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“Gun on the ground.”
As he bends, I’m tensed for a sudden move.
He sets the gun down and then straightens, hands lifted. I whistle, two short bursts to tell Dalton I’m fine, though I’m sure he can see that.
“They were warning shots,” he says. “I didn’t see a dog. Just two people.”
“And you randomly fire warning shots at people walking through the forest?”
“May I turn around?”
“If you keep your hands lifted.”
He starts to turn. Then brush crackles below, and he stops.
“That’s my husband,” I say. “He’ll be joining us in a minute, with the dog.”
The man nods and continues turning. When he’s facing me, I tell him to push off the hood. That’s when I get a proper look at him. He’s about forty, with a trim beard. White skin. Sandy hair. Brown eyes. A very average-looking guy, with an average build, a little shorter than average at maybe five foot six.
“Care to explain why you shot at us?” I say.
“I saw you walking, and I was watching where you were headed, and then you spotted me and veered my way. I was trying to dissuade you from that.”
His voice is calm and reasonable, with just the faintest waver of concern. That suggests he’s not your typical paranoid forest dweller. My gaze trips over his outfit. Light jacket, jeans and boots.
Dalton appears on the ridge, and I glance over, while tensing again, in case the man mistakenly thinks I’m distracted. He only shifts his own gaze.
I lower my gun. Dalton does the same, and the man turns to look at him. A momentary pause, as he assesses Dalton and straightens. When his gaze drops to the dog, he smiles, just a little.
“Don’t know how I missed that beast. He’s a big one.”
“You always fire warning shots at strangers in the woods?” Dalton says.
“I do if I think they’re a threat.” The man looks pointedly from Dalton’s gun to mine. “Seems my instinct was correct.”
“No,” Dalton says. “Your misguided instinct is what brought these out. We’re looking for someone, and we thought you might be her. We were just coming in for a closer look. We’re a half mile from your mining operation. No need to get trigger happy.”
Mining operation? My gaze flicks over the man again, and I note that the boots are waterproof with thick soles. Gloves hang from his pockets, and there’s mud on his knees.
Damn it. Well, that was some shitty detective work. Worse, the reason I didn’t consider him for the role of our miner is that he didn’t look like what I expected, any more than Lilith looks like a wolf-taming forest witch. And to add an extra layer of “worse,” Iknowthat placer miners can certainly look like this. Some are characters straight out of the Klondike gold rush, with long beards and wild eyes, but I have met others in Dawson City who look as much the urban professionals as Lilith.
“Mining operation?” the man says.
“You want to play it that way?” Dalton says. “Sure. Let’s pretend you’re just some guy out here enjoying our fine wilderness. I don’t actually give a shit… unless you’re going to keepshooting at us while we’re out here hunting for our missing woman.”
The man eyes us.
“Do we look like miners?” Dalton says.
“You look like cops.”
“Good call. We’re private detectives, called in to look for this woman. Even if we were the Mounties, though, we’re not the ministry of natural resources or the mining commission or whoever the hell handles that. We don’t give a shit what you’re doing out here… unless you want to shoot at us and make us take an interest.”
The man eases back. “Okay. I’ve seen your missing woman, but I don’t get the feeling she wants to be found. Lots of people up here like that. I pretend I don’t see them.”
“Which is fine,” I say. “We just need to be sure she’s okay.”
“Oh, she is. I’ve spotted her once or twice, maybe two miles from here. Seems to be some kind of photographer. Looks pro, though with folks up here…?” He shrugs. “For all I know, there’s no film in that camera and she just thinks she’s taking pictures.”
