Tracking concealed evide.., p.1
Tracking Concealed Evidence, page 1
“I’ve got you.”
Jamie reached down and hauled Shaylee up to safety.
The loud pounding of her heart nearly blocked the unrelenting gunfire. Shaylee and Jamie crouched, flattening themselves against the rock.
Jamie reined in Bugsy, holding her by the handle on her vest. She continued barking wildly. “Shh,” he admonished, pulling the dog closer. She quieted with a throaty growl.
The shooting ceased as quickly as it had begun.
“Is he gone?” Jamie whispered.
“Just wait.” Shaylee stared toward the trees, searching for the mysterious shooter.
Impatience and curiosity won out, and Shaylee started to rise.
A bullet pelted the stone, and she ducked again.
Jamie cast a look at her. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know, but he’s got us trapped.”
Sharee Stover is a Colorado native transplanted to Nebraska, where she lives with her husband, three children and two dogs. Her mother instilled in her a love of books before Sharee could read, along with the promise “if you can read, you can do anything.” When she’s not writing, she enjoys time with her family, long walks with her obnoxiously lovable German shepherd and crocheting. Find her at shareestover.com or on Twitter, @shareestover.
Books by Sharee Stover
Love Inspired Suspense
Secret Past
Silent Night Suspect
Untraceable Evidence
Grave Christmas Secrets
Cold Case Trail
Tracking Concealed Evidence
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com.
Tracking Concealed Evidence
Sharee Stover
For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.
—Romans 1:20
Father God, thank you for the beauty of creation to illustrate Your life-changing Word. All glory and honor belong to You alone.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Dangerous Mountain Rescue by Christy Barritt
ONE
An eerie howl clawed at the edges of Shaylee Adler’s consciousness, dragging her from the depths of darkness. She struggled to open her eyes, uncertain why they felt so heavy. She reached to touch her face, the effort straining as though quicksand held her submerged in its grasp.
At last, lifting her hand, she slapped the back of her knuckles against a hard surface overhead. With determination, she forced her eyelids open.
Quick scratching echoed, beckoning her to wake.
She groaned.
The floor seemed to spin beneath her.
Arms tight against her sides, Shaylee willed herself to sit up, but her body refused to cooperate. She blinked, fighting the comfortable lure of sleep. The scratching continued, sending an involuntary shudder through her.
Movement above caught her attention, and the object shifted with a thud, shaking her. Another series of quick, raking grates, followed by high-pitched howls, spurred her fully conscious.
Daggered claws attached to enormous paws hovered over her face.
Shaylee’s arms flew up in protection and she attempted to scramble away, unable to move in the confining space. She screamed, bolting—unsuccessfully—upright and smacked her forehead on the strange low ceiling, startling the animal. He disappeared from the invisible barrier mercifully separating them. Shaylee flattened her palm against the plastic.
An ear-piercing howl in the distance sent shivers radiating through her body.
With her fingers, Shaylee roamed the space, tracing mere inches between her and the straight-edged walls surrounding her on every side. She couldn’t roll over or sit up. Instead, she lay on her back, the hard, unforgiving floor beneath her.
The atmosphere was warm and thick. Her mind raced with possibilities, continually returning to the most terrifying scenario.
She dared not linger or entertain the thought.
A tiny red light near her feet blinked.
Panic tightened her chest.
Shaylee squeezed her eyes closed, inhaling slowly to calm herself against the terror of being trapped, which consumed her senses.
She reached for her phone, then remembered she’d left it on the kitchen counter while making her nightly chamomile tea. Then what had happened? She couldn’t remember anything after that. Mentally reversing images, she recalled going to Baxter’s house and interrupting his dinner party with the ripped portion of the accounting journal she’d found in Zia’s Bible. She hadn’t gotten far before his bodyguard threw her out. She’d driven around for a couple of hours before going home, making her tea and then pacing her kitchen to calm herself after the encounter with Baxter. Had she settled onto the sofa? Everything after arriving home was a complete blank.
Her head ached, and fear loomed stronger than ever. Why was her brain so foggy?
Once more she traced the confined space, her hands moving faster now, frantically searching for an escape.
She pressed her palms against the smooth wall overhead, but it didn’t budge.
“No. No.” The words slipped from her lips. Tiny protests unheard by anyone but her.
A tickle on her ear had Shaylee instinctively swiping and smacking her hand on the ceiling. An insect skittered across her forehead.
She refused to release the scream threatening to erupt and drag her into hysteria. Instead, Shaylee stretched to her full length, pressing her feet against the unmoving wall. Something poked her thigh. Her keys. She had a flashlight on her keyring!
Recalling she hadn’t taken off her boots or cleaned out her pockets when she’d gotten home, Shaylee was almost grateful for the agitation of dealing with Baxter that had kept her from getting too comfortable for the night. Shaylee slid her arm down, focused on the activity and not her terrifying circumstances. Reaching into the side pocket of her cargo pants, she grazed the familiar object. She looped the ring around her forefinger and tugged it free. Dragging it onto her stomach, she used her other hand to activate the light and then brought it upward.
At last, a small beam illuminated the space. Thick plexiglass walls encased her, and dark brown earth pressed against the sides. Above her, slivers of moonlight were visible through the sporadically swiped dirt. The realization slammed into her with the impact of a semitruck.
She was buried alive!
Desperate, she pounded on the ceiling with all her strength. “Help! Somebody, help me!”
Movement above her.
Someone was out there. Hope and boldness fueled Shaylee’s cries. With fury, she added kicks to her attack on the ceiling. “Here! I’m down here!”
A strange scuffle and the enormous paws returned, bearing the weight of the equally gigantic creatures. Pausing, she shifted the light. Two sets of looming jaws gazed down at her.
Coyotes!
With a gasp, she lowered her arms, shrinking back, and held up the minuscule light. “Lord, make them go away!”
The animals seemed to study her, aware their prize lay just below the clear plastic barrier. Wild and skilled at extracting their prey, they wouldn’t allow anything to interrupt their focused exercise.
Terror constricted Shaylee’s chest, enveloping her in a stranglehold. Throat tight, she wheezed, forcing bursts of air in and out of her lungs. Instinct reminded her that she’d hyperventilate if she continued to panic.
Pray. The prodding thought came as natural as her next panting breath. Shaylee forced herself to inhale and exhale slowly, calming herself. Conserve the oxygen, or suffocation would kill her before help arrived.
And help would arrive.
It had to.
“Thank You, Lord, for the plastic separating me from the coyotes. You see me, even now. I trust You,” she whispered the prayer through parched lips.
Doubt, like a hissing whisper, mocked, Does God see you? Would rescue come? After all no one, including Shaylee, had protected and rescued her sister, Zia, from her conniving husband, Baxter Heathcote.
Tears welled and burned.
If she died, would they find her buried here? Where was she?
Would her life be erased, just like Zia’s?
Who would investigate her death the way Shaylee obsessively worked to prove Baxter was her sister’s murderer?
Nobody.
More howling.
Closer this time.
The hairs on Shaylee’s arms rose in terror.
“Help, someone, please!”
Undeterred by her desperate cries, the animals worked together, furiously scratching at the surface. They growled, snarling warnings until the coyote directly above Shaylee gripped something red a
Several long silent seconds passed. Unable to move, Shaylee blinked and flexed her hands, confirming she was still alive.
“Thank You, Lord.” She sucked in a breath, focused again on her imprisonment, and surveyed her boundaries.
But no help had arrived.
No rescue workers.
Only darkness encroached on her from every angle.
Resignation smothered her as a bug wriggled near her eye. She would die tonight.
Shaylee tried to swallow against her barren throat, now sore from her pleas. Her body shook with adrenaline convulsions.
Before she could restrain it, a primal scream erupted from deep within her, shattering the silence.
Dear God, save me! I’m buried alive.
* * *
Jamey Dyer and his cadaver dog, Bugsy, fully intended to defy the guards who had prohibited his entrance into the Black Hills National Forest. Jamey wasn’t a rule breaker. Quite the opposite. However, his justification for trespassing was the same reason the state had cordoned off the area as a danger zone. Namely, the gaping and unpredictable sinkhole that had recently exposed an old gypsum mine underground, which proved Jamey’s initial theory about the murder of Zia Heathcote. And this time, he and Bugsy would find the woman, who he suspected was buried nearby.
He didn’t allow himself a moment to debate whether this was the right decision. The beginning rays of sunrise peeked over the horizon, urging him on. Not a moment to waste.
Jamey focused on keeping out of sight and moving as quickly as possible to reach the backside of the massive rock formations that would hide him and Bugsy from the main road. They had to get to higher ground to evaluate the topography of the sinkhole. Once he got a bird’s-eye view, he’d know where to start the search. The need to remain concealed meant staying off the hiking path.
Jamey kept Bugsy beside him, not yet allowing her to work the full length of her leash. As if she understood the importance of speed and discretion, she remained close.
They moved together in sync, climbing and weaving through the terrain, and crested the mountain. He paused at the edge of the cliff with nothing between himself and the treacherous drop to the floor of the rocky valley below. Infusing his lungs with the crisp morning air, Jamey allowed his gaze to travel the beauty of South Dakota’s Black Hills, marveling at the gorgeous display before him. “Lord, You do amazing work.”
Craggy cliffs stretched toward the boundless sky, painted in brilliant shades of cerulean, rose and lavender. They transitioned into the warm citrus orange and welcoming yellow of the rising sun. The mountainous land expanded in a sporadic line of varying heights, like notes on a page of music. Green bushes dotted the white rocky ground and granite spires reached high from where their bedding planes marked time with definitive lines.
Always in tune with her handler, Bugsy sat beside him, reporting for duty. He knelt and stroked the bluetick coonhound’s velvet floppy ears. “Are you ready to work today?”
She gazed up at him with soulful brown eyes, tail wagging.
“Glad to hear it,” Jamey joked in the one-sided conversation.
Bugsy had proven herself a trustworthy companion, always maintaining his confidence and holding his secrets. In return, he allowed her to take the spotlight whenever they worked recovery missions. Truthfully, Jamey preferred staying behind the scenes. He’d had enough unwanted attention and the painful consequences that came with notoriety to last him a lifetime.
Jamey slid his backpack off his shoulders and double-checked his cell phone—void of service in the remote location, as expected. He withdrew the binoculars and surveyed the landscape, spotting the sinkhole. It was much larger than he’d anticipated, and they’d have to approach from the farthest side opposite the road. He visually roved to where the old suspension bridge hung. Perfect, not visible from where the guards stood, and the passage provided the quickest way across.
Bugsy waited patiently, scratching her ear with her hind leg. Jamey dropped the binoculars into the bag and grasped her cadaver gear, then reconsidered. The bright orange vest might draw unwanted attention from the guards. Instead, he selected her black vested harness. As soon as she spotted the accessory, she sat upright, ears perked.
Time to work.
Jamey chuckled as he slid the material over her, securing the clasps, then snapped the twenty-foot hands-free leash. He secured one end to her collar and the other to his belt. Then, gripping the length of the tether, he reined Bugsy close to his side until he released her to search. “All right, Bugs, let’s do this.”
Sporadic sprouts of wildflowers, scraggly bushes and hardy grass tufts littered the uneven ground. They traversed the rocky terrain to the old suspension bridge. Jamey paused briefly, glancing at the Bridge Closed warning sign. He assessed the structure, aware it was in decent shape since he and Bugsy had worked the mountain many times. The park regularly closed the bridge for required maintenance, not because it posed a danger.
Jamey and Bugsy approached. The planks and ropes were strong, so he didn’t fear falling through. Bugsy’s wary expression proved how necessary daily training was for her. A cadaver dog needed to brave the environment and landscape whatever the condition.
“Come on, girl. You’ve done this before,” Jamey gently encouraged, tugging on her leash and forcing Bugsy to keep up with him as they made their way to the other side.
Once they’d stepped off the bridge and onto solid ground, he loosened the leash, giving her the full twenty feet to work. “Bugsy.”
She halted, faced him and waited, floppy ears at attention.
“Seek Adam.” He used the command Adam to reinforce what her training vest indicated, search for human remains.
Whiskers twitching, she turned and headed east with a steady gait. Within moments, Bugsy was off, nose to the path, scurrying almost faster than Jamey could keep up. She’d slow, repeat the action, then continue.
They traveled farther than he’d planned, but he enjoyed the outdoors and didn’t mind the lengthy hike.
Rough terrain and cracked earth split the ground in places. His shoes crunched the gravel and pine needles as they traversed higher up the mountain. Jamey and Bugsy had worked several cases in Nebraska and South Dakota, making them an experienced team.
Bugsy headed into a patch of thick foliage and dense bushes, advancing without hesitation, and edged her way into the thicket. Jamey hurried behind, ducking low-hanging branches and stepping over shrubs in a strange, bobbing dance. Finally, Bugsy aimed for disturbed ground.
She dropped to a sit, alerting. Had she found Zia?
Excited, but unwilling to reward her until he’d confirmed, he said, “Bugsy, find Adam.”
She rose and clawed at the dirt, scratching her nails on something hard. Strips of red cloth lay scattered, and large paw prints encircled the freshly disturbed land.
Jamey inched closer, disbelieving. A partially exposed acrylic box—a coffin of sorts. Fog inside concealed many of the details of the encased body.
He dropped beside Bugsy and frantically brushed away the earth with his hands. Was it Zia?
Long scratches on the top indicated animal activity. Something had tried hard to get to whoever was inside. Thankfully, without success.
Jamey dug around the softened dirt until he found the latch and released it, then pulled open the lid. He fell back onto his behind, stunned. The woman inside had rosy cheeks and sweat beaded along her forehead. Perspiration matted her dark hair, splayed and concealing her face. Placing his fingers against her still warm neck, he sighed with relief and confusion, detecting a faint pulse.
“Please be okay.” Jamey lifted her out of the coffin and set her down gently. He leaned close and listened for breaths. A soft flutter against his ear confirmed shallow breathing.
He turned the woman to her side, extending one arm above her head, the other tucked beneath her, then stretched one leg straight, keeping the other slightly bent to bear her weight in the recovery position.
“Lord, please help her wake up,” he prayed, reaching for his phone, though he already knew he’d have no coverage. He rubbed her back in a firm, circular motion. “Come on, come on.”
