“Thank you,” I tell him honestly.
He blushes, ducks his head. “Just, uh, just yell if you need anything.”
He returns to his post at the reception desk.
I start typing.
* * *
—
Like any cold case investigator, I specialize in digging up information, especially old and seemingly irrelevant details. Local papers, with their archives of years past, are a gold mine, though fewer and fewer exist.
I’m lucky this area still has one. It enables me to start out smoking hot and downright cocky. Then I hit the first dead end. Then another and another.
But I’m obsessive, and it’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway. Pass out cold, maybe, but rest?
It’s not possible anymore.
Shortly after ten, I find a record of what I’m looking for.
“Is it okay to print?” I call out to Seth.
He’s only too happy to be of assistance again, especially as now both of us are wedged into the tiny space and he gets to rub against me several times as he revs the printer to life and feeds it additional paper.
I hit “print.” Seconds later, I snatch up the documents before he has a chance to see them.
More thank-yous, more goodbyes, then I’m on my way.
I can barely walk, my muscles having stiffened up while I was sitting, and my feet, at first enthusiastic to rediscover tennis shoes, now scream in agony. Which pisses me off, because forget walking, I should be running right now.
Instead, I hobble along, teeth gritted against the pain.
It’s time to ask for my next favor.
* * *
—
Luciana and Daisy are back in the room when I enter. Daisy is sprawled on the bed nearest to me. She lifts her head at my entrance, thumping her tail and yawning impressively.
“Good to see you, too,” I assure her. Then, because the dog did save my life, I give her a good scratching behind the ears.
“I see you’ve been busy,” Luciana comments, gesturing to the formal lineup of gutted backpacks, each with its contents spewed out in front of it. Then, of course, there’s the pile of sweaty, dirty clothes, which isn’t doing wonders for the air in the room.
“I thought I’d get everyone’s gear sorted. Do something useful.”
“Is that the burn pile?” She points to the laundry heap.
“Exactly.”
“Frankie, you need to rest. Your body is nowhere near recovered. Hell, Daisy and I are nowhere near recovered and all we did was sprint down a mountain after a brief interval of captivity.”
“Are you two headed back to Devil’s Canyon tomorrow?”
“No. There’s more than enough cooks in the kitchen now. And Daisy and I need to recuperate, both physically and mentally. That first day, when we finally emerged from the woods, knowing the rest of you remained stranded and vulnerable at base camp . . . we had to go back. Till each and every one of you was rescued. We weren’t stopping before then.”
“But still no Martin,” I venture, with just enough question in my voice. I’m very curious about her answer but don’t want to show it.
“A party has been assembled to start scouring the ravine tomorrow. But from what I saw on the map, that’s gonna be a total bitch. Hard to access and almost impossible to navigate given the heavily wooded terrain. Better them than me.”
I nod. “So we’ll return to the hospital in the morning?”
“Exactly. I’ll tell you a secret—Daisy isn’t allowed in, not being a service dog. But I put her in her black work vest, then waltz in like we have every right to be there, and no one bats an eye. The fact she’s adorable and well behaved helps, too.”
“Thank you for coming back,” I murmur. “Thank you for not giving up, for returning to Devil’s Canyon even though you had to be exhausted. Thank you for saving Miguel and me.”
The words come out thicker than I intended. I can feel my eyes welling up. I’m exhausted. I do need to recover. Luciana’s right—we’re all going to need time to process. But not yet. Not for me.
Luciana regards me with her rich brown eyes. They hold a sheen of moisture as well. “Anytime, my friend,” she says quietly. “Anytime.”
Then, while the mood is still warm and fuzzy, I hit her with the question I really wanted to ask from the very beginning.
“Can I borrow your car?”
* * *
—
Luciana tries to refuse. I shouldn’t be going out, there’s no kind of errand that can’t wait till morning. But in the end, my unwavering patience wears her down. She slams the keys into my hand. Orders me to be careful, then watches me with genuine concern as I leave the comfort of the motel.