Deadfall (2 page)

Still, he might be interested. She knew for a fact that Mac enjoyed hiking and that he often volunteered to help find missing persons. She put in a call and got his answering machine. Dana left him a message with the details, sketchy as they were, and asked him to call. Disappointment at his not being there drifted through her.

She tossed her feelings aside.
You have no business getting
involved with Mac, even in your imagination. He's engaged, for
heaven's sake.
Dana sighed. Some things were not meant to be, and a relationship with Mac was one of them.

If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she had a thing for the handsome Detective Antonio “Mac” McAllister. He liked her too—she could tell. In fact, they had even dated briefly several years ago, before she became an OSP trooper. But they were both dating other people now, and Dana had made up her mind that she would not get involved with a cop. No way. In the meantime, they met on a regular basis for coffee or lunch and talked shop.

Dana forced her mind back on the task at hand and called dispatch to find out who, besides herself, had responded.

MAC WALKED INTO HIS APARTMENT at ten, ignoring his dog and the blinking red light on his answering machine. He headed straight for the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. Lucy, his golden retriever, followed, whimpering and sticking her head into the fridge. She backed out and sat next to him. “You want out?” Mac asked. He'd fed her and taken her out just before leaving for his fiancée's place around seven-thirty.

Lucy licked his hand. Mac backed out of his pitifully empty fridge and scanned his cupboard. He cleaned and filled Lucy's water bowl and leaned against the counter, his arms folded while he watched her drink. “Why can't all women be like you?” He sighed. “You're easy to please. Don't take a lot of maintenance. You're happy to see me when I come home, and you don't whine about my hours.”

Anger and resentment along with frustration tore at his insides as he thought about the fiasco of a counseling session he'd just endured with his fiancée and her pastor.

“Not the smartest thing I've ever done,” he told his dog. “If I were a drinking man, I'd have downed a pint of booze by now.” But Mac didn't drink and had no intention of starting. He credited his father for that. Watching that stumbling drunk had cured Mac of ever wanting alcohol. Still, he needed something. His gaze fell on the coffeepot. He took down his stash of Starbucks ground coffee, put a couple of heaping scoops into the filter, filled the reservoir with water, and turned it on to brew.

“What happened, Lucy? I thought I loved her.” He eyed the dog, who seemed more interested in something out on the patio than in anything Mac had to say. “Everything was going great until Linda insisted on counseling.”

“We need to go to marriage counseling, Mac,” he said in a falsetto tone.

Several days after he'd asked her to marry him, Linda had told Mac yes, but only if he would see a marriage counselor with her.

She'd quoted a Bible verse about being “unequally yoked.” Mac said he had been brought up Catholic, but apparently that wasn't good enough. He'd made excuses and managed to avoid counseling for a while. Then, in a weak moment, he'd succumbed and Linda made an appointment with Pastor Jim. He'd gotten tied up at work and called the church, certain they'd have to cancel. But Pastor Jim said that the Sunday evening service was over, and his schedule was flexible. He agreed to meet them whenever Mac could get there, which was around eight-thirty.

Mac had liked the pastor at first, especially when he started talking about sports and staying fit and working out several days a week. They talked about marriage and family. Mac let Linda go on about her family: parents who were still married after forty years; siblings who, like herself, had gone through college and earned their degrees. She'd come from a normal, loving family—one without all the dysfunction he'd had in his.

When his turn came, Mac said, “My father was a cop, my mother died when I was young, and my grandmothers raised me.” He didn't elaborate—didn't tell them his father had been an alcoholic. He didn't even mention his mother's family or why he never used his given name, Antonio. His brief explanation seemed to satisfy them. Apparently they had an agenda and were eager to get started with their project: changing Mac.

Linda kept her gaze on Pastor Jim as she explained how she felt left out and how days would go by without her hearing from Mac. “We're engaged, but I'm lucky if we see each other more than once a week.”

“I'm a detective,” Mac said in his defense. “When I'm on a case, I don't have a lot of extra time on my hands.”

“I understand.” Pastor Jim smiled in Mac's direction. “My schedule is overwhelming at times too, and I have to work long hours. I tend to be a workaholic, but we do need to compromise if we expect to nurture our relationships. I try to reserve Tuesday and Thursday evenings and all day Saturday as time with my family. We guard our time together closely.” He chuckled. “If I slip up, my wife keeps me in line.”

Mac wasn't amused. He shifted his gaze from Linda to Jim. “There's no way I can set aside specific days. I never know when I'll be called in.” He struggled to keep his tone pleasant.

“You can't carve out a day or two each week?” Pastor Jim asked.

At the moment, Mac didn't want to spend an hour with Linda, and particularly not this hour. He should never have agreed to come. How could such a beautiful, sensitive, sensual woman have turned into such a pathetic snob?

Pastor Jim was patronizing and clearly on Linda's side. Mac fumed inwardly, not willing to give an inch.

“It's not even the time so much.” Linda turned her watery, doe-brown eyes on him.

Oh, great. She was going to cry.

Linda reached for a tissue from the box conveniently placed on Pastor Jim's desk and dabbed at her eyes. “When he's working on a case, which is all the time, I go for days without hearing from him. I leave messages that he never answers. I worry so much about him—I mean, he's out there tracking down killers. It's a dangerous job, and sometimes I can't even sleep at night worrying about him. Would it be so hard for him to call me?”

“Mac?” Pastor Jim folded his hands and waited for Mac to respond.

“I suppose I could call more, but . . .” Mac hesitated. How could he tell her that when he was on a case, calling her was the farthest thing from his mind? Maybe it shouldn't be, but it was.

“You have your cell phone with you all the time.” Linda had torn apart the tissue and then wadded it up. “Would it be so hard to take a minute when you're getting coffee or stopping for lunch or dinner to call me so I know you're okay?”

“Ah,” Pastor Jim said. “Now we're getting somewhere.” Again, they both turned their gazes to Mac.

No, it's not possible. I don't want to have to check in.
Mac didn't express his thoughts aloud. After all, Linda's request was reasonable— annoying, but reasonable. Linda slid her hand over his, and he released his grip on the arm of the chair. “I might be able to do that. Not all the time, but when I can remember.”

She smiled, her eyes still misty. “That's all I ask. You have such a dangerous job, and I really want to know you're okay. Besides, it's good to connect more often.”

He caught a glimpse of the woman he'd fallen in love with in that smile. She really was a wonderful person. He'd met her in the hospital where she worked as a nursing supervisor. Linda had been so compassionate and efficient. Of late, instead of listening to her requests and acknowledging her concerns, he'd written them off, feeling smothered and put upon.

“That went well, don't you think?” Linda had asked on the way home.

“I suppose.” Mac's annoyance returned, and he wasn't sure why.

“Am I such a bad guy that you feel you need to change me?”

“Oh, Mac.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. The warmth of her breath and the heat of her hand on his leg almost made him forget his question. “Change is necessary in any relationship.”

“For me, but not for you?” Mac didn't want to be upset with her.

“You want me to change?” She removed her hand and leaned back, shifting slightly in her seat to look at him. “In what way?”

He shrugged. “Stop acting like I have the worst job in the world. Some people think what I do is honorable.”

“I do, Mac.” She licked her lips. “It just frightens me.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, you're listed as one of the people to contact if anything happens to me.”

Linda folded her arms and leaned back against the seat, her dark, shoulder-length hair falling forward. “That's not exactly comforting.”

After walking Linda to her door, Mac drew her into his arms and kissed her.

“Want to come in for some coffee?” She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with promise.

Mac wanted more than coffee—more than she would offer. He chided himself for thinking about sex when their relationship was on such tentative ground. Holding her close, his arms securely around her, he said, “You really need to decide whether or not you want to be married to a cop. Some women aren't cut out for it.”

She leaned back. “Mac, I love you.”

“That may be, but take a look at the divorce rate among law enforcement officers. I don't want you to get into a marriage you'll regret.”

She frowned. “I can handle it. We'll just need to make some adjustments.”

Mac dropped his arms to his side. “Don't expect me to change too much, Linda. I'm not sure I can.”

He'd driven away, more upset with himself than with her. He was the one who had serious reservations about marrying Linda. Now he'd dumped his concerns in her lap. Why couldn't he just tell her how he felt—manipulated, coerced, unsure of himself and of their relationship?

The coffeepot sputtered out the last few drops. Mac filled his Mariners mug then took it into the living room. He listened to the answering machine. Dana's voice and her message about the missing hiker lifted his spirits. He took the wireless phone to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace and punched in Dana's number. When he got her voice mail, Mac left a message indicating that he had the day off tomorrow and if the hiker was still missing, he'd be happy to join the search.

Lucy padded in and gazed at him with love in her deep brown eyes. She put her head on his leg, waiting for his undivided attention. Mac petted her and took her outside for a brief walk in the rain.

Then the two of them settled in for the evening—Mac in the recliner and Lucy at his feet. Lulled by the fire and the sound of the rain on the windows, Mac drifted off, waking around midnight to stumble into bed. The image drifting through his head was not that of the brunette he was engaged to, but the blonde trooper, his good friend, Dana Bennett.

3

T
HE POUNDING RAIN HAD LIGHTENED to a steady drizzle when Todd and Vicki Gaynes arrived at the park just before ten o'clock that night. They scanned the lighted parking lot, hoping Brad would be there waiting, angry that Jessica had taken off without him. He wasn't there, and neither were Jessica or the police. Five big rig trucks had parked at the west end of the lot in the long-term parking area, their drivers taking a break or getting a few hours of sleep.

Todd grabbed a flashlight out of the trunk, and together he and Vicki walked the length of the parking lot on the creekside, looking for Brad. They were about to start up the trail when two deputies from the Hood River County Sheriff 's Department pulled into the parking lot. On their tail was an Oregon State Police car. The three cops talked among themselves while they put on rain jackets. Then the trooper, a woman, left the men and approached the Gayneses. She reached out a hand and identified herself to Vicki and Todd as Trooper Dana Bennett, Oregon State Police. She hadn't needed to add the last part, as the silver lettering on her dark rain jacket made it clear.

Dana had a sympathetic smile and dimpled cheeks. Her long blonde hair was neatly tucked into a braid and secured at the back of her head.

“How does this work?”Todd asked. “We were about to head up the trail to start looking.”

“Are you the ones who called in the report?”

“No,” Vicki said. “That would have been Brad's girlfriend, Jessica.”

Dana nodded. “We've been told the reporting party would meet us here.” She glanced at Todd. “To answer your question, sir . . . in Oregon, the search-and-rescue responsibilities fall to the sheriff of the respective county of venue. In this case that would be the Hood River County Sheriff 's Department, which, by the way, is one of the best. These guys have had years of experience rescuing lost hikers on the Eagle Creek trail system and stranded or injured hikers on the north face of Mount Hood.”

Todd glanced over at the two deputies, who were still talking. “There are just three of you?”

“The sheriff 's office has a call in for volunteers. The deputies will lead the search effort, but we rely on volunteers to provide most of the muscle. Most of the searchers are seasoned outdoor types, men and women who enjoy Oregon's back country and look for opportunities to hone their skills with a difficult climb or challenging rescues.”

Vicki didn't care about any of that. She just wanted to find her son.

“Will you be helping with the search?” Todd asked.

“As much as I can.” Dana assured him.

Jessica drove into the parking lot in Brad's Subaru. “That's Brad's girlfriend,” Vicki said, trying to keep the venom out of her tone.

Dana's gaze flickered toward Jessica. “You don't like her.”

Vicki swallowed. “No, I don't.” There was no point in lying.

“Anything we should know about?” Dana asked. “Do you suspect foul play?”