Dana Mentink - Race to Rescue

Sergeant Williams alternately took pictures and talked into her radio. There was another officer there whom Anita didn’t know, and a fire-rescue vehicle. Somehow she got out of the truck and made her way toward Williams.

“Ms. Teel. I’m very sorry.”

“Just tell me. What did you find?”

The officer wiped the sweat from her brow and pointed. “Down there. His motorcycle.”

Anita walked several yards away to the edge of a steep canyon. A jagged break in the guardrail framed the view below. The twisted remnants of Drew’s motorcycle lay broken and smashed several hundred feet down. She could see the helmeted firefighters milling around, the yellow ropes they’d used to descend bright against the brown cliff side.

“Did you find…?” Her voice broke and she tried again. “Did you find my brother?”

Williams shook her head. “No, ma’am. He may have been thrown from the bike. They’re looking for him now.”

Her heart swelled. “Then he may be alive.” She looked from Booker to Williams and saw the doubt on their faces. “But you don’t think so?”

“It would be unlikely, ma’am. That was a violent impact, and as far as we can tell the bike’s been there for a while.”

Anita felt the hope slide out of her. Her breath grew short, and her head began spinning. Booker took her by the arm and led her to the shade cast by the fire engine. He dried the metal bumper with his jacket sleeve and helped her sit.

“Take it easy. I’ve got some cold water in the truck.” He jogged away to return with an icy bottle.

While she took a few sips, Booker walked closer to the accident site. She watched him studying it, the brim of his baseball cap casting a shadow on his face. He spoke for a moment with the police before he returned to her.

“What is it? What are you thinking?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s hear what the rescue crew has to say.”

She was glad when he eased his tall frame down next to her. The feel of him seemed to steady her.

A car pulled up.

Paul Gershwin eased his wiry frame from the seat and hurried over to them. “Oh, man. I heard the call on the radio. Is he…? Have they found him?”

Anita’s eyes filled. “Not yet. His bike is down there, at the bottom.”

Gershwin gave her arm a squeeze and went to talk with the police. When he returned, his face was a shade paler. “I’m not sure what to say, Ms. Teel.”

“Please call me Anita.”

He looked at his dusty shoes. “I can’t believe that’s how it would end for Drew.”

“It hasn’t ended.” The words shot out of her like arrows. “He could be alive. They haven’t found any evidence to the contrary.”

His eyes widened. “Of course, of course. He’s such a character, so quick on his feet. If anyone could survive this, he could. Did they find his gear?”

She shook her head, not daring to look at him closely.

“Then there’s hope, right?”

She nodded miserably.

“There’s always hope. Look, I’ve got to get back to the magazine. I’ll be there for a couple of hours. Here’s my cell phone.” He handed her a business card. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Paul patted her back and left.

Gershwin thought her brother was dead. So did the police and firefighters and probably Booker. The ruined motorcycle added evidence to support the conclusion.

She could not agree with them.

Drew was alive. She believed it with every fiber in her being.

She had to.

An hour later Booker watched as the firefighters cleared the scene. Anita sat in his truck, her chin determinedly high, fingers laced together. The irony made him sigh. She’d only been in Arizona a little more than twenty-four hours, and her life was inextricably twined with his once again. It was like some sort of strange magnetic force that pulled them close until something flipped and they repelled each other.

What flipped was her, he reminded himself. He recalled the tenderness they’d shared, the sweet vulnerability that made him fall for her, hard. He knew she’d loved him; he could see it in every touch, every gesture. Then it was gone. She’d come out all teeth and claws to ruin his chance to save his father’s ranch and any shot they’d had at a future. Remember that, Booker. Help her get through this and put her back on a plane.

When Agent Rogelio pulled up at the scene, Booker felt his stomach tighten. He waited, watching Rogelio discuss the details with the local cops before his gaze slid over to where Booker stood. He surveyed the scene in a leisurely manner before he spoke, out of earshot of Anita.

“Too bad it turned out this way.”

Booker kept his face impassive. “Isn’t over until they find the body.”

Rogelio pulled his hat down lower to shade his eyes. “You know what kind of place this is. One mistake, one chance, is all you get. The desert takes no prisoners.”

Booker could not read the man’s eyes behind the shaded glasses. Should he share his suspicions about Drew’s accident? A twist of doubt caused him to keep quiet about it.

Aren’t you out on a limb enough where Rogelio’s concerned? “I’m going to take Anita back to her hotel.”

Rogelio stopped him. “We’re investigating some things about Drew Teel. Things that aren’t looking too good for him. Might want to prepare your gal for some bad news.”

“She’s not my gal.”

Rogelio stared at Anita, a hungry smile creeping across his face. “Good to know I’ve got a shot, then. I like them feisty.”

Booker’s jaw tightened. Don’t even try it, man. He held himself frozen to the spot until Rogelio left.

Shaking off the comment, Booker spoke again to Sergeant Williams, who promised to keep them apprised and assured Anita that a search-and-rescue crew would remain at the sight for the next twelve hours.

“I don’t feel right about leaving,” Anita announced, as he got in the truck next to her.

“They’ll call if there’s anything. We’re in the way here.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, brown eyes fiery. “No. My brother is down there somewhere and I’m staying right here. I’ll go find someplace else to sit if you don’t want me in your truck.”

Uncertainty shot through him. “It’s not that.”

She picked up on it right away. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing. You don’t think they’re going to find him alive.” Tears began to spill down her face. “How can you believe that? He’s all I have. He’s the only person in the whole world who…” She kept her face turned to him, the agony written plainly there.

He grabbed her hand to stop the anguished flow of words. “That’s not what’s on my mind, Anita. I’ve got a strange feeling, is all, but I don’t want to mislead you.”

Her mouth opened in a shocked gasp. “What? What do you think? Please tell me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she squeezed his fingers. “Please.”

He picked his words carefully. “Something’s wrong. This road.” He pulled his hand away to gesture to the desolate stretch. “It doesn’t lead to town or to the Painted Cliffs. There’s really no reason for Drew to be here. The spot where the bike went over. It’s not a sharp turn, wouldn’t have been a problem for an experienced biker to manage.”

She nodded. “And?”

“And there’s nothing in his saddlebags. No provisions, work stuff, camera, anything. No backpack found at the scene.” His eyes scanned the horizon. “Williams says it looks like the gas tank was empty.”

“So you think maybe the accident was staged? That Drew isn’t dead?” Hope sparkled in her eyes.

“Listen. I’m no cop. Just a gut feeling. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”