Explosive Trail
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Terri Reed
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Juneâs muted sunlight jabbed through the canopy of towering old-growth conifer trees, lighting the moss-covered trunks and making the verdant green more vibrant on either side of the hiking trail deep in the Hoh Rain Forest of the Olympic National Park of Washington State. A mist hung in the air, dampening Pacific Northwest K-9 officer Willow Batesâs hair and beading on the waterproof ballistic vest covering her canineâs torso.
Star, a German shorthaired pointer specializing in explosives and weapons detection, sniffed along the narrow trail cut through the thick ferns deep in the woods, searching for explosive devices. Two days ago, such a device had been detonated at the trailhead of a hiking trail near Madison Falls, and a pair of hikers had suffered minor injuries. Thus far no one had claimed responsibility for the bombing.
Anger for the senselessness burned in Willowâs gut, digging at an old wound and renewing her determination to protect the park and its inhabitants. A resolve that had already cost her so much.
The ache in her heart throbbed, but she refused to dwell on the past.
Pausing to let Star check out a rotted, felled tree trunk, Willow searched the shadowed forest. A sense of foreboding tightened the muscles across her shoulders. Maybe coming out alone today had been a mistake.
She put her hand on the flak vest covering her abdomen. Not really alone. But still...
Willowâs boss, Chief Donovan Fanelli, had sent Willow and another PNK9 officer, Jackson Dean, and his Doberman, Rex, out to patrol the park. Because the Olympic National Park encompassed nearly a million acres of diverse ecosystems ranging from glacier mountains to rain forests to the seventy miles of wild coastline, she and Jackson had taken different sections of the park.
Jackson had with him two of the recruited candidates vying for a spot with the PNK9 unit. The four K-9 officer candidates were trying out by shadowing team members while being evaluated on their skills and to see if they would fit in with the unit. Donovan had told Willow she would have a candidate with her soon, but the remaining two were helping on another case in one of the other national parks in the state that the Pacific Northwest K-9 Unit patrolled.
Normally, Willow enjoyed teaching others about the job that had given her such purpose, but after the news sheâd received recently, she was still processing and had set out by herself with Star. Until now, sheâd confidently patrolled these beloved trails, determined to keep this part of her world safe. As a kid sheâd always imagined this rain forest as being something close to the Shire from Tolkienâs books. Becoming a park ranger had been her dream since she was little.
Then somebody had blown up the kiosk at the north park entrance at the exact moment her father had gone to pay for day parking.
Because sheâd begged him to take her hiking in the park.
The culprit had never been caught.
The tragedy had formed Willowâs future.
Working in the national park gave her a sense of purpose, belonging. And she would not let anything or anyone deter her from protecting this part of her world.
Not even her husband.
Make that her soon-to-be ex-husband.
A stab of grief wrapped up in disappointment hit her smack-dab in the middle of her heart.
Signs of trampled undergrowth redirected her thoughts to the task at hand, and she steered Star over, giving the search command. While Star did her job of sniffing out explosive residue, Willow allowed her senses to grow attuned to her surroundings.
A rustling off to her left had her nerves jumping. Probably one of the many animals that called the rain forest home. Star lost interest in the underbrush and started down the trail. Willow followed, trying hard not to think about the man whoâd stolen her heart seven years ago and had broken it more recently.
Starâs pace picked up, stretching her leash taut, her nose lifting in the air and then going to the ground. Willow released more of the lead attached to the dogâs collar, allowing Star to range farther ahead. The dog was tracking something. Anticipation revved in Willowâs veins and refocused her attention.
As a trailhead sign came into view, marking where the trail she was on split into two different trails leading in opposite directions, Willowâs stomach knotted.
She lifted up a quick prayer. Please, Lord, no. Not another one.
The forensic team had determined the last explosive device had been set on a timer and attached to the base of the trailhead sign, allowing the suspect to be far from the explosion.
Sure enough, Star stopped at the sign and sat staring at the large wooden block atop a thick post with the names of the trails and arrows pointing away from each other carved into the face. This was Starâs passive alert for an explosive device.
A bomb must be attached to the backside of the sign or the post. Willow reined Star close and kept an alert eye out for anyone suspicious; she was thankful there were no hikers in sight. After giving her partner a treat, she hustled away several yards, keeping Star close.
She didnât know what a safe distance would be, since she had no idea the blast radius of whatever device was attached to the sign or how it might trigger. She contemplated peeking to locate the device, to determine size and if it was rigged with a timer or remote detonator, but then decided she would wait for help. Once again, she put her hand over her abdomen. Her baby was safe beneath the flak vest covering Willowâs torso.
She needed to be patient. Jackson would send the bomb unit to her location. Until then, she needed to make sure no civilians wandered into the area. She thumbed the mic on her uniform.
The radio crackled, and then Jacksonâs voice came over the radio. âWillow?â
âStar has alerted. Turning on my GPS locator.â She gave him her location and hit the small device attached to her flak vest, knowing it would send a signal back to headquarters and they in turn would send it to Jackson.
âOn our way. Calling for reinforcements,â Jackson replied, his voice clipped with concern. âStay safe.â
Willow clicked off. Star lifted her head, her tail standing straight up, and her ears twitched. The dog was spooked. A shiver of unease lodged in Willowâs chest.
âWhat is it, girl?â Willow whispered, her gaze sweeping the trail ahead and the shadowed woods, but didnât see what had grabbed Starâs attention. Willow didnât have the hearing, the eyesight or the scent receptors of the German shorthaired pointer at her side. Something was out there. An ominous dread skated over Willowâs flesh.
Suddenly Star pivoted, staring past Willow at something or someone behind them. Apprehension traipsed up Willowâs spine, raising the fine hairs at the nape of her neck.
Star let out a series of vicious barks. Willowâs free hand went for her holstered weapon while she hung on tight to the leash tethering her partner to her side. Star lunged past Willow, yanking painfully on Willowâs arm. She tightened her hold on the lead and pivoted, but before she could face the threat, she was shoved forward.
She tripped over Starâs body and went down hard on the ground, sprawling flat on her belly. The sound of running footsteps crashing through the forest jerked Willowâs gaze around. She caught a glimpse of a person in camouflaged, hooded rain gear before they disappeared into the thick undergrowth of tall ferns, young cedars and bushes.
Star ran to the end of her lead, clearly intent on giving chase, but Willow refused to let go of the handle of the long nylon leash.
Just as she righted herself on to all fours, the device Star had alerted on detonated, rocking the ground beneath Willowâs hands and knees. Something sharp dug into her shoulder, flattening her on the ground. The concussive sound of the blast assaulted her ears, filling her head, along with Starâs sharp whining cry.
Willow lay panting in pain and waiting for help to arrive.
âWhere is my wife?â FBI special agent Theo Bates demanded as he charged up to the nursesâ station inside the Olympic Medical Center in Port Angeles, Washington.
The sounds of hushed voices and monitors beeping and the distinct anesthetic smell filling his nose, coupled with his fear, made him nauseous. Less than five hours ago, heâd received a call from Donovan Fanelli, the chief of the PNK9 unit, telling him Willow had been injured in a bomb blast in the middle of the Olympic National Park.
Theo had finagled a ride on a private jet from Washington, DC, to Seattle. From there, Chief Donovan Fanelli had transported Theo via helicopter to the helipad atop the hospital. Theo hadnât waited for Donovan to even shut off the helicopterâs rotors before heâd jumped out and run full speed into the building.
Now he wanted answers.
âAnd your wife would be?â The mature nurse stared him down from behind the desk.
âWillow Bates,â Theo ground out, desperately trying to rein in his panic and fear. He and his wife might be on the brink of divorce, but he was having a hard time erasing seven years of caring from his heart, despite his unworthiness.
âGive me a moment,â the woman said. She typed on a keyboard and then said, âSheâs in room 303.â
Theo turned on the heels of his Florsheim shoes and hurried for the elevator. He jabbed the button. His heart raced, the vibrations working their way through his body. He shook out his hands, trying to get a grip on his emotions. Anxiety twisted his insides like warped metal after a car crash. Heâd always known this day might come with Willow working in bomb detection, but the reality of her being hurt was so much worse. He hadnât been here to protect her. In fact, heâd spent the last year pushing her away because he didnât deserve to have the happiness they had once shared.
When the doors of the elevator opened on the third floor, he burst out and marched to the next nursesâ station. He flashed his badge, saying, âIâm here to see Willow Bates.â
The startled nurse behind the counter pointed down the hall. Theo strode at a fast clip toward his wifeâs room, the fear of what he might find clamping down on his throat. Images of another personâs death, one he was responsible for, taunted his mind, nearly robbing him of breath. The door to room 303 opened, and he collided with a tall, bespectacled doctor.
âWhoa, there,â the doctor said, blocking Theo from entering. âWho are you?â
âIâm her husband,â Theo told him. At least for now.
The doctorâs eyes widened, then softened. âSheâs been given a sedative and is resting.â
Theoâs heart thumped against his ribs. âWhat are her injuries?â
âShe took a piece of debris in her right shoulder. Thankfully, it missed any vital organs. Sheâs had three stitches. But she and the baby are both fine.â
Theoâs breath halted in his chest. The need to breathe burned, but he couldnât seem to take in air. Baby?
He stumbled backward a few steps as the world spun. He bent and planted his hands on his knees and put his head down as he grappled to make sense of what heâd just heard.
âLetâs get you a seat,â the doctor said.
Theo held up a hand, waving off the manâs concern.
âYou can go in and sit with her,â the doctor said. âBut she will be out of it for a little while.â
Theo straightened, his breath returning to some semblance of normal, though his insides were twisting like hands wringing out a wet rag. âHow far along is she?â
âTwelve weeks, give or take,â the doctor told him. âCongratulations, Daddy.â
Roughly around the time theyâd separated. The heartbreaking last weekend together, trying to save their marriage, had been three months ago. A knife of pain jabbed Theo in the heart. He was unworthy to be a husband, let alone a father. He didnât deserve any goodness in his life. Was God punishing him?
He barely offered the doctor a nod of acknowledgment before he pushed open the door to Willowâs room. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her lying in the bed with her eyes closed, her skin so pale. Her beautiful brown hair splayed over the pillow. An IV was attached to her hand. She lay so still, a real-life Sleeping Beauty. Willow loved fairy tales. He remembered her telling him how her late father used to read to her at night when she was a child.
And now she was pregnant with their child.
His throat closed. He had to work hard to keep the emotions clawing through him from finding purchase. Hold it together, he warned himself. Now was not the time to fall apart. He had to stay strong. To stay focused. If he gave the horrors that plagued him any space, heâd splinter into a million pieces. Heâd be no good to anyone, let alone the mother of his child.
His child.
The thought sent a new and unfamiliar sort of terror sliding through him.
He walked quietly into the room, unwilling to disturb her, and pulled the chair to her bedside. Taking her free hand, he held tight. Her skin felt cold against his palms. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her knuckles, giving himself momentary permission to feel something other than pain. Then he bowed his head. The need to pray rose strongly from deep inside. Yet he couldnât form any words or thoughts to lift heavenward.
He didnât deserve Godâs care.
And now he was adrift, holding on to the only anchor heâd ever wanted or needed. But the chasm between them was wide and deep. A separation of his own making. There was no bridge that would ever close the gap. It was too late for them as a couple. But how would they go forward with a child?
Willow awoke to a sensation of well-being. Strange, considering sheâd survived an attack in the woods and stitches in her shoulder where the debris from the bomb had hit her. The meds the paramedics had given her made her brain foggy, and then the doctor had given her more. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the light filtering in through the window made her wince. Her hand ached where the IV had been placed and was hooked up to a bag filled with liquid. A monitor kept track of her heart rate and her pulse.
Her other hand was encased in something warm and soothing.
Turning her head slightly, she let out a silent gasp to find her husbandâscratch thatâher soon-to-be ex-husband sitting beside her. Theoâs head was bowed. A lock of his warm brown hair had fallen over his eyes, keeping her from seeing his expression. He was dressed in his official FBI uniform, not his undercover garb, a navy blue suit with a white shirt and red-white-and-blue-striped tie. On his lapel was the insignia pin that all special agents wore. So handsome. She immediately tamped the attraction down. He was a stranger to her now. Not the man sheâd once loved. The man sheâd married.
Why was he here? How was he here? She glanced around, growing agitated as she realized Star was not in the room. Had she been hurt? Willow searched her memory, but the effort only made her brain hurt. No doubt a side effect from the pain meds and the concussion sheâd sustained last month.
She tugged her hand from Theoâs grasp.
His head snapped up, his eyes wide then narrowing on her face. âYouâre awake.â
âThanks, Captain Obvious.â An old joke between them. He had a habit of stating what was evident. Heâd always told her it helped him to process information.
He gave her that crooked smile she loved. Or rather, had loved at one time. Pain jabbed at her. She turned away from him. âWhereâs Star?â
At Theoâs hesitation, her gaze jerked back to him. Her breath lodged in her throat. Please God, donât let Star have suffered.
âIâm sorry,â he said. She closed her eyes as grief swamped her. âI didnât think to ask Donovan where they sent Star.â
Her gaze met his. âSheâs not dead?â
He reached for her hand again and squeezed. âNo, no. Sheâs fine. I just donât know where she is.â
Willow sank back into the cushion of the bed, letting relief wash over her. Belatedly she realized Theo had taken her hand again. But she didnât have the energy to shake him off. Or the willpower.
âWhen were you going to tell me?â
She stared at the ceiling, counting the little dots in the panels above her. âTell you what?â
âAbout the baby?â
