Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series)

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  Dalton came to a halt and peered through some brush. I crawled up next to him. “Has he noticed?”

  Dalton nodded. “He’s got the binoculars sighted on us.”

  “And he hasn’t shot me again. That’s a good sign I guess.”

  “You ready?” he asked with an encouraging nod.

  Deep breath. I nodded.

  Dalton took off at a quick pace, running for the log. I was right on his tail, staying between him and Rocky, blocking any chance of a shot until he was out on the log. He had to be directly above the river before we allowed Rocky an opening. Five more strides and we’d be there.

  One, two, three. Dalton was on the log. I feigned a stumble, making a space between us. Ca-rack! The shot reverberated across the distance, then the clang of a bullet hitting metal. I dropped to my knees. God, I hoped Rocky hadn’t heard it at that distance.

  Dalton crumpled into a heap, then slumped over.

  “Dalton!”

  He didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t give me any sign he was okay.

  “Dalton!”

  He slid from the log and plummeted to the river below. I spun around. Rocky already had the binoculars to his eyes, watching. I looked back to Dalton. He floated in a froth of white water, face down. Had he really been hit? Oh god! I couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see if he was conscious. “Dalton!”

  Could he hear me over the rumble of the rapids? With his ears in the water? “Dalton!” His body bobbed in the rapids like a fallen log, farther and farther away from me. “Dal-ton!”

  Oh my god! What if he was really shot? I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. What were we thinking?

  Okay. Deep breath. Of course he wouldn’t give me a sign. Rocky might see it. He had to play it out. Be convincing. To the end. Dalton always, always stayed in character.

  He’s all right. Stick to the plan. The plan.

  The white rush of water carried him toward the lake. Part of the plan.

  I spun back around. Rocky was wasting no time. He had the lid of the plastic storage box flipped open and was gearing up. Dalton had been right. Rocky was leaving camp to confirm the kill.

  I bolted from the log and ran for cover, back to the spot from which Dalton had been watching Rocky. I burrowed in and crawled on my elbows to get a view, my chest heaving.

  This is happening. My hands shook. I had skills. But that man was fully armed, well fed and rested. I had to keep him occupied, on my trail, but not let him catch me. All that, exhausted, wounded, recovering from hypothermia. It was going to take everything I had.

  Dalton, you better be at the trap when we get there.

  I drew in a deep breath and moved to higher ground.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rocky passed through the gate of the camp fully loaded—handgun at his belt, pack on his back, rifle slung over his shoulder, and the crossbow in his hand. He covered the ground from camp to the river’s edge at the speed of a cheetah, I swear. How was I going to stay ahead of him?

  He went straight to the log, then followed the rim of the gorge downhill, his eyes trained on the water, scanning. I saw before he did. Dalton’s body—or fake body—floating out in the lake. Even from where I was hidden, I could see his coat spread on the surface, the legs floating behind. He’d made a good, believable dummy. Unless?—Don’t go there.

  Rocky moved double time toward the lake. By now, the dummy was nearly a hundred yards out from shore. Rocky came to a halt, set down his crossbow, and dropped his backpack. He slowly turned around, scanning the hillside. I dropped down, my heart racing.

  For a moment, I thought he was going to strip down and swim out to the body for confirmation. If he did, he’d have to leave all his weapons unattended on shore. Could I get there in time? Grab his gun and this would all be over?

  He stood there, as though seriously considering the swim, then pulled the binoculars from his pack. A flush of nerves made me shiver. Would Dalton’s pine needle-stuffed pants hold up to scrutiny?

  Rocky held the binoculars to his eyes for too long. Surely he saw it was a fake. Oh, what if it isn’t? Then he lowered the glasses and turned back in my direction. I swear his steely eyes zeroed right in on me and my breath caught in my throat.

  “Where are you, little rabbit?” His voice thundered across the distance with a rough edge to it. Different now. Heavy with thirst. “Where have you run?”

  I set my teeth. Game on, asshole.

  I leapt to my feet, sure he’d see me. C’mon. I’m right up here, you creep. I limped along the ridge, glancing back to be sure he was following but still some distance away. Whatever it took—circling back, zigzagging, staying uphill—I needed to keep track of where he was and not let him get too close while I killed the time needed for Dalton to get to the trap and be ready.

  If he was alive.

  This is a bad plan, a terrible plan—no. Dalton was alive when he went into the river. Wasn’t he? Knock it off. Just stick to the plan. Lure Rocky to the trap. Dalton will be there.

  At the far side of the ridge I pushed through a thicket. A covey of ptarmigan lifted off with a clatter, wings thrashing through the brush. My heart leapt into my throat.

  “Careful, there, little rabbit,” Rocky shouted.

  I spun around. He was much closer than I’d thought. How could that be?

  “You’ll give yourself away,” he warned.

  Shit! I dropped my head and ran, bounding over the rocky terrain, dodging bushes. Tiny twigs slapped me in the face as I headed toward the pines and the deep forest. I needed the cover, where I could get ahead of him, then I’d circle back.

  I leaped over a rock, my leg faltered, and I went down, slamming my chin into the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of me. I pushed up onto my hands and knees, my chest heaving.

  Rocky’s laughter rumbled after me, so close it felt like he was breathing down my neck.

  I got back to my feet, stumbled forward, but managed to get going again. Maybe I could hide. I could duck under a bush, let him pass me by, then turn and head back the way we’d come. His speed and mine, in opposite directions, would put more space between us. Yes, that was what I’d do. Leave a false trail, then circle back.

  He might be a good tracker, but I had some skills too. But did I have time? Was he too close?

  As I entered the thick of the forest, I snapped a little sapling in two with my boot, then four paces later a pine branch, then in another ten feet, I left a scuff in the wet soil. I crept sideways then, making sure to leave no sign and circled back and got down on my belly in the mud and crawled under a moss-covered log.

  As I lay still, my heartbeat thrummed in my chest sending pulses of throbbing pain through my leg. I focused on my breathing, trying to settle it as I waited.

  Then he was there. Without a sound he appeared like a ghost. God he’s fast.

  My heartbeat thundered in my ears, racing back up to double time.

  Through the foliage I could see he’d stopped to examine the sapling. He sniffed the air, like a dog, then turned to scan the forest behind him. As he came around, his eyes cast on me. I shrank back, holding my breath, sure he’d seen me. But his eyes kept scanning at a steady pace.

  He moved forward a few steps, holding the crossbow up at the ready. He took the broken pine branch in his hand and twirled it between his fingers. A few more feet and he stopped. He squatted down, pushed back the plants around the scuff I’d left, then rose, looking in the direction I’d intended for him to continue. He paused, scanning again.

  Go on. That’s the way.

  His feet planted, shoulder width apart. Oh crap. He sees me. Then I heard the zip of his fly. Then the patter of urine hitting the forest floor.

  His feet swiveled as he tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped up again.

  He finally moved forward, without a sound.

  I let out my breath. Another thirty seconds passed before I slipped from under the log and hobbled back toward the river.

 
; It wouldn’t be long before he’d realize I’d fooled him. Once he’d walked a bit without seeing any sign, he’d circle back. By then, I’d be over the hillside and headed toward the trap.

  I ran along the same path I’d taken down, where he’d followed, so that my tracks would be somewhat hidden amid his. I didn’t need him finding me again so soon.

  I pushed through the brush, staying low, moving as fast as I could with my hand on my leg and careful not to twist an ankle over the rocky ground.

  When I got to the thicket where I’d flushed the ptarmigan, Rocky’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “You are a sly one.”

  I spun around, my heart racing. Where was he?

  Up, to the left? On the ridge above me? How had he made it that far back already?

  I dropped to my hands and knees. A groan escaped my lips as searing pain shot through my hip. I gripped my wound and crawled through the thicket.

  “He had to go, you know.” His voice made me duck lower. “I couldn’t let him get between you and me.”

  How far was he? Too close. I let him get too close. My pulse hammered away in my ears.

  He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die. Out here. Alone.

  No. Stop it. He’s taunting you. That’s good. Part of the plan. He was confident he’d killed Dalton. Good. All was going as Dalton had planned.

  So why am I shaking like a…like a little rabbit?

  “It’s just you and me now, babe. ”

  He’d moved. Circling me. But how far away was he now? I could make a run for it. Maybe.

  “And we’re going to have us a little fun.”

  Into a patch of devil’s club I crawled. It was good cover, if I didn’t scrape every inch of skin from my face. I crept forward. Easy. Quietly.

  “Arr-oooooooh!” he howled, the call of a crazed wolf, echoing across the hillside.

  I got to my feet and pushed through the alders to a stand of spruce. He might hear me, but he couldn’t see me. It was too thick. It would buy me some time. Maybe I could slip out the other side. With enough cover—

  “What I want to know,” he shouted after me, “is why couldn’t you just shoot the bear?”

  What? I felt his beady eyes on me, taunting. Somewhere behind me. I stumbled, caught my footing and kept moving.

  “You had me going for a while there. I admit. I was sure you were the real deal. But then you didn’t shoot the bear.”

  He was moving. Which way now?

  “That’s when I saw you for who you really are.”

  I came to a halt. What did he mean? What was this all about?

  “All your talk about being Little Miss Sharpshooter. Typical. Just like all the other women. All mouth. Running with the boys, just to be a tease. You think this is a game. A two week holiday from your otherwise boring life. You come out here for a little excitement. Act like a big hunter, but you’re no hunter. You’re a tease. You’re all talk and you’re only interested in boys with big guns. Like those brothers. They stroke their guns, pump up their egos, get off on pulling the trigger.

  “But you didn’t get to hunt with John-boy, did you. So you could bat your eyes and shake your little ass.”

  I dropped to a crouch. I had to get a bearing on him.

  “They’re not real men. They know nothing about being a man.” He moved closer to me. “I’m a real man,”

  Is that what this was about?

  “Sure, Jack would have coddled you, helped you hold your gun, told you what a great hunter you are. But he wouldn’t have brought in a bear like I did.”

  There was a long pause. I held my breath, sure he was listening for me to move.

  “Mark, Jack, Bob—they don’t know shit. I’m the best tracker. I’m the real hunter. You didn’t know it, but I was the one you wanted. And I proved it. But you had to go and do what you did.”

  What? Not shoot the bear? Kiss Dalton? What?

  “You don’t deserve a real man,” he said, his voice a growl. My hands started to shake again. Dalton was right. This wasn’t about poaching. This guy was a madman.

  “If you ain’t the predator, you’re the prey. It’s a brutal world.”

  I shrank back, tucked into the pine boughs. He was only a few feet away. Don’t let him get to you. Stick to the plan, like you promised Dalton. Live and die by the plan. Get out of here.

  “What’s it feel like being the one hunted?” I swear I heard him lick his lips. “You are feisty though. I was hoping for a feisty one.”

  Feisty is my middle name. He’d moved again. Closer. I ducked. Where was he?

  “I bet you miss your daddy, don’t you?”

  The image of my father, my real father, flashed before me, hiding in the bushes, poachers surrounding him, moving in for the kill. You leave my dad out of this.

  “He’s not here to protect you, sweetheart. You’re all mine to do with as I want.”

  I sucked in air. Rage churned in my belly. You son of a bitch.

  “You’re not going to disappoint me and give up without a fight, are you?”

  Oh, I’ll show you a fight. Adrenaline pumped through my veins.

  “Oh, yes,” he moaned. He was right behind me now, his voice husky. “I can smell your fear.”

  I’m not afraid of you.

  “You’re heart’s thumping away in your chest. You’re shaking. Why don’t you run, little rabbit. Run!”

  No more running.

  “You’re just a scared little girl.”

  I’ll show you what this little girl can do.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I dropped to my belly and wrapped my hand around a stick that was lying on the ground.

  Every sense alert, I propped myself up on my elbows under the pine tree, waiting.

  The subtle wisp of misty rain, accumulating on needles, then dripping to patter on the ground was the only thing I heard. Where was he? I turned my head to hear. Drip. Drop. Nothing.

  The sound of my own breathing drowned out everything else. The beating of my heart thudded away—thump thump, thump thump.

  I inched forward. Then I heard something. The snap of a twig. Which way? The whoosh of his pant leg against the brush. I kept hidden, scanning the forest floor. Then it was there, his boot. Five feet away.

  He took another step. Then another, creeping toward me.

  Just a few more steps. One, then another. His boot settled on the moss, two feet away. I drew back and thrust the stick into his calf. Take that! He reared backward. I grabbed his other foot and he toppled, landing flat on his back.

  “You bitch!”

  I sprang on top of him, my hands at his throat.

  He bucked and shoved me, but I hung on. We rolled in the brush, slammed into a spruce. I closed my eyes as the branches scraped across my face.

  Rocky’s chuckle made me open them again. His hands were on my hips. “You wanna play do you?”

  I drew back and slapped him across the face.

  He laughed louder. Then his eyes narrowed. He shifted and flung me on my back, knocking the wind out of me. Damn. How’d he do that?

  Then he was on top of me, pinning my arms back. I pivoted on my hip, shoved my arm out farther to break his balance. As he collapsed, I rammed my elbow hard against his throat. He fell over, hacking, surprise in his eyes.

  I was on my knees and had one hand on the rifle when he swiped me with his left hand, right across the rash on my neck and hard on my ear.

  “Ow!” I shrieked. I still had a hold of the rifle. It came free from his shoulder. I gripped it with both hands and struck him in the crotch with the stock.

  On my feet, I ran, my arms pumping, my heart pounding, my lungs burning, my wounded leg moving faster than I thought possible. I barreled through thicket, plowed through bushes, up a ridge and down another, getting as far away as I could.

  I couldn’t beat him at hand-to-hand combat. He was well-trained, stronger. I was wounded, too. But now I had the rifle. I had the rifle! Hallelujah! You’re going down, you craz
y son of a bitch!

  Ahead, there was a natural ledge. I climbed to the top, pushing my limits, then spun around to where I could see the path I had come before I stopped to catch my breath.

  My lungs couldn’t settle down. So I paced, puffing out the air, watching for him to chase, the rifle still in my hand.

  I grabbed the bolt and racked it back. Empty. No bullets. Dammit! Of course he wouldn’t carry it loaded, for this exact reason. It was for long distance. He had his sidearm, which was more securely fastened to his belt. Dammit! What was I thinking? Why hadn’t I grabbed that?

  Was there more ammo back in the box in camp? Dalton’s and my guns were there. But would Rocky have left all the ammo there too once he left the camp? That’s probably what he carried in the backpack. Or, if he was smart, he would have hidden it somewhere in the woods.

  Dammit!

  He’d be on my trail soon.

  Settle down, McVie. The trap. Dalton will be there. Stick to the plan.

  After a quick scan, I realized I’d run back in the direction where we’d hunted yesterday. Or was it two days now? Three? My hand went to my head, as if I could steady my thoughts. I needed food, water.

  The rain had stopped, thankfully, though I was soaked through to my skin. The sun beat down from directly overhead, giving a hint of warmth. In the sky, further east, ravens circled with two vultures, their broad wings tipping on the wind. A sign of carrion below. Was I that close to the bear kill? If so, what other animals were gathered for the feast?

  I didn’t want to find out.

  I needed to keep moving and lead him back around to the trap without running into any more trouble. If there were any animals feeding on the carcass or even in that blueberry patch that Dalton had found and— blueberries! The branches drooping with them, he had said.

  Which way was it? That way. I pushed through the brush and there they were, bushes loaded with little, luscious spheres of blue. I dropped to my knees and grabbed at the branches, stripping them of handfuls of berries, and crammed them into my mouth. Oh so sweet! I didn’t know blueberries could taste so good. I slumped to the ground and shoved berries into my mouth, eating as fast as I could pick them.