Chapter 11
Eleven
Dan
I already have the coffee percolating on the fire when I hear the tent zipper.
I hear her footsteps moving away and glance over my shoulder to see her slip into the woods. Answering the call of nature, I assume. She’s gone a bit longer than I would’ve thought, and I’m contemplating looking for her, when she reappears closer to the creek. Her hair is wet.
“I was about to go in search of you.”
I fill her thermal mug and hand it to her when she joins me by the fire. She takes a deep swig that has to be burning her mouth before answering.
“Had to dunk my head in the water to wake up.” Then she holds up the mug. “This will hopefully clear the cobwebs. I slept hard.”
Shit, I wish I could say I slept at all, but other than dozing off for a few minutes a couple of times, I was awake all damn night. My eyes are gritty but my mind is clear this morning. I had a lot of time to think.
Sloane cups the thermos in both hands, holding it in front of her like some kind of shield she can hide behind. But there’s no hiding the frown on her forehead or the tension around her eyes. She may have slept hard, but it wasn’t restful.
I fucked up.
I have no idea what went through my alcohol-pickled brain eight years ago, but it’s clear I broke something that night.
How ironic, when I distinctly remember deciding, once the dust had settled on Mom’s funeral, I would finally ask Sloane out on a proper date. See if she was interested in something more than the friendship we had, because I sure as hell was.
I’d been biding my time, my life being what it was at the time, I didn’t think I could give her what she deserved. I was afraid she’d reject me right off the bat. So, I waited, and then when she apparently served herself up on a platter, I blew her off.
Unreal .
Of course, now that I know, I’m not going to leave a stone unturned until I have her naked in my bed again. Except this time, I’m gonna make sure she stays. For good.
It’s going to take work though. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover, a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of hurt to set right. But the very first thing I have to do is make sure there is no miscommunication whatsoever about what my objective is.
Starting with this…
I step into her and cup her face in my hands. Her eyes widen, but since I’ve effectively trapped her hands between us, she can’t push me away, and I don’t give her a chance to object because my mouth is already on hers.
My heart is hammering in my chest, too cognizant of everything I could be doing wrong right at this moment. It’s out of character for me to be so forward—I’m generally the cautious and predictable one—but I’m going with my gut on this, and my gut tells me to be bold in my approach.
It’s a risk that could earn me outright rejection.
Sloane freezes under my touch, but only for a moment. Then her body seems to relax into mine, her arms find their way around my waist, and her lips open to the coaxing of my tongue.
Her taste… damn …it’s as new as it is familiar. A taste I already know I’ll never tire of.
When her tongue slides along mine, goosebumps break out all over my skin. She moans in my mouth, and I feel the soft vibration down to my bones.
Talking about bones…there is no way she doesn’t feel my painfully hard cock pressing into her stomach.
I’m about to end the kiss before I lose all control, when a metallic clang sounds right behind me, startling both of us.
“Sorry,” Sloane mumbles, as she slips around me and bends down to retrieve the thermos she dropped.
“That’s my line,” I tell her, reaching over to grab her wrist to prevent her from putting the distance back between us.
She keeps her eyes aimed at my chest as I turn her to face me.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t explain what happened that night, and it doesn’t even matter if I could. Nothing I can say now is going to take away the fact I hurt you, and no amount of sorry is going to fix that.”
That earns me her eyes, but they’re hard and narrowed, and her voice has a definite edge.
“So you decided to kiss it better?”
I don’t hesitate with my response. “No. The kiss was to make it clear where I stand.”
She lowers her eyes to the ground between us and says, in a soft voice, “Too bad it’s eight years too late.”
Well, I didn’t expect it to be easy.
“We will see about that.”
Sloane
I am petrified.
It took me a long time to get over Dan, and it terrifies me how little control I had over my response to him. My mind was screaming no, but my traitorous body was all over that kiss.
That kiss.
I can’t tell you how often I fantasized about kissing him, imagined being in his arms, our bodies pressed close together. This was so much more, and not just because of the impressive boner I could feel every inch of. I’ve never been this conflicted over a kiss.
It’s not that I don’t believe him—I don’t think he could’ve faked his shock—but for the past eight years I lived with the pain of rejection as truth. It’s become part of me and isn’t so easy to switch off. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be rid of it.
I top up my coffee from the pot still sitting on the small fire. I spilled most of what was in my mug when I dropped it.
“We should probably eat something,” he interrupts my thoughts. “It’s ten to seven, those guys should be here soon.”
Right, there’s a girl who I need to identify and return to her family. Someone is missing their daughter, and here I am, worrying about a silly kiss. Clearly, Dan already put it behind him.
I take the granola bar he offers me.
“Thanks.” I peel the wrapper back and take a bite. Still chewing, I ask, “Should we break up camp now?”
He shakes his head. “Let’s do it after, we can take our time.” Then he leaves me standing by the fire.
Not sure what he wants to take his time for, but I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Call me crazy, but I feel responsible for the girl’s remains.
I turn around at the sound of a soft hiss and find him spraying himself with bug spray. When he catches me looking, he raises a questioning eyebrow and holds up the can of DEET. Even a whiff of the stuff in the air makes me want to gag, let alone when I spray it all over my skin. But, since I already have an impressive collection of bug bites I have no desire to add to, I concede and take the offered can.
I’m just handing the can back to Dan when his radio crackles alive.
“Tracker Three for Tracker Six. Rise and shine, kids. Over”
I recognize Bo’s distinct deep rumble.
“This is Tracker Six. Morning. You guys here already? Over,” Dan responds
“Had to wait for the sheriff at the trailhead. About to ride out now. Over”
Dan checks his watch.
“Roger. We’ll be ready. Out.”
Five minutes later we each pick up one end of the black, heavy-duty bag we left just inside the tree line, and start walking toward the rock wall. We try to keep the surprisingly heavy bag as level as we can to avoid jostling the remains inside too much, but it means the going is slow.
When we get to the large boulder we have to circumvent, my pack starts sliding off my shoulder. It holds my crime scene kit but also, and more importantly, my camera. I was hoping to properly record securing the remains in the basket, and take some pictures as well as it’s being hauled up to the edge of the cliff, into the hands of the sheriff waiting up there.
“Hold up,” I warn Dan, who is leading the way. “Can we put her down for a sec?”
After carefully lowering her to the ground, I hoist the strap back up my shoulder and start looping my arm through the other one.
“Want me to take that?” he offers, holding out a hand.
I shrug and slip the backpack off again, handing it to him. Who am I to argue if he wants to carry the extra weight?
“Where are they going to lower the basket?” I want to know.
The area right above where we found her is probably not the best location. Dan tilts his hat back, rubbing his hand over his chin as he looks up to scan the ridge.
“Probably best if we wait for the guys to get there. We’ll figure it out then. But for now, let’s move the body to level ground on the other side.”
Once we have that done, I get a little restless just standing around, waiting. So, I grab my camera and go exploring along the base of the cliff, walking toward the flat rock where we found the girl’s remains. I snap a few more shots of the location, as well as up to the ledge above.
As I’m shooting, I move around the rock to the other side. I looked around here yesterday, but with a focus on the body. Now, I pan my camera around, away from the wall and toward where the creek runs, clicking the shutter, until something catches my eye.
I lower the camera and squint, but all I can make out is something light in color against the trunk of a tree. Not quite sure what I’m looking at, I move closer.
When I recognize it, I immediately jump into action, snapping away furiously.
“Dan! I need my kit!”
I probably startled him because in no time at all I hear steps running toward me.
“What is it?” he pants.
Lowering the camera, I point out the bones I spotted.
“I think maybe it’s part of her missing leg.”
I could see how an animal might have dragged off the leg to feed in the shelter of the trees.
“I’m going to need my pack,” I mention to Dan over my shoulder as I approach the bones.
Crouching down, I notice the foot appears to be missing and the lower leg is separated from the upper leg at the knee joint. I quickly take a few close-ups.
“Here.”
Dan hands me my backpack, and I retrieve a pair of gloves and a large evidence bag. Then I carefully collect the bones.
“These should probably go with the body.”
As I get to my feet, I cradle the evidence bag in my arms. When I swing around to return to where we left the body bag, my foot slips on a root. If not for Dan’s steadying hand on my elbow, I might’ve lost my balance, or worse, dropped the remains. As if burned, I surge forward and out of his reach.
This is nuts. Here I am, holding a body part, and yet my body virtually sizzles at his touch.
A sharp, high frequency whistle echoes through the gorge.
“They’re here,” Dan announces.
While he gets his team on the radio to determine the best location, I head over to the black bag and unzip it, placing the missing bones in with the rest of her. I wish I’d found her foot as well, but who knows where that was dragged. I would love to spend some time looking for it, but the foot holds twenty-six bones, most of them small, and they could be spread out anywhere by now.
At this point, I think it’s more important to find out who this girl is.
I slowly zip the bag back up, taking one last look at her remains. Something seems off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. When I catch sight of Dan approaching, I quickly close it all the way and get to my feet.
“I warned them about the leg bones. They’re lowering the basket over there.”
He indicates a spot halfway between the arrow he painted and the rock plateau where I nearly fell on my face. I see someone leaning over the edge, it looks like Bo. The next moment the basket is tilted over the edge and is lowered slowly.
Once the basket is on even ground, I help Dan lift the bag in, but I leave strapping the remains in tightly to him.
When a few moments later, the basket is pulled up, I feel restless. But I force myself to watch until I see her disappear out of sight at the top. Then I resolutely turn to Dan.
“Let’s pack up and get going.”
We’re silent as we break up camp, saddle and load up the horses, and start heading back downstream. I try to enjoy the ride but my ass hurts and my mind is still trying to figure out what it was that seemed off about the remains.
We’re a little over an hour into our return trip when a lightbulb goes off.
“Which leg was missing?” I ask Dan.
He has a puzzled look on his face but answers anyway.
“Left. Why?”
My stomach shoots up in my throat.
“Because I’m pretty sure the remains I collected this morning were from a right leg.”