Conrad lifted Gabby into his lap, listened to the radio traffic. How strange it was not to be part of the action, to sit on the sidelines like this.
Megs turned to face him, filling him in. “A woman reported her adult son missing last week. Marcs found his vehicle up near Fourth of July Trailhead. He parked it near some aspens, and judging from the leaf litter, Marcs thinks it has been there for a while.”
“Shit.” That didn’t sound good.
A burst of static, and then Kenzie’s voice. “Sixteen eighty-eight, arrival.”
Dispatch replied with the time. “Eighteen forty-six.”
Megs turned back to the radio.
Feeling out of place, Conrad left Ops and went up the back stairs to the attic, carrying Gabby, who was just too little to manage stairs as steep as these. He set her down on the wooden floor and fixed her leash to one of the support posts. He sorted through the remaining boxes, making quick trips to his SUV to load them, Gabby whining when he disappeared and greeting him with tail wags when he reappeared.
When he had everything he needed, he scooped the puppy into his arms and headed back to Ops. He still had climbing gear here, as well as furniture. He would leave it until he bought a place. There was no reason to move all of it twice.
Megs and Ahearn were still sitting at the radio.
Conrad waited for a second to be sure he wasn’t interrupting radio traffic. “I’m heading out. I’ve got some furniture and gear up there still.”
Megs said nothing, her brow furrowed.
Ahearn glanced over at him and nodded.
A burst of static, and then Kenzie again. “Sixteen eighty-eight, victim has been located. Code black. We’re going to need a DBT.”
A dead body transfer.
A tightness crept into Conrad’s chest.
“Son of a bitch.” Megs closed her eyes, exhaled. “So much for a happy ending.”
“Sixteen eighty-eight, copy on the DBT. Nineteen twenty-eight.”
“Sixteen twenty-seven, on site. We’ll handle the DBT. Tone out the ME.” That was Hawke, who, in addition to being a primary Team member and a new father, served as the town’s fire chief.
Dispatch replied again with the time. “Toning out the ME. Nineteen twenty-nine.”
Conrad had been a part of rescues like this—kids who’d been washed away by swift mountain streams, suicides, people who’d gone hiking alone, gotten lost, and been killed by hypothermia, falls, rock slides. Hawke and his crew would put what was left of the guy in a body bag and drive him to the medical examiner’s lab in Boulder. Someone would have to tell this guy’s parents that he was gone, breaking their hearts forever.
Conrad’s pulse picked up, the sensation of tightness rising into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stood and, without saying goodbye, left Ops, climbed into his SUV, and drove home.
What the hell was wrong with him?
It was only when he pulled into his driveway that he realized he hadn’t put Gabby in her carrier. He was still holding her.
* * *
Kenzie drove home,feeling sick. She hated searches that ended with a dead body. Those poor parents. Though Kenzie wasn’t an ME, it looked to her like the guy had slipped from the cliff above and broken his neck.
She brushed Gizmo, settled him with his supper, then took a quick shower to wash away the feeling of death. She put on a sundress and walked to Knockers, where she knew the rest of the Team would gather. It was a tradition to let off steam together at the brewpub after a rescue, regardless of the outcome. Caribou Joe—Joe Moffat, the pub’s owner—always had a table waiting for them.
She stepped inside, the strains of bluegrass music coming from the stage, the tables full. It was Friday night, after all, and this was the only brewpub in town.
Cheyenne Taylor, Austin’s younger sister, met her just inside the front door. Tall and blond, Cheyenne had taken on the job of host when Rain was promoted to general manager. With Rain on maternity leave, Cheyenne was more or less doing both jobs now. She didn’t have Rain’s cheerful disposition, but she had mastered the caustic comment.
Everyone missed Rain.
“Sorry about today. I guess you can’t win them all.” Cheyenne handed Kenzie a menu and pointed. “They’re all back at the usual table.”
