Shaylee paused. Jamey turned to look at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all.” She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh mountain air, and stretched her arms wide, embracing the openness. “Thank You, Lord.” Her prayer came out louder than intended, but she didn’t apologize. She was alive, and that was reason enough.

  “Amen.” Jamey and Bugsy stood at a distance, waiting for her to catch up.

  She smiled and hurried to meet him. “I’m working on an attitude of gratitude, so whenever there’s an opportunity, I just go with it.”

  “Great idea. Might have to try that myself.” He withdrew his cell phone and searched again for a signal. “Still nothing.”

  “Believe it or not, the hike feels good on my back and legs. I’m walking out the cramps and tight muscles.” Shaylee followed him. “How long can a person survive buried underground?”

  He didn’t immediately respond. Finally, he mumbled, “Nearly six feet by three feet, at a depth of—”

  “Are you calculating?”

  “Sorry, science brain kicked in. I’d guesstimate no more than two days, with access to oxygen, but I can’t tell you for sure.”

  Anyone who had invested that much effort into her final resting place wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

  * * *

  Jamey refrained from sharing his concerns that their shooter had mysteriously disappeared. Was he waiting for them somewhere on the trail? Or had he run off? He relied on Bugsy’s calmness to measure their situation. Since she hadn’t warned they were in danger, he focused on getting them to safety and cell reception.

  Small talk wasn’t Jamey’s strong suit, but Shaylee had grown silent. “You okay back there?”

  “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

  “You clammed up tighter than an Armadillidium vulgare.”

  “An armadillo what?”

  Jamey chuckled and slowed as they maneuvered around a tight bend, and made eye contact with Shaylee. “Fancy words for roly-poly bug.”

  She grinned. “Aren’t you a wealth of knowledge?”

  “Just about insects. They’re fascinating.” And the only topic Jamey felt comfortable discussing as small talk with a cop stranger.

  “I can honestly say I have never thought of them as interesting. Although I remember playing with roly-polies as a kid.”

  Jamey took the lead again, his back to her. “Most people avoid insects, but they’re amazing, like tiny detectives.”

  He clamped his mouth shut. Stop rambling. However, doing so might become problematic. The last thing he wanted to do was give her a peek into his twisted history.

  Years of entomology education and forensic experience naturally bubbled to the surface. Jamey cherished study and investigation, relying totally on academic reasoning and his default ability to view the world through the lens of science. Even after Baxter had influenced Jamey’s boss to fire him after the trial, no amount of time spent away from the discipline had diminished his love of science. Thus the career change to the high school science lab. Truthfully, though, Jamey still missed working cases. Entomology was like returning to a friend, and the only way Jamey made sense of the sadness he’d seen.

  “I’m impressed. You’re doing well considering you survived being buried alive just a little while ago,” he said.

  “I guess all those early-morning runs are paying off.”

  “Do you exercise every day?” Jamey probed against his brain’s reminder to mind his own business. The sooner they got to a place with cell reception, the sooner he could call for help and they’d part ways. Whatever Shaylee was into, it was clearly dangerous. She needed armed professionals, not a washed-up forensic entomologist playing high school science teacher.

  “Yes. Well, sort of,” she continued, interrupting his reverie.

  Any other questions he might have had about Shaylee remained unspoken. He didn’t want to know. Ignorance was bliss, and as soon as they got her help, he’d go on about his life and pretend this whole bizarre nightmare had never occurred.

  Whatever she wasn’t telling him was more than he wanted to know.

  He mentally congratulated himself on the self-control he’d exhibited by not pelting her with why questions. Why was his favorite word. However, he’d learned—painfully at times—that beyond the confines of a laboratory, asking questions tended to invade people’s privacy. Shaylee’s lack of communication burrowed into his core, bringing him to one conclusion: she had a secret. Whatever it was, that something or someone had almost killed him and Bugsy on the ridge.

  What had he gotten himself into? His gaze traveled down the leash. Rather, what had Bugsy gotten them into? Oblivious to his contemplations, his bluetick coonhound trotted ahead without a care in the world.

  Jamey’s mind wandered back to the shooter, the camera and the most disturbing object, the coffin. He’d testified as a forensic entomologist in a fair number of horrific cases. The clear plexiglass box was a new one in his experience. And the unsettling suspicion that the killer continued to watch them worried Jamey. He’d only worked on crimes after they had been committed, which was how he preferred it. Not that he’d ever testify or investigate again. He’d lost that privilege.

  He focused on the path, overgrown in places due to the lack of use. They rounded another curve, and Jamey studied Shaylee. Her furrowed brows and the creases in her forehead said she was deep in thought. She wore black cargo pants and a lightweight gray athletic shirt, both smudged with dirt. Her wide hazel eyes and dark lashes held shadows of unspoken concerns. Everything about her awakened Jamey’s senses with new and awkward feelings, in the best possible way, completely unnerving him.

  He’d get Shaylee safely out of the forest and go back to his mission of finding Zia’s body. Everything in Jamey’s original assessment pointed to traces of gypsum, indicating Zia’s remains were near the mineral. Regardless of Baxter’s claims that Zia had mysteriously disappeared while driving home one night and his legal team’s refutation of the prosecution’s findings, the recent sinkholes revealed an underground gypsum mine. Jamey was certain the clue would lead him to Zia. However, the morning’s events had added a substantial and attractive detour—Shaylee.

  Yet, something in him like he’d never known needed to protect her, even if she wasn’t aware of it or wanted his help. Except he was unsure who or what he was protecting Shaylee from. Most important, he returned to the biggest question. Why did he feel compelled to be the one to do the job?

  He stifled a snort. Bug Dude, as his law enforcement associates had dubbed him, didn’t possess legendary defender techniques or even a gun.

  “How much farther?”

  Jamey glanced at his handheld GPS device. “We should come up to the bridge in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  He scoured his mind for more conversation topics. Stumped, he remained silent.

  What had she done, seen or been a part of that would make her the target of such intense hatred and maliciousness? His curiosity warred with rationale. Shaylee had no reason to trust him and, really, the less he knew the better.

  Jamey spotted the bridge and exhaled relief. “We’re almost there.” A blue jay trilled from above, and the sound brought a smile to his lips. “Thank You, Lord,” he whispered the prayer, imitating Shaylee’s idea of exhibiting gratitude. Along with silent appreciation that the shooter hadn’t returned.

  She didn’t respond.

  He glanced over his shoulder to ensure she was following. Her eyes were downcast, and a frown marred her brows.

  Bugsy slowed as they approached the bridge, glancing at Jamey again with wariness. “Come on, girl, it’s just a weird sidewalk,” he encouraged.

  Undeterred and out of character, Bugsy sat planted in place.

  “Is she always so stubborn?” Shaylee caught up to him.

  “Not usually. She’s smart and not a fan of bridges. We’re still working on those and ladders. Dogs don’t climb naturally—they have to be trained to do it. But the suspension bridge is a little different since it sways and makes her uneasy.” Jamey didn’t add that it hadn’t taken this much encouragement to get Bugsy across the first time. Instead, he knelt beside his dog and rubbed her head and ears. “You can do this. You did it once already, so what’s the holdup?”

  Bugsy’s dark eyes pleaded with him, and she let out a protesting woof.

  Jamey laughed. “We’ll discuss your opinions later. Right now, we need to get back to the pickup. Come on.” He tugged on the leash, and Bugsy reluctantly followed.

  “She might have a point. I’m not feeling super thrilled about walking across that, either. Is there another option?” Shaylee asked from the edge.

  “Not without going around the mountain we just hiked. This area isn’t open to the public, which your kidnapper must’ve known. Explains why he’d use it. No witnesses or people to worry about.” Perhaps reminding Shaylee of the potential danger would help her join him.

  “And you violated the law and traipsed over there, anyway?”

  Jamey chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds bad. Unfortunately, when we get called out to scenes, they aren’t always easy to reach. Bugsy has to work in the environments without fear.” And he completely danced around that topic.

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Ready? Or do you want to continue procrastinating?” Jamey teased.

  Shaylee grimaced. “That obvious?”

  “Little bit.”

  “All right, let’s do this. Onward.”

  Jamey and Bugsy led the way. The planks swayed gently as Shaylee stepped onto the bridge. They maneuvered their way slowly and steadily toward the center. He caught sight of Shaylee clinging to the rope rail.

  A strange cracking halted Jamey. “Bugsy, stay.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He listened again for the sound, gripping the leash tightly. “Did you hear that?”

  Shaylee surveyed the area. Though the birds had stopped singing, nothing appeared out of order.

  Jamey scanned the distance. Not far to go but moving faster would cause the bridge to sway more. Slow and steady was the key. “Maybe it was my brain rattling,” he joked, then drew Bugsy closer, keeping the leash attached to his belt and reining her beside him. He gripped the handle on her vest and took another step.

  A loud snap and the planks gave way.

  Bugsy slipped through the hole, taking Jamey with her.

  THREE

  Shaylee sat with her legs outstretched, feet braced against what she prayed was a solid board. Her left hand gripped the side ropes comprising the handrail. She’d looped her right arm through the straps on Jamey’s backpack. Heart thudding against her rib cage, Shaylee panted as she assessed the unbelievable moment. She’d reacted on impulse to help Jamey and Bugsy. Now she looked like a rag doll, clinging to objects in all directions.

  Bugsy whined, desperate and scared, egging Shaylee into action.

  A large portion of the backpack had snagged on a jagged piece of wood from under the bridge’s floor and acted as a plug, keeping Jamey from falling through completely. Most of his upper half remained above the bridge, one arm holding on while his legs swung freely underneath. His other hand gripped the handle of Bugsy’s halter. He claimed to have a tight hold on her, but Shaylee doubted he’d maintain the position for long.

  Groans from the intact ropes gave a warning countdown.

  “Take Bugsy!” Jamey cried.

  “Okay, on the count of three, I’ll let go of you and grab her halter.” Shaylee leaned to peer under the bridge, causing it to sway slightly.

  “Forget about me. Just make sure you have her.”

  “I need to readjust.” She slid her arm free of Jamey’s backpack and shifted to kneel, her hand still clinging to the side rail. Leaning down, she reached through the only available space to grasp Bugsy’s halter. There wasn’t enough room to lift her through the hole. “I can’t pull her up with one hand. You’re in the way.”

  Another groan from the ropes.

  Shaylee spotted the last two strands straining to hold the bridge.

  “Hang onto her.” Jamey grasped the wood and pulled himself up, freeing his torso, then repositioned to a kneel beside Shaylee. Together they hoisted the terrified dog through the hole.

  Jamey sat back, holding Bugsy against his chest, then slowly rose. “Go as fast as you can!”

  Shaylee took the lead, and the three hurried off the bridge, lunging for the side they’d just hiked. They stepped on to the hard earth as the remaining ropes snapped free, and the rest of the platform collapsed into the cavernous depths below.

  Two distinct sections of broken planks hung opposite the massive ravine. The boards swung freely above the jagged rocks.

  Shaylee dropped to a squat, chest heaving from exertion and dread. Muscle fatigue shook her limbs. She sat and wrapped her arms around her knees, grounding herself as the adrenaline dump consumed her.

  Jamey knelt, Bugsy pressed tightly against him. He buried his face in her neck. “Are you okay, girl? I’m so sorry.”

  The sight tore at Shaylee’s heart. “Is she hurt?”

  Jamey’s fingers moved through the dog’s short fur as he busied himself checking for injuries. “I can’t believe it. There’s not a scratch on her.” He traced the long leash, still connected to his belt. “If I had failed to attach her to me...” He met Shaylee’s gaze, fear swirling in his blue eyes.

  Her stomach tightened at the horrible images and she shoved them down.

  Bugsy wagged her bottom half while covering Jamey’s face with licks.

  “I’d say she’s pretty grateful, too.” Shaylee’s attempt to smile fell with the guilt weighing her down.

  Jamey embraced the dog, absorbing her affection. “Thank You, Lord.”

  Shaylee turned and studied the bridge. “There’s no chance of us crossing now.”

  He stood and focused on the broken structure. “The shooter must’ve cut a portion of the rope and boards to make it break.”

  She visually followed where he pointed. “It looks old. Maybe the wood rotted?” Even as she spoke the words, instinct argued that wasn’t the reason the bridge had come apart.

  Jamey pinned her with a glare. “It was hardly rotten enough to fall through. Now is a good time to tell me why someone is out to kill us.” Fury emblazoned his face.

  She stood taller, nose to neck with Jamey. Her cheeks warmed with anger, and she opened her mouth to retaliate with a lashing of her own. A cold nose touched her hand, and she glanced down. Bugsy stared up at her, dark eyes full of compassion instantly undoing her defensiveness.

  Throat tightening with emotion, Shaylee nodded. He was right. She’d endangered them by her presence. How many lives would she bear responsibility for?

  They were innocent.

  She wasn’t.

  Head hung, she focused on the ground and struggled to answer his questions. She was a human tornado of destruction.

  “Detective Adler?”

  Finding her voice, she explained, “I’ve put away a lot of bad people over the years, but my suspicion is Baxter Heathcote wants me dead.”

  Jamey gaped at her. “Baxter is, was, your brother-in-law. Why would he hurt you?”

  A part of her reasoned she owed the stranger no explanation, but she couldn’t deny that Jamey and Bugsy had saved her life.

  Several times.

  “I found—” She hesitated, biting her lip. Did she want to tell him about the journal? The fewer people who knew, the better. “Baxter is responsible for Zia’s death, regardless of what the jury concluded.”

  “Your coworkers disagreed.” Accusation hung in Jamey’s tone.

  “Baxter hasn’t buffaloed everyone,” Shaylee snapped.

  Jamey harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest in challenge. “So, what’s changed? Have you found new evidence against him? What put you in his crosshairs?”

  Shaylee turned her back to him. “I’m working on a lead.”

  “The case is reopened?”

  “Not officially.”

  “And you think Baxter is determined to keep you from pursuing the lead?” Jamey asked.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “I hate to put a damper on your ambitions, but doesn’t retrying Baxter fall into the double jeopardy category?”

  Shaylee shrugged. “Since the prosecutor dismissed charges without prejudice, he can refile the case at a later date, but that’s for the attorneys to fight about.”

  “True. And the court of public opinion is quite effective for an elected senator.”

  She liked the way Jamey thought. “Exactly. Baxter doesn’t deserve to be in office. One way or the other, I’m going to stop him.”

  “How is he aware you possess this information?”

  Shaylee swallowed and faced Jamey. “I confronted him yesterday at his house.”

  He gave a low whistle. “That was brave.”

  Or incredibly stupid. “Clearly, he will stop at nothing until he shuts me up.”

  Jamey rubbed his neck, tension evident in his stiff posture. He emitted something resembling a growl.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll make the trek alone.”

  Jamey shook his head and gestured at the path they’d hiked. “It’s not like I can say, take a left at the next tree.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a jerk. I lost my cool at the thought of Bugsy getting hurt.” At the mention of her name, the dog moved to his side and licked his hand. Jamey stroked her ears. “That’s no excuse for my behavior, though. Please forgive me for the outburst.”

  No one had ever asked Shaylee for forgiveness. Unfamiliar emotions tugged at her heart, and she fidgeted with her hands, processing his words. He’d earned the right to be upset with her. He’d not signed up to be her protector or rescuer. The poor guy had been dragged into her living nightmare. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She cleared her throat. “I get it. Bugsy could’ve—”

 

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