'Then how'd she explain all those calls?' Dodge asked.
'They'd played phone tag. She'd been calling to get Buckland's address so she could mail her an invitation to a fortieth birthday party she's throwing for Ben in the fall.'
'How did she react when you brought this up?'
'Pissed. The party was supposed to have been a surprise.'
Dodge's laugh sounded like he was gargling phlegm. 'She's a piece of work, that one. But she couldn't have been two places at once. So if she's not Stark's partner in crime, then maybe it was Sally Buckland.'
'She'd served her purpose? He killed her to tie up a loose end?'
'Maybe. Hell, I don't know.' Dodge reached for his cigarettes.
'Put them away,' Ski said. 'Dogs are here.'
He and Dodge made their way over as the trainer alighted from a pickup truck that had dog crates in the back. 'I'm supposed to be meeting Ski,' he said to the group.
Ski threaded his way through the other lawmen and shook the man's hand.
'I brought an extra trainer.' He introduced Ski to the man accompanying him. 'Also two extra dogs. Just in case.'
'Thanks. We may need them. How many do we start with?'
'Three. They're my best.'
The dogs were released from their crates and put on heavy-duty leashes. The trainer took two black Labs, the other guy got a bloodhound. The dogs were eager. Ski let them smell the filthy clothes that Starks had left behind in the Mittmayers' RV.
'Okay, they're good to go,' the trainer said.
One of the FBI agents said, 'Let her roll.'
Ski hid his smile. If there was one word that inaccurately described how one navigated this part of the Thicket, it would be
Which they soon discovered. They hacked and clawed and slogged their way through. Within half an hour those who hadn't heeded the advice to apply strong insect repellent were fighting their way back to escape thick swarms of biting species. Even sturdy boots were sucked into mud the consistency of tar.
Clothing and skin were ripped by thorns that were as thick as thumbs or as fine as human hairs. While searching for Oren Starks's tracks, they also had to be on the lookout for alligators, mountain lions, razorbacks, cottonmouths, copperheads, and rattlesnakes that didn't like to be disturbed.
Ski couldn't imagine more hostile terrain anywhere in the world. After an hour, they had progressed no farther than a hundred yards. The strong men were made weak by the brutal heat. Those who had stamina in the gym were left gasping for breath. Even the energy of the search dogs began to flag. But they had Oren Starks's scent, and instinct and excellent conditioning made them determined. They strained at their leashes, pulling their trainers into bramble bushes that had to be hacked down with machetes.
Ski kept pace with the dogs, and when the assistant trainer stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle, he passed the leash to Ski. 'She should do all right with you if you keep praising her.'
Ski managed the dog. He was more worried about Dodge, who'd had difficulty keeping pace the night they walked through the woods at the lake house. That had been a stroll in the park compared with this. But the older man remained close on Ski's heels, wheezing heavily, cursing elaborately, but plowing purposefully forward.
'Changed your mind about deputizing me?' he asked when they paused to drink from their water bottles.
'You can't shoot him, Dodge.'
'Hell I can't. My aim's excellent.'
'That's not what I meant.'
'I know what you meant.' He recapped his bottle and pushed aside a thorny branch that was in his path. 'But when we find him, he better have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud for mercy.'
'Or what?'
'Or I'm gonna consider him a fugitive in flight.'
The afternoon wore on. The temperature rose, and water bottles emptied. One by one searchers surrendered to the elements until only a few diehards continued on, and then that number dwindled.
When the remaining troop stopped again to rest, Ski sidled up to Dodge, who was laboring over every breath. 'You've gotta call it quits.'
'When hell freezes over.' He mopped his florid face with a handkerchief. 'Which sounds pretty damn good right now.'
'Look, Dodge,' Ski said angrily, 'I don't want you dying on me.'
'Have you developed a crush?'
Ski didn't take the gibe. 'You croak on my watch, and those two women in your life will never forgive me.'
Dodge seemed on the verge of making a stinging retort when he thought better of it. He replaced the handkerchief in his pants pocket. 'I'm not quitting.'
Ski gave him a level look, then said tightly, 'Have it your way.'
The going got even rougher. One of the dogs on the trainer's leash began to limp. 'She's picked up a thorn,' the trainer told Ski after an inspection of the dog's front paw.
'Can she make it back?'
'She'll have to. It'll be slow going.'
'You see to her. I'll take the other one.'
The trainer transferred the second dog's leash to Ski. 'Those two usually don't like each other. But maybe they're too tired to give you any trouble.'
By now the group had decreased to only a handful. Dodge was still with them. When one of the FBI agents suggested they call it a day and resume tomorrow, Dodge said scornfully, 'You can puss out. I'm not going to.'
Ski told them he was in for the long haul, too. 'The dogs haven't quit. They're still on Starks's trail.'
The Rangers wouldn't quit, either, although one was regarding Dodge with concern. It was almost painful to watch him breathe. Ski made another attempt to get him to stop. 'I know you want to be in on the capture, but--'
'Lead on, Deputy.'
'I could order you to go back. I could get one of these Rangers to take you back.'
'You'd have to kill me first.'
'You're about to save me the trouble.'
He motioned Ski forward. 'I'm right behind you.'
And he was, even when others couldn't keep up. Ski's threat to have him escorted back seemed to have imbued Dodge with strength. But the elements and the terrain were more powerful even than his fierce determination.
He and the few remaining fell farther behind until Ski was alone out front with the two dogs, whose past differences seemed to have given way to their common goal. They continued to thrash through the underbrush. They dragged Ski through marshes.
And finally they caught up with their quarry.
Oren Starks didn't have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud. He was sitting on the edge of a swamp among the knees of a giant cypress tree that jutted out of the murky water. His
