High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

Jillian

“Do you want more of this?”

I point at the cast iron pan with the leftover spicy scrambled egg, sausage, and potato skillet.

I may have gone a little overboard with breakfast today. In fact, I’ve been overdoing it with the cooking in general since we got here the day before yesterday.

Maybe I’m trying to compensate for what he is missing out on in Ama’s kitchen, because I want him to stay. Or at least make him want to come back. It’s silly, and I’m well aware of that, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I really enjoy having him in my space, and that is saying a lot for someone who has consciously lived alone for the past eight years.

“Sure, I’ll finish it off if you don’t want it.”

I pile the rest of the food on his plate and turn to the sink to run hot water in the pan. Always better to clean right away before food residue hardens on the cast iron surface.

“Hey, you cooked; I’ll do dishes,” Wolff announces.

“I’m just doing this pan.”

This is the way it’s been since we got here; easy, relaxed, and uncomplicated. I fully expected to spend some time cleaning up, given that blood was spilled, and an army of FBI agents went through the place. However, someone beat me to it and the house was spotless. The company that cleaned it left their calling card on the kitchen island.

Wolff denied it was him, and he seemed genuinely surprised, so I’m inclined to believe him. Which leaves Sloane, who hasn’t yet returned my message on the subject. In all fairness, she may be a bit preoccupied with the latest addition to her growing family, but I’ll get the truth out of her at some point.

With cleanup taken care of, that left me to put away the dog stuff and my clothes, run a load of laundry, and hit up the grocery store to restock my fridge. The rest of the weekend was spent relaxing, taking the dogs for long walks and putting them through their paces, and most importantly, getting to know each other better, in every sense of the word.

He isn’t a natural talker, but he opened up a bit, and the more I learn about Lucas Wolff, the more I like him. In a lot of ways, he’s what you would expect of a federal agent, with a clear focus on justice, strong discipline, and an inherent desire to abide by the rules. The big difference with Wolff is his moral compass proved to be stronger than his willingness to toe the Bureau line at all cost.

The man is back to work today, heading to the ranch shortly, which is why I got up at five thirty to get breakfast going. A large part of me would really like him to come back tonight, but it may not be a bad thing to create a little breathing room. Things have been moving fast enough, and perhaps slowing it down a bit will give us a chance to get a handle on where this seems to be heading.

I end up tidying up a bit, putting stuff back in the fridge, rinsing out the coffeepot, and cleaning off the counter. I’m about to tackle the stove when Wolff comes up behind me and reaches around to snatch the sponge from my hand.

“That’s my job,” he mumbles, his lips brushing the shell of my ear and sending the tiniest of shivers down my spine.

“Fine. I’ll get cleaned up.”

When I return to the kitchen after brushing my teeth and throwing on some clothes so I can take the dogs out for a run, I catch Wolff on his phone. His eyes meet mine.

“If you wouldn’t mind loading up Judge for me. I’ll be there in ten.”

He ends his call and slips his phone in his pocket.

“You have to go.”

“Yeah. Jonas got a call from the ranger station in Libby. We’ve got a few hikers missing up on Sheldon Mountain. They were winter camping at the trailhead, going for day hikes, and were supposed to report in to the ranger yesterday, but never did.”

“That doesn’t sound good. It was cold out last night too.”

He steps up and slides his hands over my hips to the small of my back.

“Which is why we’re hustling this morning.” He bends his head for a kiss. “I’ll be in touch, and if you need anything, call the ranch.”

I grin at him. “How ever did I manage without you for thirty-nine years?”

“Smart-ass.”

Another hard kiss later, and I’m watching him walk out the door.

Then I turn to the living room where the dogs are sprawled all over the floor and the furniture.

“All right, guys…who wants to come with me?”

I take them for a nice, long walk. The gang is happy to be off leash, with full freedom to explore. At the ranch their free movement had been limited to the corral, mostly for their own safety. They’re not really used to being around horses and could easily get trampled.

Of course, I end up carrying Nugget most of the way, but he enjoys these walks as much as the others; whether it be under his own steam, or mine. It does mean by the time we reach my backyard and I put him down, my arms feel like lead. Not just a good workout for the dogs, but me as well.

As soon as I unlock and start opening the back door, the dogs force their way inside and head straight to the front door, barking.

“Guys! Quiet!”

I wrestle my way through the dogs to get to the door and check the peephole. Coming up the steps are Special Agent Bellinger and a man I don’t recognize. I’m not a fan of Bellinger and curse myself I yelled at the dogs earlier, now I can’t pretend no one’s home.

“Back away, guys.”

Nudging the dogs out of the way with my legs, I open the door.

Wolff

“Husband and wife, Rick and Kelly Greenbaum, and her brother’s name is Shaun McInnis. All from Missoula, all experienced hikers.”

I tighten the cinch and give it a tug, making sure it’s secure before leading Judge a few steps away from the trailer. Then I put my foot in the stirrup and swing myself in the saddle. The others are already mounted and listening to the ranger give details on the missing trio.

“They missed their check-in yesterday so when I went to check first thing this morning, their vehicle was still parked here.” He points at a green Ford Bronco Sport at the far end of the parking lot. “I walked over to their site, found their camp still up, but it didn’t look like anyone had been there for at least twenty-four hours. The ashes in the firepit were stone cold.”

“No satellite phone? Two-way radio?” JD asks. “PLB?”

A PLB is a personal locator beacon, often carried for safety by wilderness adventurers who like to wander far off the beaten track. It’s a device that can be activated to send out a distress signal and your location.

The ranger shakes his head. “Nope, and cell phone reception is bad here, but pretty much nonexistent once you move away from the road.”

It happens all too often; people don’t think they need the extra precautions as long as they stick to trails and are not that far out in the boonies. The sad truth is, especially in winter, it’s very easy to get disoriented in these mountains. It wouldn’t be the first time we found lost hikers less than a mile from either the trail they wandered away from, or a road to civilization.

“Okay, guys,” James calls. “Let’s move out.”

There are four of us on horseback. Dan, JD, his father, James, and me. Jackson is manning basecamp and flying the Matrice, our state-of-the-art drone with Sully. The cold weather has an impact on Jackson’s stump and on his prosthetic, which is why he doesn’t ride with us until the weather warms up. It’s not that he can’t ride, it’s that we have no idea how long we’ll be out there, and—as harsh as it sounds—we can’t afford to have anyone slow us down. We can’t waste time when looking for lost individuals in this environment, especially in winter.

JD is leading. Like his father, he’s a great tracker. Most of the time we move in a single line, so the person leading needs to be attuned to the smallest details. Riding at the back of the pack means keeping an eye on the big picture. Scanning the terrain, looking for anything unusual that might be a clue.

It isn’t hard to follow the hikers’ tracks, which basically follow the set trail and is supposed to be a fifteen-mile hike that loops around a small lake before returning to the campground. It becomes tricky when the trail crosses a dirt road meandering up the mountain. The trail isn’t marked on the other side of the road, and it looks like the group mistook a much narrower game trail for the hiking trail and started veering off.

Overhead I hear the hum of the Matrice, as the drone flies past us, zigzagging back and forth to cover a wider area. Up ahead JD holds up a hand to stop us.

“I think this is where they realized their mistake.”

He points to one set of footsteps changing direction and heading into the trees.

“And they made another,” Dan concludes.

They split up, which is never a good idea. There may have been an argument about how to proceed. Two of them stuck with the game trail, maybe thinking it would lead to the small lake where they might pick up the hiking trail again. The one who veered off might have reasoned if the two trails run parallel, they could cut through the woods and find the hiking path that way. The smart thing to do would have been to follow their own tracks back to the road, but nobody did, and now we have two trails to follow.

“Dan, you and JD follow the game trail. Wolff, you and me are following this single track,” James indicates.

As we quickly discover, the path this hiker chose is not as straightforward as they might’ve been thinking. For one, the game trail runs farther up the mountain than the hiking trail does, so at the point the hiker decided to cut across, there is a fairly dramatic difference in elevation. Secondly, since there is no path, terrain would dictate which way to go, and unfortunately for the hiker, a steep ridge that appears to run between the two trails prevents him from reaching the hiking loop.

To make matters even more challenging, in areas along the drop-off, where there is little or no tree coverage, the snow is thicker. Unfortunately, with the weather hovering around the freezing mark—warming up during the day and dropping substantially at night—the snowpack becomes less stable. An ice layer forms on top of the snow which can move and slide, becoming a hazard.

Especially near a drop-off, the ice could create an overhang—a shelf, if you will—that wouldn’t necessarily be noticeable when you’re on top of it. One misstep and a piece of the shelf breaks off. It can be very dangerous, so we make sure to steer well clear of the edge.

My radio comes to life with the sound of static before I hear Jackson’s voice checking in. Up ahead James comes to a halt and pulls out his radio.

“Jackson, what’s up?”

“We spotted something about half a mile north of where you are.”

Fifteen minutes later, we find a large section of an ice shelf broken away. The tracks we’re following seem to head straight for the edge. Two abandoned hiking packs were left at the base of a lone tree about six feet back from where the ice shelf appears to have snapped off.

“Two backpacks?”

“I notice that,” James states.

It seems unlikely one person is carrying two backpacks. I dismount and start toward them to have a closer look, but James holds me back.

“We’re not doing anything without a safety line.”

I nod my agreement and get a safety harness from my saddlebags. James is in the process of securing a rope to a large tree trunk, when we hear horses approaching. The sound of snorting, leather creaking, or the occasional clanking of a bit gives them away.

“What are you guys doing here?” James asks, when JD and Dan appear from the trees barely fifty feet from where we are tying the safety line.

“Followed the tracks here,” Dan explains. “One minute they were following the game trail, the next they turned into the woods.”

“Tracks show they were running,” JD adds. “Look.”

We walk closer to where he’s pointing at the snow. I can easily see what JD means; the toe of the print is deep, the heel virtually invisible, and a trail is left pointing to the heel as forward motion pushes the toe of the foot back.

Judging from the prints, it looks like these two individuals stopped by the single tree to take off their packs, and from there they appear to walk straight off the cliff.

James hooks the safety line onto my harness and I walk as close as I dare to the edge, before dropping down on my stomach and carefully inching the rest of the way.

I spot one of the hikers right away at the bottom of the drop. I’m pretty sure it’s the hiker whose tracks we’ve been following. He’s lying face down, still wearing his backpack. Judging from the substantial amount of blood around the body, it seems a safe guess we’re dealing with a recovery and not a rescue.

“I’ve got one recovery,” I call back to the team.

Then I start scanning the drop, looking for the other two hikers. I find them a third of the way down. The woman’s upturned face startles me; her eyes are open and fixed on me, and her mouth is moving, but I don’t hear any sound. She’s sitting on a rock plateau, her back against the wall behind her, and she’s cradling the upper body of the third individual in her arms.

“And one, possibly two rescues,” I update the guys, before yelling down. “Kelly? Hang on tight. We’re coming for you!”

It’s midafternoon when we find them, but it’s another almost four hours before Kelly Greenbaum and her husband are finally pulled to safety and handed off to waiting EMTs. It took that long to get the necessary equipment and enough manpower up here.

Apparently, it was Kelly’s brother, Shaun, who decided to go off the trail. The couple heard him screaming and ran toward the sound, not realizing how unstable the ice shelf they were standing on was. Rick landed poorly and broke his leg, but Kelly only suffered bumps and scrapes. They likely survived by sharing their body heat, although they both suffered from severe hypothermia by the time we got to them.

After they are on their way to the hospital, we still have to retrieve Shaun McInnis. By the time the county coroner’s van drives back down the bumpy dirt road—his body on board—it’s nighttime. We load our equipment on the truck Bo and Fletch drove up here, and ride the horses down the mountain.

It isn’t until I’m in the back seat of the truck on the way back to High Meadow, I have a chance to send off a message to Jillian.

Just heading back to the ranch now. Hikers found.

Catch up in the morning?

I wasn’t expecting a response, since it’s already late, so I’m surprised when one appears just seconds later.

Sounds good. Get some rest.