The Hunt

by Allison Brennan

  The stench of blood, violent sex, and human waste filled her senses, sickening and familiar. She gagged and turned her head. She and Sharon had lived in such filth.

  She froze. She wanted to go in, make sure Nick was okay. But her feet felt filled with lead, embedded in cement, and the harder she tried to make them move, the heavier they became.

  Her body trembled. Just the thought of crossing the threshold of the shrinking space numbed her. Slowly, her peripheral vision closed in.

  No. Not now. Please.

  She fell to her knees. I can do this. I can go in. Save them.

  No I can’t. I’m weak. He defeated me. He’ll come back and finish the job. He took Sharon and I ran. I couldn’t save her. Now I can’t even save myself.

  “Miranda?”

  Nick’s voice. Gruff and raw.

  “Miranda!” Still raw, but commanding.

  “Nick. I—” She took a deep breath. She was going to hyperventilate if she wasn’t careful.

  “I need you. Ashley needs you. Get in here. He’s going to return.”

  After all these years, the Butcher would defeat her. He made her claustrophobic. He gave her fear.

  “I. Can’t.”

  “You can, Miranda. I know you. I trust you. Take a deep breath.” He sputtered and coughed, struggling to get the words out. “You can do it,” he said, ending on a gasp of air.

  She could, couldn’t she? She could overcome her fear. She had to. For Nick. For everything he’d done for her, for his support and encouragement and friendship. She hadn’t come this far to fail.

  And she loved him. She could see it so clearly now, the difference between Nick and Quinn. She loved them both. She hadn’t realized that before. But she could love two men. One as her lover. The other as her brother.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

  She took another deep breath and forced herself to enter the shrinking room. The walls started to cave in around her, each step drawing them closer. Her chest tightened. She had no air. No air.

  Not now. No, not now.

  Shaking, she reached for the ropes that bound Nick. Her fingers struggled with the elaborate knots. The walls reached out, grabbing for her.

  “Miranda.” His voice was raw.

  “I’m getting you out of here.” Her voice sounded weak and her body trembled. She focused on the knots. If she simply worked on them she could forget the shrinking walls, the foul stench, the memories of violence. She had to. For Nick. For Ashley.

  For herself.

  “Forget me. Get Ashley out of here. Send someone back for me.”

  “I can’t. Nick, the Butcher is David Larsen. Delilah Parker’s brother. The police can’t find him, but he was seen near here. I can’t leave you, he’ll be back tonight.” Or sooner.

  “I don’t think I can make it,” Nick said, his voice strained.

  “I’ll never leave you.” She swallowed her fear, the shame that she would fail, and worked the knots so she wouldn’t think about how much smaller the room had become since she’d entered. “We thought you were dead.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “You can tell me all about it later,” she said.

  Dammit, the knots were too complicated and tight! Her knife. Why hadn’t she thought of it first? Her mind was going. The room was stifling. Sweat poured from her face, her body saturated in her own panic.

  If she didn’t pull herself together, Ashley and Nick would die. And if she didn’t find a way out of this, she and Lance Booker would join them.

  But there was safety in numbers. Four against one, even if three of the four were in less than prime condition.

  She pulled out her knife and carefully cut through the ropes so she wouldn’t injure Nick. A minute later he was free. She then went to work on Ashley.

  The girl was sobbing. “He’s going to kill us.”

  “No. No, I’m not going to let him.” Miranda pulled off the tight blindfold that bound Ashley’s eyes. The girl tried to open her eyes, but failed. “Don’t force it. Give yourself a minute.”

  “No! He’s going to come! He’s going to get me!”

  “I escaped him once; we’ll escape him again.” She wished she were as confident as she sounded. “And then he will pay for what he did to you.”

  And to me, she added silently.

  Ashley was so petite Miranda was able to pick her up. “No! No!” she screamed.

  “I need to get you out of here, Ashley. You need to stretch your muscles.”

  Miranda carried her from the shack and put her down outside the door.

  The sobbing girl was covered in dried blood and bruises. It was like looking in a mirror from twelve years ago. Miranda swallowed uneasily, tears springing to her eyes. The girl shielded her breasts with her arms, but Miranda didn’t need to see the damage. She looked down and found her own hands on her breasts. She dropped them as if her breasts burned.

  She wanted to tell Ashley to be quiet, he would hear—but she had no idea how close or far David Larsen was from the shack. If he planned to come back tonight—or now.

  Instead, she took off her backpack, unzipped it, and extracted her extra sweater. She pulled it over the girl’s head. Then she handed her a water bottle. “Drink it slow,” she told her.

  Ashley took it, sobbing, huddled inside the too-big sweater.

  Miranda pulled out two pairs of thick socks and knelt next to Ashley. “You need to cover your feet to retain warmth.”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Okay.” She held out the socks. Like a skittish animal, Ashley tentatively reached out, then grabbed them fast and pulled them close to her. “Put them on. Both pairs.”

  She looked for Booker, didn’t see him. “Lance!” she called, not too loudly.

  “Here,” she heard faintly. The voice came from around the side. He hadn’t moved since Miranda had gone inside. She carried Ashley to where Booker leaned against the shack wall. She put the girl down.

  Miranda turned to Lance. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this bad off?” She pulled up his shirt. Already she saw his chest was bruised and swollen. She gently touched his ribs and he bit back a cry, his face twisting in pain.

  “At least one is broken.”

  His breathing was labored, and Miranda worried he’d punctured a lung.

  “Nick, we can’t leave him here.”

  “Is he okay?” Booker asked.

  Miranda looked over her shoulder and frowned. She’d thought Nick had followed her out of the cabin.

  “I don’t know.” She turned to Lance. “Radio in our location and ask for an ETA on reinforcements. Tell them we need a full mountain rescue. I’m going to bring out Nick.”

  She went back to the entrance. “Nick?”

  He still lay on the floor. She hadn’t realized he was so badly hurt. She took a deep breath, hesitated only a moment, then plunged back into the airless cabin.

  She knelt next to him. “Nick, get up.”

  “I can’t. My head. I can’t see anything.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here, but you’re going to have to help. Can you walk?”

  “Probably some.”

  It took several minutes, precious time, to bring Nick from the shack. She sat him down next to Booker.

  His head was covered in dried blood. He felt hot to the touch. Too hot. His eyes were unfocused. He had a severe concussion, and most likely a raging infection.

  There was no way he’d walk out of this canyon.

  He needed a hospital.

  “Miranda, go. Take Ashley and get out of here before he comes back.”

  “I can’t just leave you here. He’ll kill you.” But she couldn’t see another solution.

  “I’m giving you a direct order, Miranda.”

  “Don’t pull rank on me!” She rested her head in her hands and took a deep breath.

  “Dammit, Nick, I thought you were dead and it tore me up. Don’t do this to me. Don’t even think of doing anything stupi
d.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m not going to make it on foot, Miranda.”

  She touched his head where an ugly, bloody gash had dried. “Nick—you have a fever. You need a doctor.”

  “Well, call one when you get to town.”

  “Lance, who did you reach? What’s their ETA?”

  “I talked to Charlie. Forty to forty-five minutes.”

  What could she do? Carry two grown men miles over rocky, open terrain? What about Ashley?

  David Larsen might be five minutes away. They couldn’t sit here and wait for a rescue. He’d pick them off one by one. And she wasn’t about to leave anyone. By the time she returned with help, it might be too late.

  She glanced at the girl, still hunched over, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. The dark green sweater Miranda had given her—for warmth and camouflage—stretched over her body.

  Her face was bruised, her hair filthy and matted. She smelled of her own waste. The cuts and bruises on her body were now concealed, but Miranda had seen them and knew Ashley was in pain, emotionally and physically. Miranda had been there. But over time the wounds had faded, all of them.

  She found strength in Ashley. The girl needed her. They couldn’t sit here and wait for help. Not when they didn’t know where Larsen was.

  She bit her lip and looked around. The shack was at the far end of the canyon. Seventy feet behind them it narrowed. There would be no easy way to get out. In front of them the canyon widened, stretching to hundreds of feet wide in places, narrowing to as little as thirty feet in others. But she knew exactly where the gulch led. Right here, there were few places to hide. Definitely no place for four adults.

  And Miranda couldn’t possibly leave the injured men and Ashley while she searched for a better hiding spot until help arrived. Yet there was no way Nick and Lance would be able to walk far.

  She turned back to Nick. “Here.” She handed him her extra gun.

  “I won’t take your gun.”

  “I have another, Nick. I’m not leaving if you don’t take it.” She took his hand and wrapped it around the grip. He held it tight.

  She slipped her map into a plastic cover to prevent the drizzle from soaking it and showed Booker her route. “I’m heading east through the gulch. It curves south here. It doesn’t end for miles, close to Big Sky, but I know a shortcut at the bend that will get us to—” she pointed “—here.” She looked from Lance to Nick. “I’m going to stick to the canyon as much as possible, but to hide our path we might have to trek up one of the slopes. I have my radio, but I’m setting it to sixty-four. Okay? That’s all-silent, no chatter. The best thing you can do is keep yourselves alive.”

  Miranda looked around and pointed fifty feet up the slope. “Lance, see those boulders up there?”

  He followed her finger. “Yes.”

  “Can you get Nick up there?

  “I think so.”

  “You have to. You’re both sitting ducks out here. Get up there and hide. Radio Charlie and tell him the plan. If you see Larsen, call my frequency and tell me how much time I have.” She adjusted her radio. “If he sees you . . . shoot to kill.”

  It wasn’t the best plan, but they were running out of time.

  She squeezed Nick’s hand. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She glanced at her watch, rubbing mist from its face: 4:35. It had been only fifteen minutes since she’d first seen the cabin. It seemed much longer.

  They had three hours until sundown. They wouldn’t make it out before then, even if they ran the whole way.

  “Ashley, we have to go.”

  “No, no. I can’t. Let me stay with them.”

  “He’s going to be looking for you.” In addition, there was barely enough room up slope behind the boulder to hide two men.

  Miranda had faced her fear in the cabin and won. If she could conquer her claustrophobia, she could certainly lead Ashley to safety. But only if the girl would cooperate.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “I can’t,” Ashley wailed, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Yes, you can. Don’t let him win.”

  Nick said, “You’re stronger than you think, Ashley.”

  Something in his tone made Miranda look at him. Though his eyes were closed, she saw on his face that he was worried. And more. A quiet understanding. He knew. He’d lain next to Ashley and witnessed her rape. Miranda hated that he’d been through that.

  But for the first time in her life, she didn’t dwell on what happened all those years ago. She’d escaped the Butcher then, and she would elude him now.

  “We need to go,” she said. “Lance, don’t forget to call Charlie as soon as you’re hidden up slope.”

  “I will.”

  Ashley whimpered, her body heaving with dry sobs. But she seemed resigned to going with Miranda as she slowly got to her feet, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself.

  Miranda turned one last time to Nick as she strapped on her backpack. “I expect to see you alive when I get to the end of this canyon.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  Quinn searched the Parker residence with Deputy Jorgensen while two other cops searched the grounds.

  “Clear,” Quinn called.

  Richard Parker looked ghostly, his face drawn, when Quinn stepped back out on the porch. “He could have killed Ryan. He could have killed Delilah.”

  “Ryan’s safe,” Quinn reminded him. “I sent a deputy over to the Moore place to watch over him. Every available cop is looking for Delilah and David.”

  “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have known.”

  Parker had been repeating this mantra in the car until Quinn was ready to slug him.

  “Agent Peterson!”

  One of Nick’s deputies came running up. “We were checking out the south meadow like you said and heard faint gunshots down in the gulch.”

  “Where?”

  “It was hard to tell with the echo, but it was from the bottom most certainly. It’s obvious that several people have walked down the slope; there’s recently disturbed dirt and plants.” The deputy wiped a hand over his face. The drizzle had been steadily increasing, but it wasn’t fully raining yet.

  A series of four-wheel-drive trucks came down the driveway. Quinn recognized the driver of the first truck, Charlie. Quinn didn’t wait for him to get out, but met him next to the gravel area by the barn.

  “I just talked to Lance Booker,” Charlie said. “They found the girl. And get this: Nick’s with her.”

  Quinn slammed his fist on the hood of Charlie’s truck. What was Miranda thinking going down into that canyon alone? He didn’t care that she had a deputy with her; she wasn’t a cop, she wasn’t a federal agent. Why?

  It hit him: She thought she could save Ashley. He would have done the same.

  “Let’s head down to the meadow. I’ll catch a ride with you—we’ll need the four-wheel-drive if this rain gets any heavier.”

  “It will,” Charlie said grimly.

  The drive was short and bumpy. As soon as the truck stopped, Charlie’s radio buzzed. “GCSR, GCSR, anyone there?” GCSR was the acronym for Gallatin County Search and Rescue. Miranda’s unit.

  Charlie answered. “Roger, Charlie Daniels here.”

  “Charlie, it’s Lance Booker. I’m calling to give you coordinates. Can you take them?”

  Charlie pulled a pencil and pad from the visor. “Give them to me.”

  Booker gave the coordinates. When he was done, Quinn took the radio. “Booker, it’s Agent Peterson. Put Miranda on.”

  “I can’t, sir.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “There was no place here to conceal all four of us and she took Ashley farther down the gulch.”

  “Explain.”

  Quinn closed his eyes when he got off the radio with Lance Booker. Damn, damn! Miranda had no other choice—she hadn’t had many options. But to have her running with an injured, scared woman
. . .

  “Let’s get going. Booker says it’ll take forty-five minutes to get down to the gulch.”

  “I’ll cut that time in half. Ever rappel down a mountain?”

  Davy stared at the open door. Red rage exploded in his chest, filling every blood vessel with potent hatred.

  That bitch stole his girl.

  Where did they go?

  She was a smart bitch; she wouldn’t go up the gulch. It only grew steeper, narrower. A trap. She hadn’t fallen for his traps before. Down Boulder Gulch would land them out near Big Sky. Hard going over the rocks, and they’d have to cross several creeks. With the rain last week they were running high. Waist deep at least. It would slow them down.

  She wouldn’t be able to take his girl up the mountainside. Too steep. He’d picked this location because of the trap to the west. He wanted to corner the girl. See the hot fear in her eyes when she realized there was no way out. Would she run toward him? Or cower against a mountain she’d never be able to climb?

  Instead, the bitch must have taken her down the boulders, taking the sport out of it. What was the fun of shooting them in open space? He’d done that before.

  He wanted something new.

  The bitch would pay for what she’d done. He should have killed Miranda Moore twelve years ago.

  He would have her begging for mercy before he cut out her heart.

  Miranda winced at the buzz of her radio. She had it turned low, but it still made noise.

  “Moore here,” she said, mindful of the echo. The rain was coming down steadily, helping to mask the noise, but if the Butcher was on her tail she had to take every precaution. They were keeping close to the north slope so they weren’t completely out in the open, but the rain made the ground slick. She had on hiking boots yet still fell once; she’d had to pick Ashley up more times than she could count.

  They were not moving fast enough for her liking.

  “It’s Booker. The Butcher came and left, ninety seconds ago at a quick pace. He was not happy.”

  Booker’s voice came through fuzzy.

  “Roger.”

  “I tried for a clean shot, but I couldn’t get one.”

  “Better to stay hidden. If you missed the first shot, he would have known where you were. How’s Nick doing?”