Chapter Five

"Harper, I have a new project I want you and Devlin to work on." Patterson approached Harper's drawing table, a sheaf of rolled papers in his hand. In his forties, Patterson kept his head shaved smooth and wore his usual uniform of jeans and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She suspected he had a closet full of the exact same shirt. Devlin moved in beside them as Patterson unrolled the papers and began pinning them to the table's surface. Today Devlin sported black trousers, a white short-sleeved shirt, suspenders and a string tie. Harper, whose approach to getting ready for work was to pull the first thing from her closet—today it was a navy sheath dress and flats—wondered how either of the men had arrived at their sense of style. Would it be liberating or confining to be so committed to a single way of dressing?

"This resort development in California wants us to update their maps," Patterson said. "There are five sections." He indicated the five 11-by-14-inch sheets tacked to the work table. "The place has been around since the 1980s. These maps were done in 2000, but obviously, there's been lots of changes. They're sending files with aerial views of the entire place which I need you two to incorporate into updated maps of each section. They want something artistic, in keeping with their current style. You'll get a feel for that on their website. They want to frame the maps in their office and common areas and have smaller versions to hand out to interested members, visitors and potential buyers."

"Looks like fun," Devlin said. He leaned over the drawing table and squinted at one of the maps. "Looks like they've got stables and riding trails, and a golf course." He grinned at Harper. "Think we could talk them into comping us a visit? Strictly for research purposes, of course."

Harper returned the smile. Though visiting a resort by herself—or even with Dev for company—didn't sound as much fun as going with a romantic partner.

With Ryker .

She pushed the thought away. She was sure the last thing on Ryker's mind right now was romance. "Has anyone heard anything more about the search for Charlotte Vernon?" she asked.

"I haven't," Patterson said.

Devlin shook his head. "That poor kid. And poor dad." He began untacking two of the maps. "I'll start matching these up with the aerial photos. You take two others and we'll work on the fifth together when these are done."

"Sounds good." She moved to her computer and downloaded the aerial files, then searched for the resort website. But she couldn't focus on the photos of smiling couples on the golf course and trails, and the upbeat prose about the benefits of life with every amenity right outside the front door. Her thoughts continually shifted to Charlotte and Ryker. Where was that dear child, and how was Ryker enduring the torture of not knowing?

"Harper?"

The familiar, low voice made her jump and she looked up to see Ryker himself, in his sheriff's department uniform, walking toward her desk. "Ryker, how are you?" She rose and started to give him a hug, then thought better of it, aware of Devlin and her other coworkers in the open-plan office watching.

Ryker looked around the space, which featured large windows on three sides and drawing tables and desks, as well as long counters for spreading out large-format pieces scattered throughout. Everything was white and pale blue and filled with light. Finally, his gaze came to rest on her once more. He looked tired, but determined. "I need your help," he said.

"Anything."

"Someone at the county clerk's office told me this office has maps of all the mining claims in the high country. She said you actually drew the maps the county has, and can produce them in a larger format than she had available, with more detail."

"Yes, we do." She moved to the far corner of the room, to the large, flat file drawers that held copies of all the work they had done. "If we don't have what you need here, we can print them for you."

He came to stand beside her, close enough that she could hear the clink of the various implements on his duty belt each time he moved, and the low hiss of static from his shoulder-mounted radio. "What exactly are you looking for?" she asked.

"Mining claims above ten-thousand-feet elevation," he said. "Above that point, county building codes don't allow for permanent residences, but people buy the places to camp in the summer or because they want to reopen the mines."

"Are you thinking they would be good places to hide?" she asked.

He moved closer and lowered his voice. "I think Kim and her boyfriend might be camping or in some kind of makeshift shelter on one of those claims. When we split up, she talked about wanting to live somewhere off-grid and said when she did she would take Charlotte to live with her. I used to worry she was serious, and I told her she would never get custody. Maybe that was a mistake. Rather than go through legal channels, I believe she decided to just take Charlotte."

Harper studied the labels on the drawers, then opened one. "The maps are organized by mining districts," she said. "We don't have information about who owns each claim. You'd have to get that from the county."

"Do you have topographical maps?" he asked. "I'm trying to get an idea of the terrain."

"We can do better than that," she said. "On our computers, we'll have the aerial photographs and even satellite imagery we used to compile the maps."

"That's exactly what I need."

She pulled out half a dozen large maps, then led him into a separate workroom with a long table and a fifty-inch monitor. "It's going to take me a minute to find the photographs," she said. "But you can study the maps while I'm looking." While she waited for the computer to boot up, she swiveled her chair to watch him. He bent over the table, studying one of the unrolled maps. "How are you going to narrow down where to look for them?" she asked.

"I'll start by looking for places accessible by roads. Mick has a Jeep registered in his name. Anything with a structure on it would be good. There are a lot of those claims that have been abandoned and ownership has gone back to the county because of unpaid taxes. If I was going to squat on a property, I would choose one of those."

"Maybe they bought one of the claims," she said.

"I checked with the county and there's no record of that. Since neither of them have held any kind of regular job for the past three years that I can determine, I don't think that's likely."

"How do they support themselves?" she asked.

"They work off the books. Odd jobs. Mick has been convicted twice of fraud, so maybe he's got a new swindle police haven't learned about yet. And there's old-fashioned theft. He's been convicted of that, too."

She turned back to the computer. "Kim was a law-abiding citizen when I met her," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. "I guess she was looking for someone who was my exact opposite when she got together with Mick."

"Your marriage lasted longer than mine," she said as she began to scroll through the list of photographic files. "Franco and I only made it thirteen months, but we managed to part as friends."

"Oh." So much emotion behind that one word. "I didn't know you'd been married."

She shrugged. "I was lonely. I thought getting married would fix that, but I was wrong."

"Yeah. I was lonely when I met Kim, too."

"At least you ended up with Charlotte."

"I would have been reasonable, open to some kind of visitation arrangement, but that wasn't good enough for Kim and Mick. Now she's going to find out how unreasonable I can be."

She smiled in spite of herself. That was the Ryker she had fallen so hard for when she was seventeen. He had been full of righteous anger and tough-guy swagger, with a black leather jacket, a motorcycle and an attitude. And tender as a marshmallow inside, though most people didn't get to see that side. They had judged him so harshly when Aiden was taken. She had believed they were wrong, but her parents had whisked her away before she had the chance to tell him.

"What do you have for me to look at?" He was back to business. Maybe now wasn't the time to bring up that old hurt.

"I have the set of aerial photos pulled up that corresponds to the Galloway Basin district," she said. "You're welcome to look at them here, but I can also load them and the others onto a flash drive for you to review at the sheriff's department."

"I'd like the files to take with me, but I'd also like to study them here," he said. "We don't have a monitor like this available at the sheriff's department."

"You're welcome to do that." She brought up the first photo, an aerial view showing a narrow dirt road running alongside a section of land with few trees, and a half-collapsed structure of rusting metal and silvery wood. "You can zoom in, scan out, and even highlight a section to print if you like," she said, demonstrating these functions. "Let me know if you need anything."

She slid out of the chair and he took her place, already focused on the screen.

"Can I get you some coffee?" she asked.

"What? Oh, no thanks."

She stood behind him for a moment, watching as he guided the cursor across the photo, zooming in on the ruins, then backing out and switching to the next photograph. What, exactly, was he looking for? Was there any way she could help him?

If he wanted more help, he would ask, she told herself. And she had work to do.

She left the room quietly and returned to her desk. Devlin looked up from his computer. "Everything okay?"

"He's looking at maps that might help with the search for his daughter."

Three hours later, she was debating suggesting Ryker take a break for lunch when he emerged from the back room. "Did you find anything useful?" she asked.

"I think so." He stopped beside her desk. "Thanks."

"If there's anything I can do to help, just ask," she said. "I could help with the search. Everyone here would."

He shook his head. "We can't risk civilians running around those old mines. Though if we narrow the search area, we might call on search and rescue."

"If that happens, I'll be there." She looked down at her desk, suddenly feeling awkward. "And if you ever just want to talk, I'm here for that, too."

"Thanks." He covered her hand with his, and she felt the shock of that contact, and looked into his eyes. She saw the same awareness there—a connection she had thought long-severed flickering to life. Then he pulled his hand away. "I'd better go."

"Poor guy," Devlin said after the door shut behind Ryker. "Being a cop he's probably tortured by all the horrible things that might have happened to his daughter."

She wanted to tell him that Charlotte was going to be all right, that she'd been kidnapped by her mother. But she didn't know anything about Kim or her boyfriend, did she? Maybe Charlotte wouldn't be all right with them. The thought made her sick. She wanted to do something to help, to comfort Ryker and his family. But she wasn't really part of his life anymore.

B ACK AT THE sheriff's department, Ryker showed Travis and Declan the maps and aerial photography he had collected. He unrolled one of the maps on the table in the conference room and the three men bent over it. "We could start by comparing what's in these photos to existing structures," Ryker said. "We can drive up and take a closer look at any new or altered structures."

"Best to do that from the air," Declan said. "Maybe we can find someone to fly us over. We might even be able to hitch a ride in a fire-spotter plane. They're making regular patrols in the area this time of year."

"I think that would be safer than approaching on foot or even in a department vehicle," Travis said. "Declan, make some calls and see what you can arrange. In the meantime, have you seen this?"

He slipped a folded newspaper from beneath his arm and offered it to Ryker. Ryker opened the paper and stared at the article filling the bottom of the page:

Search for Missing Girl Focuses on Utah

The search for missing toddler Charlotte Vernon, who disappeared from her day care in the western mountain community of Eagle Mountain on Wednesday, is now focused in Utah, after what FBI officials have termed a credible sighting of the little girl with a couple at a campground outside Moab on Thursday.

The woman the child was seen with matches the description of her estranged mother, twenty-nine-year-old Kimberley "Kim" Vernon, who is suspected of kidnapping the child. Since her divorce from Charlotte's father, Rayford County sheriff's deputy Ryker Vernon three years ago, Ms. Vernon has reportedly had no contact with her daughter. Mr. Ryker was awarded sole custody of the child as part of the divorce proceedings.

Mother and daughter are alleged to be in the company of Michael "Mick" Davis, described as a thirty-five-year-old drifter with a criminal record for theft, assault, fraud and a number of other offenses. If you see the trio, do not attempt to approach, but contact law enforcement immediately.

The article was accompanied by photos of Charlotte, Kim and Mick. Mick's picture was clearly a mug shot. Ryker didn't know where Kim's photo had come from, though it looked as if it had been enlarged from a snapshot, one taken outdoors in the summer, Kim squinting into the camera, a breeze pushing her hair to one side.

Charlotte's image was the recent school photo Ryker had provided that was printed on posters all over the county. Her big smile showed off a row of pearly baby teeth and the deep dimples on either side of her mouth. Her blue eyes shone with excitement. He laid the paper aside. "Have there been any more sightings?" he asked.

"Not that we've heard," Travis said. "Not here or in Utah."

"I could be wrong about them still being here," Ryker said. "I could be wasting our time, but I don't think so." He stared at the map showing the winding mountain roads, timber-framed adits and weathered ruins of the Galloway Basin mining district. "This is something I think Kim would do."

"Fleeing to Utah would make it harder for you to find her," Declan said.

"I don't think she would see it that way." He hesitated, trying to find the words to explain the puzzling woman he had married. "She liked to taunt people. She believed she was better than anyone else—that her ideas, or Mick's ideas that she adopted, were better. She's probably convinced herself that whatever she had planned for this off-grid lifestyle is so superior to the way everyone else is living that Charlotte will naturally want to stay with her, whether I ever find her or not."

"What about Mick?" Travis asked. "Any insight into how he thinks?"

Ryker shook his head. "I don't know much more about him than you do. I've studied his criminal record. As a felon, he's not supposed to own firearms, but he probably does. Kim probably bought them for him. Or he stole them. She said living off-grid was his idea, but she was all for it."

"Having a base of operations near but out of reach of a lot of people in a generally well-off town like Eagle Mountain might be tempting," Declan said. "Lots of summer homes and vacation properties to rob when they're unoccupied. Lots of tourists to rip off. A relatively small sheriff's department Davis probably believes he can outwit."

"It's worth looking into more closely," Travis said. He nodded to the maps. "Give us some places to focus on. Declan, see about that plane. I'll get in touch with the FBI and see if they have anything else to tell us."

When he was alone in the room, Ryker bent over the maps. Given free rein, his mind would have focused on Charlotte. Was she afraid? Tired and dirty? Hungry? Did she miss him?

He didn't have the luxury of indulging in such thoughts. The only way to get through this was to keep moving forward. To do whatever he could to find his daughter. He pulled out a notebook and pen and focused on the maps. He needed to come up with a plan.