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there.”
    “Mike already did a sweep,” Rob informed him, then clapped him on the back. “You can go home, take a load off. We appreciate you helping out on such short notice.”
    He’d be willing to bet that Mike hadn’t found this so-called Templar camp. “Happy to help out. Just the same,” Colt drawled. “I’ll swing through. Ease my mind a little.” He nodded at Rob. “If I find someone, I’ll bring ’em back to the motel in my Jeep.” It was safely parked on the side of the highway a mile and a half away, clear of any mud or flooding.
    “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re just fine, then,” Rob said cheerfully.
    “I’ll check in,” Colt said.
    “Oh, that’s not necessary—” At Colt’s look, he realized he’d said something wrong, and added, “But, uh, check in anyhow.”
    “I’ll check in,” Colt repeated, his words a little flat. The military would never leave a man out in the field and not have him check in. That was just bullshit.
    “Good call,” Mike said, slapping Colt on the back.
    “Can’t be too careful.” He patted the plastic-covered satellite phone at his belt. “I’ll call you later and let you know when I’ve left.”
    “Gotcha,” Rob said, and stuck out a hand. “Thanks again, man.”
    “You bet,” Colt said. He made a mental note to discuss additional training for the volunteer group when he got back. They were pretty sad as far as volunteer groups went. And while he didn’t expect them to follow military tenets, common sense was still necessary.
    Colt grabbed a flashlight, tipped his sodden baseball cap at Rob, and headed off into the woods and the downpour. He ignored the twinge in his bad knee. It’d just have to wait.
    He checked every campsite. They all seemed to go in a half circle through the woods and were pretty easy to find. He was disgusted at the sight of them, too. Fire pits too close to tents—luckily for them, the water had washed away any embers—cans and empty bottles everywhere. Some of it was the rain but some of it, he knew, was carelessness, and he hated that. Damn idiots. He hated to see the land being ruined by a bunch of fools. They could stand a few lessons on wilderness survival themselves, he thought. Of course, Grant would see this as a business opportunity.
    But Grant wasn’t out here in the middle of the night, in the rain and the mud. Colt was, and he found their lack of care annoying as shit.
    The Templar camp wasn’t anywhere in the neat half circle of campsites, and he knew it wouldn’t be. When Lucy had mentioned it, she’d made it sound like quite a hike away, and had noted a stream with a fallen log that he was familiar with. He finished his sweep of all of the other campsites first, just to be sure. He found each one full of debris, camping gear, and discarded foam weapons. The rain hadn’t let up, and the ground was turning into a muddy sludge. Whoever had purchased this land hadn’t bothered to do anything but clear away the trees for the parking lot. No wonder all the cars were stuck in the morass of mud.
    When he’d finished checking all the campsites, he doubled back and headed deeper into the woods, looking for the Templar campsite—or Beth Ann.
    The trail was mostly washed out at this point, but Colt didn’t need it. Even in the downpour, he knew which direction he was headed; an advantage, he suspected, that Beth Ann probably did not have. But he took his time, searching the area to make sure that there were no other stragglers, and watching his steps. It was dark, and wet, and cold, and those three things would be an unpleasant combination for anyone not used to the elements.
    He went farther into the woods, past the circle of campsites. He found the stream Lucy had mentioned, now swollen and overflowing, and crossed the log that served as a bridge to the other side. He’d been making his way slowly through the woods for some time, noticing that the ground sloped up ever so gently, when