“You have a lot more patience than I do,” Rainie said.

“Not really.”

Harold was back with Sheriff Duffy and Sal in tow. “Skeeter says his dogs need a break. He’s not sure if they’ve lost the scent, or they’re just getting fatigued, but either way, now would be a good time to rest. He’ll take them off for a bit and we can get going on searching the clearing.”

Duff cleared his throat. “All right, I’ll assemble my men. You’ll tell us what to do?”

“Absolutely.”

Duff headed over to his deputies, who were shaking out their rain gear and downing bottles of water. In five minutes, he had the group assembled and Rachel gave them the official rundown on how to probe for clandestine graves. Then Harold lined them up, the inexperienced volunteers sandwiched between the pros from the ERT. Sal ended up standing beside Kimberly, neither of them speaking, as they prepared for the first step forward.

The storm had finally passed, the rocks steaming up as the afternoon sun broke through the dark clouds. Beneath her rain poncho, Kimberly shifted restlessly, feeling the building heat, the sweaty discomfort of fabric that didn’t breathe. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Sal and was aware of him returning the favor.

She should say something, break the ice before Mac showed up, took one look at the both of them, and assumed the worst.

Second step. Third. Fourth. Somewhere down the line one of the deputies made an excited exclamation and Harold helped him stick in a yellow flag. Mostly, however, the officers exchanged concerned frowns. Did I just feel a dead body? What did a dead body feel like anyway? Until you’d been through the drill a few times, it was hard to know.

Kimberly found a loose pocket. Flagged it. Beside her, Sal cursed under his breath.

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s…something. But maybe it’s a rock something or a root something or a clump of dirt. It’s hard, but too small to be a bone.”

“Bones can be quite small,” she supplied mildly. “If you’re not sure, flag it. Better safe than sorry.”

“I don’t know how you can do this for a living,” Sal muttered, flagging the site.

“Because every now and then, we find the smoking gun. Or the body of the missing girl whose parents have had to wait four years for the funeral. Or maybe, just a gold wedding band. It doesn’t sound like much, but when your loved one was on the plane that hit the Pentagon, a wedding band is all that’s left. And you’ll take it. You’ll take anything to hold on tight and help you grieve.”

Sal opened his mouth, looked like he might say something, but then another shout went out, calling for a yellow flag. The line ordered up, and on Harold’s count, took the next step forward, moving quicker now as everyone got the hang of it.

By the time they crossed the clearing, three dozen yellow flags protruded like dandelions in the meadow. Kimberly didn’t like it. The spacing wasn’t right. The flags were too haphazard, too random. Given the size of a shallow grave, there should be clusters of flags where multiple steps or multiple people encountered an object. There wasn’t.

Kimberly could tell from ten feet back that Rachel shared her opinion. The redhead had both hands on her hips and was scowling.

“What do you want to do?” Harold was asking.

“Grid it, of course,” Rachel snapped. “Don’t have a choice really. When in doubt, trowel it out.” She ran a hand through her hair. “We have both too many flags and not enough. Dammit.”

“We could bring up a cadaver dog,” Kimberly suggested. “See if one hits.”

“We could’ve used cadaver dogs?” Sal spoke up.

“Gotta probe it first,” Rachel commented absently, chewing her lower lip. “The probing releases the decomp gases. You allow thirty, forty minutes for everything to ripen and settle, then bring in the cadaver dog. Works like a charm.”

“It took us four hours to get up that trail,” Sal pointed out. “No way we’re gonna get a dog in the next thirty minutes. What about the bloodhounds?”

“The team is a search team, already working a scent. This’ll just confuse them.” Harold spoke up. He was regarding Rachel. “We could split the crew,” he suggested. “Leave half of us here to start working these flags, send the other half with LuLu and Fancy, assuming they catch the scent again. Might as well check out the summit. Least then we’ll have a better idea for where to start tomorrow.”

“Mountain’s only so big,” Kimberly commented. “If it’s not here, it’s close.”

Rachel nodded absently. “Yeah, okay. Find Skeeter, see what he has to say about his dogs. We’ll break the team in half. The tired ones”-her gaze flickered to Kimberly-“will stay here. The maniacs”-her gaze flickered to Harold-“can continue on to the summit, look for a better site.”

Kimberly was not amused to be lumped in with the less fit members of her team. Then again, her belly ached and she was starving. Harold went to find Skeeter. Sal announced to the group in general that now would be a good time to eat.

He followed Kimberly over to where Rainie and Quincy had taken up position on a fallen log. Quincy was munching on granola. Rainie had king-size Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Kimberly sat next to Rainie.

“Peanut butter cup?” Rainie asked.

“Absolutely. Pudding?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Sal had a ham sandwich, which was quickly ruled too boring by the women. They sat in comfortable silence, shedding their raincoats and munching on their snacks until Sal looked over at Kimberly, did a little double take, and went pale.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

“What?” Kimberly asked in surprise, immediately starting to move.

“DON’T MOVE!”

This time, she stilled, starting to look at Sal in alarm. “What?” she whispered.

“Rainie,” he ordered softly, “you’re closer. There, on her shoulder, do you see it?”

“It’s a spider.” Rainie spoke up, then frowned. “Why are we this excited about a little brown spider?”

“Oh no,” Kimberly looked at Sal with dread. “A brown recluse?”

He nodded.

“I thought they were shy,” she said weakly, very conscious now of the exposed skin on her neck, the scoop collar of her shirt, the salty sweat drying at the base of her throat.

“Maybe they like peanut butter cups.” Sal had put down his sandwich. He stood, took a step closer, eyes on her left shoulder. “I’m going to try to do this quickly.”

“Is it on my shirt?”

“Not quite.”

She closed her eyes. “You have to be committed, Sal. Once you move, just get the damn thing off. If you hesitate…the spider will panic and bite.”

“I know, I know.”

Rainie and Quincy had gotten to their feet, clearly very concerned. Then Rainie glanced over at Quincy, yelled, “Shit,” and slapped his collarbone. He was still looking confused when Rainie went after his shoulder and the top of his thigh.

“One, two, three,” Sal counted quickly, and smacked Kimberly’s shoulder. The minute he did, she leapt from the log, whirling around.

“Holy crap,” Sal cried out and whacked her back three times.

“What is it? What is it?”

“Spiders. There are…spiders. Everywhere.”

The four fell back from the log. And now Kimberly could just make them out, thin, delicate brown bodies running across the crumbling bark, looking desperately for a place to hide.

Rainie was dancing around, trying to check her front, her back, her sides, while Quincy ordered her to stay still so he could help out. Then Sal was spinning in little circles, checking his shoes and socks, the bare skin of his calves.

Kimberly watched them all, looking from the people to the spider-covered log to the people again. Crawford-Hale had told them that brown recluses were shy. She had said it would be uncommon to encounter them, and yet here was an entire infestation.

At the end of a trail that had been hiked by Dinchara and his captive. In a clearing that would be perfect for disposing bodies, except none of the flags made sense.