The Guardian. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
right now? Was she safe? Was she somehow mixed up in whatever illegal operation the sniper was protecting? What was she—somebody’s wife or girlfriend, along for the ride, in over her head now? Was she as surprised by the violence that intruded on such peaceful surroundings as Abby was?
“When you were out here before, collecting your plants, did you see anybody else?” Michael asked. “Besides the men who were after our dead guy?”
What was he, a mind reader or something? “No, I didn’t see anybody,” she lied.
“No other hikers or campers?”
“I saw two hikers three days ago. They were tourists from Australia. And I pass people on the roads and see campers in the campground.”
“That’s it?”
“Why? Don’t you believe me?”
“In interrogation training, they tell you that if you ask the same question in several different ways, you sometimes get different answers.”
“So now you’re interrogating me?” What she wouldn’t give to be able to look him in the eye when she spoke. Instead, she was forced to address the ground while he lay on top of her. She appreciated that he was doing his best to hold himself off her, but still, the guy was big and solid. An easy one hundred and eighty pounds.
“It’s a harsh word for questioning,” he said. “A lot of law enforcement is just asking the right questions, of victims, or witnesses, or suspects.”
“Well, you’re not going to get different answers from me.” She saw no reason to betray Mariposa to him. “Do you think you could just slide off me?” she asked.
“I don’t think we’d better risk it. Movement seems to set off our shooter.”
“Why did you throw yourself on top of me in the first place?”
“I’m trained to protect civilians. And I don’t care how politically incorrect it is, my instincts are to keep women and children out of harm’s way.”
“How chivalrous of you.” She hesitated, then added, “But thanks, all the same.” The one thing she’d missed about the military was that sense that her buddies had her back.
“You’re welcome. Sorry we couldn’t have gotten reacquainted under better circumstances.”
“Now that he’s not actually shooting at us and we’re just waiting, it’s pretty boring,” she said. “Like most of the time in the war.”
“Are all our conversations going to come back to that?” he asked.
“Does it bother you, talking about the war?”
“Not really. I thought it bothered you.”
“Sometimes it does,” she admitted. When other people asked about her experiences in Afghanistan, she deflected the questions or changed the subject. “It’s easier with you. You were over there. You understand.”
“I guess I do relate to what you went through. A little bit anyway.”
The radio’s crackle made them both flinch. Abby turned her head toward the sound. Graham keyed the mike. “What have you got?” he asked.
“All clear here.” One of the team members—maybe the sour-faced guy, Simon—said.
“No sign of the shooter?” Graham asked.
“Somebody was here, all right. There’s broken brush and we found some shell casings. Looks like a .300 Win Mag. The dirt’s a little scuffed up, but the ground’s too hard to leave much of an impression.”
“Get Randall and Lotte on it.”
“They’re here. The dog picked up a scent, but it died at the road. We found some tire tracks that look like a truck. We figure someone was waiting to pick up our guy. We never saw signs of a vehicle, so he probably left not long after he fired the last shots at y’all.”
Graham swore under his breath and shoved up onto his knees. No gunshots split the air. Abby let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
Michael rolled off her and popped to his feet, then reached out a hand to help her up. She let him pull her up, her limbs stiff and sore from so long being prone. Clearly, she wasn’t in as good a shape as she’d thought. “You’re bleeding,” he said, and gently touched the side of her face.
She flinched as his fingers brushed against the scar, but then she felt the stickiness of already drying blood. “A rock ricocheted off the ground,” she said. “It’s nothing.”
“Here.” He handed her a black bandanna, then offered a bottle of water. “You should clean it up.”
Head down, she accepted the water and dampened the bandanna. The square of cloth was clean and crisp, like something a businessman would carry tucked into his pocket. She turned her back to the others as she cleaned off the blood and dirt from the side of her face.
“Let me have a look.” Michael moved around in front of her. “You may need stitches.”
“It’s nothing.” She tried once more to turn away, but he put his hand on her shoulder and took her chin in his other hand. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I promise I don’t faint at the sight of blood.”
The teasing quality of the words almost made her smile. If anyone had seen her at her worst, it had been this guy. She had no idea what she’d looked like when the PJs had hauled her onto that helicopter, but the doctors had told her the shrapnel from the IED had torn through the side of her face, narrowly missing her eye. As much as she hated the scar, it was nothing compared to how she might have ended up.
She let him lift her chin and study the side of her face.
“It’s just a little cut, pretty shallow. When we get back to the truck I’ll get a bandage for it.”
“Thanks.” She turned away and combed her hair down to cover the side of her face again.
“Get Marco to help you with recon,” Graham said. “I’ll notify the park rangers that the backcountry is closed indefinitely. No more permits, and they’ll need to round up anyone out with a permit now. Over.”
“You mean just the backcountry within the park, right?” Abby asked.
“I mean all the park, the recreation area and Gunnison Gorge. If these people have a sniper looking after their interests, they have some real money and muscle behind it. Until we know the scope of their operation, we can’t risk the safety of the public.”
“You can’t expect to keep people out of an area that large,” she said.
“We can’t prevent all unauthorized access, but we can stop issuing permits and close all the roads leading into the area. I’m sorry, but that means you won’t be able to continue your research in the area.”
His tone of command left little room for argument. He looked past her to Michael. “Take her back to headquarters, then meet up with Simon and the others. Ms. Stewart, we may have more questions for you later.”
She doubted she’d have any useful answers, but she only nodded and turned to follow Michael back to the Cruiser. By the time they reached the vehicle, she was fuming.
“Sorry about your research,” Michael said as he started the truck. “Maybe you can come back and finish up next summer. Hopefully, things will have calmed down by then.”
“I don’t have next summer,” she said. “My grant is for this summer. Next summer I’ll have to find a job and start paying off my student loans.”
“Is there someplace else you can research—another park, or another part of the state?”
“My grant is to explore this area. Shifting my focus requires a new grant application. Your commander is overreacting. He doesn’t have to close