No dream here, though. The boy in the tower behind her was very real.
Second chance. The kind almost nobody gets. You came back here for a reason, didn’t you? Stay on your damn feet, then. Stand your ground. You don’t get to run.
She knew she was going to lie by the time she was at the bottom of the stairs. She was going to lie to someone, that much was required now, and it was either these men or the boy hiding under her cot. She had promised him she would send them away. She could imagine lying to these men, but not to him.
The searchers covered the ground to meet her fast. They were on an open plateau rimmed by tall trees and rocks, and somewhere in them the shadow man with the rifle hid. They were certainly within range. A finger squeeze away from death.
“Don’t see many visitors,” she said. “And you guys look like business. Everything okay?”
“Oh, we’ve had better days.”
“I heard,” she said.
“Oh yeah?”
“I was the one who called it in.”
They exchanged puzzled glances. “Pardon?” a second officer said. He was a younger guy, complexion and cheekbones that hinted at Native American blood. “What did you call in?”
“The fire.” She waved her hand to the smoke. “I understand there was a victim.”
This was unplanned, but she was proud of it. She was demonstrating her knowledge and eagerness to help.
“We’re not here for the fire,” the one who looked like an Indian said. “We’re looking for a missing boy.”
“Haven’t heard about that.”
“They were supposed to put out a call to you.”
Shit. Of course they were. How could she have failed to anticipate that?
“Really? Must have hit my bathroom run. Toilet’s down here, not up in the tower. That would have been, what, midmorning?”
The bigger one nodded. “Kid ran off from a group that was camping out here. They’re, you know, problem kids.”
“Yeah?” She turned from them, stared to the west so the wind blew hard in her face. “Would he have been carrying a pack?”
“That’s right. You speak with him?”
“No. But I watched him go by, and I thought it was strange. Kid that age hiking alone.”
“You could tell how old he was from up in the tower?” This came from the Native American with the skeptical stare.
“My eyes aren’t that good. But these?” She tapped the binoculars that dangled around her neck. “These are pretty good. He was wearing a big green pack, an army-surplus-looking thing?”
“That’d be our boy,” the big one said. “He came right through here?”
She nodded. “Looked up at the tower, and I thought he might try to climb it. Some people do, you know. But he just hung a right, caught the trail, and went on along.”
“When you say he caught the trail, you mean-”
“Right there.” She pointed to the place where the trail led away from the plateau. “It goes on toward Cooke City. Been a few hours, at least,” she said, thinking that she wanted them to hurry. Thinking that if her heart beat any harder, it would blow apart.
“Yeah?”
“At least,” she repeated. She was watching the skeptical man. He had moved to the point where the trail met the plateau and was on his knees, studying the ground. This was not good. A man who believed the ground could tell him more than an eyewitness was not good for her plan at all.
“What do you see, Luke?” the bigger man called.
“I got three clear prints, and none of them are his.”
“You sure? Dry as it is?”
“Not so dry that he walks on air. The dust here holds a clear track, and his isn’t one of them.”
“That’s because he didn’t walk there,” Hannah said.
“Thought you said he caught the trail?” the one named Luke said, still kneeling.
“He did. Climbed up right there”-pointing was a small salvation, because it forced them all to turn their eyes away from her-“and then started back down the way he’d come. Not far, just a few steps. Kind of looking around. Then he walked across the side of the hill there, cut through those trees-you see those pines? Cut through those and he was on the trail. I think the trail surprised him. It wasn’t like he knew it would be there. But once he found it, he was gone.”
Not a bad liar, Hannah, you are not bad at this at all, a damn fine dishonest woman when you need to be. Put that on the Match.com profile that all your friends want you to create-Hannah Faber, single white female, killed last boyfriend, excels at lying, please call!
“Hell, it has to be the right kid.” These were the first words from a guy who looked tired and impatient and thus was Hannah’s favorite of the men.
“Good luck,” Hannah said. “I’ll have to get going.”
“Places to be?” This was from the skeptical man, Luke, who was returning to the group. A fine question too-she stayed in the tower day and night, and she was rushing them along? “You seem in a bigger hurry than we are.”
“Remember when I said my toilet was down here?” she asked, and then gave him a nasty smile. “Ah, you’ve got it now! Good work! So, yes, I have places to be too.”
“Go ahead,” the bigger cop said. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Good luck with the search.”
“Pretty good view from that tower. Might be worth going up and having a look around, see if we can get a visual on him,” Luke said, and Hannah wanted to kill him.
“You can’t see him,” she said. “I watched him for as long as I could. He took the trail and booked on out toward Cooke City.”
“You watched him that long?”
“That tower might look really exciting to you, but it can get a bit boring, believe it or not. I watch everybody.” She began moving away from them as she said it. “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go to the bathroom. You want to hang here, I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“We need to get moving,” the big cop said. “Appreciate the help, though.”
“You bet,” she said over her shoulder. “Good luck, guys.”
She reached the outhouse and fumbled with the door; the latch was uncooperative and she was panicking and so when she finally got it open, she nearly fell in her hurry to get inside. It should look real enough to them-somebody who had to go. They were probably laughing at her, but that was fine. So long as they believed it, and they left.
She sat on the closed seat of the toilet and held her head in her hands until her breathing steadied and the dizziness was past. She could hear their voices but not as loud. They were moving on. She hadn’t been impressive, but she’d been functional.
And now she was alone with a boy who was pursued by killers.
When she opened the door she was ready to see the man with the rifle, but the plateau was empty again. She crossed to the tower and went up the steps and opened the door of the cab.
“Connor? It’s just me.”
The words carried more weight than they should have. I did not lie to you. I made you a promise and I have kept it and you are still safe and I am part of that.
“They’re gone? Really?” He poked his head out from under the cot.
“Really. Stay down while I wait to see that the other one passes by too.” She turned from him and added, “Once we know he’s gone, that he’s still following them, we need to head out, in the opposite direction. We need to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because I lied to them, and they bought it, but it won’t take long for them to figure it out. Somebody will come back. When they do, you need to be gone. Now, give me a minute.”
She opened the door and walked out onto the balcony again. Leaned her forearms on the rail. If she was being watched now, it was important for her to look relaxed. To look as if she had all the time in the world. She forced herself to stay there for a while so it wouldn’t seem like she was checking on anything in particular. She counted the seconds as a child would: one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three. When she got to three hundred, she straightened, stretched, and lifted the binoculars. Started by facing the smoke. She’d meant that as a ruse for the shadow with the rifle, but the smoke caught her attention and held it; it had grown substantially in the time she’d been occupied with the search party. They needed a break from the wind down there. The blow-dryer, Nick had called this sort of wind. You added a blow-dryer to a red-flag day, and you had serious trouble.