We’re on the trail at first light, as Dalton promised. Out all day on horseback, in hopes that the quieter ride will help us hear anything untoward. We don’t.
We return to the cave. As much of a long shot as that might seem, that’s exactly why we have to go back. It’s like when I played hide-and-seek as a girl—my favorite trick was to return to a spot I’d used earlier because no one ever checked those. We’re dealing with a smart man, in full control of his choices and actions. He might do the same. He didn’t. We comb through that cave system and find no sign that he’s even visited it again.
Late afternoon, we return to join the general search. The hunt is both organized and controlled—the last thing we want is for Nicole’s captor to grab a second victim.
There’s no shortage of volunteers. Too many actually, more than we can afford to have in the forest and keep the town running. I used to hear about searches like this down south. Someone would go missing on a hiking trail, and I would always wonder at that. How could you leave groomed trail—often to go to the bathroom, as Val had—and get lost? The search would be organized, with hundreds of volunteers and tracking dogs and search helicopters—every tool available to modern search-and-rescue. Yet they’d find nothing. How was that possible?
I’ve already discovered how easy it is to get lost only a few steps from a path. Now I see a massive search effort, how flawless it seems, how futile it feels. Nicole could be bound and gagged under a fallen branch, and we would pass right by her.
Which does not stop us from searching. All day. Into the night. Up the next morning. Out again. Endlessly searching.
I overdo it. I can’t help that. I found her. I brought her back. And I let her be taken again.
I finally understand exactly how Dalton felt when Abbygail disappeared—that devastating level of guilt. For him, it was a girl with an unrequited crush, threatening to go into the forest to get his attention … and then disappearing. For me, it is the woman I brought home from an unimaginable ordeal … only to let her captor take her again, right from under our noses.
We talk about that, as we’re out there, searching. Shared guilt. Shared reassurances that we’d done our best. Shared fears that we hadn’t, that we couldn’t, that when it comes to keeping another person safe, there is never going to be a point where you feel you did all you could.
Here, part of doing all we can means taking the plane up as soon as the wind dies down. It also means recruiting every human resource. That morning, Dalton tacks a piece of yellow cloth to a tree. It’s a sign for Jacob to meet him when the sun is high.
From there, we go to Brent, and Dalton asks him to use his bounty-hunting skills to help us. He doesn’t offer payment. That is implied, and even then, it’ll have to be worked into a trade so Brent won’t feel insulted.
We head to the marked tree just before noon. Jacob is already there and waiting. I tell him about Nicole.
“But how? Did she go into the woods again? I know she wanted to walk the dog but—”
He stops short of saying anything that could sound like an accusation.
“She was taken from her bedroom,” I say.
“And, yeah,” Dalton says. “She had a nurse, a guard, heightened patrols—”
“I’m not saying—” Jacob begins.
“We are,” I say with a weak smile. “Trust me, we’re saying it.”
“This guy came right into Rockton, though? That’s…”
“Ballsy,” I say. “We know. Then the storm hit, and we lost their trail. We were wondering if you could help.”
“Of course. Just tell me what to do.”
Dalton gives him a region he’s familiar with, and Jacob nods, and then says, “We’ll find her. It might seem like this forest goes on forever, but someone’s going to see something. This guy won’t kill her. If he wanted to do that, he’d have done it in town, right?”
When I nod, Jacob seems relieved, as if he hadn’t been stating a fact as much as posing a question.
“She’s tough,” he says. “She knows we’re looking for her, and she’ll stay alive. That’s how she’ll beat him. She’ll stay alive until we find her.”
I hope so. I really hope so.
On the way back for lunch, we meet up with Anders. We’re walking and talking, heading toward the station.
“I’ll round up a hot lunch,” Dalton says. “You two…” He trails off as he sees Jen parked on the station front steps. “Fuck.”
“Why don’t I go get lunch?” Anders says.
“No, I—”
“I insist.”
“I’ll go with—” I begin, but Dalton’s hand lands on my shoulder.
I sigh, and we walk over to Jen.
“This isn’t a public rest stop,” Dalton says. “It’s also not the way to get yourself hired.”
“Huh,” she says. “You sure? I kinda thought that making myself useful and helping your halfwit detective might be the way to prove myself.”
Dalton says nothing, just stands there, looking at her. Finally she rises and says, “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to rephrase that without an insult attached. Though I suspect that might be physically impossible.”
“I was just—”
“Reflexively insulting Casey. The way you do to everyone. Because everyone needs to be knocked down a few pegs, and that’s your job. Which means you aren’t ever getting a job here, Jen. As militia, you’d need to show both of us basic respect. That’s how policing works, just like in the army.”