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“We’re done for today.”
Jodie breathed a sigh of relief.
Willow blinked. “Done?”
“We lost the morning window. It’s already eighty-nine here and hotter closer to the Basin. Forecast still has us pushing ninety. We’re not starting a gather now.”
“When?” Jodie asked.
“Tomorrow. Same plan. Earlier start if we can manage it.”
Willow looked toward the cloudless sky, then back at Dana. “And if the helicopter has another problem? Will you switch to bait traps?”
Dana’s mouth tightened. “No. We’re committed to the copters and that’s final.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the SUV. Harold followed without a word.
“Assholes.” Willow took off toward her tent. Other volunteers groaned and scattered, some to their tents, others to their vehicles to unpack their gear and get ready to wait another day.
SEVENTEEN
After the gather was canceled, everyone had spent the better part of an hour undoing what they’d done that morning. Binoculars came back out of vehicles, coolers were restocked, tomorrow’s assignments were checked again, and volunteers wandered between tents and trucks trying to decide what to do with an entire day none of them had expected to have.
Mac had offered to help, mostly because sitting around in the heat thinking about tomorrow held no appeal whatsoever. Willow needed another set of maps for the observation vehicles, and Jodie had told him there were clean copies in the back of her camp binder. He found the binder on one of the folding tables beneath the shade canopy. Jodie was somewhere near the barn with Sandra, leaving Mac to flip through the dividers until he found the maps.
Of course they were exactly where Jodie said they would be.
God forbid the woman ever misfile anything.
He smiled as he pulled out the packet. A second sheet came with it, caught in the edge of the plastic pocket. The breeze grabbed it before Mac could, lifting it off the table. He caught it before it could blow across the yard.
“Gotcha.”
One side was covered with Jodie’s handwriting—half a packing list, a couple of phone numbers, and a reminder to order more printer toner. Mac started to stuff the paper back into the pocket, then noticed the Watchdog logo across the top of the other side and an old assignment schedule from last year.
Scrap paper.
Then he noticed his name on the schedule.
MACALLISTER — HAWTHORNE DETAIL AUGUST
A line had been drawn through it in Jodie’s neat handwriting. Beside it she’d written Shane’s name.
Mac frowned. He remembered Hawthorne. Wealthy businessman in Boulder with an ex-employee making threats. Nothing especially dangerous about the job. Twelve hours outside an event venue, most of it near the vehicle entrance.
Hot as hell that week. Just like today. He wiped sweat off his brow.
Mac looked at Shane’s penciled-in name and frowned. He remembered asking Jodie why he was off the assignment and Jodie telling him Shane wanted the extra hours, so she’d moved Mac to a different, longer assignment.
That just happened to be indoors.
Had Shane wanted those extra hours?
Maybe?
No. Probably.
Jodie changed assignments all the time. Clients changed plans. Somebody called in sick. Somebody else wanted overtime. Half of Watchdog’s schedule probably looked like this by the end of any given week.
He glanced in the pocket. There was a small stack of more papers tucked behind the clean maps. Old schedules, outdated supply sheets, printouts that had apparently been sentenced to a second life because Jodie couldn’t stand wasting perfectly good paper. He looked at the schedule in his hand.
