Page 10 of High Velocity

“Which I’ve never done in my life either,” I clarify.

“Right. Growing up the only child of a farmer, I had the benefit of being groomed by both my mother and father. Dad made sure I knew my way around livestock, and Mom taught me all the necessary traits a good farm wife would need. I think it was a bit of a disappointment when I didn’t follow in either of their steps, but at least I did pick up a few handy skills. Including knitting,” she adds.

The picture she paints of her childhood evokes a long-buried ache in my chest. My mother died when I was twelve, leaving my grief-stricken father to care for my older brother, David, and me. Not that he was around much, we were mostly left to our own devices while he drowned himself in his work. Admittedly, raising kids alone was not the easiest thing in his line of work; he was an FBI agent.

Sadly, the only thing my father instilled in me was a burning need to gain his approval. Hence my career choice. Any actual life skills I have either my mother imparted on me before she died, or were self-taught. Knitting definitely did not make that list.

My fingers stroke the soft, lush yarn in my hands, as I push down the surge of bitterness. I should know by now it does me no good to dwell too much on things I can’t fucking change anyway.

“Can you help?” I ask Janey.

“I’m about to go into surgery and have a few visits this afternoon, but why don’t I pick us up some dinner in town and drop by after? JD is working anyway. He’s hardly been home since the team was called out on that search this past Friday.”

“What search?”

Normally, I stay on top of what goes on around me and in the world at large, but I’ve been living in a bit of a bubble these past weeks. The world could be on fire, but unless it was raging outside my window, I’d be completely oblivious.

“You haven’t heard? Missing hunter,” she explains.

“Wow, and they’ve been searching for five days already?”

That seems like a long time.

“Yeah, apparently there is a lot of pressure to find this guy, dead or alive. His name is Juan Pérez, and he’s the son of Diego Pérez?—”

“The Argentinian ambassador?” I guess, interrupting.

“One and the same,” Janey confirms. “Although, that part hasn’t been made public knowledge yet.”

I can see how that might put the pressure on. Yikes.

The few cases I’ve worked on involving high profile individuals were an exercise in diplomacy. Something I haven’t exactly been blessed with an abundance of. Hard to concentrate on the job at hand when every step you take and every decision you make are under a tremendous amount of scrutiny.

I bet the High Mountain Trackers team wishes they were dealing with an average Joe Blow.

“Wow. That’s gotta be tough. What if they don’t find him?”

“It’s a distinct possibility. For all they know he could’ve been washed out into the Kootenai River somewhere, heading for Canada.”

The Kootenai River has the unique feature it both starts and ends in Canada. It rises somewhere in the Canadian Rockies before dipping south into northern Montana. Then it heads back north, cutting through a corner of Idaho before ending back up across the border in British Columbia. Right around Libby is where the river curves and changes from a southern flow to a western, and finally a northern one.

“Well, I hope they find him, although after five days, the likelihood he’ll be alive when they do is slim,” I suggest.

“Oh, I know. Anyway, I should get going. So dinner, what do you feel like?” Janey changes the subject.

“I’m good with anything.”

“Pizza, ribs, burgers, Mexican, or Japanese?”

“Oh, Japanese. I haven’t had sushi in ages.”

“Done. My patient is here, but text me your preferences.”

Jackson

“Go home. Get a good night’s sleep.”

Jonas looks rough. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for the world.

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