“Your friends have to be frantic,” Devin said, his tone warmer, but still without the kindness that seemed to come so easily for his partner.
“I know they are,” she said.
She hated lying to them but had no choice. Did they even believe her?
“You’re hiking out with us,” Sanjay pronounced.
Devin was clearly not as convinced. “I’m not sure our phones even had service at the trailhead.”
“If they don’t work, we’ll take you to the nearest town so you can get in contact with someone who can let your friends know you’re safe. Plus, we can’t let you hike back toward the fire.”
Influencer Cara would have asked them a dozen questions to decide whether she could trust them, and still not trusted them at all. Escapee Cara fell in step between them, with Devin leading the way and Sanjay bringing up the rear.
As they hiked, a butterfly fluttered toward Cara and landed on her shoulder.Adorkable,she’d always said when Karl called out the name of any flying creature he found interesting or beautiful. Apparently, she’d paid enough attention to his nerdy hobby to recognize this particular insect as a Gray Hairstreak butterfly, whose orange markings—like backward peering eyes on the wings—were an adaptation against predators.
It had to be a sign.
SEVEN
JORDAN
#IrrigosaFire moving NE toward Yosemite Lakes. Highway 99 has been reopened. Highway 41 closures between Coarsegold and Oakhurst are imminent. Homeowners NE of River Road Estates advised to evacuate immediately.
—@CAL_FIRE
Jordan expected a US Marshal to be a rectangular chunk of man with weathered features, piercing eyes, and a no-BS Texas drawl.
This one had the piercing eyes, but that was about it. She was a fit-looking Asian woman with spiky hair and a loose-jawed surfer accent that sounded wrong coming from someone who wanted to relieve him of his command.
“US Marshal AJ Wen with the Pacific Southwest Regional Task Force,” she said, squeezing his hand vigorously.
“Madera County Sheriff Jordan Burke,” he said, gripping her hand just as hard.
He waited for her to let go first. Petty, maybe.
Behind Wen, three mismatched men, presumably also US Marshals, leaned against a black Ford Explorer with tinted windows. The wide-shouldered blond one looked like he had to turn sideways to get through doorways. The tall, slender Black one was sizing Jordan up, his mouth pursed like he was holding in a wiseass remark. And the fair-skinned, redheaded woman, if this were a movie, would have been the one who could hack into a criminal mastermind’s Swiss bank account from an ordinary laptop.
Beto stood shoulder to shoulder with Jordan, eyeballing the Feds impassively. Jordan knew the deputy had stonewalled them while he angrily retraced his route.
“I welcome your help, even though I would have appreciated a heads-up,” said Jordan, hiding his frustration. “But you might have wasted a trip. Before you called me back here, my K9 team found a blood trail and we’re following it.”
“No offense, Sheriff?” said Wen. “But we haven’t, like, been driving since zero-dark-thirty just to turn around and go back home.”
“You should haveseenthe traffic on the Five,” said the Black guy.
“The only time US Marshals head home is when we have the fugitive in handcuffs,” Wen added.
Jordan was starting to take offense. “Thefugitiveis injured and losing blood. It’s only a matter of time before we catch up to her.”
“That’s a pretty big assumption.”
“So what do you want here, Wen?”
Wen tilted her head to indicate the people and vehicles around them. “You’ve got a growing, multiagency operation. Let me coordinate.”
Most of his deputies and S&R guys were in the field, but there were still plenty of onlookers. Above the paper masks someof them were now wearing as protection against the thickening smoke, eyes were watching. Ears were listening. Jordan knew he had to handle this without losing his temper. But while he stood here negotiating with the minutes slipping away, Silverman was still shadowing his search party.
“And who gets the credit? You guys?”
