As he ran, the breath tearing out of his mouth, stomach-churning photos he’d seen during the trial of Hartley and Welton ran through his mind. He’d tried to put those photos of Ellie so damn deep down inside him they’d never see the light of day again. But now they hung like specters of the past coming back to taunt him all over again.
The first thing the sexual predators had done to Ellie was use a sharp knife and they’d made six cuts on the bottom of each of her feet. That way, it would be impossible for her to escape them. He cried for what his sister must have felt as they cut her soles to red, bleeding ribbons.
Dakota halted at the site of thickets where the struggle had taken place. All his SEAL training went online. The hatred for Welton and the fear he had for Shelby’s life mixed like a toxic shake in his gut. As he was paralleling her footprints, he could tell Welton had done something to Shelby because he was carrying her. The footprints were much deeper and somewhat off balance. Shelby was a tall woman and she had weight to go with her height.
Dakota was intimately familiar with this area, a major tourist trail. That was to his advantage. His mind whirled with questions as to where Welton was going. He knew there was a parking lot nearby. Could he get to it in time? Was that where Welton was headed? Uncertain, he saw Storm stop and lift her nose to the air. Skidding to a halt, Dakota looked around. Where were Welton’s tracks? Storm bounded down the incline between the thick stands of trees, heading toward the water. Turning on his heel, he followed the wolf, desperately trying to find tracks.
There! Dakota picked up Welton’s boot prints again. He was trying to hide his tracks by remaining in islands of grass here and there. As he trotted behind his wolf, the prints fresh and obvious, Dakota fought photos from the past. He remembered sitting in the courtroom with his parents. When the prosecutors put up slides of Ellie’s mouth, he had felt nauseated. The second thing Welton and Hartley did was take a pair of pliers and pull out four of her lower molars in her mouth. The prosecutors theorized that Ellie had fought them, screaming, and they wanted to silence her while they raped her. Wiping his mouth, his eyes watering for a moment, Dakota felt nausea crawling up his throat. Would Welton do the same thing to Shelby? Oh, God, no. No, please let me find them. Let me find them....
They rushed to the edge of Jackson Lake. This part of the lake had much less tourist traffic than farther north. Dakota looked across the rippling lake. No one was in sight. Usually, there were canoes and fishing boats. The lake was lapping at the small pebbled beach where he stood. Breathing hard, his M-4 in his right hand, he watched Storm pace back and forth along the beach, trying to pick up a scent.
The terror swelled inside him as he postulated that Welton had some kind of boat or canoe waiting here. Perspiration dotted his face and he wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. His mind cartwheeled with possibilities. Where did Welton go? Where could he go from here?
“Storm,” he called to the wolf. “Come!” He dug the toes of his boots into the sand and pebbles, leaping up the bank and running parallel to the edge of the lake. Dakota knew there was a small boat ramp on the end of the lake. And a parking lot. It was possible Welton had a vehicle stashed there. It was a huge risk to take, but the only logical choice for Welton. He ran hard and fast, the branches and leaves of brush swatting at his lower body. There were no tourists around, no hikers. It seemed as if the world were holding its breath as he tried to locate Shelby.
The past fueled his determination, his fear for Shelby. Those photos. The slides of Ellie, her hands and ankles tied to the posters of the bed, naked, unconscious, slammed into him. His mother had cried out when the photos had been flashed to the jury. Dakota had pressed his palms against his eyes, crying softly for his dead sister.
The forensics people testified that Ellie had been repeatedly, brutally raped. They couldn’t say how many times, but there was no doubt that Hartley and Welton had both raped her. Dakota’s heart had torn into small pieces as the forensics expert droned on in robot fashion about the rapes, the many rips and tears and blood found in her vagina. He sat there in shock. His father and mother sobbed, holding each other. He sat there alone, feeling horror and a murderous rage toward the two convicts.
Dakota called on the radio as he approached the wharf and parking area. Cade was mounting a search team as swiftly as possible, but Dakota knew he had the lead and he was Shelby’s only hope under the circumstances.
Seeing a fisherman standing on the wood wharf, Dakota signed off, put the radio on his belt and approached the older man with a fishing hat on his silver hair.
“Excuse me,” he called, breathing raggedly. “Have you seen anyone with a woman around here in the past half hour?”
The man frowned, fishing rod in hand. “Yes, yes, I did. Strangest thing.”
Dakota wanted to scream as the older man halted to think.
“There,” he said, pointing up toward the parking lot. “A guy with a woman who was unconscious went up to a green Chevy pickup. He put her in the passenger side and then burned rubber getting out of here.”
“A green Chevy pickup?” Dakota’s hopes rose.
The elder nodded, a worried look on his face. “I asked him if the woman was all right. She was passed out cold. He was dragging her out of the boat over there and having a tough time doing it. I went over to ask if she was okay. He told me she’d drunk too much liquor and had passed out. He was taking her home.”
Stomach turning, Dakota tried to steady himself. “How long ago?”
“Maybe five minutes at the most,” he said, studying the watch on his wrist.
“Did you get anything else on the truck? A license plate number?” He hoped against hope that the elder did, knowing in all probability, he hadn’t.
“Well,” he said, smiling a little as he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, “I did. I called the Forest Service headquarters and told them about it. Something didn’t feel quite right about it. The truck turned south on the road out there, heading back, I think, toward the entrance to the Tetons Park. Are you law enforcement, by any chance?”
“The woman you saw, what color was her hair?”
“Blond. Real pretty, but she was very pale. I got worried. Are you with the forest service?” He looked at the military rifle in Dakota’s hand.
“Yes,” he lied, taking the paper. Relief poured through him as he saw the wobbly handwriting and the license plate number the fisherman had jotted down. Quickly, he called Cade on his radio, giving him the intel.
“Is the woman in trouble?”
Nodding, Dakota rasped, “She’s been kidnapped.” He pulled a photo from his pocket. “Was this the guy who had her?” It was a photo of Welton.
“Why...goodness. Yes, it was.” He frowned. “She’s not drunk, then?”
“No,” Dakota said, his voice low with worry. “She’s a kidnapping victim and he probably drugged her.”
The fisherman took off his hat and scratched his head. “Listen, you need to get after her, then. He left here only five minutes ago.” He fumbled round in a pocket of his fishing vest, pulling out a set of keys. “My name is Harold Porter. That red Jeep over there is mine. Here’s the keys. I’m too old to drive high speed, but my Jeep might get you to her in time.”
Grateful, Dakota said, “Thanks. You staying at the Jackson Lake Lodge?”
“I am. When you can, return my Jeep to me?”
“I will,” Dakota promised. “Thanks.”
“I hope you get to her in time,” he called.
As Dakota raced up the hill toward the Jeep, Storm was on his heels. Hurry! Hurry!
They both leaped into the open-air Jeep. Dakota jammed his foot down on the accelerator and roared out of the parking lot. He got on the radio again with Cade Garner and filled him in. Dakota’s mind leaped with possibilities. Would Welton try driving out of the park? If he did, there was a blockade of deputies and cars waiting for him at the entrance. But there were so many dirt roads he could take instead and head up
into the high country and disappear. If he did that, Dakota knew he could lose him.
The Jeep screamed at a hundred miles an hour, the wind tearing at Dakota as he drove intently on the only road in the park. He’d risked passing several slower-moving vehicles. The speed limit was forty miles an hour. It couldn’t be helped. There was a long curve up ahead and two roads that turned right and moved up into the slopes of the Tetons.
Just as he made the curve, he saw an SUV parked on the berm near one of the roads. It wasn’t the green Chevy pickup. He called Cade and demanded to know if the deputies had spotted Welton at the entrance. They had not. Braking hard, he pulled up behind the SUV. Leaping out, Dakota ran up to the man who was standing at the front of the vehicle, looking under the hood.
“Hey, have you seen a green Chevy pickup pass this way in the past few minutes?”
The man, in his forties, looked up. “Yeah, I did. What’s wrong?”
“Which way did it go?” Dakota demanded.
Shrugging, the man said, “He turned up one of those roads.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. I was looking at my carburetor when he came roaring around in front of me. I thought he was going to hit me. He scared the hell out of me.”
Frustrated, Dakota nodded. “Okay, thanks.” He turned and trotted back to the Jeep, giving Garner the new intel.
Dakota headed for the first dirt road. The roads were a tenth of a mile apart on the same side of the highway. Which one had Welton taken? He braked and got out. Storm remained in the Jeep as he rapidly studied the dirt road. It was almost impossible to tell if Welton had turned into this road. There were so many sets of tire tracks and he didn’t know which set might belong to the Chevy truck. Loping down the berm to the second road, Dakota halted and studied the entrance area. The dirt looked more disturbed, as if a vehicle had turned at higher speed than normal and skidded sideways.
Hesitating, his gut still churning, Dakota considered both roads. This second road, a forest service one, looked like the best possibility. He called Garner as he ran back to the Jeep and gave him the GPS coordinates. Dakota slammed down on the accelerator, the vehicle fishtailing as he moved off the berm around the stalled SUV and made for the second road.
Dakota headed up into the woods, speeding and kicking up a rooster tail of thick yellow dust in the wake of the vehicle. Both hands on the wheel, the Jeep bounced and skidded on the soft dirt. If he hadn’t had his SEAL training with desert patrol vehicles, he’d have crashed this civilian Jeep. The road twisted and turned. They were leaving six thousand feet and moving up to nearly nine thousand feet. He relentlessly pushed the vehicle, his mind moving over all the cabins up in this area.
Welton had a plan. Dakota knew there were six cabins in the area. Which one was he going to? Each cabin was more than half a mile to a mile off this forest service road. Each would take time to stop and check out. Shelby didn’t have that kind of time. Mouth tightening, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, he tried to figure out a way to tell which driveway Welton would take.
* * *
SHELBY SLOWLY BECAME CONSCIOUS. She was aware of being bounced and tossed around in the backseat, the car roaring and skidding around. Opening her eyes, her senses muddied, she tried to understand where she was. Her arm hurt and she lifted her hand. Blood met her fingertips. What had happened? She was slammed against the door, hitting her head. Oh God! Her eyes flew open as she tried to fight the powerful effects of the drug. Welton!
Jerking a glance to her right, she saw the convict’s profile. He was driving like a madman, hands gripping the wheel, the truck shrieking as it flew over the rutted dirt road.
Her mind didn’t want to work. She was in trouble. Adrenaline kicked in and erased some of the drugged sensations she fought. Welton had set her up. He’d captured the child to lure her in. Mouth dry, Shelby lifted her badly shaking hand. Escape! She had to escape!
Welton had not bound her, so she was able to raise her head just enough to look between the seats. She saw no pistol. Her own holster was empty. He had removed the weapon. Shelby’s only priority was to escape. The truck was lurching and jumping around on the bumpy road. Shelby tried to estimate how fast they were going. Did she even have a chance to escape?
Ellie Carson hadn’t had a chance. Shelby remembered the woman’s trauma at Welton’s hands. Her mouth tightened. The choice between staying and leaving was clear. She might break her neck or kill herself opening the door and rolling out. But it was a risk worth taking. Shelby slowly stretched her hand upward, so as not to distract Welton, who was driving erratically. The door clicked open when she pressed a button.
As she slowly turned on her side, her trembling hand moving to the door handle, Shelby thought of Dakota, how much she loved him. He was a wounded vet, but he had a magnificent heart and soul. Saying a quick prayer, Shelby took a deep breath and shoved the door open.
Welton saw something out of the corner of his eye. What the hell! The rear right door flew open.
Too late!
The woman launched out the door, headfirst. The crazy bitch!
Shocked, Welton instantly slammed on the brakes. The truck fishtailed at high speed. It lurched slowly sideways, out of control. Welton snarled a curse as he felt the truck become airborne. Dammit, anyway! He clung to the wheel, the truck sailing off the road, across a gully and nose-diving toward a stand of trees.
Shelby hit the road hard. She tucked and rolled, trying to absorb the slamming pressure of hitting the earth. A cry tore from her as pain reared up her right shoulder. The truck engine suddenly raced, the sound like a roar. Rolling to a stop, she watched the green truck sail through the air, headed for a stand of fir trees.
Without waiting to see what would happen, Shelby dove off the road into the area where head-high thickets stood. The burning sensation in her right shoulder made her think she’d torn something. Breathing hard, wobbling on shaky knees because the drug was still in her system, she pushed off with the toes of her boots and lunged into the forest. The faster she could get away, the less Welton was likely to find her.
She’d gone a few feet when she heard a crunching, crashing noise. The truck had hit a tree! Had it killed Welton? Shelby wasn’t going back to find out. He had weapons and she knew he’d come hunting her. Turning, she moved in weaving motions, stumbling, tripping and catching herself. The terror of what Welton could do to her spurred her on at full speed, regardless of her shaky equilibrium.
Steam erupted from the destroyed radiator, a noise she quickly left behind. The deeper Shelby ran down the slight incline, the less she heard. Good. Because she had to put distance between them or Welton would kill her. Mind churning, Shelby looked around, trying to get her bearings, but it was impossible. Douglas fir surrounded her, thick and silent. The soft pine needles hid her boots somewhat as she thunked along. Breathing raggedly, her breath tearing out of her mouth, Shelby pushed onward. The hill sloped downward. Somewhere below, she had to hit flatland or a trail. There were hundreds of hiking trails throughout the slopes of these mountains. If only she could find a trail, Shelby knew it would eventually lead to help. Oh, God, let me survive this!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WELTON SNARLED A CURSE as he leaped out of the overturned Chevy. He grabbed the deputy’s pistol and hightailed it into the forest. She couldn’t have gone far! As he made a diagonal run, Welton’s anger soared. How could he have been so damned stupid not to tie the bitch up? He’d been so sure he gave her enough of the drug to keep her unconscious until he reached the cabin. He ran hard and fast, weapon in his hand.
Shelby wove drunkenly through the Douglas fir. She kept seeing black dots dancing threateningly in front of her eyes. No! She couldn’t lose consciousness! She just couldn’t! Pumping her legs, wobbling and off balance, she stumbled on a hidden root and went flying down the incline. She landed on her belly, let out a groan and rolled. Miraculously, as she pushed up to her hands and feet, she realized she was on a major
horse trail. Shelby spotted hoof prints. The trail curved just above where she’d fallen. Hope flared in her.
Her knees were weak. She tried to get fully upright, but her knees buckled beneath her. Fear shot through her as she tried again. The drug was powerful and no matter what Shelby did, she couldn’t force her exhausted body to overcome its paralyzing effects.
Suddenly, a horse and rider came trotting around the curve. Shelby’s eyes widened. It was Curt Downing! Her mind kept blipping out, but she remembered he was an endurance rider and rode nearly every day to keep his Arabian black stallion in shape for the coming endurance race in September.
Curt yanked back hard on the reins, his stallion grunting and dropping his hindquarters, skidding to a stop, almost running over the woman in the middle of the trail. He gawked, unsure of what he was seeing.
“Shelby?” he called, sitting up in the saddle, disbelief in his voice. She was kneeling on the trail, her hands scratched and bloodied. Her blond hair was disheveled around her taut face. “What’s going on?” he called, trying to get his horse to stand still.
“H-help me, Curt,” she called, stretching her hand out toward him.
Welton came bounding down the incline. “Don’t touch her!” he yelled at Downing.
Curt jerked around toward the sound and scowled as he saw the convict scramble down the slope to the trail, pistol in hand. “What the hell is going on here?” he yelled.
With a gasp, Shelby tried to get up, but she fell to her side on the trail just as Welton reached out for her. His fingers tangled in her hair and he jerked her upright. Pain radiated through her scalp and she cried out.
“Stop!” Downing roared, going for the pistol he always wore at his side. No way was he going to stand back and let Welton harm her. He knew the convict’s past, and no woman, not even a woman deputy, deserved to be tortured by the bastard.
Welton snarled. “Like hell I will...” He lifted the pistol and shot twice.
The Loner Page 22
