Page 34 of Canyon of Deceit
“It’s dark.”
“Most of our stories are.”
“You believe in God and have the faith thing going. Whatever your past, I’m sure you’ve rationalized it.”
“Not really,” she said. “But we’re talking about you. As you’ve said to me more than once, I’m listening.”
“If I share what I’ve done, any chance of us taking our relationship up a notch is gone. We already have our faith differences, so I guess we’re already headed down a dead-end street.”
“Rusty, is it okay to call you by your nickname? I’m your friend, not a legalistic judge. We trust each other, and that means the past stays right there. Maybe I can offer insight.”
Long seconds ticked by. Could I tell Therese what I’d done?
“All right. First, the way you say Rusty sounds good. I’ll tell you my disgusting story, but you’ve been warned.” I stared into the low flames. “Back in my freshman college days, before meeting Sergio, I dated a girl. Wendy was smart. Gorgeous. Funny. And a Christian. I rode the fence with God. Even went to church with her a few times to make her happy and hinted about making a commitment. I faked any righteous responses around her. One night we went to a party, and a group of guys decided to bring out a Ouija board. Wendy wanted nothing to do with it. Called it a devil’s board and asked me to take her home. I refused. Made fun of her. Yep, I’d been drinking. One of the guys said he’d take me home later, so I tossed her my truck keys. As she left, I said, ‘May the curse be with you.’ Everyone thought it was hilarious. I...”
“I’m listening,” she said. “Who else have you shared this story with?”
“You’re the lucky one. Sergio and my parents have heard bits and pieces.”
“Keep going.”
She didn’t give up. “On the way home, Wendy lost control of my truck and ran it off a bridge. She lay in a coma over two weeks, and I never left her side. The doctors convinced her parents to remove life support. I begged God to save her, bartered with Him, but she died. I decided God had taken seriously my parting words to Wendy, and I wanted no part of Him.”
“You blame God for her death.” Therese poured compassion into her tone, like I would do in her shoes. “And yourself.”
“Yes.” I stoked the fire. “I vowed to help people not become victims. It’s been my mantra ever since.”
“Tragedies don’t define us unless we give them permission.”
How many times had I used similar verbiage to others?
“Oh, Blane. Don’t torture yourself. Wendy made the decision to leave the party. Your words and actions had nothing to do with the accident.”
SEVENTEEN
Day two into the hike, and I’d wished a thousand times that I’d done more prep-training. Missions like this required physical endurance, certainly more than a few hours over terrain designed for sightseeing and photography. Not testing rock footholds. Every time I stuck my foot on hard ground and walked a path less than two feet wide, I envisioned a mountain cat pouncing on me, sending me into the gray depths below. My legs and back protested every step.
Some Ranger-cowboy I’d turned out to be. My wild streak shifted to constant self-talk to stay hydrated and alert for who was watching our every move.
The wind blew steadily around thirty miles per hour, sending a chill through my jacket. The gusts would increase as we climbed, and the temps would drop ten degrees from the trailhead. I’d endure the bitter cold and keep my mouth shut. My lack of expertise in hiking steep inclines slowed us down. Every moment decreased the likelihood of finding Alina Ivanov alive.
On the edge of a rock cropping, Therese stopped and lifted her binoculars in a northern direction. I joined her and she pointed to rock formations. I adjusted my binoculars.
“See the narrow trail winding around the cave and on to the top ofthat peak?” she said. “Zoom in and you’ll see trampled brush indicating the kidnappers’ route.”
I focused on the area. “I’m there.”
“Follow the trail up and to the left.”
I focused on the steep terrain. “Loose stones have fallen over the brush, like someone slipped.”
“My thoughts. Chandler can lead them anywhere, but their ability in navigating the trail is another matter.”
“Unless he wants us to follow him.” I continued to pan the area. Movement near a northeastern ridge caught my attention. The backs of two adults and a child between them. “There you are.”
“You see them?” Therese peered in the same direction. “They’ve moved off the trail. I’d say a good two hours or more from here.”
Meaning my inability to keep pace was a disadvantage. I pulled out my satellite phone and connected to Sergio. I checked my coordinates and the proximity of the kidnappers. The FBI team had set out at 11:00 a.m. yesterday, camped last night, and hiked about four hours behind us.
