And yet, when the coordinator asked the team leader his confidence level that they searched that area completely, he said 47%.
It was dark; the fog blanketed the ground, rising to about chest level. It would burn off soon. But the sky was already starting to take on some color. The moon, full and bright, rested on the treetops in the west.
Gabriel stood off to the side with Whiskey between his boots, a long lead folded accordion style in his palm. With the papers signed, they were waiting for an escort up to the trailer. They were in line of sight, but the area had been cordoned off, and only specific people were allowed to approach.
With a nod from a man who looked like he’d spent his whole life bivouacking on the side of the mountain, Reaper started off, and Gabriel trailed behind.
He’d be fine coming along and observing.
This was two kids’ lives on the line. It wasn’t a good time for him to get his feet wet.
Reaper should hold the lead.
Gabriel looked down to see how Whiskey was doing. She, at least, had gotten plenty of sleep, and she looked as bouncy and enthusiastic as he’d ever seen her.
As his boots crunched over the gravel drive, Gabriel took in the row of old tires, painted white and filled with dirt.Someone must have scattered some seeds, because they were starting to sprout green shoots. It looked like those might be Gabriel’s mom’s favorite zinnias. They’d be bright and pretty, hardy under a hot summer sun, a welcome to someone coming home.
Reaper said they’d moved the parents off to a tent where someone would be there to provide support, either the police officer who could answer their technical questions or maybe a social worker. They’d be able to have a few family and friends there, along with any clergy.
This was the kind of night when people reached for the hand of something higher, when prayers were thick with desperation. He’d had those nights towards the end of Daniel’s life. He wasn’t praying for a cure; he wanted his brother’s suffering to be over with.
Gabriel was glad that the parents wouldn’t be at the trailer.
He didn’t want to have to look in the mother’s eyes, to see her assess Whiskey and to focus her hope on their little team. That was a heavy load to carry. Gabriel would stand there if he had to, but it was better for his energy to be fully focused on accomplishing this task, even though he had no idea how to go about it.
It was a steep mountain and equally steep learning curve—time to pull up his Ranger mojo.
The emergency manager who escorted them to the yard nodded at the officers on guard, then he turned and headed back toward the TOC.
The officer grinned at Reaper. “I recognized you right away, Reaper Hamilton, isn’t it?” He extended his hand for a shake.
Reaper turned with an open hand. “This is Whiskey’s owner, Gabriel Atworth.”
“Thanks for coming up.” As the officer shook Gabriel’s hand, he looked down at Whiskey. “I sure wish I could pet you, good girl. But you’re working. And I know the rules.”
“You have the scents ready?” Reaper asked as his gaze methodically took in the area.
Gabriel wondered how a search assessment differed from his training in hot zones. He’d ask Reaper when it didn’t interfere with their task.
The officer pushed the screen door wide, reached into the trailer, and came back with two gallon-sized self-sealing bags; each contained an article of clothing.
That was interesting, Gabriel thought. He wondered how they handled two different scents at once. Pick one kid’s shirt, and that might be the weaker scent. Give Whiskey both, and what does he do if they go in opposite directions and they’re no longer together? One wandered off, and the other went looking, but their paths diverged.
Whiskey’s gaze was locked on those bags.
She was already on task. Professional as hell. Regal even in the drooping sadness of her face.
“The mom thinks the kids went out the patio door. It was the one she found open.” He pointed at the other end of the trailer where empty plastic flowerpots surrounded a little wooden stoop. “I’m going to check that you’re cleared to go. I’ll be back with a signal.”
After the officer turned the corner, Gabriel followed Reaper to the door. His job with the FBI had provided him with too many pictures to geolocate that were set up similarly to this. His expertise lay in examining still images and finding the clues. That was his mindset. “No one’s considering a crime?” he asked.
Reaper turned to him. “Let me frame our roles for you. We’re going to stay on task. Our job is to follow the scent. What that scent will reveal is something we will handle at the otherend of this search. If we’re looking for lost children or if we’re looking for a bad guy that took the children, it doesn’t change how our team approaches the situation.”
“Is that true for all the teams out here tonight?”
“No. But when you’re with Whiskey, the only thing you do is keep Whiskey safe while she works. Is your gun in reach?”
Gabriel pushed his hand behind his chest bag to pull out the grip of his gun enough for Reaper to see, then he tucked it back away.
