T he drive to Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue Headquarters was a tense, silent affair, and Buzz felt every second that ticked by like a death knell. He’d been in some tight spots back when he was a cop. He’d come to within an inch of losing his life five years ago when a sixteen-year-old with a Saturday-night special had come out of nowhere and put a bullet in his spine. But even during that horrible instant when he’d known he was seriously—perhaps even fatally—hurt, Buzz hadn’t been as scared as he was tonight.
The repercussions of Kelly’s news rocked him to his foundation. And even though Buzz had never wanted children, he knew he would do everything in his power to protect what was his and bring that little boy home.
Back when they were married, Kelly had wanted children. Boys or girls, it never mattered to her. Buzz had seen too much of the dark side of the world to want to bring an innocent child into it. His own childhood had been a nightmare of neglect and subtle psychological abuses. Buzz had survived, but he’d known at a very young age he would never have children. Four years as a detective in the Child Abuse Division of the Denver PD had solidified that decision. He’d made his position clear to Kelly in the three years they’d been married. It had always been a point of contention between them. Kelly would never agree, but Buzz believed his not wanting children was one of the main reasons their marriage had failed.
Lord have mercy, he hadn’t expected this to happen.
Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue Headquarters was lit up like a football stadium when Buzz turned into the driveway. Not bothering to park away from the building in his usual spot, he drove the SUV through the grass and brought it to a sliding stop ten feet from the front entrance. Kelly had her door open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop.
He knew she was going through hell right now. As angry as he was with her, he would never wish that kind of pain on anyone. He’d never even met his son, yet the instant he’d known, Buzz had felt the connection. A link that was instinctive and primal and ran deep to a place inside him he’d never ventured to explore.
He reached the door first, shoved it open with both hands. The door swung wide with a bang. Aaron “Dispatch” Henderson sat at the communication station, manning the VHF radio. Buzz made eye contact with him, saw wariness enter the younger man’s gaze. Neither of them spoke as Buzz stalked past. He could only imagine how he must look. Back when he’d been a cop, his fellow officers had jokingly called him “scary” when he was angry or intent on a case. Tonight, Buzz bet he looked downright terrifying.
He walked briskly down the hall, his boots thudding solidly against the wood planks. He heard Kelly moving behind him, but he didn’t slow down. The light was on in the galley, and he knew that was where his men had congregated to wait. Working his coat off as he walked, he tossed it at the coat rack, heard it fall to the floor. He didn’t stop to pick it up.
He entered the galley and halted. Four sets of narrowed eyes swept from Buzz to the woman behind him and back to Buzz. He saw the questions in their expressions, but he had no intention of answering any of them. Not tonight. Not until they’d found his son.
Medic John Maitland stood at the front of the room, dressed in his bright orange flight suit. Next to him, Tony “Flyboy” Colorosa, also geared in his flight suit, was pinning a topographical map of White River National Forest on an easel. Jake Madigan and junior medic Pete Scully hovered over the map, but their heads were turned and they were looking at Buzz as if he’d just beamed down from another planet.
Vaguely, Buzz was aware that he was breathing heavily. That his shirt clung damply to his back. He wondered if he was the only one who could hear the jackhammer rhythm of his heart.
“Winch team and night vision are RTG,” John said, using the shorthand term for “ready to go.”
“Chopper is standing by,” Tony added.
Realizing he had yet to explain the situation, Buzz gave himself a quick mental shake and started toward the front of the room. “Take your seats,” he snapped.
The four men shuffled into their seats.
For the first time since he’d begun his career with RMSAR four years earlier, Buzz felt as if he wasn’t in control of the situation. He fought for objectivity, to attain the clarity of mind that had made him such a good cop, such a good team leader—but he knew it was a useless endeavor. When he raised his finger to the map, his hand shook.
“We’ve got a lost boy. Four years old.” He indicated the general location on the map. “White River National Forest. East slope.” Pulling in a deep breath, he looked at Kelly. “They’ll need a description. You’re familiar with the area. I’d like you to point out the exact location. Give us the circumstances.”