Under Devil's Snare (Under Series Book 2)

by S. Y. Thompson

  When Brenda reached the edge of the hard packed park road she stopped to think. Cleo took off at least an hour ago, maybe two. Brenda had lost track of time while talking with Grayson. She cursed herself for not shooting the dog right then. Or stabbing her, Brenda silently amended. She’d been holding her knife at the time.

  “I tried,” she whispered. “She jumped out of the way. It’s not my fault that she jumped out of the way.”

  Brenda stood looking out into the forest, wondering where the dog had gone. She heard birds beginning to stir in the treetops. Crickets still chirped but not as loudly as before. The wind rustled in the high grass but still she didn’t move. Brenda felt numb, an all too familiar sensation that usually occurred just before a sense of panic would wash over her. The trepidation was a familiar sensation, usually experienced briefly after killing someone. She didn’t care about the person whose life she’d snuffed out. Brenda cared only that someone would catch her. If she didn’t find the dog, it would lead someone to her and it would all be over.

  The shadows lightened and Brenda blinked. She realized she’d been standing in one spot long enough for the sun to begin to rise. Brenda stirred and ran for the park jeep. She’d left it near the edge of the cabin and would need it if she was going to hunt down the beagle. First she’d shoot it with a tranquilizer and then she’d slit its throat for causing her so much trouble.

  Chapter Seventeen

  JAMISON FORCED HERSELF to breathe deeply. As disturbing as the photographs were they wouldn’t help her get Lee back. She needed to find something useful. Jamison reached into the locker and started sifting through the contents. Much of what she found wasn’t that unusual for a workplace locker; a hairbrush, a packet of hair ties and even a can of black shoe polish for Brenda’s work boots. A paperback novel rested upon a stack of loose papers. The cover was battered and torn on one corner. Jamison tossed the book into the floor with barely a glance. As far as she was concerned, the photos alone were justification for probable cause and it didn’t bother her to ransack the contents as she went. She didn’t know if a judge would agree considering that she found the incriminating photos after breaking into the locker, but the exigent circumstances of a life hanging in the balance should do the trick. That was assuming it ever came to a courtroom.

  Finding the bull’s-eye drawn around Lee’s chest was enough to enrage Jamison. If she got to Thomas before Macke and Hex did, she didn’t know if she’d be able to refrain from tearing the woman apart with her bare hands.

  A few loose articles lay under a pile of papers and Jamison picked up a shiny, gold button. She puzzled over its meaning, but her fist clenched when she realized the object’s significance. Jamison had lost the button off her dress jacket during last year’s Christmas party. She shuddered to think Ranger Thomas had become preoccupied with her so long ago and Jamison had missed the signs. Jamison felt her anger ratchet up another notch, but forced her ire into submission. Lee was the focus, and anything that would lead to her whereabouts. She slid the button into her trouser pocket and reached back into the locker.

  Most of the loose papers were useless, various blank report forms used by the park, a ticket book and an empty and wrinkled old manila folder. Jamison noticed the folder sat canted and bent at an odd angle. Whatever rested beneath had a hard, rectangular shape. Cautiously, Jamison raised the folder to find a small box of tranquilizer darts. Although it wasn’t uncommon for park personnel to use ketamine on unruly, rampaging or displaced animals, she didn’t expect to find them inside a personal locker. Their presence was a blatant breech of protocol, made further disturbing by recent events.

  Jamison had discovered a dart just like these on Old Mill Road next to Mira Pye’s Buick. Later, police found another in the high grass next to the defunct lumber mill. Outrage pumping through her body, Jamison snatched the box from the bottom of the locker and flipped it open. The container was empty. Rolling her eyes, she pitched it onto the floor. The box bounced off the discarded book and slid across the narrow aisle. Only a few scraps remained inside the locker. Jamison decided the silver chewing gum wrapper was probably worthless so chose the final, folded square of paper.

  Her cell phone vibrated and Jamison jerked in surprise. She flipped open her phone as the paper fluttered to the floor. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got a warrant,” Sheriff Macke said by way of hello. “Hex and I are headed over now.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Other than several dozen pictures of me and an empty box of tranq darts, there’s nothing here.”

  Jamison bent over to pick up the dropped page. She almost tossed it back inside, but changed her mind. Slamming the locker closed, Jamison exited the room with the paper clutched in her hand. She shoved it into her hip pocket so she could lock the office door.

  “Did you say tranquilizer darts?”

  “Yep and I’m willing to bet they’re the same kind used on Lindsay and Mira. I don’t suppose we have any lab results back on their tox screens?”

  Jamison could hear Macke speaking to someone in the background before she said, “Detective Hex is calling the hospital to see if the results are back yet. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  “Copy that, I’m on my way.”

  Jamison jumped into her Chevy and pulled out, leaving the Range Rover sitting in the lot. Halfway to the park exit she remembered to switch on the headlights. The moon was full and her primitive side so close to breaking free that she could see as clearly as she could at high noon. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean an oncoming driver would see her truck in the dark.

  Tires squealed a little when Jamison hit the blacktop. Only then did Jamison notice she could see her breath. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last few hours and it was beginning to mist. The light rain froze almost instantly upon contact with the windshield. Jamison glanced down for just a moment to turn on the wipers and the defroster. When she looked back up she flinched from the glare of lights from a vehicle rapidly approaching from behind. Black Mountain Road was a narrow two lane that led straight into Harmon. Accidents occurred frequently on the road even during the best of conditions. In this weather, driving so recklessly was almost suicide.

  Headlights disappeared from her sight in the rear view mirror. If she touched her brakes or slowed in the slightest the other driver would ram into Jamison’s bumper. There wasn’t a shoulder for her to move over to and get out of the way. Suddenly, the following car drifted into the other lane. It wasn’t a quick move, like it would have been if the driver decided to pass. Instead, the move seemed lazy and uncoordinated. As though in response to her observation, the car wandered toward the guard rail. The driver quickly corrected the vehicle and leapt forward.

  Jamison heard the engine whine in protest as the driver poured on the speed. As the vehicle passed, she glanced over but the driver sat below Jamison’s sight line. She could just make out the bulky sleeve of a coat worn by a passenger sitting in the front. The other car’s engine coughed a little and she smelled the smoke that belched out of the tail pipe. At first irritated, Jamison’s emotions quickly changed to surprise and confusion when she recognized Brenda Thomas’s beat up brown station wagon.

  With the worsening of the weather, clouds now obscured the light cast by the full moon. Jamison could see shadows moving inside the car, but little detail. What she could see told her that Brenda was not alone. Jamison had the impression of a heavy coat covering a figure sitting in the front passenger seat. Lee was in there with her.

  Adrenaline surged through Jamison’s veins and dark pelt erupted over her arms. The seams of her shirt strained at the shoulders and she heard a ripping sound, easily ignored over the sensation of claws erupting from her fingertips. Jamison’s teeth elongated into wicked, threatening points. Her vision sharpened even more as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. She didn’t intend to lose them on this windy mountain road.

  The station wagon returned to the proper side of the highway, but the
driver appeared to have little concern for staying there. The vehicle drifted over the white line several times. She could almost believe the driver was impaired if she didn’t know to whom the car belonged. Suddenly Brenda poured on the speed and the gap between the vehicles began to widen.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Jamison muttered. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

  Jamison pressed down on the pedal, trying to be careful on the slippery road but not willing to allow Brenda to escape. That Jamison could see an unresisting passenger told her that Lee was either unconscious or injured. If Thomas managed to give her the slip, she would kill Lee. Jamison didn’t know why she hadn’t already, but didn’t want to dwell on the answer. She was just happy that Lee was still alive.

  Going around a sharp curve adjacent to the high embankment, Jamison’s tires slipped a bit. She gritted her teeth and held on tightly to the wheel, allowing the pickup to drift slightly over the line to compensate for the speed. A car coming from the other direction made her over-correct. She had to fight for control as the rear end fishtailed. The driver of the oncoming car blew the horn and Jamison caught the vague impression of a hand offering an obscene gesture.

  Because she had to let off the gas to get the pickup back under control, Thomas had put considerable distance between them. Jamison roared her anger, the sound reverberating off the inside cab of the pickup. She tromped down on the accelerator even as the shoulder seams of her shirt and coat split. Pelt the color of midnight burst from her forearms and lethal claws erupted from the tips of her fingers. The change was so abrupt that it was almost painful, further fueling her rage.

  Cat-like vision allowed her to measure the narrowing distance between the vehicles. Jamison’s bumper edged nearer to the rear of the station wagon and for a brief instant she considered ramming the jalopy. In its current condition, another dent would hardly stand out. Jamison eyed the rusty bumper in front of her but changed her mind at the last instant. Even a light tap in these hazardous conditions could send the car flying out of control on these treacherous mountain roads.

  The freezing mist tapered off until the wipers thumped back and forth across cold, dry glass. She hardly noticed the sound until the rubber blades began to stutter without moisture to help them glide. Jamison switched the wipers off without taking her eyes from the station wagon. Concentrating hard, she tried to peer into the vehicle’s interior and identify Lee. Jamison could clearly make out three figures: the two in front and another in the back. She wondered if the third occupant was an accomplice.

  Black Mountain Road abruptly crested as Jamison negotiated yet another sharp curve. For the next mile and a half, the terrain was steadily downhill. The driver of the other vehicle wasn’t quite as skilled in navigating the turn and Jamison held her breath as the station wagon drifted across the center stripe. Only a galvanized steel guardrail would prevent someone from leaving this road and in this particular spot, that unfortunate individual would encounter a one hundred and fifty foot drop to the canyon floor. At the last second, the driver whipped the vehicle back across the roadway to the proper lane.

  Jamison frowned, struck by the lack of control evidenced by the driver. As the station wagon crossed back into the right lane, she watched the very scene that she had feared unfold. The bald rear tires of the vehicle slipped in the light build up of ice accumulated on the blacktop. Thomas’s station wagon fishtailed briefly and then went into a sideways slide down the two-lane road.

  “Lee,” Jamison whispered in sudden dread.

  Unable to do anything but watch helplessly, Jamison let off the accelerator and allowed her pickup to slow naturally. She put distance between herself and the out of control station wagon but stayed close enough once the deadly tableau had played out. Thomas’s car spun around as it slid until the headlights faced back toward her. As it continued around, the station wagon began slowing and sliding toward the edge of the abutment. Bouncing off the rocky mountain wall would send it ricocheting back toward the cliff and Jamison highly doubted the driver would be able to regain control if that happened.

  Up ahead, Jamison spotted a highway breakaway ramp. Intended for semi-trucks that lost control, any vehicle that hit the ramp would stop quickly as it became buried in a foot of plowed soil. In normal conditions that was true, but Jamison didn’t know when the highway department had last maintained the ramp or the hardness of the ground considering the weather.

  Thomas apparently saw the breakaway ramp at the same time. For a moment, the station wagon righted itself and headed directly toward the emergency exit. Jamison estimated that the vehicle was doing at least forty when it hit the plowed soil. Almost immediately, the station wagon lurched to a stop. Encased at an angle by reddish sand, only the front doors of the vehicle were capable of opening.

  Jamison pulled to the edge of the breakaway ramp and rammed the truck into park. She jumped out and ran to the station wagon as fast as she could on the icy terrain. Adrenaline pumped and blood poured into her muscles. Claws punctured metal when she reached out to grab the door lever and Jamison yanked backward with all of her enhanced strength. The top hinge strained and gave way with a shriek. Jamison let go of the sagging door and reached inside to grapple with the driver, afraid that if she didn’t act quickly Brenda would harm Lee.

  Claws tangled in the thick down covering an arm. She held the driver still while she reached in with the other hand to grab the neck of the jacket. Since the driver hadn’t bothered to secure the seat belt, Jamison found it easy to haul them from the vehicle. At the same instant that she dragged the driver from the station wagon, Jamison released a roar of triumph. Higher order reason had given way to primal animal instinct. She held her prize dangling a foot off the ground with one hand and prepared to slash her claws across the prey’s face with the other.

  Some last whisper of rationality prevented her from killing and Jamison staggered slightly as three things hit her all at once. The smell of booze was overwhelming, the driver was a teenage boy barely old enough to grow facial hair, and he was laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks. Jamison blinked and glanced inside the wrecked station wagon. Another boy sat in the front seat and a girl in the rear. All three were hammered and laughing in delight.

  “Man, that was great,” the teenager dangling from her inhuman grip asserted. Still grinning, his eyes narrowed as he peered at Jamison. He seemed to have trouble focusing on her features through the alcohol induced haze. “Did you see that?”

  Jamison dropped him into the sand. She stomped through soil toward the back of the station wagon, sinking up to mid-shin with every step. Finally at the rear of the vehicle, she peered through the tinted glass into the cargo area. The teenagers were the vehicle’s only occupants. Jamison turned back toward the boy attempting to regain his footing. He wasn’t having much luck, staggering around in the dirt. She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and hauled him close to her face.

  Allowing him a close-up of her fangs, Jamison grated, “Where did you steal the car?” By finding out where they’d boosted Ranger Thomas’s station wagon, she hoped she could narrow down a search area.

  “You’re purdy.” The youth belched unexpectedly and Jamison winced from the stench of stale alcohol.

  This was pointless. Until they sobered up a little, these kids wouldn’t be able to tell her anything. Jamison dropped him back into the red clay sand and headed for the car. She pulled the keys from the ignition and slipped them into her pocket. The car wouldn’t move short of a wrecker pulling it free, but she wasn’t taking any chances. After briefly attempting to question the other two, Jamison returned to her initial conclusion. She kept an eye on the three while she called for a patrol car on her cell phone. Fortunately, they didn’t seem interested in going anywhere.

  The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon and Jamison felt the seconds tick by. Every moment she wasted here was more time Brenda had to torture and kill her partner. With worry eating at her insides, Jam
ison called Macke.

  “Are you there yet?”

  “Yeah, we’re waiting for you. There aren’t any lights on and I don’t see her car.”

  “And you won’t.”

  Jamison quickly filled the sheriff in on her latest adventure and finished up just as a black and white came into view. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes. The deputy is here now and as soon as I turn these guys over I’ll be on my way.”

  “Hurry it up, Kessler. I’ve waited out of professional courtesy, but we don’t have all day.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. My day wouldn’t have been complete without a little of your sarcasm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  Jamison closed her phone and slid it into her jacket pocket. Deputy Robinson, a brunette somewhere in her mid-thirties coasted to a stop beside her. Light sable eyes tracked over her form, the expression more curious than concerned.

  “You okay, Ranger?”

  “Of course, why do you ask?”

  Robinson nodded toward Jamison as she put the patrol car in park. “Your jacket’s torn.”

  Jamison had forgotten she’d partially shifted while following the station wagon at breakneck speed down the mountain road. “It’s just an old coat. Come on and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

  Robinson didn’t attempt to keep Jamison on the scene for any longer than necessary as a lot of arresting officers would have done in her place. She helped Jamison practically pour the joyriders into the back of her patrol car, took a brief statement and the car keys and then hopped back into the department vehicle.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush off,” Robinson apologized, “but shift-change is in two hours and it would be nice to actually get off on time for once. I figure the paperwork on these three is going to take that long.”

  “No problem, I have somewhere I need to be. Can you do me a favor, though? Hold these three at the station until they sober up. I need to ask them some questions.”