Unstoppable by Laura Griffin

she asked. “I don’t keep cash around ever since the break-in. Oh, wait.” She popped up and disappeared into the back of the camper. He heard her shuffling around, and then she returned with four rolls of quarters. “Laundry money,” she said, dropping the rolls on the tables.
    Gage dug a twenty-dollar bill out of his bag and traded it for two of the rolls.
    He dealt. She picked up her cards, and a wicked smile spread across her face, as if he’d just given her a pair of aces. But he saw straight through her bluff.
    He checked his cards. He’d play five or six hands with her. Ten, tops. He glanced across the table. Her tongue swept over her upper lip as she contemplated her cards.
    Gage’s gut tightened. This was a bad idea. He should be doing recon right now, not playing poker with his CO’s niece.
    He looked at Kelsey. He looked at his cards. And he knew, with certainty, that this wasn’t going to be his lucky night.

Six
     
    The bones were buried in a shallow grave about thirty yards west of the highway. It wasn’t ground-penetrating radar or a metal detector or any other gadget that led to their discovery, but rather the eagle-eyed gaze of a seventy-two-year-old anthropologist.
    “Nature doesn’t like straight lines,” Dr. Robles had said, after calling Kelsey over to have a look at the rectangular pile of rocks. They hardly stood out against the stony creek bed but Robles was right—on close inspection the arrangement looked man-made.
    After it became clear what he’d found, Robles returned to the shade of the caves, taking most of the students with him. A few stragglers loitered behind, clearly more interested in recent bones than ancient ones.
    Kelsey shut out all distractions now as she worked within the string boundaries she’d staked out around the site. After thoroughly photographing the area, she’d removed dozens of rocks, examining each for any sign of trace evidence before laying it aside. After just the first layer she’d begun to find scraps of rotten clothing and human bones: an ulna, a radius, several metacarpals. When the full arm took shape, she stood up and photographed it from multiple angles before moving on to the thoracic cage.
    The sun blazed down. The minutes crawled by. She was at the digging stage now, and with every scoop of her trowel and swipe of her brush her sense of alarm grew. A leather belt. A scrap of rope. The tattered remnants of a pair of blue jeans.
    A shadow fell over her, and she glanced up, expecting to see Aaron. Instead it was Gage, who’d spent the better part of the day on the hillside, watching God only knew what through his binoculars.
    Kelsey returned her attention to the form emerging from the dirt. She carefully dusted a humerus with her boar’s-hair brush, knowing that any marks left behind by a metal tool could be mistaken later for signs of violence.
    “Still no sheriff,” she muttered.
    “A deputy’s on his way,” Gage said. “Sattler just called the phone at the dig site.”
    Kelsey gritted her teeth. It was late afternoon. She could have used the sheriff’s help this morning.
    Gage knelt beside her, respecting the string boundary she’d erected around the grave. He watched her for a moment.
    “You all right?” he asked in a low voice.
    “Fine.”
    “You’re shaking.”
    “Adrenaline,” she said. “It always happens to me.”
    “Anything I can help with?”
    “Not unless you want to be subpoenaed to testify at a murder trial.”
    Gage glanced down at the remains as she brushed away another clump of dirt. It was the rope. Seeing this man’s wrists still trapped in their bindings made her feel . . . not anger, exactly, but a consuming sense of injustice.
    Gage put a hand on her shoulder. “You need some water?”
    “I just need to concentrate.” She glanced up. His blue eyes were filled with compassion, and she realized she was being brusque.
    She sat back on her haunches and sighed. “I’m fine, thank you.”
    He leaned