High-Risk Affair. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
an idiot, he had gone way too far into the mine after that gunshot. He had just wanted to escape that ugly scene. By now, he was so turned around he didn’t know which way he’d come.
None of this seemed familiar. These tunnels were more narrow, barely wide enough for him to get through in spots.
He had tried to backtrack but was now more confused than ever.
His night vision goggles were worthless in here with no light to draw on, so he had abandoned them a ways back and pulled his flashlight out of his bag.
He wasn’t completely unprepared. He might have made mistakes, but at least he hadn’t been that stupid. After he first found the mine entrance a few weeks earlier, he had checked out a book on spelunking from the library, slipping it between a book on soccer and a middle reader mystery so his mom wouldn’t see it and suspect anything.
The book said to always wear a helmet for head protection when exploring underground places. A caver could bump his head on a low ceiling if he wasn’t careful.
All he had was his bike helmet so he had used that. He was grateful for it now since he’d already bonked his head twice in the low tunnels.
The book also said to take along three sources of illumination. Besides the now-worthless night vision goggles, he had two flashlights with two extra sets of batteries for each.
They weren’t going to last long, he knew. Since he was taking a short break, he turned off the flashlight for now to conserve energy, grateful it hung on a lanyard around his neck so he couldn’t lose it. That was a trick his dad taught him when they used to go fishing and stuff, always to keep his light handy.
His dad would have been really mad at him for worrying his mom like this.
He sighed, taking a sip from one of two water bottles he’d stowed in his backpack earlier that evening. He also had a couple of granola bars, some hard candy and a banana.
Without his mom seeing, he had also managed to sneak a few other survival items out of his dad’s stuff stored in the garage, like a first aid kit, one of those shiny survival blankets and a lighter.
He didn’t dare use the lighter inside the mine, though. He knew enough from reading that spelunking book to know there could be bad air inside these places and he didn’t want to risk it.
He looked at his watch again: six forty-five. How long would it take the police to start looking for him? And how would they ever figure out he was inside here, trapped in miles of tunnels with a dead guy?
He shivered again, wishing with all his heart he was back in his bed complaining at his mom for coming in to wake him up so soon.
8:15 a.m.
The community had turned out in force.
Megan stood on her porch and looked out at the crowds of volunteer searchers waiting for assignments to begin combing the foothills above her house.
The sun had barely crested the mountains to the east, but already an empty field at the edge of her five acres had been turned into a staging area for the search.
A Moose Springs Search and Rescue trailer served as the mobile command center, and she could see horses and all-terrain vehicles being unloaded and dozens of strangers with water bottles and fanny packs milling around as the various agencies involved worked out all the necessary search details.
How could this all have happened so suddenly? The FBI agent had been right. Once the sun rose, the search effort had ramped up significantly. Now everything looked organized and efficient. For the first time since she found that horribly empty bed, hope began to flutter through her.
“Looks like word travels fast.”
She turned to find the FBI agent who had grilled her for more than an hour. Caleb Davis stood on the edge of the porch. She didn’t know if he watched her or the volunteer searchers, since dark sunglasses shielded his eyes.
Megan had to fight down her instinctive defensiveness, her deep sense of invasion at the questions he had asked. She knew he had only been doing his job, and she knew later she would probably appreciate his thoroughness. But the hour spent under his microscope had been grueling and intrusive.
Can you go over what woke you again? What led you to go into Cameron’s room? Do you often check on him in the night?
He had asked the questions a dozen different ways. His voice had been cool, controlled, but all the time he questioned her, Agent Davis had studied her out of polar-blue eyes that looked as if they could pierce titanium.
She had answered his questions over and over, never wavering in her story. She still couldn’t tell whether or not he believed her story from any reaction on his lean, harshly handsome features. At this point, she didn’t give a damn. She just wanted her son home—and she could only pray the people gathering in that meadow down there could facilitate that.
“They don’t even know us,” she spoke her thoughts aloud. “Where are they all coming from?”
Agent Davis removed his sunglasses. Their gazes met and for an instant she almost thought she saw a slight softening of his hard edges. It disappeared so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.
“A missing child usually rallies the troops,” he answered. “I should warn you that all indicators are predicting this will be one of those high-profile, media circus kind of cases, especially given your late husband’s military record and the urgency of Cameron’s medical condition.”
The very idea turned her stomach. She had faced enough cameras after Rick’s death to last a lifetime. The San Diego media had jumped on the story of a hometown hero dying in a secret rescue mission in Afghanistan. News vans had been parked on her street for a good two weeks after his funeral, and she and the children had been virtually cloistered inside her house.
Though she had tried to be a good example of a strong, resilient military wife, the newspaper photographs had plainly showed the ravaging grief she hadn’t been able to hide.
“Don’t be surprised when more searchers and more media representatives show up as the day goes on,” Agent Davis continued. “Unfortunately, people around here have had probably too much experience with this sort of thing. Seems like every summer a Boy Scout gets separated from his troop and disappears in the Uintas.”
“Are they all eventually found?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw but he didn’t answer her. She was suddenly chilled from more than just the cool morning air. She gripped the railing so hard the wood dug into her flesh. “I want to search. I need to do something.”
Again, she thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes, quickly veiled.
Why was he so hesitant to show any emotion? she wondered, then pushed the thought away. She didn’t care. He could be made up of nothing but granite as long as he helped find her son.
“It would be best if you stayed close to the house in case we have more questions for you.”
“Would you stay put if your child were out there somewhere?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried down the porch steps toward the bustling activity, driven only by this raging need inside her to act.
As she hurried across her property, she was aware of Caleb Davis dogging her steps. Was he suddenly her designated handler? she wondered. She wanted nothing more than to escape those piercing blue eyes, but she had a feeling he wasn’t an easy man to evade.
At least she had managed to lose Molly for now. Her sister had returned to her house down the road to check on Hailey and make sure she was comfortably settled with Molly’s four kids and her husband, Scott. They would shower her daughter with attention, Megan knew, and keep Hailey busy and distracted so she wouldn’t spend all her time worrying about the brother she adored.
She only wished she could be so lucky, but she knew nothing would distract her