Jordan waved Beto over and showed him the map. “See these three Xs? I want a team to start at each one and then work their way upstream. If she somehow got washed past the third one, someone will probably spot her body in Oakhurst.”
Beto squinted at the map, calculating routes with an internal GPS that was better than Google’s, at least when it came to the county’s snarls of unmarked back roads.
“Got it.”
While Beto strode into the center of the lot, barking commands as he assembled teams, Jordan looked again at the map. He was pretty sure he knew where he’d been standing when he watched Campbell go in, but how far she’d gone was anybody’s guess. She could have gotten snagged around the first corner in what Pfaff called a “strainer”—a tree or root systemcrossing the stream—where she would have been pinned in place by water pressure. She could have died of hypothermia even if she was still able to breathe.
It would be a gruesome way to go, even for a murderer. But nature offered no leniency.
Hearing shouts and revving engines, he looked up. An orange Ford Bronco with a pointless snorkel was bullying its way into the crowded turnout, refusing to stop for the deputy—Lopez—trying to wave him away. Parking at center stage, Troy Silverman climbed out, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned in a slow circle, making sure the TV cameras on the road caught his whitened smile.
A handful of men Jordan didn’t recognize climbed out of the Bronco and an extended-cab dually pickup that had followed it in. Amber had warned him Silverman was putting together his own search party, but he just hadn’t had time to give it any thought—what with leading the official search party and all.
Not wanting to give the man any satisfaction, Jordan pretended to study the map while he waited for Silverman to come to him, only looking up when he heard, “You running a used car lot here or what, Burke?”
“You need to move your vehicles,” he said, feeling his neck getting warm. “You’re interfering with an official operation.”
Silverman raised his hands in what was supposed to look like a conciliatory gesture. “Just tell us where you need us. We’re here to help.”
“I have plenty of bodies already, thanks.”
“So you found her?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ve got some good men with me—hunters and trackers. Unless you want to risk letting Ms. Campbell slip through your fingers.”
“Go home, Silverman,” Jordan growled.
“What are you going to do, arrest me?” Silverman raised his voice, playing to his followers, no doubt hoping his words carried to the TV cameras. “Me and my fellow volunteers?”
Jordan was well within his rights to remove the men from the scene, but any action he took would only be fodder for Silverman’s next campaign ad. But if he let them help, they would only get in the way, because they weren’t trained like the Search and Rescue volunteers. And—Jordan hated himself for thinking it—what if Silverman’s team actually found Campbell first?
It was hard to think with the barking dogs disrupting his thoughts. But there was a third option: just ignore the asshole.
Leaving a puzzled Silverman behind, Jordan stalked over to Beto. “You’re in command here. I’m going to take one of the teams.”
Beto hardly reacted, but to Jordan, the veteran deputy may as well have winced. “Are you sure?”
He nodded toward Silverman. “Removing myself before I do something I regret.”
“Understood.”
Without acknowledging Silverman, Jordan returned to his vehicle, calmly folded the map, and got behind the wheel. Lighting up his flashers, he drove directly toward Silverman’s Bronco, which was now blocking his exit. He stopped a yard short of the driver’s-side door and gestured impatiently at its owner.
Well?
The TV cameras were definitely rolling.
With a false show of good cheer, Silverman squeezed into his vehicle and pulled forward so Jordan could get out. As soon as Jordan’s tires were on the gravel, he gunned the engine, hoping to kick a few rocks toward the Bronco’s perfect paint job. Not very politic behavior.
Four cars—the deputies and volunteers on Jordan’s team—followed along behind. Jordan watched in his side mirror as the orange Bronco and the big pickup pulled U-turns and followed, too.
FOUR
CARA
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