The Tanner Trilogy Boxed Set

Chapter 1

1

Fortunately, Carli didn’t need her own pillow, or even a bed, to rejuvenate. In chairs at busy airports, in vehicles traveling from a bustling city to a remote village, a tent, under the stars, in the rain, or an airplane seat, if her body told her it needed to rest, she would close her eyes and within minutes drop into the abyss of sleep. She slept soundly, and on the rare occasions that Tim wasn’t close, she would set the alarm on her watch. The cell phone she carried wasn’t always practical if her assignment took her far from a cell tower and the electricity needed to recharge it. She had one because it was convenient, when she was in a location that it worked.

With Tim beside her, a gentle elbow in the ribs brought her out of her slumber as they made their final descent to Caracas, Venezuela. She rubbed her neck, yawned, and stretched before she opened her eyes and looked out the small window of the commercial airplane. Numerous skyscrapers lined the horizon, then gave way to the green of lush vegetation and steep mountains that surrounded the city. She glanced at her wrist, knowing she would need to reset her watch to local time once they were inside the terminal.

“You must be hungry. The meal served while we were in the air was several hours ago,” Tim said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and looked down the aisle as the flight attendant stood to take the microphone and welcome them to South America.

“Maybe they’ll have a restaurant inside the airport. It’s our last chance at American food before we spend the next two weeks in the bush,” Carli suggested.

She followed Tim out of the row to the aisle, then stretched her 5’10” frame, reached her arms overhead, then twisted to the left and right to loosen her stiff spine. He removed her soft-sided case from the overhead bin and held it for her. She pulled her backpack from under the front of Tim’s seat and slipped her arms through the straps, then took the case from Tim and, placing the strap diagonally across her torso, rested one of her cameras and several undeveloped rolls of film against her hip. Her partner took his own pack and slung it over one shoulder, then placed the other case in the opposite hand. Loaded down like the burros they would likely be riding into the jungle, they made their way to the front of the plane, thanked the flight attendant, and stepped into the jet way where they felt the humid heaviness despite the air conditioning being pumped from the terminal.

Customs had an unusually short line. The officer raised his brow at Carli as he stamped the last page in her U.S. passport. She smiled back and handed over documentation identifying her as a journalist, which earned her pursed lips beneath his full, black mustache. He placed them on the counter, marked them with a red X on the upper-right corner, then passed them back to her. She stepped forward, then turned to wait for Tim.

Long red hair gathered at his neck, goatee, and blue eyes that flashed at the dark-skinned man in the black uniform, temporarily distracted the employee from checking Tim’s paperwork. Usually not displaying his feminine side, he leaned his elbow on the counter, rested his chin in his palm, and smiled flirtatiously at the obviously straight customs officer. The Venezuelan native couldn’t return the documents quick enough. She stifled a chuckle as Tim blew the officer a kiss, gathered his papers, and joined her as they left customs in search of an American fast food chain.

“Mm,” Carli sighed and closed her eyes as the hamburger filled her mouth.

“These fries have nothing on llama eyeball soup,” Tim commented, shoving four of them, dripping with ketchup, between his lips.

“That was in the Andes, in Chile,” she said. “I think we’re in for a treat of deep fried guinea pigs.”

“Oh! Please! Let’s not ruin this fine cuisine.” Tim scrunched up his face at the thought of the little critters perched on the end of a stick.

Finishing their meal, they moved to the front of the terminal to locate their connection that would take them, and all their crates, to the village they would work out of for the next two weeks. Apparently, the magazine was able to contract with a well-connected company this time, as it was very easy to spy the sign held by the driver. After introductions were made and all their cases were loaded, some in the Hummer, the rest in a nondescript van, Carli climbed into the backseat of the Hummer, and Tim sat in the front passenger seat since he was prone to carsickness. Always wanting to be prepared, by the time they exited the airport she had unpacked and loaded film in her camera so it was ready to catch the sights.

Several pictures were taken of structures, both old and recent, new vehicles, and burned-out remains that marked attacks from guerrilla factions that ventured in from their camps in the trees. Brown faces of children from six to sixteen suspended their football game in the street to allow the Hummer and van to pass. The shutter caught everything from their sandaled or bare feet, to colorful striped shirts, to the chipped stucco walls that denoted the economic status of the neighborhood. She leaned back against the seat and rested her camera in her lap as the tires of their vehicle started down the rutted, poorly paved road into the jungle.

Shaun leaned against the open front driver’s side door, pushed his hat back from his forehead, and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. A minute. All he needed was a minute to get his emotions under control, to stop the wetness he felt on his fingers from falling unchecked. The flashing red and blue lights, the squawk of the radio from the dispatcher, all disrupted the serene beauty of the Preserve. He could hear Alyssa, born and raised in town, sobbing into Zach’s shirt, one of the seasonal employees of Tanner’s Outdoor Adventures who had endeared himself to Bear, and therefore became a permanent fixture of the Preserve. The clients who were at the lodge were seated on the veranda and being questioned by Vince Bogard, one of his deputies. Vince was nearly twice Shaun’s age, but had no aspirations to be sheriff and was content to take his orders from the one who had been elected to the position.

The back doors to the ambulance slammed shut, securing Bear’s body inside. Shaun took a steadying breath, forced the grief and confusion to a dark corner in his mind where he would peer into later, when he was alone. Now, his job was to discover who murdered his father on Wolf’s Ridge, and why. Readjusting his hat, he turned to Stan, the driver of the emergency vehicle that would take Bear Tanner to the hospital in Laramie, where the Medical Examiner would tell Shaun what he already knew regarding the cause of death, which was lodged somewhere in the torso of the victim. He hoped the coroner would give more information, something that would lead to answers instead of the jumble of questions that filled his mind. Perhaps if the incident had taken place closer to the lodge, then the ambulance would deliver to the hospital a man fighting for his life instead of one that lost that life in a pool on the Ridge, and in the saddle and on the horse… An employee retrieved the body that was now zipped inside a bag.

Stan extended his hand and gave Shaun the clipboard with forms on it to sign. “Real sorry about your dad, Shaun,” he said, then took the papers and pen from the sheriff.

“Thanks, Stan. Give me a call when you’re back in town.”

“Will do.” Stan turned and crossed the now-crowded driveway to the bus, climbed in, and drove slowly toward Highway 130 and Laramie, Wyoming.

Shaun readjusted his hat and wound his way through cars and people, both employees and clients, some deciding to cut their vacation short. Placing his hands on his hips, he sighed again and looked at Alyssa.

“Do you think you’re able to help me out, Lys?” he asked.

She nodded, sniffed, then eased away from Zach.

“I need you to contact International Views. Find out where Carli is, and get a message to her about what happened today.” Shaun paused as it looked as if she might start crying again.

When it seemed she would hold it together, she asked, “Do you want me to call Samantha?”

He shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. I need you to stay here. Call home, explain that I requested for you to put in extra hours with some clients leaving early and others not being able to go out on planned excursions.”

Alyssa nodded, grateful for a job to do to give her a reprieve from crying. She climbed the steps to the lodge, then disappeared inside.

“Zach, get a count of how many rooms were occupied and pull the files on those clients.”

“Yes, sir,” Zach said and followed Alyssa into the lodge and Bear’s office.

Shaun glanced at the darkening sky overhead. It had taken most of the day to bring his father down from the Ridge, and he didn’t know how long it would be before he could piece together the evidence, and the story, of the demise of Bear Tanner. He would call Samantha, his younger sister, and she would come as soon as she could. What he needed to know was where the hell was Carli?

“Thank you, Agent Brooks. You may step down,” Judge Carmen instructed.

Ethan left the witness stand and rejoined his boss, Micah Sloane, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI Field Office in Baltimore, Maryland. Folding his 6’2” height onto the narrow wooden bench and placing the yellow legal pad in his lap, he gazed at the defendant. The pencil flipped around his fingers, then eventually gave in to the impulse. As the defense began their closing arguments, the faces of Judge Judith Carmen, defense attorney George Hackman, and those sitting at the prosecutor’s table began to appear on the yellow paper. He had no need to depict the defendant, Richard Glassier, as the man’s face would never be forgotten as the kidnapper and murderer of seventeen children between the ages of five and eleven abducted from Virginia to Vermont over a three-year period. The jurors would remain anonymous, as would Tommy Mason, the last child stolen, and the only one returned alive to his family.

Ethan had filled three pages with his sketches, his boss received twenty messages on his cell phone by the time final arguments were completed, and Judge Carmen called all to rise as the jury left their box, escorted by the bailiff, for their room to begin deliberations. He flipped down the front page to cover what he sketched, placed his pencil in his jacket pocket, and made his way, Micah behind him, out of the courtroom to the elevators at the end of the hall. The media had been denied access to the courtroom during the proceedings due to the nature of the crime and the presentation of photos of the recovered remains of the victims. However, once Micah Sloan was outside the building, there would be the flash of cameras and hovering microphones belonging to news stations along the East Coast demanding comments and knowledge of the outcome of the case. Micah would give the press his attention, allowing Ethan to escape unnoticed, ensuring his face remained out of the papers, and thus protecting his anonymity.

Taking an extra moment to pull on his coat and sunglasses before he left the relative protection of the courthouse lobby, Ethan slipped away from the mass of media standing at the front of the structure, and into the clear, but brisk, March afternoon. He rounded the corner, hailed a cab, and returned to the field office. With the closing of this case, he could turn his attention to the other dozen unsolved files. Staring at the snow piled alongside the road from a spring storm, he wondered if he would be the recipient of six hours of uninterrupted sleep that night, or if nightmares would have him searching the web at two in the morning. He paid the cab driver, mounted the steps to the building, then removed his sunglasses and the objects from his pockets before walking through the metal detector.

“How was court, Agent Brooks?” the security guard asked as Ethan gathered his belongings on the other side of the machine.

“I believe we’ll have a favorable outcome,” Ethan replied.

The guard nodded. “Have a good afternoon, Agent Brooks.”

He smiled slightly, then walked past the elevators to the stairwell. Loosening his tie as he climbed the first couple of steps, when he reached the second flight, he took them two at a time, the top button of his shirt undone. Emerging at the eighth floor, he regained his breath as he strode down the carpeted hallway to his desk, partially partitioned off from the other FBI agent nearest him. Sitting heavily in his chair, he opened the bottom desk drawer, withdrew the lockbox that housed his weapon, and tossed in the legal pad where it landed on top of the growing stack, all containing sketches of defendants, judges, and attorneys. He retrieved his keys from the front pocket of his suit pants, unlocked the box, placed his gun and holster from his waist inside, replaced the box and closed that drawer, only to open the one above it. Taking the file folders that contained his twelve unsolved cases, he closed the drawer, dropped his keys back in his pocket, the files in his case, and turned to leave when he saw Micah blocking his way.

“Three days?” his boss asked.

“As requested.”

“And mine is for you to check in with the company shrink,” Micah said and watched his agent closely for signs of denial.

Glancing away and readjusting his coat, Ethan said, “I’ll see if Dr. Dyne has an opening tomorrow.”

Micah nodded. “I’ll let you know when the jury returns.” He stepped aside and allowed Ethan to move past him and down the hall.

Ethan Brooks had been with the Bureau for ten years and had pulled some of the hardest, and heartbreaking, cases. He followed procedure, but often danced close to the line. His uncanny ability to get inside the suspect’s head was aided by his degrees in psychology, sociology, and his training with the Profiling Unit. Though he had the leadership skills to manage a team, Ethan preferred to work alone. The senior partner the Bureau paired him with when he was first hired was shot while apprehending a suspect. Mac Waise died of complications encountered during surgery to remove the bullet. Ethan insisted he be the one to inform Suzanne, Mac’s wife of twenty-three years. He then told Micah that he either worked alone, or would walk. Good agents were plenty, but few had Ethan’s ability. Micah usually allowed Ethan the room he needed to work a case. This one, involving Tommy Mason, was especially tough. Perhaps three days of vacation wouldn’t be enough.

He sighed and returned to his office in an effort to answer the numerous messages already sent to his cell, and those awaiting him on his desk phone. Three hours later, he had either deferred or handled all that could be dealt with at that time. Night had come to Baltimore and found Micah staring out the eighth-floor window, not recognizing the patterns of traffic below. The final message he had yet to deal with was a request from the Regional Director. As a “personal favor,” could Micah send a field agent to Laramie, Wyoming, to assist in the investigation of the suspected murder of Bear Tanner, owner of the outfit where the Regional Director had spent his last vacation. It wasn’t a request.

Perhaps that is what Agent Brooks needed. A change of scenery, a different kind of case, an opportunity to work with local law enforcement. Micah snorted. Ethan Brooks specialized in serial cases, had never lived or worked outside of a major metropolis, and didn’t want the responsibility of working with, and protecting, another officer. The shadows had crowded into his agent’s countenance. Pleased or not, Ethan Brooks would be headed to the wild west of Wyoming in three days.