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She looked at the size, confirming an adult had made it. Was it Lachlan’s? She had no idea, but right now it was her most promising lead.
She followed the footprints through the mud, checking her GPS again. She shook her head; the footprints were leading away from the crime scene. If Lachlan had taken this path, he’d basically gone in the opposite direction he’d needed to.
Why? He’d had a GPS with him, and a radio, and a phone.
Had he been looking for something?
She shook her head. Something had gone wrong, otherwise he would’ve contacted them.
A tingle ran up her spine and she held the pistol in her hand a little tighter.
The footprints might not belong to Lachlan.
A violent gust of wind blew through, shaking the forest. It creaked and groaned like a ninety-year-old getting up off the floor. The sound was eerie and spectacular all at the same time.
Bethenny paused for a moment, giving her tired legs a rest. At least the rain had stopped and she could see her own feet. That gave her hope—hope for Lachlan’s survival.
It gave her hope that she, or the rescue team, would find him and she’d spend the night curled up in her warm bed, sleeping peacefully. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of tea, fluffy socks, heavy blankets, and a good comedy.
She blew out a sigh as she looked around the deserted woods. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she was in for a long, cold, wet night.
“Bethenny, come in,” Mitch said through her radio.
Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe they’d found him.
“Copy. What’s happening?” she answered.
Mitch hesitated a moment, and that moment told her everything: it wasn’t good news.
“The search team found Lachlan’s phone. It washed up on the rocks below Devil’s Throat,” he said. Bethenny’s heart sank into her stomach as she thought of the blood sample in her backpack and the marks leading to the edge of the cliff.
“We’re calling off the search. The weather is worsening tonight but it will clear in the early hours of the morning. At daylight, the diving crew will begin a search for his body.”
Bethenny balked. They didn’t know about the evidence on the cliff top, so they were basing this purely on a washed-up phone?
“What?” she asked, unable to keep the emotion from her voice. “Maybe he dropped it. Maybe it fell out of his pocket. You don’t know he’s dead, and if he’s not and he’s out in these woods, how long will he survive in a storm without food, water, or anything warm—especially if he’s injured?”
“I hadn’t finished,” Mitch said. Bethenny couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or not.
“We also found his sweater. It was pulled from the rapids,” he said.
Bethenny squeezed her eyes shut, her feet coming to a complete stop. Mitch’s words felt like a kick to her stomach.
She tried to recall what he’d been wearing.
She remembered he’d pushed up the sleeves of his sweater... she remembered because she clearly recalled his toned forearms. And she remembered when he’d taken it off, because his T-shirt had lifted ever so slightly, revealing a not-so-slightly ripped abdomen. She’d had to look away quickly.
He’d tied it around his waist, she recalled now.
So it could mean it had fallen off.
It didn’t mean he’d gone over the falls, even though that was the most plausible explanation at this point.
Once more she thought of the blood sample in her backpack, but she didn’t mention it.
“If you have a sweater and a phone, why don’t you have a body?” Bethenny asked.
Mitch sighed heavily. “You know how these rapids work. Maybe he was carried away, maybe he’s snagged on something underneath...” His voice trailed off and she was glad he didn’t finish that sentence.
