Title Page
Note to Readers
On his first day off in three months, Detective Dalton Stevens shouldered his backpack and set out after his wife. He knew she’d be surprised to see him and possibly furious. She’d tell him that trial separations meant the couple separated. Well, the hell with that.
His wife, outdoor adventure specialist Erin Stevens, was up here in the Adirondacks somewhere. He had arrived last night, but as it was dark and he didn’t know the location of her guided excursion, he’d had to wait until this morning. That meant she was well ahead of him. It seemed like he’d been chasing after Erin ever since he met her, and the woman knew how to play hard to get. But this time was different. This time he really didn’t think she wanted to be caught. She wanted a separation. In his mind, separation was just code for impending divorce. Well, the hell with that, too.
Dalton adjusted the straps on his shoulders. He couldn’t use the padded hip strap because it rubbed against his healing stomach wound.
The group she was leading had already been at it a full day. Normally he could have caught them by now. But nothing was normal since he’d told her he’d been cleared by the department physician to return to active duty.
“Did you hear anything I said?” she’d asked.
“I heard you, Erin,” Dalton said to the endless uphill trail. Roots crisscrossed the path, and moss grew on the damp rocks that littered the way. He’d lost his footing twice, and the twisting caused a pain in his middle that made him double over in agony.
Cleared for duty did not mean cleared for hiking with a fifty-pound pack. It would have been lighter if he’d left the tent, but he knew his wife’s tent was a single. He’d packed one that suited two. Ever hopeful, he thought. Now if he could just get her in there, he was certain the starlight and the fresh air would clear her mind.
She was always happiest in the outdoors. Erin seemed to glow with health and contentment in this bug-infested, snake-ridden, root-laden wilderness. Meanwhile, he couldn’t tell poison ivy from fern, and the last time he’d carried a pack was in Afghanistan.
He stopped again to catch his breath, drawing out his mobile phone and finding he still had no service.
“Nature,” he scoffed. He’d take a neighborhood with a quality pizza joint any day.
Erin’s boss, and the director of the adult adventure camp, had given him a directions to the trailhead by phone and Dalton had picked up a topographical map. If he was reading this correctly, he should reach their second camping site shortly after they did. Yesterday they had used the kayaks to paddle the Hudson River before stopping for their first camp. This morning they should arrive here to await the scheduled release of water from Lake Abanakee this evening. This area of the Hudson was above the family rafting sites and would be wild running tomorrow, according to the director. The director said he would alert one of the rafting outfits to keep an eye out for him tomorrow, in case he needed a lift downriver.
Meanwhile, this trail from O-K Slip Road was all rocks and roots, and he seemed to catch
