Rocky Mountain Manhunt

The absence of a car gave rise to speculation that they hadn’t gone camping in the first place, had never been in the area and didn’t want to be found.

None of these theories satisfied Kate’s mother, Elizabeth Carradine-Rowe, a wealthy socialite and—from what Liam had heard—a first-class pain in the rear. Miss Elizabeth couldn’t believe that her only daughter had disappeared. She’d contacted Colorado Crime Consultants. Through CCC, Liam had gotten involved.

In a soaring loop, he brought his Cub around for another view of the mountain meadow. He volunteered his time and his plane for search efforts because he believed in CCC and in the founder, Adam Briggs. Their goal was pure: solving crime for the sake of justice and to bring closure for the victims’ family and friends. Everyone who worked for CCC’s loosely organized network was a private citizen with special expertise. There were doctors, medical examiners, coroners, meteorologists, entomologists and pilots like Liam.

He first became aware of CCC when he was an assistant district attorney in Denver. That felt like a lifetime ago! Seventy-hour workweeks. Three-piece suits. Courtroom battles. Constant stress. Yeah, there had been a few rewards. Like the satisfaction of taking a dangerous perp off the streets. But there had been a hell of a lot more frustrations.

On his thirtieth birthday, three years ago, Liam dumped his career and moved to Grand Lake to be a charter pilot. Wise decision.

Now his only association with crime was CCC. Purely voluntary. He operated on his own schedule, followed his own methods. Twice, his aerial photos had been instrumental in locating missing persons—both dead.

RAIN HUNCHED HER SHOULDERS and ducked down. The plane was coming back. She heard the whine of the propeller. He was making a second sweep. Though her fire was too small to be seen, and well-hidden by the surrounding forest, he might notice the rising smoke.

Her heart beat fast. He was one of them—one of the hunters.

She tasted bitter fear in the back of her mouth. If she tamped the fire or doused it with water, the smoke would billow. He’d know she was here.

Her gaze encompassed her cozy campsite. It felt like home, and she didn’t want to leave. Damn it! If she was found, if the hunters came near, she would have to gather up everything and run.

But how could she escape unseen? There were hours of daylight left, and it would be easy for a pilot to spot her from the air as she made her way across the hillsides. There had to be another solution.

She went to her backpack and took out the gun.

AS THE CUB CAME AROUND, Liam’s gaze skimmed the distant peaks, still marked with snow in early August. He looked down on dense, old-growth forests and rugged cliffs. The noise of his plane’s engine startled a small herd of elk, and they darted into the forest.

Liam dipped down across the open terrain again. There was a flash from the ground—something was down there.

This sighting merited closer investigation, but he knew better than to land in a meadow with high grasses that hid rocks and prairie dog holes. The low-pressure tundra tires on his Super Cub were made for rugged landings, but he needed to see the obstacles. He pulled up and looked for an open stretch—a couple hundred feet was enough.

Nothing out here resembled a landing strip. There were no roads, no houses, no ranger stations. This area was miles away from sanctioned campgrounds, seriously isolated.

Nearly a mile and a half away, he spied a dry, gravelly stretch beside a wide creek. A challenging descent, but he could do it. He aligned his approach and cut the speed, slowed until he was floating on air. Then the wheels hit the earth, and Liam jolted like ice in a blender.

The Cub lurched to a stop, and he leaned forward to fondly pat her dashboard. She was a good old girl.

Before leaving the cockpit, he stuffed a candy bar into the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. Not much of a dinner, but it would have to do. He grabbed the photographs of the missing people and hiked due north.

Liam didn’t expect to find them alive, especially not Kate. Her photo showed an attractive, pampered Colorado blonde with long, smooth hair and cool blue eyes. She’d never last two days in the mountains, much less a month.

Pausing at the top of a ridge, he looked down at the mountain meadow. The sun hung low in the sky, and shadows had fallen across the land. He needed to hurry so he wouldn’t have to take off in the dark.

Jogging down the slope, he tried to pinpoint the area where he’d seen a flash. After a lot of tromping around, he found it. A crushed beer can—the ubiquitous sign of humanity.

When he picked up the can, he realized that it hadn’t been in this location for long; the grass beneath it was green and alive.

He followed a slight trail, marked by broken grasses. There was another can and three rocks piled on top of each other. What the hell was going on here?

Walking slowly, he came to a flattened area of grass. Someone had been lying here.

He squatted down to take a closer look. Caught in thorny shrub was a scrap of fabric. Blue silk. That was the kind of quality material Kate Carradine would wear.

When he stood, he caught a whiff of smoke. A campfire! What kind of moron would start a fire here? Too easily, the flames could spread. Danger of another killer forest fire was high. He hiked toward the faintly rising smoke, ready to kick some irresponsible camper’s butt.

At the edge of the trees, he heard a shout.

“Don’t come any closer! I have a gun!”

It was a woman’s voice.

“Ma’am,” Liam called out, “you can’t have a fire here. It’s dangerous.”

There was no response. Did she really have a gun? He called out to her again. “This isn’t a sanctioned camping area.”

“Are you a park ranger?”

He rested his hand against the trunk of a ponderosa pine and peered toward the sound of her voice. Though he couldn’t see her, she appeared to be hiding behind three lichen-covered boulders. “I’m with CCC.”

“Colorado Crime Consultants.” Rain had heard of them. CCC was a volunteer group, and she knew intuitively that they were the good guys. If he was telling the truth, she could trust him. “What kind of work are you doing for CCC?”

“I’m looking for two missing persons.”

“Who?”

“Their names are Wayne Silverman and Kate Carradine.”

“Kate, huh?” The name resonated through her brain. She heard the faint echo of voices calling that name. Her name? “I suppose that’s short for Katherine.”

“Probably.”

“Katherine Carradine. That’s a long name,” she said. Though familiar, she wasn’t ready to accept that identity. “Six syllables. You’d think a person would remember a name that long.”

“Ma’am? Is anybody here with you?”

Why did he want to know? Though she’d watched him approach alone, others might be with him.

The hairs on her nape prickled. Her head swiveled, trying to see in all directions at once.

Returning her attention to the tall man, her thumb twitched on the handle of the Glock automatic, and her trigger finger tightened as she kept her aim steady. Though she didn’t want to shoot anybody, she might not have a choice. He could be lying to her. He could be one of the hunters.

“What about you?” she shouted, keeping the tremor from her voice. “Is anybody here with you?”

“I’m alone.”

“You came in a plane,” she said. “I heard you buzz the field. You scared the wildlife.”

He took a step toward the rocks where she was hiding. “Have you got a name?”

“You can call me Rain. One syllable.”