What would happen to Madera County if he actually lost the election to this narcissistic clown? The possibility once seemed so remote that he hadn’t given it much thought. Should he be worried? Stranger things had happened. He also had no idea what he would do with himself if he was suddenly out of a job—or how he would sleep at night knowing that self-interested Silverman was the man tasked with keeping his neighbors safe.
Better not let it get to that.
Also, was “self-interested Silverman” a phrase he could use somehow? It was both memorable and accurate.
Jordan had assigned himself the search location closest to where he’d last seen Cara Campbell, simply because he believed she wouldn’t have made it far. They would probably find her white, bloated body within a few hundred feet of where he’d abandoned last night’s search. If they were lucky, she would have washed up on the rocky shore. If she was hung up on a snag in the middle of the river, recovery would be tricky.
As his team—one K9 officer with two floppy-eared bloodhounds, two search and rescue guys, and two deputies—neared the creek, somehow the whitewater didn’t seem quite as loud as it had the night before. Jordan waved away a bug, then realized it was a falling cinder. The morning’s heat was undoubtedly fanned by the nearness of the flames.
“Right behind you!” called Silverman, unnecessarily. “Sounds like we’re almost there.”
“You want me to pepper-spray him, Sheriff?” asked Deputy Narvaez.
“Don’t even joke,” Jordan answered under his breath, dreading a hot-mic moment. “But I appreciate the offer.”
One of the S&R guys was ranging ahead, zigzagging from side to side with his eyes on the ground. He had a reputation as a good tracker and seemed intent on proving it. The dogs were listless and snuffled along without much conviction. If she was here, they’d find her, but Jordan thought it was more likely they’d need the dive team. Not that he would send someone into that water. They might have to use a grappling hook.
He definitely wouldn’t wantthaton video.
Suddenly, the dogs got excited. Barking and straining against their leashes, they pulled the handler, Mark somebody, into the trees. Jordan hurried up to follow and the whole party weaved single file through the underbrush.
When Jordan reached the dogs, they were sitting obediently and happily with their tongues lolling. Mark was sitting on his haunches by a decaying log whose north side was abundantly shelved with brown-and-white fan-shaped mushrooms, looking at something on the ground.
“Stand back.” Jordan held out an arm to keep everyone from tromping through the scene. “What do you have?”
Mark used a long, slender twig to point out a disturbed pile of leaves. “Blood. Still fairly fresh.”
When Silverman’s team crashed through the brush and caught up, Jordan didn’t even bother to warn him off again.
“Sure don’t look like she drowned, now, do it?” chuckled Silverman, folksy accent cranked to the max.
“We have no proof it’s hers. Or even human.”
“The sign around it looks human,” added the S&R tracker helpfully, over Jordan’s shoulder. “Deer don’t wear sneakers.”
“Maybe you couldn’t take her alive,” said Silverman. “Are we going to find her with a bullet hole in her back?”
Jordan whirled. When he saw an iPhone aimed at him, he chose his words carefully.
“I suggest you avoid making any accusations you’re not willing to repeat under oath, Silverman.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Silverman nodded at his henchman, who put the phone away. He finger-combed his hair, then smoothed his L. L. Bean safari shirt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jordan. Just kidding around.”
Mark lifted the leaves in his hands and gave them a sniff. “Human, I’m pretty sure. Alive, too.”
“What do you smell?” asked Jordan.
“Urine. Strong ammonia smell, so I’d say she’s dehydrated. That should slow her down.”
“Which way did she go?” asked Silverman, crowding in eagerly.
“Easier to tell if you back the fuck up and let my dogs do their job,” said Mark cheerfully.
Jordan eyeballed Silverman. “You heard the man.”
Everyone backed up while the dog handler, speaking quietly to his bloodhounds, let the dogs inhale the blood-and-urine-soaked leaves. After only a few seconds, he told them, “Suke!” They bayed and began leading him back toward China Creek. But after wagging their tails at the water’s edge for a few moments, they headed northeast.
“We’ve got ’er,” said Mark, letting the dogs lead the way.
