“The Triple Crown, man.” Cook shook his hand. “You must have balls of steel.”
When they learned that Conrad, Taylor, Hawke, O’Brien, Moretti, and Belcourt had helped rescue Mitch, Gridwall shook each man’s hand. “You saved my brother. Thank you.”
They mingled in the operations room for a time, smiles on everyone’s faces. Then Megs gave Kurt, Jennifer, and the dirtbags a tour, explaining how the operation worked, how they maintained the quality of the equipment and the discipline necessary to take on high-risk rescues day or night anywhere in the state at any time of year.
“Holy shit!” Gridwall stared at the walls around him, pointing. “You’ve got a fortune in gear hanging in here. That’s some of my company’s stuff. This must have cost hundreds of thousands of bucks. Check that out. What’s that?”
“It’s a special belay device created by Belcourt. He’s a mechanical engineer.”
“I’m going to have to talk with him. Where do you get the money for all of this?”
Mitch answered this time. “Dona… donations.”
“Donations? From thepublic?” Accardo looked like he couldn’t quite grasp that.
“No,” Megs quipped. “From the Gear Fairy.”
Cook picked up a first aid kit. “This was because of Dean’s death, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” The smile left Megs’ face, her gaze fixing on Kurt. “Your father died in part because there was no one prepared to undertake a rescue in bad weather. No one had the staff or the technical expertise. We decided we needed to fill that gap. It was the best way we could think of to honor his memory. We got donations wherever we could, bought this old firehouse, and began searching for volunteers.”
She spoke the words without emotion, but Mitch knew how hard it was for her to discuss Dean’s death. The way he’d died had haunted both of them.
“Volunteers?” Gridwall seemed confused. “They don’t get paid?”
Around him, Team members laughed, amused by his reaction.
“No one gets paid—not me, not Mitch, and not our volunteers. Every penny we receive goes directly into equipment, training, and operational expenses. We’re a nonprofit if you want to write us a fat check.”
More laughter.
“How do you survive?” Accardo asked.
Leave it to the accountant to ask that question.
“We live frugally off capital gains on our retirement accounts.”
Kurt had listened quietly, standing off to the side with Jennifer. “How quickly are you able to reach people?”
Conrad answered this time. “That depends on a variety of factors—time of day, weather, where they are, whether it’s a simple trail rescue or a technical rescue. Our average response time is under two hours. We got to Mitch a little more than two hours after he was injured, and he was on the Western Slope.”
In that moment, it hit Mitch in a way it hadn’t before. The rescue team he’d worked with Megs to create, equip, and train had saved his life.
As they left The Cave in groups of twos and threes, everyone talking, Kurt and Jennifer made their way over to him and Megs.
“Mitch, I want to thank you for keeping your journal. I hope it was okay with you that Megs read some pages to me—entries that involved my father.”
Mitch smiled. “Fine… with me.”
Kurt’s next words hit Mitch square in the chest. “If it’s not too much to ask, I really want to know whatever you can tell me about how my father died.”
Chapter 23
With their guestssettled in the living room, Megs walked to the bedroom to retrieve Mitch’s journal, a knot in her stomach. Dean’s death was the greatest regret of her life, a subject she rarely mentioned. Now she was going to read about it in detail to Dean’s adult son and the dirtbags, who had also been Dean’s friends.
She wasn’t sure she was up for this, but they all deserved the truth.
Mitch walked in behind her, shut the bedroom door, his eyes full of concern. “You d-on’t have to … do this. Just an… answer quest… quest… questions. Or cop…copy it.”
