Читать книгу: «The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets»

Chapter One

“We’ve got another missing woman.” Commander Graham Ellison tossed the photo of a smiling blonde in the middle of the table where the members of the Ranger Brigade had gathered for a morning briefing. The fresh-faced, blue-eyed young woman radiated vitality and happiness, jarring when compared to the stony visage of the commander. “Her name is Jennifer Lassiter, nineteen years old, from Denver,” Ellison continued. “She was one of a group of archaeology students working in the area.”

“That makes two missing women in the past month.” One of the officers seated around the table—the only woman, whose nametag identified her as Carmen Redhorse—glanced at the photo and passed it down the table.

“Three.” Officer Ryan Spencer spoke from the doorway of the room. The rest of the team swiveled to stare at him. Not exactly the entrance he had wanted to make on his first day at his new job. He ignored the stares, strode to the table and pulled out the only empty chair, at the end opposite the commander.

“Who are you?” a sharp-nosed, lean man who sat behind an open laptop—Simon Woolridge—demanded.

“This is Ryan Spencer, with Customs and Border Protection,” Commander Ellison said. “Our newest team member.”

Ryan sat. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. The drive from Montrose had taken longer than he had anticipated, partly because he had gotten behind a caravan of RVs making their way into Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, where the Ranger Brigade task force’s headquarters were located. But he didn’t bother to mention that. As his dad had always told him—never make excuses.

“What do you mean three women are missing instead of two?” The man to the commander’s left spoke. He was the picture of a rugged outdoorsman—dark eyes and hair, olive skin, a hawk nose and strong chin. His nametag read Michael Dance.

“I got a bulletin this morning from my office,” Ryan said. “My former office.” Though he was technically still an officer with United States Customs and Border Protection, Ryan’s current assignment made him a member of the multiagency task force whose job it was to prevent and solve crime on the vast network of public lands in southwestern Colorado.

He took out his phone and pulled up the message. “Her name is Alicia Mendoza and she’s from Guatemala. Part of a group of illegal immigrants who were traveling through this area on their way to work in Utah. When they were picked up last night, one of them reported that Alicia had disappeared two days ago, near the national park.”

Simon snorted. “Nice of them to let us know.”

“You know now.” Ryan pocketed his phone and looked around the table.

“Don’t mind Simon.” The man on Ryan’s left offered his hand. “He’s our resident grouch. I’m Randall Knightbridge. BLM.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Ryan shook hands with the Bureau of Land Management ranger, then turned to the man on his right.

“Ethan Reynolds,” the man said. “I’m new, too. Only been with the Rangers a couple of months. I came over from the FBI.”

“We’ll finish the introductions later.” The commander consulted a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Back to the matter of the three missing women. Jennifer Lassiter’s fellow archaeology students report that she took a break early yesterday afternoon. A little while later, they noticed she was missing. Her friends searched the area for several hours but could find no sign of her. They notified park rangers and the county sheriff, who brought us in this morning.”

“Where was she last seen?” Simon asked.

“Out near Mystic Mesa,” the commander said. “The group is excavating an early Native American settlement.”

“Daniel Metwater and his bunch are camped near there, aren’t they?” Randall asked.

“They are.” Simon tapped a few keys on the laptop. “They just received a new permit to camp near a spring out there. Their permit for their site near Coyote Creek expired last week.”

“After the prairie fire they set near there, I’m surprised the park service renewed their permit,” the woman said.

“The fire they allegedly set,” a tall Hispanic officer who sat at the commander’s right—Marco Cruz—said. “Fire investigators determined the wildfire was human-caused, but they have no proof anyone from Metwater’s group was responsible.”

“Except we know they were,” Simon said.

Ethan leaned toward Ryan. “Daniel Metwater is a self-styled prophet who leads a band of followers around the wilderness,” he explained. “There has been a lot of suspicious activity associated with his bunch, but we haven’t been able to pin anything on him.”

“The first young woman who went missing, Lucia Raton, was in Metwater’s camp shortly before she disappeared,” the commander said. “At first, he denied knowing her, but later we confirmed she had been in camp. She wanted to join his group, but he says he sent her away because she was underage.”

“Later, we found a necklace that belonged to her buried about a mile from the camp, with a lot of things belonging to one of Metwater’s ‘family’ members,” the woman said.

“No body has been found and her family hasn’t heard from her,” Randall concluded.

“Interesting that this latest missing woman disappeared near Metwater’s camp.” Ethan tapped his pen on the conference table. “Where did the Guatemalan woman disappear?”

Ryan consulted his phone again. “It just says in the Curecanti National Recreation Area.”

“That’s forty-three thousand acres,” Simon said. “You’ll need to narrow it down a little.”

“See if you can get some more specifics,” the commander said. “Then you and Ethan follow up with the archaeologists, see what you can find out about Jennifer Lassiter.”

“Maybe she got tired of digging in the dirt and decided to take a vacation with a boyfriend,” Michael Dance said.

“For her sake, I hope that’s the story,” Carmen said.

“Moving on.” The commander consulted his notes. “Lance, any update on the plant-smuggling case?”

Simon smothered what sounded like a laugh.

“What kind of plants?” Ryan asked.

“Expensive ones.” Lance, a lanky young man, leaned back in his chair to address them. “The park rangers have found several places where the thief is digging up ornamental plants, some of which retail for hundreds of dollars. We’ve got a few faint tire tracks, but there’s nothing distinct about them. No witnesses. Unless we catch this guy in the act, I don’t think we have much of a chance.”

“All right,” the commander said. “We’re almost done here. Just a little housekeeping to take care of.” Ryan’s mind wandered as Ellison shared some bulletins from area law enforcement, a heads-up about a controlled burn the Forest Service was conducting in the area, and construction updates in the park. The Ranger Brigade was an unusual force, comprised of officers from many different agencies, tasked with overseeing an expanse of public land the size of Indiana. Only a few hundred people occupied that land, but the potential for criminal activity, from smuggling to manufacturing drugs to theft of public property, was huge.

“All right, you’re dismissed,” Commander Ellison said. “Have a safe day.”

Ryan pulled out his phone and sent a text to his former supervisor at Customs and Border Protection, asking for the specific location where Alicia Mendoza had been last seen. He hit the send button as the female officer approached. Her straight black hair hung almost to her waist, and her tawny skin and high cheekbones attested to a Native American heritage. “I’m Carmen Redhorse,” she said. “Welcome to the team.”

“Simon Woolridge.” The agent with the laptop shook hands also. “I’m the tech expert on the squad. I’ve got lots of information on Daniel Metwater, if you need it.”

“I’m Marco Cruz, DEA.” The Hispanic agent from the Drug Enforcement Agency had a grip of steel, but a welcoming expression. “I hope you like working in the great outdoors, because we’ve got a lot of territory we cover, most of it pretty empty.”

“Things can get exciting, though.” Randall Knightbridge joined them, a cup of coffee in one hand, a fawn-and-black police dog at his side. “This is Lotte,” he introduced the dog. “Another member of the team.”

The last two officers he would be working with introduced themselves—Michael Dance was the rugged outdoorsman who had been seated at the other end of the conference table, and Lance Carpenter was the Montrose County Sheriff’s Deputy who was heading up the stolen-plant investigation.

“Are you married?” Marco asked.

“No. The job hasn’t given me much time for girlfriends.”

“You might be surprised,” Marco said. “But if you’re not interested in a relationship, you might want to avoid drinking the water around here.”

The others laughed, and, at Ryan’s confused look, Randall said, “A lot of us have gotten engaged or married recently. It’s starting to look like it’s contagious.”

“But some of us are still immune,” Simon said.

“Thanks for the warning,” Ryan said. “I think.” He hadn’t come to the Rangers to find romance, but to jump-start a career that was beginning to feel stale.

Ethan clapped Ryan on the back. “Ready to talk to the archaeologists?” he asked.

“I am,” Ryan said, grateful to have the conversation focused on the job once more. “Where are they located from here?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” Ethan led the way to a map that took up much of one wall of the headquarters building. “We’re here.” He pointed to the national park entrance, then traced a path northeast to a flattened ridge. “And this is Mystic Mesa. The archaeologists have been excavating on the eastern side of the Mesa.”

Randall, who had followed them, pointed to a draw Ryan guessed was about a mile from the archaeology dig. “Daniel Metwater and his followers are camped in here,” he said.

“A prophet and his followers in the wilderness.” Ryan shook his head. “That sounds so—I don’t know—Old Testament.”

“He isn’t that kind of prophet,” Randall said.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.

“No beard or robe in sight,” Randall said. “He’s the son of a wealthy industrialist and supposedly inherited the family fortune. Most of his followers are young people, searching for something.”

“A lot of them are really beautiful young women,” Ethan said.

“So you think he’s killing some of them?” Ryan asked. “But it doesn’t sound like the women who disappeared were part of his group.”

“They weren’t, but we know that at least one of them—Lucia Raton—had expressed an interest in Metwater’s writings,” Ethan said. “And it’s a weird coincidence that she and Jennifer Lassiter were last seen near his camp.”

Ryan’s phone vibrated and he glanced at the screen. “This says Alicia Mendoza disappeared when the group she was traveling with stopped for water at a spring at the base of a mesa that ran north-south,” he said. “The people she was traveling with didn’t know a name and couldn’t be more precise than that.”

“Mystic Mesa runs north-south,” Randall said. He pointed to a spot on the map. “And there’s a spring right at the base of it. The only one for miles.”

“That’s only a stone’s throw from Metwater’s camp,” Ethan said.

“Too much of a coincidence,” Ryan said.

“Then I guess you know who else you need to talk to.” Randall clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Have fun,” he said. “Metwater may or may not be a murderer, but he’s definitely a pain in the backside.”

* * *

JANA LASSITER GRIPPED the steering wheel of her Jeep and studied the barren landscape where her sister, Jenny, had disappeared. Red-rock chimneys and hoodoos jutted up from a flat plain of yellowed bunchgrass and dusty green piñon trees, their soot-gray trunks stunted and gnarled from years of fighting harsh winds and scorching sun. Dry washes and deeper canyons made fissures in the dusty surface of the land. Jenny had texted that she loved this place—that the remoteness and wildness of it made her feel so free. But the vast emptiness put Jana on edge. Compared to this great expanse, a single human was insignificant. With no signposts or roads or buildings, she already felt lost. Was that what had happened to Jenny? Had she wandered away from her group and simply forgotten where she was? Or had something more sinister taken her away?

Fighting a feeling of dread, Jana got out of the Jeep and was immediately buffeted by a stiff breeze. She held on to her straw sun hat and started toward the white pop-up canopy she had been told indicated the archaeologists’ base of operations, dodging to avoid an honest-to-goodness tumbleweed and muttering a prayer that there be no snakes lurking behind the clumps of sagebrush she skirted.

A tall, graying man with a deeply pockmarked face looked up from a clipboard as she approached, his mouth turned down in a frown. She recognized Jeremy Eddleston, Jenny’s supervisor. “I’m Jana Lassiter,” she said, before he could order her away. “We met briefly at my sister’s orientation.”

His face relaxed, and he set the clipboard on the folding table in front of him and walked out to meet her, extending both hands. “Ms. Lassiter, it’s good to see you again, though not under these circumstances. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She froze at his words, anger warring with panic in her chest. She opted for anger. “Is there some news I don’t know about?” she asked. “Is my sister dead?” She had to force out the last word.

Eddleston’s face turned the color of the iron-infused sandstone around them. “Of course not. I mean, we don’t know... I only meant...”

She decided to let him off the hook. “It’s always difficult to know what to say in a situation like this,” she said.

The stiffness went out of him, his shoulders slumping so that he appeared several inches shorter. “Exactly. We’re all so terribly worried about Jenny. She was such a valuable part of our team, and so well liked. We can’t imagine what happened to her.”

“What did happen to her?” Jana asked. “That’s what I came from Denver to find out.”

“We don’t know.” Eddleston turned and gestured toward the mesa that rose up a quarter mile or so away, its slopes heavily pocked with large boulders and clumps of scrub oak and juniper. “We’ve been excavating in this area all summer. Jenny, as you probably know, joined us at the beginning of June. She was helping to sift through some of the material we had recently extracted and after lunch said she was going to take a short break to stretch her legs. Her friends thought that meant she was going to use the portajohn.” He indicated the bright blue portable toilet under a tree to Jana’s left. “Everyone was so engrossed in the work no one noticed she hadn’t returned until the team began packing up for the day a couple of hours later. They called and looked everywhere, but she didn’t answer and no one could find a trace of her.”

“Why didn’t you call the police right away?” Jana asked. “I understand they didn’t get out here until this morning.”

“There’s no phone service out here,” Eddleston said. “It’s a ten-mile drive over rough roads to get a signal. By the time anyone realized Jenny was missing, it was getting dark. As you might imagine, this place is almost impossible to find at night. There’s only the Jeep trail we’ve made and no lights at all.”

Jana shivered, trying not to imagine Jenny out here in that darkness, hurt and alone. But the images of her sister in danger rushed in anyway.

“I was away at a meeting I had to attend,” Eddleston said. “But the rest of the team searched until they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces while others went for help.”

“It’s true.” A young man who had been standing nearby joined them. “We shouted for her until we were hoarse. This morning the park rangers and the county sheriff brought out a search dog. They even flew a helicopter, searching for any sign of her. But they didn’t find anything.”

Jana scanned the area again. “I don’t understand,” she said. “How could someone just...vanish? Jenny isn’t some flighty, irresponsible schoolgirl. She’s smart and sensible. She wouldn’t simply wander off.”

Eddleston was nodding his head like a bobblehead doll. “I know. I’ve said the same thing myself. I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t.”

Jana opened her mouth to ask another question, but was silenced by the distinctive low crackling sound of a vehicle slowly making its way across the rocky track that passed for a road to the dig. She and Eddleston turned together to watch the approach of a black-and-white FJ Cruiser, light bar on top. The cruiser parked beside Jana’s Jeep and two men in khaki uniforms and Stetsons exited.

The passenger was closest to Jana—a broad-shouldered, sandy-haired guy who would have looked right at home on a beach with a surfboard. He was clean shaven, and dark aviator glasses hid his eyes, but she had the sense he was checking her out, so she stared boldly back at him.

The driver, a slim, dark-haired man, spoke first. “I’m Officer Reynolds and this is Officer Spencer, with the Ranger Brigade. We’re looking into the disappearance of Jennifer Lassiter and wanted to interview the people who were with her the day she disappeared.”

“I’m Professor Jeremy Eddleston, lead archaeologist on this dig and Jennifer’s supervisor.” Eddleston stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Ma’am.” The blond Ranger—Officer Spencer—touched the brim of his hat. “Did you work with Jennifer, also?”

“No. I’m her sister. I drove from Denver for the same reason you’re here—to talk to people and try to find out what happened.”

“When was the last time you talked to your sister?” Officer Spencer asked.

“We spoke the day before yesterday. She was in good spirits, enjoying her work and excited about some finds of pottery they had made.” She glanced at Eddleston. “She said she liked the people she worked with.”

“So she didn’t mention anything that was troubling her?” Spencer asked.

“Nothing was troubling her, I’m sure,” Jana said.

“Would you say you and your sister are close?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. We shared an apartment in Denver the first part of this summer, before she started the internship.”

“Do you have any other siblings?” Spencer asked. “Parents?”

“Our mother and father both passed away some years ago,” she said. Her mother had succumbed to cancer while Jana was still in high school, her father killed a few years later in a car accident on an icy road. “We don’t have any siblings.”

“And you’re sure nothing was troubling your sister?” he asked again.

“Nothing was troubling her. If it had been, she would have told me. Why are you even asking these questions?”

Spencer glanced at his partner, who was deep in conversation with Eddleston. “We need to eliminate any obvious reason for your sister to walk off the job and disappear. Unfortunately, a certain percentage of missing persons are people who have chosen to run away from their responsibilities or even commit suicide. We look for things like depression, troubled relationships or financial difficulties as possible motivations. Once we eliminate those, we consider other explanations.”

“Well, you’d better start considering those other explanations now. My sister wasn’t depressed, she didn’t have any debt, and she got along with everybody.”

Spencer removed his sunglasses, the sympathy in his blue eyes catching her off guard. “What do you think happened to Jennifer?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” she said. “You’re supposed to find that out.”

“Yes, but you knew her best. What do you think would have motivated her to leave the group? Would she want to be alone if she had had an argument with someone? Was she the type who would investigate an odd noise, or try to help an injured animal? Would she have left camp to check out an interesting rock formation, or maybe gone in search of a better cell signal?”

She relaxed a little. “I see what you’re getting at.” She looked around them, at the bright, windswept landscape. “I don’t think she would have gone after an animal. She likes dogs and cats, but she’s a little afraid of wild animals—like I am. There’s apparently no cell service out here and she had been working out here long enough to know that, so there was no point in wandering around trying to find a better signal. I suppose it’s possible she might have wanted some time alone if she had had an argument with someone.”

“Then let’s find out if that’s the case.” He moved to join his partner with Eddleston. “Did Jennifer have a disagreement with any of her coworkers that day?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Eddleston said. “Jenny got along great with everyone.”

“We’ll want to talk to her coworkers and verify that,” Reynolds said.

“Of course.” The archaeologist squinted past them, obviously distracted. Jana turned and saw a dusty whirlwind on the horizon that drew nearer and morphed into a late-model, sand-colored Camry racing toward them. “I was wondering when he would show up,” Eddleston said.

“Who is it?” Officer Spencer asked.

“Eric Patterson,” Eddleston said. “He’s a reporter with the Montrose paper.”

Reynolds scowled. “We don’t have time to talk to reporters.”

“He’s not just a reporter,” Eddleston said. “And you probably do want to talk to him.” He turned to Jana. “You, too.”

“Why is that?” Jana asked.

Eddleston looked confused. “Because he’s Jenny’s fiancé. Didn’t she tell you?”