Vanishing hour, p.1
Vanishing Hour, page 1
PRAISE FOR LAURA GRIFFIN AND HER NOVELS
“I love smart, sophisticated, fast-moving romantic thrillers, and Laura Griffin writes them brilliantly.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz
“Gritty, imaginative, sexy! You must read Laura Griffin.”
—New York Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard
“Top-notch romantic suspense! Fast pace, tight plotting, terrific mystery, sharp dialogue, fabulous characters.”
—New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan
“A gripping, white-knuckle read. You won’t be able to put it down.”
—New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak
“An emotional, exciting page-turner. Griffin deftly balances the mystery and the love story.”
—The Washington Post
“Griffin never disappoints with her exciting, well-researched, fast-paced romantic thrillers.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A high-adrenaline thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. . . . Griffin is a master.”
—Fresh Fiction
Titles by Laura Griffin
Standalone Novels
Far Gone
Last Seen Alone
Vanishing Hour
The Texas Murder Files Series
Hidden
Flight
Midnight Dunes
The Tracers Series
Untraceable
Unspeakable
Unstoppable
Unforgivable
Snapped
Twisted
Scorched
Exposed
Beyond Limits
Shadow Fall
Deep Dark
At Close Range
Touch of Red
Stone Cold Heart
The Wolfe Security Series
Desperate Girls
Her Deadly Secrets
The Alpha Crew Series
At the Edge
Edge of Surrender
Cover of Night
Total Control
Alpha Crew: The Mission Begins
The Glass Sisters Series
Thread of Fear
Whisper of Warning
The Borderline Series
One Last Breath
One Wrong Step
The Moreno & Hart Mysteries, with Allison Brennan
Crash and Burn
Hit and Run
Frosted
Lost and Found
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2022 by Laura Griffin
Excerpt from Deep Tide copyright © 2022 by Laura Griffin
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9780593546703
First Edition: October 2022
Cover photo of juniper tree by Daniela Constantinescu / Shutterstock
Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Maggie Hunt
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Praise for Laura Griffin and Her Novels
Titles by Laura Griffin
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Excerpt from Deep Tide
About the Author
For my sisters
PROLOGUE
Molly didn’t have enough water.
It was a common mistake. But that didn’t make it any less dangerous on a day when the air was like a hairdryer and the slightest trace of moisture vanished from her skin in seconds.
A horned lizard scampered across the creek bed and paused beside a rock, seeming to mock her with his natural adaptations to the environment. He darted behind a boulder, and Molly stepped into the meager strip of shade provided by the canyon wall.
The sun was almost directly overhead now, which definitely wasn’t part of the plan. She pulled her water bottle from her backpack, and her heart skittered.
Less than a third left.
How could that be?
She’d been careful, but not careful enough. The two-hour trek had taken twice as long as expected, and the sickening notion that she’d made a wrong turn was starting to take hold.
Trying not to panic, she set her pack at her feet and dug out the hand-drawn map. She’d pored over it by flashlight in her tent last night, memorizing every curve of the trail and every word of Camila’s loopy script. Studying the landmarks, the conclusion was inescapable.
She should have reached it by now.
Molly tucked the map away. She untwisted the top off the water bottle and took a tiny pull, barely enough to wet her throat. She was angry with herself. She hadn’t prepped right—everything from her shoes to her water supply was all wrong. She couldn’t afford to be so careless.
Anxiety bloomed in her chest as she dug out her cell phone. She stepped into the middle of the creek bed and powered up.
No bars, of course. She would have been shocked if she’d managed to get any. She tipped her head back and gazed at the cloudless sky. A swallow flew over and swooped into a mud nest beneath a ledge.
Molly’s breath caught. There.
She took a few steps back and stared at the twisted juniper clinging to the rocky outcropping. The tree’s tortured shape was unmistakable.
She tucked away the phone and water bottle and slung on her pack. Skimming the sloped canyon wall, she spied a faint trail.
Molly scrambled up the path, grabbing tree roots and warm rocks for balance. Thorny branches snagged her shirt, but she jerked it loose as she hurried up the trail. When she reached the top, she turned around and there it was.
Panting, she stopped and took a moment to admire the axial twist, like the double helix of a DNA strand. But this life-form was even more mysterious.
Snap.
She turned and scanned the arid landscape. Green mesquite bushes fluttered in the sunlight, and a shadow shifted near a giant sotol. On instinct, she reached for the .22 in the pancake holster at the small of her back. She rested her hand on the pistol as she surveyed the brush. Mountain lions were rare in this area, but she had an irrational fear of predatory mammals. She didn’t want to get between a mama and her kittens.
Snick.
“Hello?”
She listened closely, but the only sound was the faint whisper of wind through the scrub brush.
She turned to face the tree again. The Angel Tree. She didn’t know who had named it or why. Heart thrumming now, she pulled out her water bottle again and took a sip to calm her nerves. The sip became a guzzle. Now that she’d reached her destination, she knew exactly how long it would take to get back. She slipped off her pack and set her gear on the ground. Then she took a deep breath and approached the tree.
It was taller than she’d expected. She studied the gnarled branches and peeling bark, noting the scattered rock piles from the hikers—pilgrims—who had come before her. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the trunk.
Nothing.
She stayed totally motionless, but nothing happened. She didn’t feel a thing. A still, silent minute elapsed and then the wind gusted, kicking up a dust devil nearby. Delight zinged through her. Coincidence? Or something else? She didn’t used to believe in “woo-woo nonsense,” as her dad would have called it.
She didn’t used to believe in a lot of things.
Once upon a time, she’d been practical. Logical. L
A warm tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away. Awe and reverence washed over her in a cooling wave. She took another deep breath. Now what? Should she say a prayer? Meditate? She’d never had the urge to build one of those damn rock piles, and now was no exception. But she had to do something to mark the moment.
Snap.
She whirled around.
“Hello?” she called, louder this time.
Molly squinted at the line of mesquite trees. A man stepped out, and her heart jumped into her throat. He was tall and broad-shouldered. The brim of a baseball cap cast a shadow over his face. As he moved closer, she got a better look at him, and relief flooded her.
“Oh, it’s you,” she huffed. “What are you doing here?”
Not answering, he took another step. She caught a flare of something in his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the leather holster at his side and she watched with disbelief as he slipped out his pistol.
She stepped back and looked at his eyes again. “What do you want?” she croaked.
His mouth spread into a bone-chilling smile. “I think you know.”
CHAPTER
ONE
Ava followed the curve of the dirt road to the string of emergency vehicles. She checked her watch and cursed. She was later than she’d thought.
“Not good, Huck.”
The black Lab nudged her arm with his wet nose.
“We’re going to have to redeem ourselves.”
Ava passed a sheriff’s SUV and squeezed her little red car between a pair of dusty pickups from the parks department. Huck whimpered with impatience as she grabbed his lead off the seat and clipped it to his collar.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Ava slid out. Huck hopped over the console and followed her. She felt dozens of eyes on her as she popped open the back hatch and retrieved her day pack. Hitching it onto her shoulder, Ava scanned the faces. None were familiar. All were skeptical. Several of the men wore the Henley County Sheriff’s Office backcountry uniform of HCSO ball cap, navy T-shirt, and desert-brown tactical pants.
Ava spied some park rangers in olive green milling near a blue tarp that looked like operation headquarters. Beneath the makeshift tent, two rangers studied a map that had been spread out across a pair of tables.
“Help you?”
She turned around as a man sauntered over. Tall, sixtyish, paunchy. He wore a sheriff’s office cap and a sweat-soaked golf shirt. He stopped in front of her.
Ava smiled. “Are you the incident commander?”
“I’m Sheriff Donovan.”
“Oh.” Shit. She thrust out her hand. “Ava Burch, WestTex Search and Rescue.”
He shook her hand and frowned down at Huck.
“We’re here to help with the search,” she added.
“They started five hours ago.”
“Yes, I know. I was unavoidably delayed.” She sensed a brush-off coming, and she glanced around. “Do you know who the IC is on this one?”
“That’d be Mel Tyndall,” he said, nodding in the direction of the blue tent.
“Oh, good. I’ll check in with him.”
She led Huck away before the sheriff could think of any objections. She zeroed in on the park ranger who seemed to be giving orders—a wiry man with wraparound sunglasses perched atop his shaved head. Ava stepped under the tarp, and he glanced up.
“I’m Ava with WestTex SAR. Chuck Crawford said you could use a hand today?”
Dropping the name of the chief ranger in nearby Big Bend seemed to do the trick. Tyndall stepped away from the table and looked her over.
“Are you trained up?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He glanced at Huck, who wore his red work vest. “Him, too?”
“Yep. He’s logged more than a hundred wilderness searches.”
She didn’t mention that most of those had been with a different handler. But Tyndall seemed too distracted to nitpick her credentials. He checked his watch and returned his attention to the table.
“The first teams deployed at oh nine hundred,” he said. “We’re just getting started on sector D.”
Ava stepped closer to examine the map. It was a detailed topo of Silver Canyon State Park. A small red sticker near a campground marked what had to be the PLS, or point last seen. Sections bounded by natural barriers had been marked with letters.
“We just sent a team out to Lizard Creek Trail,” Tyndall said, tapping the map.
Ava’s stomach knotted as she studied the spot. Sector D was well outside of the high-probability search area. They were getting desperate.
“You up for it?” Tyndall asked.
“Absolutely.”
He handed her a clipboard. “Sign in, and I’ll brief you on the way over.”
Ava quickly jotted her info on a card and followed the ranger to one of the dusty white pickups. She stowed her pack on the floor and hopped into the passenger seat, signaling Huck to sit on her lap.
Tyndall wasted no time pulling out and maneuvering onto the pitted dirt road that Ava had just navigated. Huck pressed his head against the glass, squirming with excitement as they passed the police vehicles.
Tyndall slid on his shades and glanced over. “You’re new to the county?”
“Been here since November,” she told him.
“Done any ops yet?”
“Three this spring in Big Bend.”
They bumped along the narrow dirt road and hung a right onto an even narrower one. Ava visualized the state park in her head. She was familiar with it, but only from a few casual day hikes. She’d never been on a search team here.
“Silver Canyon is different,” Tyndall said. “It’s rugged country.”
She turned to look at him. Big Bend wasn’t exactly a golf resort. The sprawling national park consisted of more than 800,000 untamed acres. But Ava understood what he was getting at. Silver Canyon was a new addition to Texas’s state park system, and it lacked even basic amenities.
“We’ve only got one paved road,” the ranger continued. “It makes an outer loop. The interior roads are dirt, and they tend to wash out when we get a flash flood. The only cell service is near the entrance, so everything’s by radio.”
“Okay.”
“Did Chuck tell you about the op?”
“Just that it’s a child missing.”
Tyndall nodded. “A boy, three and a half.”
Ava’s heart sank.
“Noah Dumfries. He’s been missing since oh eight hundred. Wandered off from his family’s campsite after breakfast. His mom thinks he went down to the creek to brush his teeth.”
“Have they—”
“We had a canine team there all morning. No sign of him.”
Ava looked out the window at the limestone canyon baking in the afternoon sun.
“He’s just over three feet tall, blond hair, brown eyes. He’s wearing a red Spider-Man T-shirt with blue shorts and white sneakers.”
She glanced at him. “What about the parents?”
“Mom is distraught, as you’d expect. She’s at the campsite with her other son, who’s five, in case Noah comes back. Dad is at the ranger station. He wanted to join the search, but we convinced him to stay back.”
It was standard procedure. When a child went missing there was always the depressing possibility that the parents could have something to do with it.
“Do they have any pets?” she asked.
“No idea. Why?”
“I want to understand if he’s afraid of dogs.”
“I don’t know. I can find out, though.”
He swung off the dirt road onto what looked to be a horse trail. He bumped across the feather grass and headed for the base of a tall cliff. A wooden sign came into view.
Tyndall rolled to a halt.
“Lizard Creek Trail,” he said. “The other team deployed to the east about—” He checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Do they have a dog with them?”
“No. It’s two of our seasonal rangers.”
