Seeking Worthy Pursuits: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 2)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Finding that active clearing had been a lot of luck, augmented by his and Alace’s observation skills. Luck played a huge part in a lot of what went into investigating killers like this one. Stumbling on a sequence that could be recognized and proved true was the most frequent method of discovery. Long hours of looking at data helped, because that at least cemented the patterns in his mind, but it literally took a chance clue to bring everything together. Look how Alace and I made the same conclusions based off different data and were both right.

  He blinked, the thought jolting him out of his reverie. The water was boiling fast, bubbles of air rising from the bottom of the pan and bursting when they reached the surface. He changed pans, placing the one holding his rehydrated egg and jerky mix over the flame. Spoon in hand, he added two packets of oatmeal to the water set to the side, stirring slowly until it had cooked and thickened to the right consistency. Using the same spoon to stir the eggs, he judged the moment when they were done enough to continue cooking away from the heat source, placing the pan on a nearby flat rock.

  He was almost finished with his breakfast when something cracked and broke nearby, the pop of the splitting stick low, vibrating through the air. Stilling, without turning his head, Owen swept the area with his gaze, not seeing any movement. Then, as if appearing in faded stages, a figure stepped into view across the clearing from between the trees. Owen’s heart jolted in his chest. It was the woman from the trail, and Owen saw what had been hidden before, the details his intuition had been complaining about.

  Focused as his mind had been on the mystery of where she’d come from, he’d virtually discounted what had been right in front of him, albeit hidden behind a thin layer of fabric. With her distracting hair now covered by the hood on her sweatshirt and without the bandanna, her features were on full display, and the puzzle pieces snapped into place, plain as day.

  Holy shit.

  One of the Temple twins was standing not fifty yards from his camp.

  The common denominator that formed the basis of this investigation was Mackenzie Temple, the woman they were looking for. It’s got to be her. Alace would have told me if the other one had disappeared. He’d assumed their missing woman been abducted and expected to eventually find her gray-featured face staring up at him from one of the pits—not cast in shadows across a killing field from where he crouched.

  She stood still as a wild animal, head turning in jerking increments, following a rhythm of survival he recognized. He had often done the same. Any potentially hostile territory like the clearing would typically be divided into segments in his mind, and as he swept the area, Owen would shift his attention deliberately from one to the next, ensuring nothing was left to chance. If Temple was half as observant as he was, the silhouette of the hammock would stand out to her, as would his own profile.

  Sure enough, when the blade of her nose turned his direction, he marked the subtle pause as she momentarily locked on to his position before moving on. Between that, and the unmistakable smell of cooking that hung in the air, fried eggs and jerky having as distinctive an odor as the sweetened oatmeal, he didn’t hold out any hope of going undiscovered.

  Owen didn’t waste any time chasing that thought, instead focusing on why it made him uneasy to be exposed as he kept his gaze fixed on her. He was the hunter, had been behind the scope on so many kills that the black ring constraining his vision would seem to disappear. He was a killer, willing and able to pull off the missions Alace had assigned him so far, the evidence of so many unpaid crimes more than enough to tip the scales of his anger. So why then did this woman make him uneasy?

  He controlled the instinctive jerk that accompanied the answer to his question. The unease was the same thing keeping him pinned to the forest floor instead of jumping up to greet the woman by name. She hadn’t appeared distressed when he’d seen her yesterday, hadn’t shown any indication that her disappearance had been coerced. Which meant she’d gone off grid intentionally. He might believe she’d simply left to do a volunteering gig at the watchtower, if it hadn’t been for the lack of closure for the ones she’d left behind. The boyfriend who’d been nearly as vocal as the sister about Mackie’s disappearance.

  So not only had she vacated civilization intentionally, but now she was hiding her identity. He felt certain the blonde hair yesterday had indeed been a wig and not her own dark hair bleached.

  That movement of her head stopped, and he took a breath, waiting for her reaction to him. What he didn’t expect was that Temple would simply turn and walk back into the woods, leaving behind only the tiny sounds of brush cracking and fabric rustling to mark her passage. Just before she went out of sight, her hand lifted and swept the hood off her head, revealing not the shoulder-length hair he’d expected but the blurry outline of scalp. What the hell? Was this another ruse, a skullcap to throw him off yet again? Why would she even worry about who he was? Except for this appearance at the killing field, he should have been just a random passerby to her.

  Brain working overtime on the puzzle that was Temple, Owen quickly broke down his camp, needing only to secure the cooking gear from the meal and his hammock setup. Within minutes, he was ready, shouldering the pack even as he took off, double-timing his steps while moving around the clearing, keeping to the shelter of the woods. Her trail wasn’t hard to find. Similar to the one he’d followed to the second killing field, this had originated as a wildlife track, broadened and flattened by multiple passages of human feet.

  Given his pace, and the minor length of time he’d been delayed following, Owen expected to catch up to her well within half an hour, maybe even by fifteen minutes. That time period came and went, and still he followed the path through the woods, occasional footprints telling him he was on the right track. In front of him loomed another bramble thicket, and instead of the prints veering off and around, they continued on until he’d run out of room to advance, the brambles reducing the width of the trail, twining together overhead to create a narrowing tunnel. The final footprint was just past where Owen could comfortably go, a solidly placed stride where the only way to advance was on hands and knees.

  She duped me.

  There was no dew blurring the edges of these prints. Crisp and precise, with the weight balance of the impression mirroring a normal stride, they’d been laid at some point this morning, unbelievably as that seemed. That meant Temple had already known about him before appearing at the clearing, having set this elaborate decoy trail prior to showing her face. He hadn’t seen where she’d stepped off the path either, and he’d been watching for it. Well, at least he’d been looking at the footprints, trusting the simplest answer to the question of where she’d gone. He wouldn’t have ignored an obvious exit to the forest floor, but there were dozens of places where it would have been simple to step off and onto a rocky outcropping where the only danger of leaving signs of passage would be a brushing of dust from her boot soles.

  Owen’s skin prickled and he whirled, remaining crouched and balancing easily on the balls of his feet. The narrowing tunnel made the perfect trap, if she was…

  It took less than a breath to retrieve the pistol from the side pouch of his backpack, and Owen allowed the familiar weight to settle him, bringing his vision into the narrow focus he’d depended on so many times. Mimicking Temple’s systematic movements earlier, he scanned through the bramble thicket and into the trees as far as he could see, searching for anything out of place. No sound or scent reached him, and there were no visual irregularities, no inconsistencies.

  Just another day in the deep woods.

  He didn’t trust it.

  She’d spent time laying the false track, invested more time in retracing the path to where he’d barely been out of his sleeping bag, and then made herself vulnerable. Something that Owen would have found difficult to do, even as seasoned a hunter as he was.

  She’s here, somewhere.

  There was a loud metallic crash followed by a high-pitched squeal cut abruptly short. Owe
n focused on the movements accompanying the sounds. About a hundred yards back up the trail, there was a squirrel writhing in some kind of trap.

  I knew it was a setup.

  Owen scanned the immediate area around him and identified a faint but distinct round outline of a trap’s jaws just to the side of his foot. A footprint lay just to the side, and as he’d done the whole way, Owen had avoided stepping into the outline of the trail he was following, not wanting to mar the marks in any way.

  Now that he knew what to look for, he saw another three traps between where he still crouched and where the squirrel had finally stopped twitching. Even more time spent on this endeavor, and he’d give anything to know when she’d begun. Was it last night as he lay in his hammock staring up through the canopy at the stars? Or was it further back, when he’d been sorting through the third clearing’s cache pit?

  Traps. He’d seen burn marks on one victim that could be attributed to a handheld stun gun. Passive restraints had been used in the form of locked overhead doors and the mesh covering each pit’s common opening. She doesn’t lean towards active hunting. Still, she’d somehow captured and transported dozens of victims to these remote woods. Resourceful doesn’t mean docile.

  Owen caught a faint scent of rancid smoke and frowned at the chemical odor as he studied nearby foliage to map the intermittent breeze. What little wind there was seemed to be coming from the clearing.

  He reached out and gripped the ragged end of a deadfall nearby, making enough noise to startle any wildlife within hearing distance, but dragging it close enough to break off a thick branch. He balanced it in his hand, wide end farthest from that grip, and tapped the center of the trap nearest his foot. With a gut-wrenching snap, it closed on the end of the stick, smooth edges indenting the wood with the strength of the steel spring-loaded mechanism. It would have broken his leg, or at minimum have bruised it severely. The trap lifted from the ground easily, an unsecured short chain dangling from the base, swinging in slow circles. The links didn’t weigh much, but neither had the squirrel, so he used the trap itself to clear the others nearby, their mouths closing impotently on empty air. He didn’t take anything for granted, sweeping the chain across all leaf-covered surfaces nearby.

  If she were here, she had to have heard the ruckus, but each time Owen paused to listen, the woods were silent, no breeze present to even rattle limbs together. Standing, he picked the disarmed traps up by their tethering chains and made his slow way back towards the clearing. He located another three traps as he went, at least two of them chillingly close to where his own footprints lay in the dust alongside the trail.

  At the edge of the woods, he tossed the traps to the forest floor, staring at the mess now present in the clearing. The cache pit had been opened and dismantled; the only thing left inside was the half barrel, now a charred mess of wood and metal. That wasn’t the only thing she’d burned, and he cursed as he stared down into one of the holding pens. Three bodies drug from different pits to this one, tossed in without concern for the dignity of the dead. The scent of diesel was strong, and a thin black smoke rose from where the napalm had been applied to burn the bodies.

  He leaned on his stick, having taken no chances as he approached the disturbed areas, sweeping and pressing on suspect sod or grasses. He hadn’t found anything, but he was well aware she’d had the time he’d spent tracking a ghost as well as the return trip to leave surprises for him.

  Owen faced the direction of the fire tower, wondering if the smoke was enough to gain the attention of whoever was actually posted there. The fire wouldn’t spread, the bodies too fresh to burn easily, and surrounded by raw earth as they were, there wasn’t enough fuel to give it much life.

  Still, he needed to bug out. The situation was compromised in far too many ways.

  Gonna make like a tree and leave.

  Envisioning the map in his head, he decided to go cross-country back down this side of the ridge, skipping past the second clearing and reconnecting with the southbound trail tomorrow. That would keep him off trail long enough to have a defensible story, since traveling on the official trail itself would take a minimum of three or four days to get to the same location.

  He was glad now that he’d taken the time to pack his bag and carry it with him. He winced at the idea of the fallout he would have faced if she’d been able to access the information he had stored on the tablet, or if she’d destroyed his food and water, stranding him out here.

  Pulling in a shallow breath, he grimaced as he found it tinged with the nauseating odor of burning human flesh. With a final glance around the clearing, wondering if Temple was watching him, he turned on his heel and strode away, not slowing when he reached the boundary where field met woods, his long legs making good time as he plunged downhill.

  Urgency drove him forwards. Alace needed to know what had happened. Need to report in to the boss lady soon as I can. That was priority one. Not just as a warning he might have found the woman they were looking for, but to tell her he might have unexpectedly come face-to-face with the killer they’d been hunting.

  Faced her and lived to tell about it.

  Owen thought back to their discussion about the killer’s sex and winced at the memory of his overly confident assessment. Gonna eat crow for sure. If he had to stop to sleep tonight, he would put together a report, even if it was necessarily succinct. Just as he had that thought, he decided it might be better to wait until he could fully debrief directly to Alace; listening to her questions would be like seeing into her mind. I’d learn something, for sure. Either way, gaining quick distance from the clearing would be preferred, and Owen focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alace

  “You’re a terrible patient.”

  Alace flattened her lips, silently curling the corners of her mouth down in a visibly disappointed moue she’d practiced.

  “Seriously. Terrible.”

  Todd Worthson stared at her from the doorway. He was propped on a shoulder and hip, angled into the opening as if he intended to stay there all day, making it into a cozy place to stand and heckle her. The smile he offered didn’t quite make it to his green eyes, leaving them cold and distant. He opened a bottle of water and lifted it in a side-to-side sway that indicated the length and breadth of the room.

  “Sitting in a chair isn’t the same as bed rest. Even if you’ve got your footies all propped up. Not the same, Alace.”

  Deliberately clearing her throat, she focused on the laptop screen in front of her, working her way back out of the final layer of folders and network connections one at a time until she was back at the basic log-in screen. She shut down the computer, closed it, then flipped it over and popped a panel on the bottom. Ignoring him for a few seconds longer, she retrieved the battery and re-closed the computer’s chassis. Laptop and battery went into a custom-built cabinet within the desk drawer, which she closed and locked with a fingerprint. Only once her work was safely stowed did she look up, reseating her scowl in place as she glared at him.

  “Did Eric share why the doctor recommended bed rest?” Todd shook his head at her question, his suddenly trembling fingers clattering lid against bottle lip as he attempted to reseal the container. “No? You’re certain?”

  “He said you’ll be okay.” Both shoulders lifted in a shrug she tried to convince herself wasn’t as dismissive as it felt. “I told him I’d stop by and check on you today.”

  Alace scratched along her jaw towards her chin, then rubbed the flat of her palm across the bottom part of her face. It was a physical device used when she needed time to frame a question or statement, and one she’d found herself using with Todd more than once since she’d met him. As anxious as their initial conversation had made her, Alace reminded herself of their connection. Eric. “No, you didn’t. Or Eric would have messaged me.”

  “Can’t a guy just stop and check on a friend without it being a big deal?” He pursed his lips on a puff of air
. “Is it that much of a bother?”

  “Not when that ‘friend’ is me.” She’d lifted one hand and composed air quotes around that single word. “Eric would have let me know to ensure your safety, Todd. Not because this is an inconvenience to me. You and I aren’t friends.” I don’t have any friends. That thought shot through her head like a bullet leaving a rifle’s muzzle, ricocheting around the corner of denial she’d kept it tucked behind since Regg. Owen could be. That was a thought for a different day. “You forget yourself, Todd.” Palms against the front edge of the desk, she lifted her feet from the stool as she shoved the chair back slowly, wheels rolling noisily across the plastic mat. She spun the chair with a quick push of her legs, lining up with Todd’s position exactly. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t drop in again.”

  She’d seen him on the security feed long before he’d entered the house using his best-friend-status emergency key and access code. Her on-screen alert had triggered when the proximity cameras picked him up as he turned onto their street.

  Todd’s movement through the house had been straightforward, not veering off into Eric’s study or the kitchen, which meant he’d brought the water in with him. Interesting. She couldn’t decide if it was intended as busywork for his hands because he was nervous or an unconscious instinct to have something to hide behind.

  Her confident stare was unsettling him, evidenced by the tiniest tics at the corners of his eyes. For a man whose profession required him to school his expression, he continued to be far easier to read than expected. “You’re leaking.”

  “What?” He lifted the water bottle, studied the bottom, and swiped across the surface with a finger. “No, I’m not.”