Left to Die

by Rita Herron

  She propped her back against the wooden wall of the shelter, drew her knees up and leaned her folded arms on them. “Tell me more about your family,” she murmured.

  “Not that much to tell.” Fletch had never been a talker.

  “Please,” she said. “It helps distract me.”

  He heaved a breath, struggling for what to say.

  “Do you have any leads on that arsonist you mentioned?”

  “Not really. A woman named Cora Reeves gave birth to a baby girl the night of the fire. Her baby was kidnapped, so we suspected the fire was a diversion by the kidnapper to allow him time to escape.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Was it?”

  Fletch shook his head no. “Cora and her husband divorced, but she stayed in Whistler. She never gave up looking for her daughter.”

  “I don’t blame her. Did she find her?”

  A small smile tugged at Fletch’s mouth. “Yeah, a few months ago. She thought the little girl living down the street was her child, and got my brother involved. Turns out she was right.”

  “So who stole Cora’s baby?”

  “A woman named Hilary... She was in love with Cora’s husband and thought she could break up their marriage if the baby wasn’t in the picture. And she was right. Their marriage fell apart, and Cora’s husband ended up marrying Hilary.”

  “Did he know what Hilary had done?”

  “No. He was shocked when he learned the truth.”

  “What happened to the baby?” Jane asked.

  Fletch’s heart squeezed. “She was adopted. But when Cora started looking at the little girl down the street, Hilary murdered the adoptive mother and tried to kill Cora. Jacob saved Cora and the child, and now Cora has her daughter back.” He rubbed his neck. “My brother Jacob married Cora and is raising the little girl.”

  “So there’s a happy ending?” Jane said quietly.

  He heard the ache in her voice. Would there be a happy ending for her?

  Fletch swallowed hard. There would be if he had anything to do with it.

  * * *

  EAGER TO DISTRACT herself from her problems, Jane probed Fletch for more information about his family.

  Although he didn’t seem like the talkative type, she managed to convince him to tell her about his childhood, what it was like growing up with three brothers and about life in Whistler.

  He told her about Jacob and Cora’s outdoor wedding at a small private vineyard, with Cora’s little girl standing beside them.

  “It was informal,” Fletch said. “Cora wanted flowers from her own flower garden, with picnic-style tables for the reception.”

  A woman’s wedding was supposed to be the highlight of her life, yet Jane couldn’t recall anything about hers. Remembering even the smallest detail might lead to her husband’s name or where they were living. “What about music?”

  Fletch shrugged. “I play the guitar a little, so Jacob asked me to play.”

  Something about his humble admission intensified Jane’s attraction toward him.

  “I’d like to hear you play sometime,” she admitted.

  His sexy eyes met hers, but he made no promises. How could he when her mind was a blank slate at the moment? She couldn’t move forward with her life until she figured out what she was running from in her past.

  “I’ll keep trying the radio if you want to rest,” Fletch offered. “Hopefully, in the morning we can start down.”

  She twisted her hands together, then snuggled beneath the blanket, curled on her side and closed her eyes. Maybe daylight would bring answers. At least she felt physically stronger now. Her limbs weren’t aching as much, and her headache had dulled to a light throb.

  As she drifted to sleep, the sound of Fletch’s voice as he’d described his family echoed in her head. He’d painted the picture of a loving, close-knit family. He and his brothers met at least once a week for beer and bro night. Sometimes, they worked together, as well.

  Her parents were dead, but what if she had a sibling? She strained to remember her childhood again, the picnic, the crossword puzzles, yet nowhere in there did she see a sister or a brother.

  Sleep finally claimed her, but her dreams were confusing and scattered. Her father again... They finished the puzzle, and she climbed down to help her mother bake cookies. Her father’s phone rang and she heard his deep voice speaking low into the phone.

  “DA made a deal. Life, no parole.”

  Her father...was a lawyer? No...a judge.

  Then another flashback to that night and the blood again. Police officers streaming in, snapping pictures. Her parents’ bodies sprawled on the floor. Her mother’s bloody hand reaching out as if trying to clasp her father’s.

  Her father dead, unable to help her.

  Next she was looking at more bloody bodies. A man and woman. Not her parents. Blood spattered the floor and walls. The white comforter and carpet, the woman’s hand stretched out as if reaching for her husband...

  Then another couple. Different faces...different bedroom. A four-poster bed with a lemon yellow spread. Red dotting it and streaking the floor. The woman’s eyes bulging in death...

  The images faded and she saw the man with the tattoo on his wrist. A wolf... His fingers as he slid the wedding ring on her finger. Then his hand clutching his chest as blood spewed... His body bouncing backward, slumping against the wall.

  Her...hand shaking as she gripped the gun...

  She jerked awake, lungs squeezing for air as questions pummeled her. Why was she seeing dead people in her dreams? Who were those couples? Was it real?

  And the man with the wolf tattoo—her husband. Had she pulled the trigger and ended his life?

  Chapter Six

  Jane had remembered something. Something that had upset her.

  Fletch was sure of it. Her body trembled, and her pupils were dilated as if she was locked in the terror of her nightmares. He’d seen her tossing and turning, heard her mumbling. She’d clenched the covers as if fighting off an assailant.

  He’d considered waking her from the horror but had held back, hoping she was remembering details about the man who’d attacked her.

  Something to help nail the bastard.

  Only now she was awake and sat hunched, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, staring into the fire again.

  He wanted to push her but sensed that would be a mistake. When the storm lifted in the morning and he reached his team again, Jacob would have some answers, he hoped.

  A noise outside startled him, and he went still, listening.

  Jane lifted her head. “What was that?”

  Fletch mentally sorted through the various noises outside. “The wind and more limbs breaking.”

  Her breath rushed out in relief, then she turned and stretched out on her side, facing away from him. Fletch itched to go to her and comfort her, but she needed space.

  He also wanted to make sure no one was outside.

  “I’m going to gather more wood.” He settled his gun in the waistband of his pants, pulled on his gloves and eased back the tarp. He scanned the area as he stepped outside. Shivering, he tugged the hood of his coat over his head as he set off to search the area. Snow and wind blasted him, the windchill dipping lower with every hour.

  Night had fallen across the land, making it look desolate, as if they were entrenched in a vast wasteland of white. Icicles hung from the tree limbs like jagged knives. His boots crunched frozen snow and brush.

  The snow was falling so fast it was burying everything, but about a hundred feet from the shelter he spotted an animal’s paw prints. Thankfully they were leading away from the shelter, toward the north. He wove between a cluster of trees and detected more prints ahead.

  They were partially destroyed by the blizzard conditions, but these appeared to be human.

  From h
is earlier treks on the trail, he’d discovered a few loners who lived in the woods off the grid. Some he suspected were simply homeless or had mental issues and had become recluses.

  One guy called himself Homeless Joe. He carried everything he owned on his back, lived off the land and had managed to survive in the hills for ten years already. He lived like a nomad, never staying in one place for long. Another was a man in his sixties who shared a lean-to with his wife of forty years. She claimed she had psychic powers and saw the dead, which made it impossible to live a mainstream life.

  Others might be hiding out from the law.

  Like the person who’d set the fire that had killed his father.

  He kept hoping he’d find the bastard. Although, with no evidence pointing to a specific person, it was possible he’d already encountered him without realizing it.

  Fletch aimed his flashlight beam ahead and saw more prints. Too big for Homeless Joe, who was slight-framed and dragged one foot behind him. No pattern of his gait here.

  He forged ahead, checking each direction, then heard a noise. Icicles snapped and cracked, breaking off and flying through the air. He dodged them, then hiked toward Crow’s Point. Another noise, and he paused. Then he spotted another print. Large.

  Definitely human. Judging from the indentation in the snow, boots.

  A man’s.

  Dammit. Did they belong to someone else stranded out here, or to Jane’s attacker?

  * * *

  JANE WOKE THE next morning to the sound of Fletch entering the shelter. He’d stayed out late last night, then come in looking troubled. When she’d questioned him, he’d claimed he was just tired, that he’d seen a shadow, but it had turned out to be a wild animal.

  She shivered as he boiled water and made them some instant coffee. His beard stubble added to his rugged appearance, making him look as if he belonged to the mountain.

  He was probably just as untamed and wild in bed.

  Good heavens. She shouldn’t be thinking about his sex appeal now.

  “Sorry, coffee’s not very good,” he muttered.

  “At least it’s hot,” she said, although she would kill for a latte.

  He handed her a breakfast bar and she forced herself to eat it slowly. It hadn’t escaped her that Fletch had been rationing them. “Thank you for everything,” she said softly. “If you hadn’t rescued me, I wouldn’t have survived.”

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Just doing my job.” Closed inside in this tiny space with the firelight flickering off his face, she almost felt safe, as if a killer wasn’t chasing her.

  He ate his bar and sipped his coffee, then tried the radio again. Static popped, and his jaw tightened. But several seconds later, he managed to connect to his team.

  “Weather conditions?” Fletch asked.

  “Storm has definitely moved on. Winds dying down, temperature rising. Should get above freezing by noon.”

  Jane massaged the back of her neck, anxious to return to civilization. Even more anxious about what she might learn.

  “Do you need us to send a team for you and the woman?” Fletch’s teammate asked.

  Fletch motioned to Jane. “No, we can manage. Will radio you if we require assistance.”

  “Take the trail southwest,” the other man advised.

  “Copy that.” Fletch hesitated. “Did you hear anything else from Jacob?”

  “Yeah. He’s searching missing case reports across the state. He wants an update on your status.”

  “Tell him we’re fine for now.”

  “For now? Is there trouble?”

  “The woman was injured,” Fletch replied. “Not sure if her attacker is still around, but will be on the lookout.”

  The men agreed to stay in touch, and Fletch turned to her. “We’re probably about eight miles from the entrance point to the trail near Whistler. I know you’re still weak. Do you think you can make it at least partway?”

  Jane stood and stretched. “Yes, I feel stronger now.” She just had to find the courage to face the truth about who’d attacked her. And why she saw those bodies in her sleep.

  Fletch encouraged her to drink some water. She did as he said while he packed up his supplies, removed the tarp and stowed it. Then he handed her a pair of gloves, a hat and his coat.

  “I can’t take your jacket,” Jane said. “You’ll freeze.”

  He pulled a thinner, insulated jacket from his bag. “I’m used to it. Now, if you start feeling weak or lightheaded, let me know and I’ll call for reinforcements.”

  “I’ll be fine, Fletch.”

  When she stepped outside, the blast of cold hit her. She zipped Fletch’s coat and bounced on her heels to warm her muscles, then followed him. He cut away limbs, moved branches and alerted her when they reached rocky terrain. Her boots were slick and inappropriate for blizzard conditions, but she grabbed tree limbs and rocks to steady herself.

  With each step they took, she was moving closer and closer to civilization.

  And to the truth.

  A foul odor wafted toward her as they wound around a patch of hemlocks. Vultures swooped down ahead, diving toward the ground.

  “Must be a dead animal,” Fletch said. “Let me make sure.”

  She stayed close behind him, holding on to his hand to keep her balance as they descended the steep hill. They reached a ledge, and Fletch threw his arm out to prevent her from stumbling forward.

  A second later, she spotted the bloody animal down below.

  “Dead wolf,” Fletch said.

  An image of a wolf perched on a boulder searching for prey niggled at her memory. She was falling into the snow, thought he was going to get her.

  Then a gunshot.

  She startled as if she’d heard the sound that second.

  “What is it?” Fletch asked.

  “The man... I was running and fell,” she said breathlessly. “He came up behind me and shot the wolf.” Her voice cracked.

  “He saved you from the wolf?” Fletch asked, confusion tingeing his voice.

  “I don’t know if that’s what he meant to do. But he grabbed me from behind, and a second later, I heard a gunshot. Then I passed out.” She lifted her fingers to the back of her head. “The gun...he hit me with his gun.”

  “Did you see what kind of weapon he was carrying?” Fletch asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but the bullet whizzed so close to my head that for a moment, I thought he’d shot me.”

  She paused. “I don’t understand that. If he wanted me dead, why didn’t he just put a bullet in my head?”

  * * *

  FLETCH CONTEMPLATED JANE’S STATEMENT. If the man wanted her dead and he was armed, why hadn’t he shot her? His mind ticked away different theories.

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to leave evidence behind. Bullets can be traced back to a specific gun. With the blizzard bearing down, he expected you’d die in the elements, then no one would suspect murder.”

  Emotions darkened her eyes. “That makes sense.”

  Although it still left questions unanswered.

  “You okay to keep going?” Fletch asked.

  Jane nodded, and he set off on the trail again. Although he knew the woods and stopping points along the way, it was still easy to get turned around in the midst of the sprawling miles of forest. He consulted with his map and compass to guide them.

  Fletch gestured toward a path that wound straight downhill and looked treacherous. “That’s the fastest way, but too dangerous.”

  Jane remained silent, her face a mask of concentration as they fought through the thick brush and dodged clumps of falling snow from the trees. The wind shook limbs and more branches broke off, but the precipitation had slowed to a light snowfall, and the temperature was warming as sun peeked through the spiny branches.

 
In spite of the cold, Fletch began to sweat as they hiked. He paused at the end of each mile to check Jane’s physical condition, and encouraged her to drink water to stay hydrated.

  He led them toward the right on a slightly less steep hill, but they had to tread slowly to maintain steady footing. Jane’s boots were slick on the bottom, and she slipped a couple of times, so Fletch helped her along the steeper patches.

  Another half mile and they reached a lean-to at the point called Stone’s Ledge. “Let’s take a break and rest a minute,” he told Jane.

  She followed him to the shelter, although she hesitated at the opening and clutched the wall. Her face turned ashen, her breath puffing out in a hazy cloud.

  “What’s wrong, Jane?”

  “This place,” she murmured. “It seems familiar.”

  He retrieved his flashlight and stepped inside. He spotted a pile of rope in one corner along with a bloody rag.

  She heaved a breath. “He brought me here,” she said in a ragged whisper. “That rope...he tied me up and gagged me and left me.”

  Fletch breathed out. “What else do you recall?”

  “Being dragged through the snow. I was hurt and drifting in and out of consciousness. When I came to in the cave, though, I was alone.”

  “So he left you in a shelter instead of outside,” Fletch commented, confused again.

  “I think so.” She stepped inside the dank space. An odd look crossed her face as she walked over to the corner where the rope lay. “When I came to, I didn’t know where I was. Just that I had to escape.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Jane crouched down and ran her hand over the floor, then closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple. “I untied myself, then I heard something outside. He was coming back.”

  Various scenarios played in Fletch’s mind. None of them good.

  Why had her attacker brought her here? To hold her for ransom?

  Her parents were dead, although she could have other family...

  Fletch’s stomach clenched. The other possibilities were even more sinister.