Дэвид Балдаччи - Long Road to Mercy

“Rain check?”

“Sure, you bet.”

They were both silent for a few moments, staring off through the windshield.

Pine was feeling awkward and off-kilter. Part of her was thinking about the man next to her. And the other half was going through all the details of her upcoming journey.

For his part, Kettler seemed to have withdrawn into a shell after she had turned down his invitation.

Pine cleared her throat and said, “So, what made you come to work at the Grand Canyon?”

He perked up at the question. “Hell, it’s a fascinating place. It’s not just the geological formations and the terrain and the hiking and all that. It’s got this unbelievable history. So much started right here.”

“Like what?”

“Ever heard of Maasaw?”

“No.”

“He’s the Hopi god of death. He’s said to actually live in the Canyon. And you have the ancestral Puebloan granaries at Nankoweap Creek. And Eagle Rock at Eagle Point on the West Rim. It’s considered sacred by the Hualapai. And some in the Hopi tribe believe the Canyon is the site of the sipapu , the portal through which they climbed a reed cast into the sky and used it to reach the Fourth World.”

“You believe all that?” asked Pine, hiking her eyebrows.

He looked sheepish. “Well, I’d like to believe some of it. For me, the Canyon isn’t just a tourist destination. It’s a living, breathing place. It has a dozen plants that live nowhere else. And the place is constantly evolving. The algae in the river brought in crustaceans, which brought in trout, which brought in the bald eagle. It’s one of the only bird species that uses the river corridor as its winter habitat.” Kettler tapped his temple. “You see, it’s smart. It’s a living thing. How cool is that?”

Pine smiled. “The way you explained it, pretty cool, actually. I’m seeing another side of you, Mr. Kettler.”

“I keep a go pack at work. Sometimes when I’m off duty I go hiking or running. Or even do some climbing.”

“Climbing?”

“Yeah, I was an Army Ranger. To qualify for that status, you had to do a lot of mountain climbing. You do that down in Georgia. It’s sort of a hobby of mine now. I keep climbing ropes and D-links and other equipment in my go pack. And I’ve climbed mountains all over.” He glanced at her. “You might like it.”

“I might. With the right company.” She smiled and punched him lightly on the arm.

Kettler’s brow furrowed.

“Something wrong?”

“Look, full disclosure. There was another reason I came over tonight.”

Pine sat up straighter. “What?”

“Colson Lambert and Harry Rice?”

“What about them?”

“They’ve been reassigned.”

“What! Where?”

“Zion National Park in Utah. Effective immediately. Pretty damn inconvenient, since both of them have families with kids in the local schools. Harry and Colson are going up and leaving their families behind until things can get straightened out.” He glanced at her. “I take it from your reaction that you didn’t know.”

“I had no idea at all.”

“Does this have something to do with the mule? I mean, how could it? But that’s the only thing out of the ordinary. I mean...” His voice trailed off.

“It might, Sam. It probably does, in fact.”

“Okay. I guess you can’t tell me about it?”

“No, I really can’t.”

“Good enough for me. But I thought you needed to know about Lambert and Rice.”

“I did, and I appreciate the heads-up. I really do.”

They remained silent until Pine said, “If you ever want to talk about stuff...”

“Like what?”

“Your time in the Army?”

“Well, I’m not in the Army anymore. That’s in my past. I want to look ahead.”

Pine thought about her own personal situation. “Sometimes you can’t move ahead until you deal with stuff in your past.”

“That’s true, I guess. But I was a soldier, just like a lot of guys. I’m good. I really am. No problems.”

“Okay.”

They said their good-byes, which included a hug that lasted a bit longer than the one at Tony’s Pizza.

Pine could feel the strength of Kettler’s fingers as they gently sank into her skin through the flimsy fabric of her T-shirt. She fully took in his scent, sweat mingling with soap and shampoo. She felt herself a little light-headed. But then what she was going to do the next day came crashing down on her like a chunk of concrete.

She pulled back and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the beer. And the Santana invite. It meant a lot.”

“Anytime,” he replied, his hand grazing her bare arm. “Look forward to hanging out some more.”

She headed back to her apartment, having once more to hop on the asphalt until she got to the cooler pavement. She turned around to find Kettler grinning at her.

She looked down at her bare feet. “I know, goofy, right?”

“Nothing wrong with goofy from where I’m standing. Looks pretty damn beautiful, in fact.”

Two minutes later, after she had watched Kettler drive off in his Jeep, Pine collapsed on her bed.

Pretty damn beautiful, huh?

She kept catching herself smiling as she relived the time spent with Kettler. But then the reality of what lay ahead took over, and her smile faded.

What were the odds that she would finally find someone she enjoyed being with, only to have her job pop up between them like, well, like the Grand Canyon?

And that’s what you signed up for, Atlee, when you put on the badge.

She got up the next morning at seven a.m., picked up the phone, and called Carol Blum.

“I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.”

“I’ll be there. You’re right — before you start your vacation, we might as well take some time to get all your old case files in order.”

“Roger that.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to hike and camp at Mount Nebo in Utah. Need to clear my head. I’ve got all my stuff. I’m leaving from the office to drive there. Be gone a couple weeks. Flagstaff is covering for me. I’ve fixed it all up. The office is officially closed while I’m out. So you’re getting some time off, too.”

“Well, then I’m going to see my daughter in Los Angeles. I’ve got a new grandbaby I haven’t spoiled yet.”

Pine put on her sunglasses, drove to her office, parked in the underground garage, and took the stairs to the elevator.

Blum was there ahead of her. With coffee.

At eight that night, the garage door went up and Pine’s black SUV pulled out, turned right, and headed to the highway north. Blum’s Prius was right behind her. It drove off in the opposite direction.

Two SUVs started up. One followed Pine’s truck, and the other tailed Blum’s Prius.

At midnight, the garage door opened once more.

The 1967 Mustang drove out, its top and windows up.

Pine was at the wheel. Blum rode shotgun. Pine was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and a windbreaker. Blum had changed from her skirt, jacket, and pumps into slacks, flats, and a light blue sweater.

They’d each drawn a bunch of cash out of their bank accounts, because credit and debit cards would not be an option now.

Another car was back in the garage with the custom cover for the Mustang over it.

Pine turned left and headed to State Route 89, taking it south.

The pair had “officially” just gone rogue.

“You’re sure they can’t trace the car?” asked Blum as they got on Interstate 40 heading east.

“I brought it here in the middle of the night when I moved to Shattered Rock. I put it in the office garage and I only drive it at night, and even then it’s been a handful of times since I’ve been here. That’s why I kept the trickle charger on it, otherwise the battery would be dead.”