Search and Rescue by April Wilson
Chapter 6
Killian Devereaux
When our plane lands in Denver, just before noon, there are three four-wheel-drive SUVs waiting for us—all rugged, off-road vehicles. Jake and I will each take a vehicle, and the third one is on standby for Owen, who’s due to arrive at the airport in an hour. But we’re not waiting for him. Every minute counts.
Jake and I unload our gear from the company’s private jet into our respective vehicles and head northwest to Bryce, Colorado, which is about a ninety-minute drive. We agree to meet up at Emerson’s Grocery store on the main road in town, which is where we’ll find Hannah’s best friend, Maggie Emerson. Ms. Emerson was the last person to see Hannah yesterday, so we’ll start our investigation with her.
We arrive at the grocery store at nearly the same time, both of us parking in the lot behind the store. When we come in through the rear entrance, we find Maggie unpacking a box of canned goods and setting them on store shelves. I guess her to be in her late thirties or early forties. She’s dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a blue flannel shirt, a pair of well-worn boots on her feet. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
“Maggie Emerson?” Jake asks as he scans the store.
The woman stands and faces us, hands on her hips. “That’s right. You must be the men Hannah’s brother sent.”
Jake steps forward and offers Maggie his hand. “Yes, ma’am. Jake McIntyre. I’m also Hannah’s brother.” He nods to me. “This is Killian Devereaux. A third man, Owen Ramsey, will be here shortly.”
Maggie looks me over, a curious expression on her pretty face as she studies me. “So you’re Killian.”
I nod, wondering how she knows my name. “Yes, ma’am.”
She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and nods toward the sales counter. “I’ll show you on a map where my boys and I found her Jeep last night.”
Maggie is prepared, I’ll give her that. She has a detailed map of the local area spread out on the sales counter, areas already marked on the map.
She points to a spot at the start of a marked trail, which she circled with a red marker. “Here’s where we found her Jeep. It was well after dark, and the snow had already started. There was no sign of her, though. Hannah was supposed to join us for dinner last night, but she never showed. I tried calling her, but my calls kept going straight to voice mail. When we couldn’t reach her, my sons and I drove to her cabin to see if she was there, but she wasn’t. That’s when we went looking for her.
I knew where she was headed that morning, to hike up a trail to check on a bald eagle’s nest. We found her Jeep Wrangler parked at the trailhead. My sons and I hiked about a mile up the trail, calling her name, but we got no response. And we didn’t see anyone else up there. Later, the sheriff and some deputies hiked up there, as well, but they had no luck finding her either.”
I study the map, noting where the trailhead is located in relation to the store. I glance at Jake. “That’s where I’ll start,” I say, tapping the spot where the trail starts.
“It’s pretty rough terrain,” Maggie warns, her eyes on me. “But I’m guessing you’re an experienced hiker.”
I nod.
“He’s an excellent tracker,” Jake says. “So is Owen, who will be here soon.”
“I’m not waiting,” I tell Jake. “I’ll head up there now. When Owen arrives, send him after me.”
Jake nods. “Roger.” Then he looks to Maggie. “Got any suggestions for where we can stay in town?”
She points to her right. “There’s a motel two miles north of here, on the main road. You can’t miss it. It’s pretty dated, but it’s clean.”
“That’ll do fine,” Jake says. Then he turns to me. “Go check out Hannah’s Jeep and start on the trail. I’ll secure rooms at the motel, unload our gear, and wait for Owen to arrive. I’ll contact the sheriff’s office to let him know we’re here.”
I glance at Maggie, whose brown eyes are shadowed. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
Maggie nods. “You’d damn well better. She’s the best friend I’ve got in this world.”
I leave Jake to set up our headquarters and organize logistics with local law enforcement. While he’s doing that, I need to get out in the field and start searching. Hannah was up there just yesterday morning, and she had to have left a trail I can follow.
Following the map, I head up the road toward the trail. As soon as I pull into a small, gravel parking lot, I immediately spot a black hard-top Jeep Wrangler with Colorado plates that match Hannah’s.
I hop out and peer inside the Jeep, but there’s nothing to see. The interior is spotless, and all the doors are locked. I examine the parking lot, looking for any signs of a struggle, but find nothing. The ground is obscured by a heavy fall of fresh snow, over a foot deep, and it’s still coming down hard. Visibility is poor.
I pull out my radio and hail Jake. “I’m here at the trailhead. I looked over her Jeep but didn’t find anything unusual. I’m about to head up the trail now.”
“Copy,” he replies. “Keep me posted.”
“Copy that. Out.” Armed with my Glock 9mm in my chest holster and a hunting knife in a sheath strapped to my thigh, I pull on my winter coat, hat, and gloves. After strapping on my backpack and grab my climbing gear—just in case—I start walking.
It’s quiet going up the trail, with the only sounds coming from the wind rustling through the canopy overhead and the crunch of snow beneath my boots. Even though the path is covered with snow, the outline of the trail is visible thanks to the heavy brush bordering each side.
A sign indicates it’s a two-mile hike up to Eagle Ridge. Presumably, it was somewhere on this trail that Hannah disappeared.
I take my time as I study the edges of the trail, looking for indications that someone has recently passed—scanning for broken branches, disturbed foliage, bent limbs, bruised leaves. I look for signs of blood, of course, but I don’t even want to think about that.
Hannah’s an experienced hiker, so it’s not likely that she simply lost her way in the storm yesterday. Something must have happened, but whether that something was caused my man or by animal, I don’t know.
The Rockies are inhabited by plenty of wildlife, so it’s possible she ran into an animal. But knowing her, she would have been sufficiently armed to protect herself from an animal attack, so I don’t think that’s likely either.
The most probable scenario is that she ran into trouble with a human—and I don’t even want to think about the implications of that.
Not far from the trailhead, I pick up two sets of tracks heading down toward the parking lot—two pairs of boot prints with deep impressions in the snow. Based on the tread size, I’m assuming they belong to two men. The tracks are of equal size—fourteens, if my guess is accurate—and therefore too big to be Hannah’s. The impressions are pretty consistent, which implies that neither of them was carrying anything heavy—like a body—and that’s reassuring.
The trail is pretty rugged hiking, the elevation increasing quickly. I track the two pairs of boots for a mile and a half, and that’s when things get interesting.
The two hikers converged on the main path from two different angles, all coming from the south side of the trail. They’d clearly been in the woods, off the path.
Why?
I follow one set of tracks several hundred yards south of the trail and find myself standing at the edge of a deep ravine. I continue following the boot prints quite a ways along the edge of the ravine, until eventually the tracks meet up with another male’s.
They were together at one point, presumably looking for something—or someone—and then they split up. My pulse kicks up.
“Hannah!” I yell. My voice echoes over the ravine, and I wait for a good while, hoping to hear a reply. “Hannah!”
But there’s no response.
So I keep walking, and I trace those boot prints in the opposite direction, back toward the trail. Even though the snow is still falling, I can see a hint of impressions in the snow underneath the forest’s protective canopy. Soon, I can make out three sets of prints—the two males I’ve been tracking and a third, smaller, lighter set. I see a few broken and bent branches, and even some blood splatters on the foliage and tree trunks. My stomach knots. The smaller prints are partially obliterated by the larger ones—they were chasing her. And someone—possibly Hannah—is bleeding.
“Hannah!” I shout.
I’ve seen enough. I turn and follow the erratic splatters of blood back toward the ravine. Whoever was injured was heading south, in the direction of the ravine, probably hoping to lose her pursuers in the woods.
Once I make it back to the ravine, I search the edge in both directions until I find a spot where the ground recently gave way. What I don’t know is if someone fell into the ravine or was pushed.
“Hannah!”
I peer down into the ravine, which I guess has to be at least a twenty-foot drop. My heart hammers as I imagine her falling that far. Granted, there are plenty of trees growing on the ravine wall, and their limbs would have broken her fall somewhat, but it still would have been a brutal descent. And if she was already bleeding—
“Hannah!”
Still, I hear nothing but the wind in the trees and the sound of my boots crunching on the snow. I pull out my radio. “Jake, do you copy?”
There’s some interference, but he quickly responds. “I copy, Killian. What have you found?”
“Plenty. Besides what I presume are Hannah’s tracks, I found the tracks of two men, and indications of a scuffle and a chase. But there’s no sign they carried her off this mountain, and she didn’t walk down on her own. I think I know where she is. I think she went into a ravine that runs parallel to the trail. I’m going to rappel down into the ravine and search for her.”
“You haven’t made contact?”
“No. Nothing yet. And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
This part makes me sick. “There’s a blood trail. I’m pretty sure she’s injured.”
I can’t stand the idea of Hannah being hurt. I’m trying my best to remain stoic and not let my emotions get the best of me, but it’s hard. She’s not just a missing person—she means the world to me. The thought of her being hurt—or even worse—is more than I can handle.
I hear Jake mutter fuck over the line. Then more clearly, he says, “Copy that. Get down in that ravine, Killian. I’ll send Owen up to meet you.”
Then I hear a woman’s voice over the radio—undoubtedly Maggie’s. “I’m familiar with that ravine. It levels out into a valley with a stream, which makes it a popular place for the kids to hike and fish.”
Then I hear an unfamiliar male voice. “Killian, it’s Owen. I see the ravine on a map. I’ll come up the ravine from the east side while you search from the west. We should find her somewhere between us.”
“I’ll go with you,” Maggie says. “I know where to pick up the ravine. It’s not far from the parking lot, but it’s not marked either. I can take you right to it.”
“Jake, have paramedics on standby,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to need medical treatment. It’s at least a twenty-foot drop, and she’s bleeding. If she weren’t injured, she would have made it out on her own already, provided the two males tracking her didn’t ambush her in the parking lot.”
“Copy, Killian,” Jake says. “Owen and Maggie are on their way now.”
* * *
I study the edge of the ravine, looking for the best spot to set up my rappelling line. Since this may very well be a one-way trip—down only—I double up my line and wrap it around a sturdy tree trunk that can more than support my weight. This way, if I don’t need to come back up, I can still retrieve my line.
With my pack secured on my back, and my climbing harness around my waist, holding an array of carabiners, I get into position, secure my line, and start rappelling. The wall is practically vertical, but there are a lot of trees and roots in my way, so it takes me a few minutes to reach the ground.
Once I’m down there, I don’t find anything but pristine, freshly fallen snow. If she is indeed down here—which I believe she is—Hannah must have been on the move already, working her way down the mountain as the snow fell. That’s good news. It means she wasn’t so injured that she couldn’t move. I do, however, find signs of a blood trail on some tree trunks. That isn’t so good.
“Hannah!” My booming voice carries down the ravine, echoing loudly. If she’s nearby, she’ll hear me.
I listen for a response but don’t get one. My heart is hammering in my chest, but I try not to let it get to me that I’m not hearing her. There are so many reasons why that could be the case, and I absolutely won’t let myself think the worst.
I remove my climbing harness and stow my gear in my pack before I start making my way down the ravine. I’ve walked barely two hundred feet before I find tracks. Female boot tracks. And an impression in the snow, up against the ravine wall, where someone had stopped to rest.
I crouch down to study the area, and when I find signs of fresh blood, I shoot to my feet, my heart in my throat. She’s close. She has to be. “Hannah!”
Still nothing.
Damn it!
I keep moving, following her rather obvious trail. It appears she was hobbling on one foot and using something as a crutch. If so, she isn’t moving very quickly.
I radio Owen and give him an update.
“Copy that,” Owen says. “We’re at the bottom of the ravine, headin’ up your way. Nothing on our end yet.”
“Keep moving,” I tell him. “She’s bleeding and hobbling on one foot. We need to get her off this mountain.”
“Copy,” he answers. “We’ll find her.”
I pick up speed then, not worrying about trying to maintain the integrity of her trail. She’s hurt, and time is of the essence. She’s probably cold and wet, and those conditions combined with loss of blood are dangerous. Hypothermia is a real risk. Possibly infection, too.
“Hannah! Can you hear me?” I shout, hearing my own voice echo like thunder down the ravine. I just hope to god she can hear me, too.
