse started to tick faster. “Hey. Is Aubrey there?”
Silence hummed on the line. A pause long enough to mean something.
“I thought she was with you,” Emma said finally.
Ethan’s stomach dropped, cold and heavy. The wind suddenly felt sharper. The world tilted in a way that had nothing to do with the mountain. “She was here earlier, but when I didn’t see her, I figured she’d gone back to the office.”
A beat of static. Then Kennedy’s tone sharpened. “Do you want me to—”
“I need you to call in the SAR groups for tomorrow.” Ethan forced the immediate task out first. “Make sure they know we may be extending the grid.”
“You got it.”
“And Kennedy?” Ethan’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. “If Aubrey contacts you, let me know. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I want to know where she is.”
“No problem.”
The line went dead before Ethan could add anything else. He stared at his screen for a second, then shoved the phone into his pocket like it had betrayed him.
He checked the last volunteer group off his list. Everyone was accounted for. He rolled up the laminated map, shoved it into the plastic bin with the walkies, and closed the lid harder than necessary.
Howard was halfway to his sedan. The last person to have seen Aubrey.
Ethan caught up to him before he reached the driver’s door. “Howard. Wait up.”
Howard turned, impatience already forming, but it shifted when he read Ethan’s face. Before Ethan could speak, the walkie crackled to life.
“Butler, do you copy? This is Roberts.” Liam sounded out of breath, and that alone tightened Ethan’s shoulders.
Ethan lifted the radio. “Copy. Go ahead.”
“We have a situation,” Roberts said.
“What is it?” Ethan and Howard spoke in tandem.
“We found the plane.” Roberts’s voice cut through the static.
“The thick foliage was obstructing our view into the ravine. Montgomery and I climbed above the ravine on the east side of Renegade Mountain and spotted it. It’s sitting at an odd angle, and tree branches are hiding most of the fuselage. ”
“I’m sending you some photos and the coordinates,” Montgomery added, his voice coming in a second later, steadier but tight.
Howard straightened, all command now. “Good work. Send the exact location to Kennedy. She’s back at the office. Make sure she forwards it to all the marshals, then we’ll send coordinates to search and rescue. This information is not to be released to the public yet. Got it?”
“Copy,” Roberts said over the radio.
As if Ethan or any of the other deputies would leak it. The moment the press got wind of a downed plane, this mountain would be crawling with camera crews and civilians desperate to insert themselves into the tragedy.
Ethan thumbed the radio again. “Have you guys seen Aubrey?”
A brief pause, then Roberts replied, “I saw her join up with one of the last groups to go out this morning.”
Ethan’s gaze snapped to the lot. Only a handful of vehicles remained—his truck, Howard’s sedan, Roberts’s SUV, and Montgomery’s truck. “She wouldn’t have put herself in greater danger by going out. Surely not.”
Howard rubbed the back of his neck. “Perhaps she caught a ride home with another volunteer when they came back.”
Ethan stared at him. “Her phone’s off. She’s not answering.”
Howard’s mouth tightened. “Well, where could she be?”
Ethan paced under the awning, boots grinding grit.
“Of all the dangerous things to participate in…” He stopped, forced himself to breathe.
Howard was the one who’d brought her out here in the first place.
Complaining would undermine his boss and risk creating even more problems with his supervisor.
Still…“Didn’t Aubrey go back to the office with you this morning, sir? You brought her here, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t see her when I left, so I figured she’d either gotten a ride already or decided to help with the search. She knows how to take care of herself.” Howard nodded as if that answered it.
Ethan gripped the handset. He couldn’t believe Howard was being so blasé about this. “Liam, which trail did you see her on?”