Free Hard Evidence by Roxanne Rustand Page B

or so before nightfall, but by the time the other officers or the search team showed up, there’d be little daylight left. Nightfall, even in June, meant temps in the forties at this altitude.
    A cold night for a child dressed for the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
    A terrifying experience for a child alone…who could wander over a steep cliff and fall to her death or be stalked by predators that wouldn’t hesitate to size up a defenseless child as easy prey.
    The one direction that seemed right was straight west toward the mountains, where there were pretty trails and waterfalls, according to Ian. “I want you to stay here,” he said over his shoulder.
    “But—”
    “No.” He turned back to her. “When the others arrive, you need to give them a piece of Rylie’s clothing—and get something of Ian’s, too. You can point out where you’ve been looking and show them where I’ve gone. I need you here, Janna.”
    She gave him a jerky nod, her face white.
    He wanted to go back and enfold her in a long and reassuring embrace, and promise her that everything would be okay.
    But he’d learned from long experience that wasted seconds could lead to heartbreak, and there just wasn’t time.
    With another prayer on his lips, he took off at a run.

SEVEN
    M ichael kept a steady pace past the cabins and the ravine where the bones had been discovered.
    The trail narrowed, winding up through steep, rocky outcroppings and thick stands of pines, where dirty patches of snow still lingered in the deepest shadows. Every few yards he paused to shout Ian’s and Rylie’s names.
    Halfway up he had to stop and rest, breathless from the altitude and his fast pace; not yet adapted to the thinner air at over six thousand feet. It was colder up here, too—noticeably different from the sunny meadow where the lodge stood.
    Was Rylie curled up in some nearly invisible place, shivering? Hurt and in shock? There were emergency supplies in the backpack he’d grabbed out of his patrol car, but would they be enough to handle whatever he found? Had Ian come up here after her, only to take a completely different turn?
    Michael pulled out his cell phone to check its range. A single reception bar flickered on the screen, which meant that even if Rylie and Ian had already turned up at the cabins, he might not be able to receive that message.
    Still, an inner voice drove him on, and a sixth sense told him that they hadn’t turned up safe and sound. Not yet.
    Another hundred yards brought him to the fork where the main trail wound off to the left, and a faint deer trail veered to the right. He bent low, searching for a sign that anyone had headed a certain way. The pebbles and patches of exposed granite held no trace of passersby.
    Shouting Ian’s name, he moved ten, fifteen feet in each direction, his hopes fading. Then he went back and checked again.
    Where did the boy go when he got up this far? And had Rylie followed him?
    Up to the right, Michael pulled back a clump of underbrush crowding over the trail. Here, in a damp patch of earth, he could make out the faint crescent of a heel print—fresh enough that the rim hadn’t yet dried and crumbled into the impression. Thank you, Lord, for your many mercies .
    He took off at a fast jog now, keeping a close eye on the ground where the trail traversed long stretches of granite. Backtracking, where the trail faded out into one dead end after another.
    A branch cracked up the trail. Then another. Pebbles rolled down a rocky incline. He stilled, listening. A hiker? A bear? The kids?
    Hope surged through him as he pulled a heavy traffic whistle from his pocket and delivered two sharp blasts. If Ian was ahead, had he thought to bring his own, as he’d been told?
    No answering whistle sounded—but when Michael reached the next bend, Ian’s voice echoed out over the terrain. “Dad? Dad! Is that you?”
    Then Ian appeared, his face scratched and bleeding. Limping heavily, he struggled over the rocky,