There was just no scent for the dog to follow.
“No go,” Travis said after nearly two hours of studying the dog’s movements through sunlight and shadow.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed in bitter acceptance. “One more brick wall.”
“I was afraid of this,” Shannon agreed. She was sweating and the pain in her shoulder had increased with the sun’s climb in the sky. She patted the German shepherd, told him how great he was and plucked a few burs and grass seeds from his thick coat before giving him a long drink of water from a hose she had connected to the horse trough and a big metal pan. Once the dog had drunk his fill, and with Travis beside her, Shannon returned Atlas to his kennel.
“We knew it was a long shot,” she said, but couldn’t quell her own sense of despair. Things were spinning out of control, going from bad to worse and they both knew that with each minute that passed, the chances of finding the girl diminished.
“Thanks for trying,” he said and when she tried to hand him back the sweatshirt, added, “Keep it. For now. We might get another chance if something breaks.”
Her throat tightened. What other chance? she thought, but held her tongue and nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll be in touch…You sure you don’t need a ride to get your truck?”
“I don’t think so. Oliver is supposed to be delivering it.”
“The priest?”
“Almost a priest,” she clarified as swallows swooped near the roof of the stable. “He hasn’t taken his final vows yet.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she said, “I don’t know why he volunteered to bring the truck back, but I imagine Shea’s tied up in the investigation, Robert’s a mess with Mary Beth’s death and Aaron…Who knows?”
“If you’re sure.”
She managed a smile. “I’ve got your number if I need help, but I doubt it. If all else fails, Nate should be back sometime.” She slid a look at the garage and felt a frisson of concern.
Travis followed her gaze. “Where is he?”
“Beats me.” She almost confided in him, told him her worries, but there was something in the way he asked the question that caused her to hold her tongue. After all, hadn’t Travis Settler come down here thinking she’d kidnapped his daughter? Hadn’t he been spying on her just the other night? Though she was starting to feel a kinship with the man, she silently warned herself to tread carefully. “I guess I’ll find out when he shows up.” She forced a smile that she was certain Settler could see right through.
“Okay, I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” He lifted a hand toward the kennels. “And thanks for trying to help me locate Dani.”
“Anytime,” she said. She’s my daughter, too. But she didn’t say the words. She didn’t need to. They both were more than cognizant of the reason Settler had come to Santa Lucia in the first place.
“Let me know if you hear anything.”
“It’s a deal.”
For a second he hesitated and, through the dark glasses, gave her a look that touched a forbidden part of her, searched deep into her soul. She had the sensation that he wanted to kiss her, that only his own reservations, his doubts about her, held him back.
Which was just as well because she had no idea what she’d do if he reached for her and pulled her tight against him. The thought of it alone made her blood run hotter than it should, and she silently blistered herself with recriminations. So he’d looked at her. So what?
Dear God, Travis Settler was not a man to be fantasizing about. In fact, she thought, standing in the parking lot and staring into the wake of dust his truck left behind, he was probably the last man on earth she should be attracted to. The very last.
Chapter 19
Anthony Paterno drummed his fingers and stared at the notes he’
d taken. Five pages of his thoughts were spread across the top of his desk in the Santa Lucia Police Department and he was trying to connect the dots, however frail, between them. The door to his office was ajar and he heard the noises he’d grown accustomed to: the ringing phones, buzz of conversations, kerchunk of printers and occasional burst of laughter over the steady rattle of the overworked and failing air-conditioning system.
The squat brick building was nearly eighty years old, and though it had suffered through several renovations, none had really improved it, Paterno thought with an eye to aesthetics. Function over form, that was the motto of whomever had designed the ugly stucco wings that sprang from either side of the original edifice.
The climate ran hot in this section of the wine country, which was decidedly inland from San Francisco, the place he’d called home for years. No views of the bay nor the Pacific Ocean, just rolling hills covered with vineyards between clusters of towns that catered to tourists. Pretty country. But warmer than he liked. Adjusting his internal thermometer had taken some time, and he found himself constantly relying on air-conditioning in his car as well as in his apartment and the office. This summer had been the worst, hotter than it had been in nearly three years, the heat never letting up, the temperature, even at night, rarely dipping below eighty.
Water reservoir levels were dwindling, brownouts from the overuse of energy for cooling were common, and the threat of fire was ever-present—the bleached grass fields and arid forests ready, with the aid of a small spark, to burst into flame.
He was often uncomfortable and supposed that dropping fifteen pounds would help, but so far he hadn’t so much as lost an ounce, hadn’t stepped foot inside the gym here at the station nor at his apartment complex.
Yanking at his tie, he leaned back in his chair, the facts of Mary Beth Flannery’s death running through his mind in a continuous loop. It was how he worked. A puzzling case like this one would get under his skin, and he thought of little else, day and night. The cut-and-dried ones didn’t create the same itch in him, the same need to outwit the killer, the race against time to stop the murderer from striking again.