Car Trouble: A Cassidy Callahan Novel. Kelly Rysten

      When I got to Rusty’s office the next day Lou Strickland was already there. I peeked in the window of his office and Rusty rose and opened the door with an appraising look. He hadn’t told me what to wear to a tracking interview and I hadn’t known either. I finally decided not to push the combat look. He’d see through it and he’d assume I was trying to prove a point if I dressed like that. I wore blue jeans, a cute little sleeveless blouse, and my moccasins. I carried a real purse, not the daypack I usually hauled around. I did my hair and makeup. If I had to prove my worth I was going to do it from a woman’s point of view. I wanted my skills to count, not my attitude.

      Lou Strickland stood with a bemused expression on his face. He looked like a combination of my grandfather and a drill instructor in the Marines. He was in his sixties; silver hair cut short, almost a buzz but long enough to spike a little. He was tall, wore twill khaki slacks, a navy blue polo shirt, and casual shoes. The edges of a tattoo showed under his sleeve as he ran his hands through his hair, wondering what in the world this meeting was going to lead to. He shot Rusty a knowing look. That look told me more about Rusty than the past few months did. I was a little alarmed by it but I didn’t let it show. I squared my shoulders and entered the room.

      “Cassidy, this is Lou Strickland. Lou I’d like you to meet Cassidy Callahan.”

      “A pleasure, I’m sure,” Lou said politely, “Michaels told me he had a tracker for me to meet. He didn’t tell me much more. I have to admit I’m a bit surprised.”

      “That’s okay, most people are,” I answered.

      Lou Strickland took the far chair in front of Rusty’s desk so I slipped into the closer one scooting it over so I could watch both men.

      “How did someone your age gain enough experience tracking to get noticed by the local police?”

      “I guess you could say it’s just been a lifelong habit. I can’t remember when I didn’t notice tracks. I grew up on a ranch, and it was easier to track people than look for them. I was doing easy tracking when I was six. Then, when I was old enough to go off into the hills I’d track animals, people, anything that left a trail. The tracking isn’t something I advertise. The police wouldn’t know about it at all except that I got carjacked last spring. The guy that carjacked me was a bank robber and Rusty was assigned to his case. When Silva got away from the police I knew how he had escaped from my yard so I tracked him down to a mobile home park and he was caught. Tracking comes very naturally to me. When Silva got away, it was the natural thing for me to do, find the tracks and track him down. I think it was easier for Rusty to accept the tracking because it was forced on him in an emergency. He didn’t have time to question it.”

      “An emergency, the easy way?”

      I looked at Rusty. “Most people don’t take tracking seriously. If I actually tell someone I’m a tracker they never believe me. But the situation I found myself in when I met Rusty called for some quick tracking skills and so I kind of forced the concept onto him. What do you think? Was it easier to accept me as a tracker when you saw it first hand and had no choice but to follow?”

      “I never really thought about it like that,” he said, “I was thinking more along the lines of how I was going to keep you from getting your head blown off.”

      This seemed to amuse Lou, too. At least he seemed like an easygoing kind of guy. I was sure when it came right down to it, though, his serious side would be extremely evident.

      “Look, you can ask me all the questions you want, but what it really boils down to is, can I follow a trail? Give me a trail and I’ll read it for you and you can decide for yourself.”

      “As a matter of fact I do have a trail for you. It’s two days old, through varying terrains. It’s just out of town.” He looked at Rusty. “You want to go? If you’d made the appointment yesterday the trail would have been fresher.”

      “Sorry,” I apologized, “I had car trouble. I was stuck up on Mount Pacifico and had to hike out.”

      He gave me a look that said, ‘Why was a little kid like you up on Mount Pacifico all by yourself?’ I was used to that look. I couldn’t help it if I looked like I was fifteen. In fact I looked a lot like Skipper, the well-known little friend/sister of Barbie. Throw in a little G.I. Joe and that was what I looked like. When I was up in the mountains I wore camouflage pants, khaki t-shirts, moccasins. Yep, Skipper meets G.I. Joe, that’s me.

      And, as usual, I asked myself, ‘Why is it I couldn’t do anything without surprising guys? What’s a girl supposed to do if she gets stuck somewhere? I’d still be up there if I’d waited for some camper to pull the Jeep out.’

      We piled into Lou’s red Suburban. Knowing guys like to be as close to the driving experience as possible, I automatically got in the backseat but Rusty got in the backseat too. We rode a short distance out of town and Lou turned down a dirt road. He pulled over about a half mile down. I opened my door and looked at the ground before getting out. I wasn’t going to fall for the obvious trick that I expected him to pull on me. A beginner would automatically assume the trail took off from the passenger side of the car but I wasn’t assuming anything. The passenger side was just the easiest way for a person to go.

      I faced the back of the Suburban, took ten paces behind the vehicle, and then began a wide circle. Just as I had suspected, I picked up the trail on the far side of the road.

      “How much do you want to know? Do you just want me to find the end of the trail? Or do you want to know details along the way?”

      “Some observations would be nice, but unnecessary. Just do what you feel comfortable doing.”

      Just in case, I marked the start of the trail and walked down the road to see if there was more. I’m glad I’d walked up the road because he’d started with a simple trail but further down had set up an elaborate scenario that mimicked a real emergency. Maybe they had held a drill out here and he was wondering how observant I was. A beginner would have just tracked the simple trail assuming that was test enough. Assumptions. You can’t go with assumptions, especially in search and rescue. One assumption and you could endanger someone.

      I looked at the road and it appeared as though a car had collided with a motorcycle. The car came along the dirt road and the motorcycle had suddenly appeared from the desert, crossing the road and hitting the car. The deep gouge through the mound of sand on the side of the road told me the motorcycle had been traveling fast when it hit the car. The car ended up sitting diagonally across the road and two people had gotten out.

      “Okay,” I said reading the ground. “We’ve got a crash here involving a small car and a motorcycle. The biker was riding through the desert and came up the bank and ran into the front fender of the car. The car came to a stop diagonally across the road and the motorcycle ended up on its side over there,” I said pointing. “Two people exited the car. A man exited the driver’s side. He was small for a man. Maybe five-five, a hundred and fifty pounds. He has a short stride. He came around and opened the passenger door and a woman got out. She looks like she is heavier. She just stands there like she doesn’t want to move. She could be just shaken up by the accident. She’s leaning back on her heals a lot like she’s off balance. Maybe she’s pregnant. The guy fusses over her and then trots off to check out the motorcyclist.” I followed the footprints to where the motorcycle had lain. There was real blood on the ground. Shock immediately replaced my study of the ground. I turned to Lou. “You didn’t set this up. This is real.”

      “You’re right, the first trail was the one I set up. But this is telling me more than any trail would have.”

      “Why are there no tracks from police? Firemen? It’s like these people just crashed and went on their way again. But the motorcyclist was injured. There should be more to this than what the tracks show. There’s one set of car tracks over the accident scene. It must have happened earlier today. There’s not a whole lot of traffic on this road.” I went back to the man’s footprints. “He walked up to the motorcyclist and knelt down. The guy on the motorcycle was lying next to his bike and had rolled around a bit. The