Wilderness Pursuit. Michelle Karl

do no such thing.”

      “You can’t—”

      “How well did telling me what I can’t do work out for us before? I’ll take him. You go after the bad guys and find my camera. I dropped it when they hit me.”

      She had a point. Telling Kara what to do had never gotten him anywhere, save pushing her away and ending their relationship. But it had been her decision to go to school thousands of kilometers away, so their breakup hadn’t all been his fault. Could she really blame him for asking her to stay in the province, or even the country, after high school? He’d loved her. She’d said it back to him, so he’d thought she felt the same way. Apparently they’d both been wrong.

      He stood and scanned the ground for her camera. He saw no point in running through the woods after those goons—they could have gone anywhere, and the forest was both vast and filled with dangers. He’d take a look around the site for hints or clues to their identity, but it was never wise to run after someone in the undeveloped wilderness all alone, especially with twilight rolling in and a possible storm coming off the coast tonight. The weather reports had been shifting back and forth all day, but as of an hour ago before he saddled up Brenik, the forecast had swung in favor of the winds shifting and bringing the storm inland.

      “Did you find it? I’m heading to my car.”

      He turned to see Kara with the foreman in her arms. She seemed to be having no trouble hoisting the weight of a full-grown man. What on earth did she do for a living that would bring her out here, anyway?

      “I don’t see it,” he said. “Sorry. We can come out tomorrow and have another look around, if you like. We can also file a report and order a new one in, but it won’t get here for a few days. Did you bring a cell phone you can take pictures with?”

      Kara’s features softened and fell, her hard edge replaced with mild despair. “What do you mean, it’s not there? Did those guys take it? Well, that’s great. And I don’t suppose you see any small pieces of bone near your feet?”

      He shook his head. “No, but that’s a good thing, right?”

      Her expression darkened. “It’s not good at all. When I got here, I thought I saw a piece of bone, and it didn’t belong to an animal.”

      That was unexpected. “How can you know that?”

      “I’m a trained archaeologist, Sam. And finding human remains here means that this is a burial site, which means a lot of other things we can discuss once this man gets help. But if my camera was stolen...let’s just say those guys seemed willing to kill us to get it. Whoever that burial belongs to? Someone doesn’t want me to find it.”

       TWO

      Kara thundered through the forest toward her and Mike’s cars. Her camera, gone? She was even more convinced that she hadn’t been seeing things. The site had definitely been disturbed—quickly and messily—and that had been a human bone in the dirt. The laying of new pipelines was almost always rife with controversy in Canada, especially when a great deal of land was once traditional First Nations territory, with some areas still claimed by First Nations people. As a result, it was often inevitable that a government-mandated archaeological survey—a requirement before a company could start digging—would turn up First Nations artifacts or ancient burial sites.

      The artifacts were manageable. They would be sent first to a research lab and then eventually to either a museum or be returned to their people of origin. Finding a burial, on the other hand, was a whole other situation that could require weeks, months or even years of delays for a construction project. There were further studies to be done, forms to be filled out, relatives to be contacted and specific cultural ceremonies to be conducted. Regardless of how ancient or recent the burial, respect for the deceased and their relatives always came first, but that didn’t mean that everyone was happy to allow companies to dig up the land. If someone wanted her camera—which now held visual proof that the site contained a possible burial—it likely meant that Gaida Industries already had protestors working to stop the dig. It was a tricky situation, because while finding bones would mean stopping the pipeline’s construction for a brief time, it wouldn’t otherwise stop archaeologists from coming in to dig up the land. But protesters usually set up camp next to the area where they were making a land claim—they didn’t just grab evidence or disturb the land and disappear.

      No matter who had attacked her and the foreman or for what reason, it made Kara’s job harder, but not impossible.

      Sam drew alongside her on horseback. She was still having trouble processing it—Sam Thrace, an RCMP officer in Fort Mason. In high school, he’d always said that he’d rather become a transient wanderer than end up in law enforcement like his father. The youngest of three brothers, Sam had always had big, unrealistic dreams that lasted for only months at a time before his interest turned elsewhere. He’d been unfocused, prone to laziness, happier to talk about what he’d like to do in life rather than actually strive toward any concrete goals. Literally the only concrete goal she remembered him having was “don’t end up in law enforcement like Dad.”

      And now, having him here at Fort Mason? Also made her job harder...but not impossible.

      “Take the main road south about two clicks, then head east at the first intersection. It’ll take you straight into town.”

      “I know how to get to Fort Mason, Sam.”

      “But you’ll want to go to the clinic and then come to the station. The health clinic is west of Queen Street, second building on your right. Beige siding, parking around back.”

      “Thanks.” It was hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. Old, negative emotions warred with a sense of gratefulness that he’d arrived when he did. If he hadn’t been there, would their attackers have done worse? “I’ll come right over to file a police report after I get Mike in to see a doctor. I’ll need to visit the Gaida Industries office, too. They need to know about this, and I’d rather do it in person than call.”

      “Agreed. I’d like to speak to them, as well.”

      As they reached the edge of the woods, Kara prepared to say goodbye—and then groaned at the sight of the cars. Flat tires faced the road, and she was fairly certain that she had only one spare inside the rental. She sighed and gritted her teeth. Someone really didn’t want her here, and they’d made sure she couldn’t go for help after that attack if she’d lived. “I don’t suppose you can call a tow truck?”

      Sam slid from his horse and patted the tall black creature’s neck. Kara didn’t miss how the animal leaned into his touch. She’d never really been a horse person, but she appreciated animals of all kinds—it was hard not to, working out in the field. There was nothing like having bits of her lunch stolen by a curious, inquisitive squirrel.

      He rounded both vehicles and shook his head, sighing. “Whoever those guys were, they were definitely in a rush. Only the tires facing the road are slashed. Want me to see if the two tires on the foreman’s car will fit on yours? Looks about the same size. I can do it quickly. Unless...” He paused and looked at her, as though he expected her to snap at him again.

      “That would be great, thank you.” She knew how to change tires, and part of her wanted to tell him so. But that wouldn’t help either of them.

      Less than ten minutes later, Sam had the tires changed, and Kara had secured the foreman in the backseat of her car.

      “Be careful heading in,” Sam said. “I called the station while changing the tires and told them what happened out here, but the truth is that there aren’t regular patrols too far outside of town. I only came out here thanks to a tip about a possible grow-op up this way. Whoever those guys were, I doubt they’ll come after you while you’re on the road, but you can’t be too careful.”

      She slid into the driver’s seat and buckled the seat belt. “What about you?”