Free Freefall by Jill Sorenson Page A

years of his life to the park in exchange for an aluminum shelter and permanent squatting rights.
    She didn’t blame him for being bitter.
    “Have you met Morgenstern?” she asked Sam.
    “No.”
    “He won’t be as fawning as Cordova.”
    “Good.”
    She rapped on the door.
    Morgenstern opened it with a glare. His eyebrows were bushy, his hair coarse and wild. He reminded her of the mad scientist character from Back to the Future. “What?” he barked, his mouth half-full of bologna.
    “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I wanted to ask about the sick camper who left yesterday.”
    “What about him?”
    “Did he look suspicious?”
    “No, he looked sick,” he said with disdain. “He was a zit-nosed kid, not a damned Mexican drug smuggler.”
    She didn’t bother to tell Morgenstern that they didn’t know the ethnicity of the suspect. He was a cranky old coot, but he did his job, which was more than she could say of Bill Kruger. If he carried some extra resentment toward Hope, it was because she’d taken over his position at Mineral King. He was also from a different generation of rangers. A lot of throwbacks like him didn’t believe women should be wearing the Smokey the Bear Stetson.
    At least Morgenstern was up-front about his prejudice. She’d take bald sexism over the subtle, insidious bullshit any day.
    Morgenstern took another bite of his sandwich and set it down next to a cell phone. He eyeballed Sam, still chewing.
    Hope considered the possibilities. If the guy in the red truck wasn’t her suspect, who was the seventh person in Ron’s group? “Oh my God,” she said, an icy hand trailing down her spine. “He’s on the rafting trip.”
    “Who?”
    “The killer!”
    Morgenstern harrumphed in disbelief. “Ron wouldn’t add a random stranger on a whim. Reservations are made months in advance.”
    “Did you see them depart?”
    “Yes. Three men almost missed the van.”
    “Can you describe them?”
    He thought about it, squinting. “Two college-kid river rats, one tall, one short. They were with a medium-sized guy in a gray hat.”
    Hope referred to the list of items in the stolen backpack. Gray beanie was number four. “That’s him.”
    “He might have been Mexican.”
    She thanked Morgenstern for his trouble and walked away from the trailer with Sam. Heart racing with distress, she picked up her radio to call Dispatch. “I need to talk to Ron. It’s an emergency.”
    “I’ll try to reach him, but he isn’t due to check in again until evening.”
    “Get Dixon.”
    The dispatcher asked her to wait a moment. It felt like an eternity. Sam stood beside her, close and silent. “He’s on three,” she said when she returned.
    Hope switched to channel three, which was used exclusively for communications with the park manager.
    “Banning?”
    Although she was on a first-name basis with Doug Dixon, he didn’t show familiarity during work hours. She told him about her suspicions in a rush. “I need a helicopter team to take me downriver.”
    “Hold on,” he said. “We don’t know it’s him.”
    “There were three men scheduled for the rafting trip. One went home.”
    “Maybe the other two called a friend.”
    Her gut said otherwise. “I have to go after them.”
    “Negative.”
    “My sister is in that group!”
    “Which is exactly why you should take a step back. I’ll talk to Ron and assemble a whitewater team. Or a helicopter crew, if it comes to that. I don’t want you involved. You’ve made too many rash decisions.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You left base without a team yesterday.”
    “Only because SAR was busy and I couldn’t reach you.”
    “Continuing to Kaweah was also ill-advised.”
    She clenched the radio in her sweaty grip. He’d never reprimanded her before, and it didn’t feel good.
    “Take a break, Hope. You’ve covered a lot of ground in twenty-four hours.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Go home and get some rest. We’ll do everything we can to catch