Hidden (Jacobs Family Series Book 1)

by Vannetta Chapman

  So he urged the mare on as the temperature dropped and deep night fell around them.

  At least they had Drogan on the run.

  The man would either make a mistake and they would catch him, or he would turn and fight. Ben was ready for either. Except for the fever in his left arm. He could ignore it a few more hours, then he’d have to stop and let Dana dig out the shrapnel.

  He prayed for time and wisdom as they rode through the darkness.

  Fifteen minutes later, Drogan entered the cover of the forest. Ben slowed the mare and followed.

  Dana jerked up on her Glock when an elk passed within three feet of their right flank. He was a monstrous bull and never bothered to look their way, simply disappeared into the trees as if they didn’t exist.

  Dana let out her breath and lowered her gun.

  They could hear Drogan’s horse up ahead, neighing softly. To Ben’s surprise the man called out, his voice ripping through the stillness of the night.

  “You don’t want to come in here, Marshall. This is my land.”

  Ben eased from the saddle, slipping the rifle from the front of the pack as his feet touched the ground. After softly stroking the mare’s neck, he handed the reins to Dana.

  “I guess you know they took my last place, so I claimed this area. Kit Carson National Forest. Nice land.”

  The man did not sound injured. Too bad Dana’s bullet hadn’t hit him in the vocal cords.

  “It’s been a dry year so far. One match and I could send the whole thing up in a blaze of glory. Man ought to be able to do whatever he wants with his own land. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Marshall?”

  Ben wanted Dana to back the mare slowly out to the clearing, then he’d try to get a shot off. “Take her back,” he whispered. “Slowly.”

  Dana seemed to understand, though he could tell by her expression she didn’t want to split up in the wilderness. Her expression seemed frozen in disbelief, but when he patted the mare Dana began to slowly back her in the direction they had come.

  Shooting in the dark was dangerous. In the dark in a forest, doubly so. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance at Drogan though. The man’s rantings indicated he was getting cocky. If Drogan had been injured by Dana’s first shot, he wasn’t showing it.

  The stiffness in his arm as he positioned the rifle convinced Ben he had to try. His wound was worsening by the minute.

  “Leave Angela here, and I’ll let you walk away.”

  Ben pinpointed the direction of Drogan’s voice, crept forward, corrected his aim an inch to the left and fired. He continued firing in regular increments from left to right until he’d made a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc.

  By the time he finished, his ears were ringing. He didn’t hear any sounds to indicate he’d hit Drogan, but at least the man had quit talking.

  He backed his way out of the woods. The pinto was chomping at the grass, apparently unfazed by the noise in the trees.

  “Did you hit him?”

  “No, but I shut him up for a minute.” He patted the horse, looked back the way they’d come, then forward into the woods. “Maybe we should return to Elizabethtown.”

  “Do you have any idea where he could be headed?”

  “This is national forest land. He could have a hideout in here anywhere or he could be passing through, heading up to Bobcat Pass. From the direction he’s taking, I’d put my money on the latter.”

  “Why?”

  Ben rubbed the horse between the ears. He felt a restless urge to move quickly, but he knew the mare needed a minute.

  “If he’s still in this forest come daylight, we’ll find him. One of the teams will have a working laptop. They’ll contact regional. A full-fledged manhunt by daylight, and you know what that entails. He knows it too. No, the sensible thing to do is head for Bobcat Pass and get out.”

  “Does Drogan strike you as a sensible guy?” Somewhere in their flight, Dana had lost whatever she was using to hold back her hair. Now it fell down past her shoulders. She pushed it away.

  “Not sensible, but not necessarily suicidal.”

  Dana grimaced, as if she’d tasted something bitter. “All right. We keep following then. I don’t want him to slip away again.”

  “Dana, there’s one other thing.”

  “Your arm?”

  “Yeah.” Ben needed to be truthful with her, wanted her to know their odds going in. “There’s fever in it. If we haven’t caught up with him in another hour, two at the most, we’ll have to stop so you can look at it again.”

  She nodded, then shook her head. “I suppose you still want to drive.”

  “Hold her steady,” he said. Grabbing the saddle horn with his good hand, he pulled himself up behind her, then pulled the pinto’s head to the left, away from the forest.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a path to the north, if I remember correctly. Joe and I only came through here once, but we should be able to find it. I don’t like being in the deep forest with him.” He didn’t tell her Drogan’s horse had never shied when he was shooting, while he could barely get off a round without risking their lives. He needed a path, some space to maneuver.

  Dana rode silently in the circle of his arms for a few minutes as they skirted the woods, found the path, then began the ascent. It was a five-thousand-foot elevation gain.

  He prayed the mare was up to it.

  Seventy

  It seemed to Dana as if she were riding through one of her nightmares. Every muscle ached with the steady clip-clop of the horse. She wanted to sink back against the solid warmth of Ben, but then she would remember her vow to maintain a professional distance.

  Why had she made that vow? There had been some compelling reason, but her mind couldn’t call it up as they rode the forest trail, chasing a madman who was intent on dismembering her.

  She should have called Erin before she left. Should have told her how much she loved her one more time. Her mind snatched back from the thought as her hand had from the hot stove when she was a child.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Ben’s soft voice in her ear did nothing to calm her. “Try to relax into the saddle.”

  A stream they had been listening to finally curved near the path. The horse slowed, then stopped all together.

  They could still make out Drogan’s horse, a distant sound far off in the night.

  “She wants a drink,” Ben explained. He hopped off, then helped her down.

  Dana’s legs didn’t want to hold her weight. It was as if they’d forgotten how.

  “Takes a minute.” Ben held on to her arms and peered down into her face.

  “I’m okay. I was just a little—”

  “Disoriented.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben pulled the rifle from his pack. “I’ll go on ahead in case he doubles back. You might want to walk it off.” He looked at the mare. “Let her drink her fill. She still has a long way to go.”

  He walked down the trail a ways.

  Dana watched him go. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness of the night. By the light of the half moon she was able to make out Ben’s silhouette, and she marveled at the fact he carried the weight of their survival so easily. If she had a mirror to look in, she was sure she’d find her own shoulders bowed with the thoughts of all that could and had gone wrong.

  She’d walked to the stream and was watching the water play over the stones and the moonlight reflect off its surface. Rubbing her eyes, she blinked and then peered into the darkness. She refused to believe what she was seeing. Then the horse moved toward her, nudged her side, and caught the scent.

  Whinnying once, it moved away.

  Dana grabbed its reins before it could run. Mimicking Ben’s earlier gestures, she rubbed its neck and made soothing noises. She didn’t dare turn her attention away, but she heard Ben’s footsteps running back to where she tried to calm the horse.

  “What happened?”

  “Over there, by the stream. I t
hought it was…” She shook her head, walked the horse farther down the path. “Go and look. The horse saw it, caught the scent or something.”

  Before she could find the words, Ben had moved on to the stream. Dana turned the horse where she could keep an eye on Ben. He knelt by the carcass of the coyote, studied it a minute, then walked back to them.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Of course. But what could kill an animal that way?”

  “Drogan, playing games.”

  “But how?”

  “He might have had a trap. You can catch a coyote in a trap. Put fresh meat in it. Probably the coyote was dead already when he slit its throat.” Climbing up into the saddle, he positioned his rifle, then reached down for Dana. “I’d feel better with you in the back this time.”

  Dana readjusted her pack before climbing on behind him. As they rode, she thought of a dozen reasons why Drogan would have left the coyote near the stream. None of them were good.

  Seventy-one

  The next sacrifice—that was how Ben thought of them, as Drogan’s sacrifices—was a fawn. He’d brought it down with an arrow, probably the day before since the carcass was stiff. Where had he stored it? How had he known they would pass this way?

  He left the carcass undisturbed the way Drogan has positioned it—head to the right side of the trail and the body to the left. There was no doubt as to who had done it.

  He was relieved when Dana pressed her face into his back, refusing to look. The pinto tossed its head, but kept moving forward.

  Steadily, they continued climbing, the stream and meadow falling away to their left. To their right it seemed the forest sloped more gradually, but Ben could hardly tell. His vision had adjusted, but he couldn’t see far.

  Which is why he nearly stumbled on what Drogan left in the middle of the trail.

  He should have noticed the mare’s nervousness.

  Instead, he pushed her on until she refused to go any further.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Ben once again pulled the rifle and slipped to the ground. Ten steps revealed a large shape in their path—twenty showed it wasn’t dead yet.

  Walking back to Dana, he grabbed the horse’s reins and moved her farther back down the path.

  “Ben, what are you doing?”

  He took off his jacket and threw it over the horse’s head. “I need you to stand here, hold her reins, and keep her head covered.”

  “But what—”

  “Trust me.” He touched her face and then walked toward the mountain lion.

  Somehow Drogan had managed to muzzle the beast and slit open its stomach. It was slowly bleeding out. The pitiful look in its eyes made Ben want to weep. He felt an icy calm settle over him, and he knew without a doubt he could kill Drogan if he ever had him in his scope again.

  Any man who could do this was no longer a sane being. More importantly, he was capable of committing terrible atrocities. He was merely the shell of a person—less than a man, certainly less than this noble beast.

  Ben walked to within three yards of the mountain lion, looked through his scope, and fired.

  Then he bowed his head and waited for the final breath to leave the animal’s body. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he walked back to Dana.

  “What was it? Ben, what was it?” Her voice rose, and her eyes reminded him of a wild animal. He pulled his jacket off the horse, then wrapped his arms around his boss. Cradling her there, he prayed to God for her safety.

  He knew with certainty now what he had suspected for some time. This wasn’t only a mission. This was a battle.

  He rubbed Dana’s back to quiet her trembling. “We’ll go around. Come on. We’ll walk the horse.”

  She nodded and clasped his hand as they gave the path a wide berth.

  Ben paid closer attention to the horse’s behavior after that. If the mare hesitated, Ben stopped and listened. If the mare hurried forward, Ben gave her leave to do so. The animal had an instinct for survival unthwarted by the past or the future.

  Ben estimated they’d made it halfway up the ascent when he called for a rest. He’d tried timing how often he heard Drogan, but his watch had stopped working with the EMP. He felt confident the man was still in front of them, traveling at roughly the same speed.

  “The mare is starting to tire. Let’s give her five minutes.” He didn’t add that he’d noticed Dana nodding off. He didn’t mind her resting, but he sensed they were getting closer to a standoff.

  He could barely move his left arm, and he was worried Dana would have to hold the reins or do the shooting. One way or the other, he was going to need her.

  He caught her as she nearly fell out of the saddle.

  “Long night,” he murmured.

  “Yeah. Think I’ll stretch my legs… if it’s safe.”

  He nodded, and she walked up the trail a few feet. Rubbing down the mare, Ben tied her lead rope to a low branch. He wished he could let her sleep, but knew it wasn’t possible. “Rest, girl.”

  He looked up to where Dana stood at a bend in the path. Grabbing the rifle more out of habit than any sense of real danger, he walked slowly up to where she stood.

  “How’s the arm?” she asked.

  “Stiff.”

  When she continued to study him, he admitted, “More than stiff.”

  “Can you use your fingers?”

  “Yeah, but my movement is restricted. I’m having trouble bending at the elbow.”

  She stepped closer, began massaging his fingers, then worked her way slowly up his arm until he winced and drew away. “We’re going to need to re-wrap it.”

  “I know.”

  “And get the shrapnel out,” she reminded him.

  “We can’t stop that long.”

  She stepped closer, put a hand on his chest, and looked up into his face. “Ben, the fever means infection is spreading.”

  “Four more hours, then you can put me in the hospital with all the IVs you want.” He met her gaze, thought of how he’d give his arm, right now, if it would guarantee her surviving Drogan.

  The thought had no more occurred to him than he heard the mare. Her whimper was a low, ominous sound in the night. Then it was silent.

  He turned and ran back down the path.

  Seventy-two

  Dana sank to the ground and then turned and vomited in the trees beside her.

  The horse still kicked once more, then lay still. It was clear she was dead. The blood from her wound ran down the path, down the way they had come.

  Ben knelt beside the animal.

  She thought for a moment he would shoot it, like he had shot whatever else was in their path earlier. Then he seemed to realize that wouldn’t be necessary.

  He was at her side instantly, jerking her to her feet.

  “What—”

  He held his fingers to his lips, pointed back the way they had come. Raising his rifle, he aimed it down the trail and motioned for her to pull her Glock.

  Back-to-back, they made their way up the trail to the bend they were at when they heard the horse cry out.

  “How did Drogan get behind us?” Dana whispered.

  “I don’t know. We need to get in the woods where he can’t see us.” They backed in slowly, three yards, then five, finally fifteen. With no GPS and no radio contact, Dana was terrified of becoming lost.

  Then she remembered the horse, the way Drogan had slit its throat, and the tremor started in her left hand. Being lost wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to them.

  After they had walked for half an hour, Ben stopped her. Pulling her close, he spoke in whispers.

  “We’ll move closer to the trail, but stay in the cover of the trees. To the west is a drop off, so we’ll keep to the east side, where the slope is more gradual.”

  “What if Drogan is watching?”

  Ben studied the trail. “He’s only a man, Dana. He can’t be everywhere. If he’s on the trail, he won’t b
e able to see us. If he’s in the woods, we’ll hear him.”

  Dana nodded and bowed her head near his. “How close are we to Bobcat Pass?”

  “Maybe another seven miles, ten at the most.” As if reading her mind, he added. “We might be slower on foot, but it will be harder for him to track us.”

  Then he laced the fingers of his injured hand in hers, trusting her to shoot with her left. She smiled at his confidence, and they moved on up the slope, toward Bobcat Pass.

  She thought she was merely growing more tired until she had to reach for a tree limb to pull herself up. The slope was definitely increasing.

  “We need to skirt a ravine here. Do you want to double back to the trail?”

  She shook her head, then leaned back and tilted her head up to eye the path. The slope rose and curved to the right around a stand of trees before crossing their path. At that point it looked like easy walking for the space of half a mile, their route running almost parallel with the hiking trail.

  Ben indicated with his right arm where she should cut through the trees, cross the path, and head back into the trees directly across from them. It was the only way across the ravine.

  “I’ll stay here and cover you,” he whispered. “Once you’re across, take up position in the far trees. Then I’ll cross.”

  “Okay.” She smiled at him, tried to look confident even though her legs were shaking.

  If she could make it to the clearing, she’d be fine. If anything moved in the clearing, Ben would shoot it. The trees had her worried. They were a dark, ominous place. Recollections from her childhood merged with images from the trail.

  “Ready, boss?” Ben adjusted the rifle in his good arm.

  “Of course.” She wiped her palms on her black, camouflage pants and moved off, away from Ben.

  The trees immediately closed in around her. She pushed her doubts and fears away, focused on charging through.