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Margo should know better. When they were teenagers, she’d been bit by a rattler during a family hike along the Pima Loop on South Mountain. If their dad, a doctor, hadn’t been with them, Jack wasn’t sure Margo would have survived. But Dad knew what to do, slowed the spread of the venom, and a rescue helicopter swooped in and brought her to the hospital for antivenom and fluids. You’d think after that experience Margo would be more cautious, but no—she runs up the mountain during prime rattler-basking time.
Jack was gaining on Margo, but she was now on the down side and he lost sight of her. He picked up his pace, saw a trail ten feet to his left, and crossed over to it. He slipped, started to fall, but caught himself, hands scraping across the dry rocky soil.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Dammit, Margo.”
He reached the trail, rubbed his palms on his jeans, shook out the pain where he’d been nicked by a stubby cactus.
He made much better time on the trail. Margo came into sight—she was now on the trail right in front of him. He still couldn’t see who she was pursuing, but below them the trail led to a neighborhood of multimillion-dollar homes nestled high up on the edge of the preserve. The view from here was spectacular. At sunrise, the entire valley and mountains beyond would be aglow, an awesome sight.
But in the late afternoon, the sun burned and he didn’t have time to enjoy the view.
“Margo!” he barked out once.
She glanced over her shoulder, startled when she recognized him. Then she motioned in front of her and started jogging down the trail.
Two men in black emerged from the end of the trail into the neighborhood. They were making a beeline toward a dark SUV parked on the street. No way was Margo going to catch up with them.
Suddenly, she stopped, as if she just realized what Jack had. She pulled out her camera and started taking pictures of the men and vehicle. They were gone seconds later when Jack finally caught up with her.
They were both out of breath. Margo shoved her camera back into the pouch on her side, on the opposite side from her holstered SIG Sauer. Then she dropped her small tactical backpack and pulled out a water bottle, draining half of it. She handed the rest to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled and finished it. Margo was always prepared. He rarely, if ever, saw her without her pack. He would have had water if he’d had his bag, but he left it in the car.
She took the empty bottle, put it back in her pack, and said, “What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“My job.”
“You left two semiconscious people in that house—”
“With paramedics.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “I saw them lying unconscious on the floor, called 9-1-1, picked the lock. Those guys were watching the house from behind boulders. I don’t know why, but they bolted after Fire showed up. I knew I wouldn’t catch up to them but I thought I recognized one.”
“You recognized one of the men?”
“Looked familiar, but I never got close enough. I’ll enhance the pictures. If I also caught the license plate with the camera, I can run it. Maybe they’re involved in whatever happened at the house.”
Jack didn’t think his sister had been hired to track Jennifer White, not when his agency had been retained, so he guessed she was following the guy.
“We should head back,” Jack said. “The police must be there by now.”
Jack pulled out his cell phone, hit Tess. “Can you pick us up on the other side? I don’t want to hike back.”
“What happened?”
“They had a car, got away.”
“Five minutes.”
Jack ended the call and Margo said, “Tess?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
