Sawyer walked a distance, but then pulled up, frowning. If the potential victim had heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, then that meant she’d been near enough to the road. He turned back, heading in Lopez’s direction once more, his eyes off the side of the trail, frowning as he did. He briefly considered what someone might do when accosted by an unfamiliar party.

Stay on the trail?

Maybe. But what if the aggressor was faster?

His eyes slipped from the dirt jogging path toward the undergrowth and scrap on the side of the road now, surveying every inch he could discern.

He faced the detritus, feet set. Then he stepped sideways once, paused, examined, and repeated the motion.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lopez called.

Sawyer ignored the detective. He took another step, then stiffened. Immediately, he dropped to his haunches, probing with his cell phone light toward water-dappled leaves and, there, the glint of something metallic.

He leaned in and then straightened again, lifting a cellular device.

“What’s that?” Lopez said suddenly, his tone shifting.

“Phone,” Sawyer replied. He grunted, and then glanced toward the leaves again, waving a couple of fingers. He felt a prickle in his chest, and a sudden weight in his stomach. “Blood,” he added, pointing toward the leaves.

He paused long enough to cross himself, using his own phone. He offered up a quiet little prayer beneath his upturned baseball cap, eyes closed as he faced the canopy. And then he returned his attention to Lopez.

“Did you say blood?” the detective asked.

Sawyer nodded silently toward the crimson-speckled leaves, hefting the phone in one hand. Cracked. Out of battery too, it seemed.

At that moment, as Lopez edged in, calling for one of the uniforms by the concrete barrier to come as well, there came the sound of screeching tires.

Sawyer frowned toward where a sedan was pulling in along the shoulder, behind the two squad cars and Sawyer’s own unmarked vehicle.

A Toyota by the looks of it. Old, well-maintained. Maybe belonging to some older married fellow?

He blinked when he spotted the woman scrambling out of the front seat, breathing heavily and brushing her hair on the right side of her cheek. She brushed it forward instead of back. Strange. The woman was wearing sweatpants and an unflattering baggy gray sweatshirt.

She moved toward the police officers by the barrier, but was intercepted by two of them, who held out their hands and began a murmured conversation.

The woman fidgeted uncomfortably, and Sawyer watched as she glanced toward her vehicle, then held up an apologetic hand and hurried back over, testing the handle as if to see if it were locked or not. She checked the door twice, before emitting a soft little sigh of relief and returning to the police officers who were watching her with mounting curiosity.

The woman looked to be in her early thirties. She had arrived at the scene in a hurry, but seemed in control of her emotions and had calmed enough. Even though Sawyer couldn’t quite make out her words from this distance, he could tell she was speaking in a controlled way.