Behind them, the door creaked open, boots thudding on the floor.
He turned. And yep, it wasn’t a joke, or a nightmare, or even a dream yesterday. Harley Tatum was back, and she strode in, her long blond hair tied back but spilling out under a wool hat, over the collar of her black coat, her golden-brown eyes sharp.
He’d noticed it yesterday, but she moved with a sort of confidence, as if she could handle herself, and if possible, she looked fiercer, stronger.
Yesterday’s conversation haunted him for a second.“You have to promise me that you’re notgoing to do something stupid and get me or mydog hurt.”
Way to charm her, Jericho.
Not that he’d ever charmed her, really, but if he hoped to maybe lay ghosts to rest, an apology might be in order. Especially with her accusation of himabandoningher.
Maybe he had.
Now, she walked in, her jaw set, her gaze cutting from him to Deke to the others and back.
“Hey, Harley,” Deke said.
“Sorry I’m late. Is the coffee gone?”
“No, grab a mug. We were just walking through the game plan.” He glanced at his watch. “But we need to get moving.”
She poured herself a mug and walked up to join them. “I’m listening.”
Deke outlined the plan—splitting up, entering through the two locations.
He turned to Harley. “Anything we should know?”
“About Mars?” She took a sip of coffee, nodded. “He’s a creature of habit, always smoking Marlboro Reds. Orlando might pick up that scent—strong cigarette smoke. And Mars is paranoid, sets up trip wires, noise traps, tin cans on strings—that kind of thing. Look for those.”
She stepped closer to the map. “It looks like there’s a trail behind the mess hall that leads to a creek bed—if he bolts, that’s where he’ll go. And watch for old defensive dugouts under the snow.”
Deke nodded. “Anything else?”
“He’ll have a lookout spot—probably the water tower or a tree stand,” Harley said, her finger returning to tap the map. “He’s got an itchy trigger finger—itchy personality, really. If we corner him, he’ll shoot first. Let’s get a pack of Reds so your dog can establish the scent.”
“He doesn’t need it,” Jericho said. “He is trained to pick up fresh human scents and follow them.”
Her mouth pinched, and he spotted doubt. Didn’t know why that irked him—many people doubted the ability of dogs to simply scent out a person without a source.
Maybe people didn’t know his dog.
“I agree that we should split up,” Harley said, her gaze onDeke. “We approach from the north—less visibility from the tower. And we look for signs—footprints, trash, anything. If Mars’s there, he’ll have left a trail.” She glanced at the others. “He might have even booby-trapped the place, so stay alert.”
Great.
“The good news is that he doesn’t trust anyone, so don’t expect him to have backup. And he’s a terrible shot. So that means he’ll wait until we’re close. But, like I said, if we corner him, he will shoot first.”
“Okay,” Deke said. “When we get there, you two need to hang back,” he said to Jericho and Harley. “You’re not official law enforcement, so don’t get in the way.”
Oh, that got Harley’s hair up—Jericho recognized the narrowing of her eyes. Oddly, she just took another sip from her mug.
“First, we find him,” Rio said. “Then we’ll call in reinforcements from Anchorage. We’re not equipped for a full manhunt. This is just legwork till we can call in the big dogs.”
Orlando nudged Harley’s hand, his tail wagging, the bear bell clinking.
She glanced down at the dog, and a small smile lifted one side of her mouth. Her fingers brushed his ear.
Orlando leaned into her hand.