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Chapter Fifteen
Jason’s heart stopped, and yet he heard himself say very calmly, “What does that mean? Isn’t he there?”
“He flew to Wyoming first thing this morning. He’s not answering his phone.”
“Wyoming? Why? Did something happen to his mother?”
Jason had met Ruby Kennedy back in April when they’d stayed at her farm while he’d been on sick leave. Mrs. Kennedy appeared to be a hale and hearty sixtysomething, but you never knew.
“As far as I can tell, his mother’s fine. I’m pretty sure this has to do with the Roadside Ripper case. He said he wanted to hike up to a place called Vedauwoo.”
“Hike? Vedauwoo?”
Vedauwoo Recreation Area, a picturesque rock formation on Pole Mountain, was a popular destination for rock climbers, hikers, and mountain bikers. None of which described Sam.
It was also popular with artists.
In his mind’s eye, Jason saw again a painting of sentinel pine trees, stark outcrops, and mournful moonlight. Ethan’s painting. Vedauwoo had been one of Ethan’s favorite spots to work.
“Why?”
“No clue. He got an idea into his head. You know how he is.”
“I know he doesn’t turn off his phone for hours.”
“No. But…” Jonnie sounded troubled.
“But what?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Something’s up with him. He’s been different ever since we found out about the existence of Bone Road.”
“But it wasn’t his case. He wasn’t BAU Chief back then.” Jason wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, since Jonnie already knew everything he was and wasn’t saying, and Sam…wasn’t listening.
Besides, Sam believed Ethan had fallen victim to the Roadside Ripper, so this wasn’t a usual case, and Sam’s usual ruthless logic was liable to be MIA.
“I know.”
“What the hell could he be looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he go alone? He’s smarter than that.”
She said patiently, “I’m not sure that he is alone. He didn’t offer any details beyond where he was headed. It’s not that I’m worried, exactly, but I thought I’d hear from him by now.”
Jason said tersely, “I’m worried.”
“Sorry about that. I just figured if anyone knew what was going on, it would be you.”
“I know some people at the Cheyenne RA. I’ll touch base with them and phone you back.”
“Okay. Thanks, Jason. I appreciate it. He can be a real SOB, but he kind of grows on you after a while.”
Jason muttered, “Tell me about it,” and hung up. It took a minute or two to locate the personal phone number for Charles Reynolds, SAC of the Cheyenne Resident Agency, and one of Sam’s oldest friends.
This time he didn’t worry about the late hour or disturbing someone at home. He pressed the number and waited, impatiently counting the rings, until the phone picked up and a familiar, raspy male voice said, “Reynolds residence.”
SoFBI.
“Hey, Chuck. Sorry to call this late. This is Jason West, Sam’s—”
“He just walked in the door,” Reynolds interrupted. “You can go first, then I’ll take my turn.”
A couple of heartbeats of silence followed as the phone was handed over, and Jason’s massive relief gave way to equally massive exasperation.
“He—”
“What the hell, Sam!”
“Sorry?” For once in his life Sam sounded nonplussed.
“I’ve been calling you all fucking day. Where the hell were you? Jonnie’s scared to death. Why the hell wouldn’t you let me know—tell someone where you were going? What the hell are you doing out there on your own?”
Jason was forced to stop for breath, and Sam said, as though for the nth time, “There’s no cell reception once you’re past Forest Road 700.” So that was probably directed at Reynolds as well as Jason. “Of course I would have phoned you back. I’m sorry you were worried.” Which was likely true and the correct thing to say, but delivered in a weary, strained-patience sort of voice that did little to soothe Jason’s acerbated nerves. “I told Jonnie I was taking a personal day and where I’d be.”
“A p-p-personal day?” Jason stuttered as though the concept was foreign, and frankly it was foreign in connection with Sam Kennedy. Not counting their stay in Wyoming, Sam had never taken time off for so much as a dental appointment, as far as Jason could tell. “You flew to Wyoming for a personal day? Why wouldn’t you tell me this last night?”
Sam said with grim humor, “Are you sure I didn’t?”
Jason was not amused. “I’d remember that.” Was Sam really not going to say where he’d been and what he’d been up to? Did he imagine Jonnie would not have mentioned Vedauwoo? Or that Jason wouldn’t understand the significance of that place?
Not that Jason was one hundred percent sure he understood the significance in this context. But he understood that something was going on with Sam.
“Listen. West.” Sam stopped, sighed. He said, choosing his words, “I didn’t realize I’d be out of range for so long. It took longer to hike back to my car than I thought. That’s all. I promise you we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”
Tomorrow?No. Not okay.
Except it would have to be okay because Sam was standing in Chuck Reynolds’s kitchen, waiting to talk to Chuck next, and besides, he’d already apologized and promised to explain further, so to continue this would simply be Jason venting his feelings, including his worry that there was something to really worry about.
He clipped out, “Yep. Okay.”
Sam seemed to hesitate, then repeated, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and disconnected.
Jesus. He’d devoted all of forty-five seconds to reassure and comfort Jason.
Okay, despite the brief scare, Jason didn’t need reassurance or comfort. It would have been nice to hear one of those taciturn I love yous, but Sam’s PDAs were few and far between, and clearly he had more important things on his mind.
Jason stewed for a minute or two, then called Jonnie, who confirmed that Sam had mentioned taking a personal day, but that she’d put as little credence in it as Jason because, like Jason, she viewed Sam and personal days as likely a combo as oil and water.
“Even on his personal days, he’s calling in every couple of hours,” she pointed out.
“I know. I agree.”
