Page 8 of The Search

“No, she’s booked back to Phoenix.”

“She’ll change her plans. By the way, I’m calling Sean Galen after I hang up. If he needs funds, give him—”

“Carte blanche,” Margaret finished for him. “As usual. I thought you’d pull him into any rescue attempt. Is he to go directly to Santo Camaro?”

“No, I’m sending him to Bogotá on a fact-finding mission.”

Margaret made a distinctly skeptical sound. “Pretty words. Who’s he going to beat up?”

“Maybe no one. I just need him to find someone and ask a few questions.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“If Castleton calls, I want to hear from him immediately. He has my digital phone number, but he’s too cautious for my taste. He may try to reach me on it only in case of emergencies. But as far as I’m concerned, everything is an emergency at this point.”

“No problem.”

“Wrong. I see nothing but problems looming. I’ll keep in touch.” He hung up.

He should have known Margaret would champion Sarah Patrick. Margaret was an ardent feminist who admired tough, smart women who boldly ran their own lives and careers. She had liked Eve Duncan for that same reason. Eve was a top forensic sculptor who had overcome tremendous odds in both her personal and professional life. A very special woman . . .

He hadn’t seen her in almost six months. Had he made the transition from lover to friend as he’d told Margaret? Who knew? He had felt something for Eve he’d never felt for any other woman, and he’d tried to analyze it in these last months. Respect, pity, passion . . . Hell, maybe all those emotions had been present. She had certainly caught his imagination from the moment he had met her.

No, he wasn’t being honest. He had loved Eve. What was love but respect, pity, passion, and a hundred other emotions? Joe Quinn had said Logan didn’t love her enough and deserved to lose her. Well, he had lost her, so maybe the bastard was right. Maybe he’d never make a total commitment to a woman. Totality was for the young and the daring.

Christ, that sounded like a soap opera.

Okay, forget personal problems. Eve was going to marry Joe Quinn, a fact that he’d accepted months ago. His commitment now was to Bassett, and he had to concentrate all his efforts on bringing him back.

That’s where Sarah Patrick came in.

He could force her to help him as he’d done the last time, but he’d prefer not to do that. Was there anything else in her background he could use to manipulate her?

He had time to think about it. He should have at least a day to decide what to say to her.

It might take every minute of that time, he thought ruefully. Sarah was tough as nails and Margaret was probably right. This time when he tried to get her to jump when he whistled, there was every chance the situation would explode.

And the situation was explosive enough without Sarah. He had been uneasy ever since he had left Santo Camaro. His instincts told him that something was not as it should be, and he trusted his instincts. What the hell was bothering him?

He was filled with anger and sadness and the usual adrenaline-charged eagerness to jump into the fray— emotions that were getting in the way. So put those emotions on hold. He had to clear his head and analyze Rudzak’s opening move. Why had Rudzak taken Bassett? Ransom or revenge was the obvious answer, but Rudzak was seldom obvious.

He pulled the scarab from his pocket, the one Rudzak had sent him via Castleton. His thumb rubbed its carved surface. The scarab was from such a long time ago, a time of pain and torment and regret. . . . Rudzak had meant to send a message with it, but what did the message have to do with Bassett?

He leaned back in his chair. Think. Play the scenario out. Put everything together before you call Galen.

The shrill howl echoed eerily in the night.

Sarah stopped at the top of the hill, her breathing labored from the hard uphill run.

Another howl, more mournful than the first.

A wolf, Sarah thought. Probably one of the Mexican gray wolves that had been recently released in western Arizona. There had been stories of a few migrating to this area, much to the anger of the local ranchers. That howl had sounded very close. She stared at the crags spiking the mountain behind her.

Nothing. The night was clear and still and the wolf was probably farther away than he sounded.

Beautiful. Monty was staring at the mountain.

“You wouldn’t think so if you ran across one of those wolves, Monty. They have no manners. Ask the ranchers around here.”