Page 47 of Into the Fire

Chapter twelve

Dante

Boone had the ready-room board half wiped and was rewriting the week in his block letters. I sat on the edge of the table with coffee and watched him work.

We’d been careful with each other for two days, since he confronted Nash.

Marty walked in with a folder and his glasses up on his forehead. “Good, both of you. Saves me a trip. Two things.” He set the folder on the table. “One. Operations kept two boxes from 2021. I went through both of them, which is an afternoon I’m not getting back. I looked through project files, agreements, and permits. There’s no job in that fork. No survey, timber sale, or trail contract. There’s nothing with a number attached. If somebody was working up there, we didn’t know about it.”

“District?” Boone asked.

“Called them Tuesday. The woman I talked to ran a search of legal documents and found nothing. If you want an official search, that’s a records request, and those come back when they come back.” He opened the folder and turned it around. “Two. Vega’s appointment ends on the fifteenth. If you’re separating, I need gear return scheduled with Nash and a forwarding address. If you’re staying, there’s a different form. I’d rather do that one. It’s shorter.”

The fifteenth. For weeks, it was over the horizon. Now it was just days away.

“I’ll let you know,” I said.

“Before the fifteenth would be the traditional approach.” He packed up and was gone.

“No numbers,” Boone said. “So either that ribbon never belonged to a job, or somebody didn’t want a number on it.”

“Yeah.”

“So it comes back to access. Records, rigging, who knew what existed and where it sat. That’s a short list. Nash is on it.”

“Nash.”

Boone looked at me.

“You’ve been thinking about him for two days.”

“I’ve been thinking about everyone who had access.”

“No. You’ve been thinking about Nash.”

“He’s had the key that opens that records room since Carson Ridge.”

“I’m not telling you to skip him. I’m telling you to look at what you’re doing.” I kept my voice down. “Five years ago you were afraid I was wrong. Now you’re afraid I’m right.”

Boone’s jaw tightened.

“And if I’m right, somebody did this. Somebody you know. Maybe somebody you’ve trusted for years. So a man with a key becomes somebody you have to prove innocent.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Dante—”

“You think I don’t know you’re still worried about my head?”

That stopped him.

“You think I haven’t watched you do the math every time I remember something? Is this real or is this the concussion? Is he remembering or filling in a hole?” I pushed the coffee away. “And now Nash gives you something you don’t like, and you’re doing the same thing to him. You’re scared of getting somebody wrong again.”

The door opened. Hollis walked in, took the forecast out of the box, and read it through. Then he looked up, read the room, and left without saying a word.

“Come home with me,” Boone said. “For dinner.”