by Nora Roberts
So he watched them load the fencing. Fucking farmers, making their rooms out of the land. His land. Trapping their mindless cattle, animals not even worth the hunt.
Go on, go, he urged them, setting his teeth as their voices and laughter carried to him. Go. Everything will have changed when you get back. Yes, it was better to let them live, let them suffer when they realized what he’d done right under their noses.
Their tears would be sweeter than their blood.
He smiled as the dogs raced and ran and leaped in anticipation. He’d been resigned to killing the dogs, but he’d have been sorry for it. Now, it seemed, even that blood could be spared.
They rode off, the dogs in joyful pursuit. And the little farm in the valley of the hills went quiet. Still he waited. He wanted them well away, out of sight, out of hearing before he broke cover.
He’d watched the women many times in the past, studied the routine of the farm as he would any herd he stalked. She was strong, and he knew they had weapons inside the house. When he took her, he’d take her quickly.
He circled behind the barn, moving fast and silent. In his mind he wore buckskin and moccasins. His face bore the symbols of the warrior.
Birds sang, and some of the cattle lowed. He heard the chickens humming, and as he neared the house, the sound of the woman’s voice singing.
His mother hadn’t sung. She’d kept her head down, kept her mouth shut. She’d done what she was told to do or she got the boot. In the end his father had had no choice but to kill her. As he’d explained, she’d stolen from him. Held back her tips. Hoarded money. Lied.
A worthless white bitch, his father had explained when they’d buried her deep. A mistake. Women were no damn good, and white women the worst of the bad.
It had been an important lesson to learn.
He eased up to the side window, letting the lay of the kitchen come into his head from the times he’d scouted it. He could hear clanking and clattering. Doing the dishes, he thought, and when he risked a look, he saw—pleased—that she had her back to him as she loaded the dishwasher. Pans stood stacked on the counter, and her hips moved as she sang.
He wondered what it would be like to rape her, then dismissed the idea. Rape was beneath him. Just as she was beneath him. He wouldn’t soil himself with her.
She was bait. Nothing more.
Water ran in the sink, pots clattered. Under the cover of the kitchen noise, he stepped lightly to the back door, tried the knob.
He shook his head, vaguely disappointed it wasn’t locked. He’d visualized kicking it in, and the shock on her face when he did. Instead, he merely pushed it open, stepped inside.
She spun around, a skillet in her hand. As she raised it to strike or throw he simply lifted the crossbow. “I wouldn’t, but you go ahead if you want this bolt in your belly.”
She’d gone white, so her eyes shone black against her skin. He remembered then she had some of his blood. But she’d let it go pale. She’d ignored her heritage. Slowly, she set the pan down.
“Hello, Jenna,” he said.
He watched her throat work before she spoke, enjoyed the fear. “Hello, Ethan.”
“Outside.” He plucked her cell phone out of its charger on the counter, stuck it in his back pocket. “I can put one of these in your foot and drag you,” he said when she didn’t move, “or you can walk. That’s up to you.”
Giving him as wide a berth as possible, she went to the door, and out to the porch. He closed the door behind them.
“Keep moving. You’re going to do exactly as I say and exactly when I say it. If you try to run, you’ll find out how much faster a bolt is than you are.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.” He shoved her forward when he decided she wasn’t moving fast enough.
“Ethan, they’re looking for you. Sooner or later they’ll find you.”
“They’re idiots. Nobody finds me unless I want to be found.” He forced her across the farmyard toward the trees.
“Why are you doing this?”
He watched her head move, left to right, and knew she was looking for a place to run, gauging her chances. He almost wished she’d risk it. As Carolyn had. That had been interesting.
“It’s what I am. What I do.”
“Kill?”
“Hunt. Killing’s the end of the game. Against the tree, face-first.” He pushed her. She threw her hands out to catch herself, scraping her palms on the bark. “Move, and I’ll hurt you.”
“What have we done?” She tried to think, to find a way out, but couldn’t push past the fear. It crawled inside her, crawled over her skin until there was nothing else. “What have we done to you?”
“This is sacred ground.” He looped a rope around her waist, pulled it tight enough to stop her breath. “It’s mine. And you, you’re worse than the rest. You have Sioux blood.”
“I love the land.” Think, think, think! “I—my family has always honored and respected it.”
“Liar.” He pushed her face against the bark, drawing blood. When she cried out, he yanked her back by the hair. “Put this on, zip it up.” He thrust a dark blue windbreaker into her hands. “And pull up the hood. We’re going for a hike, Jenna. Listen close. If we run into anyone, you keep your mouth shut, your head down, and just do what I say. If you make a move, try to get help, I’ll kill whoever you speak to. Then they’re on your head. Understand?”
“Yes. Why don’t you just kill me now?”
He smiled widely. “We have places to go and people to see.”
“You’re going to try to use me to get to Lil, and I won’t let you.”
He grabbed her hair again, yanked until she saw stars dancing. “I can use you dead as easy as alive. Alive’s more fun, but dead works.” He patted the knife sheathed on his belt. “Do you think she’d recognize your hand if I cut it off and sent it to her? We can try that. What do you think?”
“No.” Tears born of helplessness and pain tracked down her cheeks. “Please.”
“Then do what I tell you. Put this on.” He handed her a battered backpack. “We’re just a couple of hikers.” He gave the rope a yank. “And one of us is on a short leash. Now, walk. Keep up or you’ll pay for it.”
He avoided the trail as much as possible, kept a hard pace over rough ground. If she stumbled, he yanked or dragged. And since he seemed to enjoy it, Jenna stopped any attempt to slow him down.
She knew they skirted the edges of her daughter’s land, and her heart thundered. “Why do you want to hurt Lil? Look at what she’s done. She’s preserving the land, giving shelter and care to animals. You’re Sioux. You respect animals.”
“She puts them in cages so people can stare at them. For money.”
“No, she’s dedicated her life to saving them, to educating people.”
“Feeding them like pets.” He gave Jenna another shove when she paused. “Taking what should be free and caging it. That’s what they want to do with me. Cage me for doing what I was born to do.”
“Everything she’s done has been to preserve the wildlife and the land.”
“It’s not her land! They’re not her animals! When I’m done with her, I’ll free them all, and they’ll hunt as I hunt. I’ll burn her place to the ground. Then yours, then all the rest.”
His face shone with madness and purpose. “Purify.”
“Then why did you kill the others? James Tyler? Why?”
“The hunt. When I hunt to eat, it’s with respect. The rest? It’s sport. But with Lil, it’s both. She has my respect. We’re connected. By blood, by fate. She found my first kill. I knew someday we’d compete.”
“Ethan, you were only a boy. We can—”
“I was a man. I thought, at first, it was an accident. I liked her. I wanted to talk to her, to touch her. But she pushed me away. She cursed at me. Struck me. She had no right.”
He yanked the rope so she stumbled against him. “No right.”
&nb
sp; “No.” Her heart skidding, Jenna nodded. “No right.”
“Then her blood was on my hands, and I was afraid. I admit it. I had fear. But I was a man and knew what should be done. I left her as a token to the wild, and it was the cougar who came for her. My spirit guide. And it was beautiful. I gave back to the land what had been taken. That’s when I became free.”
“Ethan, I need to rest. You have to let me rest.”
“You’ll rest when I say.”
“I’m not as strong as you are. God, I’m old enough to be your mother; I can’t keep up.”
He paused, and she saw a flicker of hesitation on his face. She swallowed on her dry throat. “What happened to your mother, Ethan?”
“She got what she deserved.”
“Do you miss her? Do you—”
“Shut up! Just shut up about her. I didn’t need her. I’m a man.”
“Even a man starts as a boy and he—”
She broke off when he closed his hand over her mouth. His eyes scanned the trees. “Someone’s coming. Keep your head down. Your mouth shut.”
29
She felt Ethan’s arm go around her waist, to keep her still, she imagined, and to cover the rope snaking from under the jacket. She prayed for the life of whoever crossed their path, and at the same time prayed they would sense trouble. She didn’t dare give them a sign, but surely they would sense her fear, sense the madness in the man holding her hard against his side.
It was in his eyes. How could anyone not see the murder and madness in his eyes?
They could get help. There was a chance for help. And then Ethan would never get to Lil.
“Morning!”
She heard the cheerful greeting and risked lifting her eyes a few inches. Her pulse picked up speed when she saw the boots, the uniform pants. Not another hiker, she thought, but a ranger.
And he’d be armed.
“Morning,” Ethan called back. “It sure is a pretty one!”
“Nice day for hiking. You’re a little off the trail.”
“Oh. We’re exploring some. We saw some deer, and figured we’d follow them for a while.”
“You don’t want to wander off too far. It’s easy to get lost if you go off the posted trails. Just out for the day, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Can’t you hear the madness? Can’t you hear it in his overbright cheer? It’s licking at every word.
“Well, you’ve made some real progress from the trailhead. If you’re going to stick to this loop it gets pretty steep, but the views are worth it.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“If you backtrack to the posted trail, you’ll have a better time of it.”
“We’ll do that, then. Thanks.”
“Enjoy the day, and this fine weather. Just head over . . .” The ranger hesitated. “Jenna? Jenna Chance?”
She held her breath, shook her head.
“What in the world are you doing out . . .”
She felt it, that moment of awareness. On instinct she raised her head and pushed her body hard against Ethan’s. But even as she moved, he swung the bow from behind his back.
She screamed, tried to lurch forward. But he was right. The bolt moved faster, much faster, than she could. She watched it strike home, and the force of it knocked the ranger back and off his feet.
“No. No. No.”
“Your fault.” The backhand sent Jenna sprawling to the ground. “Look what you did, stupid bitch! Look at the mess I’ve got to clean up. Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
He kicked her, his boot slamming into the small of her back so she rolled and curled up in defense. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. God, God, he has a wife, he has children.”
“Then he should’ve minded his own business. Assholes. They’re all assholes.” When he stomped over to wrench the barbed bolt from the ranger’s chest, Jenna began to retch.
“Look here. Got something out of it.” He pulled the sidearm out of the holster, brandished it. “Spoils of war.” Shoving the body over, he dug out the wallet. He slapped the gun back in the holster, unclipped it, and fixed it to his own belt before pushing the wallet in his backpack.
“Get up, help me drag him.”
“No.”
He walked over, pulled the gun again, and pressed the barrel to her temple. “Get up or join him. You can both be wolf bait. Live or die, Jenna. Decide.”
Live, she thought. She wanted to live. Fighting sickness, breathless from the pain radiating from her back, her face, she got to her feet. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe someone would find him, help him. His name was Derrick Morganston. His wife was Cathy. He had two kids. Brent and Lorna.
She said his name, his family’s names as she followed orders, took the feet and dragged the body farther off the trail.
She said nothing when he used the rope to tie her to a tree so he could retrieve Derrick’s radio, go through his pockets for anything else he found useful.
She kept silent when they began to walk again. Nothing more to say, she thought. She’d tried and failed to find some place in him to appeal to. There was no place inside him. Nowhere to reach.
He wasn’t covering the tracks, and she wondered what that meant. She wondered if she would live through the day, such a pretty spring day. See her husband again, her home. Hold her children. Would she speak with her friends, wear her new shoes?
She’d been washing the skillet, she thought, when her life had changed. Would she fry bacon again?
Her throat burned, her legs ached. Her palms throbbed where she’d scraped them against the bark. But those discomforts meant she was alive. Still alive.
If she had the chance to kill him and escape, would she? Yes. Yes, she would kill him to live. She would bathe in his blood if it meant protecting Lil.
If she could get his knife or the gun, a rock. If she could find a way to use her bare hands.
She concentrated on that, on the direction, the angle of the sun, the landmarks. There, she thought, look at the brave pasqueflowers, blooming. Delicate and hopeful. And alive.
She’d be the pasqueflower. Look delicate, be brave.
She walked, one foot in front of the other, with her head down. But she kept her eyes, her body alert for any chance of escape.
“We’re home,” he announced.
Confused, she blinked sweat out of her eyes. She barely saw the mouth of the cave. It was so low, so narrow—like a slitted eye. It looked like death.
She spun around, launched herself at him to fight. She felt the pain, and the satisfaction when her fist connected with his face. Screaming, she used her nails, her teeth to claw and bite like an animal. And when she tasted his blood, it thrilled.
But when his fist plowed into her belly, he took her breath. When it rammed into her face, the sun went dim in a wash of dark red.
“Bitch! Bitch whore!”
Dimly, she heard the harsh wheeze of his breath. She’d hurt him. That was something. She’d given him pain.
He used the rope to drag her over the rough ground and into the dark.
She fought as he bound her hands and feet, screamed, spat, and cursed until he gagged her. He lit a small lantern, and with his free hand dragged her farther into the cave.
“I could kill you now. Carve you up and send the pieces to her. What do you think about that?”
She’d marked him, was all she could think. Blood welled and dripped from the grooves she’d scored in his cheeks, on his hands.
Then he smiled at her, wide and wild, and she remembered to be afraid.
“The hills are honeycombed with caves. I’ve got a few nice ones I use regular. This one’s yours.”
