“He’s going in and out of consciousness. I was talking to him, keeping him awake, until I spotted Larsen and had to keep quiet. He faded then.”
Damn. Nick needed medical attention soon.
“I talked to Peterson,” Booker continued. “They’re on their way down.”
Good. At least she had reinforcements.
“I’m turning off my radio,” she said. “I don’t want any noise. Out.”
She glanced at Ashley. The girl didn’t know the meaning of the word quiet. Every time she slipped she let out a yelp, then started crying again about how she was going to die.
Miranda couldn’t blame her. Ashley was scared to death. She knew what had happened to all the other victims of the Butcher. She’d had a lot of evil things happen to her during the last two days.
But Miranda needed to explain the facts of life—and death—to Ashley van Auden.
She turned off her radio and pocketed it. Ashley stepped on a sharp rock and fell to her knees. “Ow!” She sobbed into the dirt.
Miranda picked Ashley up off the ground, her muscles straining. Though Ashley was several inches shorter and ten pounds lighter than Miranda, she was drenched. Miranda felt sluggish with the weight of the water and backpack.
The rain had cleansed Ashley’s body, washing away the blood and body odor, leaving her smelling like the wet wool sweater and fear—the fear rolling off her was palpable.
Or was that Miranda’s own terror?
She carried the girl to a thick ponderosa and propped her against the base.
“Listen to me, Ashley,” she said in her sternest voice.
“He’s going to kill us,” Ashley interrupted. “You know it. You know he’s coming after us. I heard. I heard on your radio. That cop said. He’s coming to kill us. We’re going to d-d-die—”
Miranda grabbed Ashley’s arms and gave her a firm shake. “Shut. Up.” She didn’t want to lose her temper, but her heart was racing. They didn’t have time. Larsen would be eating up the ground three, four times faster than they were. Even with their twenty-minute lead—shit, they might have ten minutes. If they kept moving.
If they ran.
No. No more running. It would end here and now.
Rain pounding down, she observed her surroundings. She could use the terrain to her advantage.
They were in a wide part of the canyon. The boulders seemed to pile in the center, with a shallow creek running both north and south of the rocks. Though the south slope was steeper, there were more fallen trees here. Better places to hide.
“Ashley!”
“Why are you being so mean to me? You don’t understand.” Her swollen lips pouted and tears rolled from her eyes. “You don’t know anything. Let me go!”
Miranda didn’t release her hold. “Do you know who I am?”
“Mir-anda.” Ashley’s voice trembled.
“I am Miranda Moore. I escaped this bastard once. I’m not going to let him kill me—or you—now.”
Miranda was surprised her voice sounded so strong. Inside, she was a mess. She had no idea what would happen when she saw Larsen. She didn’t know if she would freeze or panic or scream in rage.
But she did know there was no way they could outrun him. And this time, she had a weapon, she had physical strength, and more important, she had the element of surprise.
She would not be a victim again.
Ashley blinked, oblivious to the rain running in rivulets down her face. She was shivering, but didn’t seem to notice.
Her voice was small, like a child’s. “Promise?”
“So help me God, he will have to kill me before I let him touch you. But you have to do exactly what I say. Exactly.”
Ashley slowly nodded. “Okay.”
Ten minutes. She had ten minutes to see if her plan would work.
Or Quinn would find her dead.
CHAPTER
33
Quinn helped Charlie rig mountain-climbing gear to the trucks at the top of the mountain. They would rappel straight down, cutting off a huge chunk of time getting to the bottom. They had only two ropes long enough, so Quinn and Charlie would go first, followed by additional teams of two.
“Ten minutes, tops,” Charlie said.
They were about to start down the slope when Charlie’s radio buzzed. “Charlie here.”
“It’s Deputy Booker. Larsen was just at the shack and went off in the same direction as Miranda. I warned her. She’s radio-silent now.”
Damn. Quinn wanted to talk to her, find out exactly where she was. Find out how she was holding up. Tell her to watch her back. Assure Miranda of her strength and perseverance.
Most of all, he wanted to hear her voice.
“Sheriff Thomas is bad off,” Booker said. “He needs a doctor.”
“We’ll send the medic down next,” Charlie said. “Twenty minutes.”
“Roger that.”
Charlie turned to Quinn. “Let’s do it.”
Quinn was in good shape, but rappelling down a mountain used muscles he never knew existed. By the time they got to the bottom, he was winded.
But he couldn’t stop. His eyes scanned the gulch. Where was Miranda?
Where was Larsen?
Charlie radioed Booker, who said he and Nick were about three hundred yards west.
“Okay, Booker. Hang on. The medical team is on their way.”
Charlie turned to Quinn and pointed to the ground. “Look.”
The rain was falling faster by the minute and Quinn could barely see his feet clearly. Then he saw what Charlie did.
Deep impressions in the leaves leading to the boulder outcrop. “This way,” Quinn said.
Miranda sensed the hunter before she saw him.
She didn’t know exactly how she realized they weren’t alone in this part of the woods, but suddenly the wet air felt electric, the gray sheets of rain sharpened, and her ears picked up every sound. The rain pounding on the boulders in the rising creek below. The faint creak of the trees swaying in the storm.
Her own sharp breath.
She had attempted to cover their tracks, but it was virtually impossible with the limited time she had to set her plan in motion. She hoped Ashley stayed quiet. That was all she had to do. Hide and be quiet.
Twelve years ago, Miranda had harbored a deep resentment of Sharon as they ran from the Butcher. Every time Sharon cried out, Miranda cringed, fearing her friend was leading the Butcher right to them. That he would catch them and they would die.
And Sharon had.
Times had changed. Though Miranda winced every time Ashley whimpered, she understood. How could she hate her for her fear?
That same fear crawled up Miranda’s spine, step by step, eating away at her resolve.
She should have kept moving. Eventually, Larsen would have caught up to them. But maybe not. She should have stayed with Nick. If she had looked harder, maybe she could have found another place to hide. Gone back into the shack and waited for him to walk in.
She had to stop second-guessing herself. Her fear was rising because he was getting closer.
Dammit, where was he? He should have been here by now.
He wouldn’t stroll down the middle of the canyon. He’d follow their tracks, keeping close to the trees so he would have an element of surprise. Miranda had planted false tracks on the north side of the canyon, opposite of where she was hiding.
She expected him in camouflage to blend in with the environment. Every muscle rigid, she waited and watched.
There.
A movement to her left. Faint. Directly in front of Ashley’s hiding spot. She looked and saw nothing. Maybe it was the rain playing tricks with her peripheral vision.
The sunlight had all but disappeared under the gray skies; visibility was minimal. The trap was a bad idea. She’d never be able to see him.
But maybe this was okay. He would pass by, and she and Ashley could sit tight until Quinn came.
Yes. That would work.
To her far left she sensed movement. Dammit, Ashley! Get down. Stay down. Hadn’t she listened to her? Don’t move. Stay low. Don’t even look.
Straight in front of her, forty feet away, she saw him. He stood perfectly still. She’d marked a trail going another two hundred feet past her hiding space, before she had backtracked—why had he stopped there?
Did he hear something?
Smell something?
Had he seen Ashley move in the rotting tree where Miranda had tried to hide her?
Dammit, what did he know?
She was panicking. He couldn’t know where she was hiding. Or Ashley.
Please stay down, Ashley. Please be quiet.
Larsen was listening. He stood so still that if Miranda hadn’t known he was there, she would have questioned her sanity. But she had seen a glimpse of him, and if she focused she could make out his silhouette.
Run. Run!
No, she would not run. She would stay right here, behind the low boulder. She was flat on her stomach, watching him from above. Watching, with her gun sights on the Butcher. He was too far for a certain hit. And she couldn’t afford to miss. One miss, and he would bolt and come at them again. With the knowledge of where they were.
Walk on by, Larsen. Walk on by.
Her plan was to backtrack once Larsen passed them. In the ten minutes she’d had to plan, she determined the best trap would be to not get caught. Let him pass them, then backtrack as fast as possible to Nick. At some point before they reached him, they’d run into Quinn and the others.
Her number-one responsibility was to protect Ashley, not to catch the Butcher. But even through her fear, she wanted to stop him. Now. Give him no other opportunity to hurt another woman.
But getting Ashley safely out of the mountains was her job, and one she took very seriously.
Walk on by. Come on, come on! What are you waiting for?
He stood there, unmoving. Why?
She sensed more than saw Ashley’s panic.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion—Ashley jerked forward, out of the log. Back again.
Larsen turned his body and stared at the log. He raised his rifle.
Ashley screamed and scrambled out of the dead tree. Miranda aimed her gun at Larsen. He dropped to his knee and turned his rifle toward Ashley.
Miranda fired once, twice, three times.
Larsen fell flat to the ground. Had she hit him?
Ashley screamed again and Larsen used his forearms to crawl along the ground. He swung his rifle around and fired at Ashley.
“Ashley, get down!” Miranda yelled as she fired three more rounds at Larsen. But he was already rolling away from her and then he disappeared behind a boulder.
Shit! Where had he gone?
Ashley stumbled to Miranda’s hiding spot. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I thought he’d seen me, I had to run. I’m sorry.”
“Shh. Stop.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Be quiet,” Miranda commanded. She had to think. She stared at the boulder forty feet in front of her. Visibility was so poor, she couldn’t see beyond. Was he cowering on the other side? Had he crawled away? Would he try to get them from the right? The left? The rear?
He had to know where they were. But Miranda didn’t dare move.
She would wait him out. She had no choice.
CHAPTER
34
One minute ticked off.
Miranda didn’t move. She barely trusted herself to breathe. The only sound she heard other than the steady beat of the rain was Ashley shivering.
Her eyes swept the landscape. Back and forth. Looking for movement, something that told her where he’d gone.
Nothing.
Another minute ticked off.
Fear coated her mouth, a foul taste that made her want to spit. But she didn’t dare open her mouth. Her chest tightened as her eyes darted back and forth, back and forth.
She felt like prey frozen by primal terror. Unable to move, unable to save herself. She was going to die out here after all, like a lamb led to the slaughter. Helpless.
No. You will not die without a fight.
“Ashley.” She whispered right in the girl’s ear. “I’m going to crawl down to the creek.”
“No!”
“Shhh.” Damn, damn! What was with this girl? Didn’t she understand that the prey had to be quiet? Above all, quiet.
Miranda was losing it. Get a grip.
“I’m going to—”
She heard the sharp report of a rifle at the same time a chunk of the boulder she hid behind exploded next to her face. She stifled a scream, but Ashley didn’t.
“No!” Miranda yelled as Ashley jumped up and ran down the slope.
Whap-whap!
Ashley stumbled and rolled down the hill.
He killed her. Dear God, no!
Miranda started crawling down the slope on her belly, making herself a smaller target, then saw Ashley move.
She wasn’t dead. Falling had saved her life.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. She turned and aimed her gun downhill. He was partly shielded by rocks, so he was lying low, too.
His rifle was raised.
Ashley was on her feet, running away.
Miranda fired a shot to distract Larsen. Her bullet hit the ground right in front of him, but he didn’t flinch.
He was going to shoot Ashley in the back. Just like Sharon.
She jumped up. “David Larsen!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
That got his attention. He turned the rifle on her at the same time he moved away from the shield of the rocks.
They fired at the same time.
Miranda rolled to the left, the bullet coming so close to her head she felt its warmth against her cheek.
Larsen grunted. Had she hit him? Where?
She didn’t dare look and scrambled toward the relative safety of a pine.
She couldn’t see him.
Another minute ticked off. She ejected the empty clip from her gun, slammed in a full clip, and chambered a round.
She could no longer see Ashley, which meant neither could he. Unless he’d gone after her.
She had to distract him.
“I know who you are!” she shouted. “Everyone knows who you are, David.”
She heard the distinct sound of him reloading. Much, much closer than she thought. He wasn’t talking.
He’d never talked much.
“The FBI is all over this mountain. I’ve been talking to them in on the radio. They know exactly where you are. You’ll never get out of this canyon.”
She felt his breath on her neck. An icy shiver ran from the base of her skull down her spine. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
He chuckled faintly. “Run.”
She pivoted sharply to the left and swung her right leg high up, startling him into dropping the rifle.
He grunted and attempted to grab the stock. She kicked him in the gut, using her momentum to push him to the ground and roll away from him. Her wrist hit a rock and she lost her grip on her gun.
He grabbed her leg as she scrambled for her gun, but it was just beyond her reach.
He yanked her toward him, trying to climb on top of her. Not to rape her, but to kill her. He grunted as he grabbed her waist and pulled himself over her body.
No! Not again. Never again.
She used the slope and gravity to roll left, forcing him off her. He hit her in the right kidney and she cried out.
But she felt the barrel of his rifle at her fingertips.
She swung it and the stock hit him in the head as he loomed above her. He collapsed to the ground, shaken. Scrambling up, she aimed the rifle at him. “How do you like being the hunted?”
Her breath came in sharp gasps, adrenaline pouring through her. His life was in her hands. One shot to the head and it was over. She aimed. Pressed the trigger.
Click.
She looked down. She hadn’t chambered
the round.
He didn’t hesitate and grabbed the end of the rifle. She fought for it, but he yanked it from her hands. Then he slipped, losing his grip on the gun, and it slid down the slope out of reach.
She saw the glimmer of a knife in his belt. This was it. She’d never be able to defeat him in hand-to-hand combat. He was skinny, but tall and much stronger than he looked.
He glared at her, his crystal blue eyes cold with hate. Then he smiled slyly.
“You will die today.”
He jumped on her.
Quinn heard gunshots. They were so close, but what if it was too late?
He ran as fast as he could, stumbling over rocks and splashing through the rising creek.
He heard a startled cry. Miranda. He couldn’t see her, but she wasn’t far off. He added speed, desperate to call her name but not wanting to alert Larsen.
He burst into a clearing, stopping just in time to avoid sliding down a boulder. Right below him, Larsen had Miranda pinned to the ground. In Larsen’s hand was a knife.
Quinn reached for his gun.
Her heart raced, adrenaline pumped through her veins. It was as if her eyesight had become sharper, her hearing better.
Larsen’s body pinned her down, his left arm pressed hard across her throat. The knife in his right hand shimmered, rainwater dripping from the blade onto her face.
Her greatest fear was she would be paralyzed. That she’d never be able to defend herself when her life was on the line. That the years of self-defense classes she took, the ones she taught, the exercise, the determination, was all for naught.
That he would win in the end.
This is it. The day I die.
No. NO!
She reached up with her left hand and gouged his eyes as deeply as she could. He roared in pain and leaned away from her, raising his right arm high above his head, the sharp blade of the double-edged hunting knife coming down, down.
She arched her back and used his precarious balance to throw him off.
She didn’t wait to see how he landed. She jumped up, but he grabbed her foot and pulled her down again. She was on her stomach, the worst possible position. A hot burn seared the back of her calf. Warmth oozed out of her body, molding her jeans to her leg.
The Hunt Page 28
