by Sharon Dunn
The long-haired man switched his knife from one hand to the other. The silver of the blade picked up glints of light. His actions made it clear that if she tried to escape, he wouldn’t hesitate to use the knife.
“You like it?” He pointed at the meat with his knife.
She nodded. As famished as she was, she would have eaten almost anything, but the meat genuinely was good.
“It’s elk,” he said. “We hunt it year-round. That’s part of the privilege of living up here. We’re not beholden to the government’s restrictive hunting regulations.”
She made a tactical choice not to respond to the ideology that drove his statement. “I’ve never tasted elk before.” Even as she spoke, an unexpected memory floated back into her mind. Her father had prepared a similar meal for her. She could see the rough-hewn logs of the cabin where they’d lived and smell the wood burning in the fireplace. The memories all seemed faint and far away, but real all the same.
Maybe that was why her father had wanted her to come back here. Being in these mountains brought images of her childhood to the surface that her mother’s bitterness had buried. She hadn’t even realized the memories were there. “I’ve had deer meat. My father used to prepare it for me.”
She took several more bites of the meat. The long-haired man never took his eyes off her.
She lowered her head and looked away. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m eating kind of fast. I’m just really hungry.”
The man waved her rudeness away with his hand. “Eat up. There’s plenty.” He leaned back on his elbows and continued to watch her.
She stopped chewing the meat and studied the man in front of her. His expression was hard to read with the thick beard. His eyes were cold, but he had not been cruel or menacing to her in any way. Was that just as act? What kind of game was he playing anyway? Was he the one who killed the man they’d found in the forest?
The long-haired man sat back up. He stared off to the side and resumed playing with his knife. “So why did you come up here with Zane?”
It seemed a strange question to ask. “Why do you want to know?” The way he said Zane’s name, as though he were spitting it out of his mouth, made her think there was some kind of history between the two men.
The man shrugged. “In order to find out.”
She concluded that the less he knew about her, the better. “Are you Willis?” A chill ran down her back when she said the name. Though it was hard to judge the man’s age, she’d assumed Willis would be older.
The man threw back his head and laughed. “You have no idea.” He rose to his feet, grabbed the crossbow and slipped out of the tent.
After a few minutes passed, she placed the wooden plate to one side and peered out of the tent. He wouldn’t have left her untied unless he knew there was no way for her to escape. All the same, she had to assess her chances. She counted five men milling around the fire and suspected there might be one or two more in the other tents. Everyone she could see carried a knife or gun on their belts.
She checked her own jeans for the pocketknife she’d used to cut Zane free, but it was nowhere to be found. She must have dropped it in the panic to get away.
She continued to watch the camp. The long-haired man barked orders at the others, and they scattered into the trees. Then he stalked back toward her tent. Heather slipped inside and put the plate back on her lap.
The man stuck his head into the tent. “Get some rest. I’ll be back for you in a few hours.”
Her mind raced as dark images seemed to assault her at every turn. What did he have planned? Whatever these men had in mind, it sounded like their plan wouldn’t work without Zane. The long-haired man had probably ordered the others to go capture Zane.
She was pretty sure she was too anxious to sleep despite having been up for more than twenty-four hours. All the same, she laid her head down on the animal skin and closed her eyes. The fog of sleep overtook her slowly as her thoughts tumbled one over the other...
* * *
“Get up.”
Someone shook her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open. How long had she been asleep?
The long-haired man loomed above her. “Time to go, sweetheart.”
Through the open tent door, she saw the sky was still light. She’d slept for a few hours at least.
He stepped back to let her through the tent flap. “Hurry it up.”
She crawled out and got up on her feet. She thought to bolt for the forest, but his hand clamped around her arm so quickly she didn’t have time. He pointed toward a cluster of trees. “Over there,” he ordered several young men. “Get out of sight. It needs to look low security.”
One of the young men stopped. “What are you doing with her?”
“She’s bait for the real prize,” said the long-haired man.
The answer sent chills through Heather, but she didn’t argue or protest. She simply followed the man, obeying when he indicated she needed to sit on the ground.
He gave her no opportunity for escape, tying her wrists together again before shouting toward the tents, “Tyler, bring me more rope.”
A moment later, a teenager emerged from the shadows and dropped rope at the man’s feet.
“Scoot up against that tree,” he said.
“Zane isn’t stupid. He won’t fall for this.” Her voice wavered with fear as she struggled to take in a deep breath.
The man ran a strand of rope around Heather and the tree. “The one thing I know about Zane is that his overdeveloped need to rescue the innocent will always trump his common sense.”
So he did know Zane.
He stood up and peered off into the distance, frowning before returning his focus to her. “To answer your earlier question. No, my dear, I am not Willis. I’m Jordan. My friends call me Jordie.” He leaned a little closer to her, brown eyes flashing with intensity. “You may call me Jordan.”
Heather watched the dark trees, knowing that men were lying in wait to grab Zane and then...what, kill her?
“Making some kind of plan, are you?” Jordan leaned close to her. He pulled a scarf off his neck and reached to put it around her eyes.
She jerked her head away.
He grabbed her chin and squeezed it between his fingers. “Don’t you dare resist me.”
His voice struck a note of fear inside her. Clearly he was a man capable of violence.
The rope around her wrists had very little give. Her shoulders pressed against the tree trunk, not allowing for much movement there either. Though she could see only a few men milling around the camp, busy with their own tasks and seemingly paying little attention to her and Jordan, she had to assume she was being watched. There was little to no chance she would be able to escape on her own.
Jordan was wrong, though. Zane was smart. He wouldn’t walk into a trap no matter how much responsibility he felt for her life.
As she listened to the sounds of the forest all around her, she prayed that Zane would be able to come up with a plan that would save them both rather than trying to rescue her and having them both end up dead.
* * *
Zane spotted the smoke rising up from a campfire above the trees just as the sky started to turn gray. He was certain it came from Willis’s camp. This part of the mountains was remote and rugged. Most hunters didn’t even come up this way. Willis could run his crazy operation completely undetected.
Darting from tree to tree, Zane approached the camp until the tents came into view. No one was gathered around the fire. Suspicious. He saw shadows and movement inside one of the tents.
He crawled a little closer. Heather was tied to a tree away from the camp. He breathed a sigh of relief that she was still alive. No guard stood close to her. This had to be a trap. Otherwise, they would have posted at least one guard close to her.
&nb
sp; He studied the landscape, open areas and thick forest. Shooters were probably positioned at strategic high points. No doubt other men perched behind trees waiting for the chance to jump him. If he simply blundered into camp, they would both be prisoners.
He needed to create some sort of diversion. Something that would give him a few minutes—just a few, precious minutes—where he could swoop in and cut Heather loose.
He moved in a little closer, crouching low and using the brush for cover. He doubted Willis was close. The man tended to give orders from a safe distance. Zane watched the camp for a long time. Movement inside the tent stopped. A light went out.
Time was on his side. The men who’d been put on watch would grow weary of waiting for him to show up. They’d become distracted and less attentive.
From his vantage point, he could watch Heather. It pained him to see her tied up. She was probably afraid and maybe even cold. Had she been given anything to eat? Water? A place to rest? How much had she already had to endure just because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
It wasn’t just that he felt responsible for what she was going through. He cared about her. The thought of any harm coming to her made it hard for him to breath.
He would break her free or die trying.
He waited and watched as the sky grew even darker. No one came back toward the dying fire, though he detected sounds deeper in the woods that were probably caused by humans. He spotted a propane can used to power a cookstove.
Now he saw his opportunity for a distraction. Nothing like a fire to set men into a panic. He moved past the back of the tent where he would guess the men slept. Even the cracking of his knees as he crept along made him cringe. He stopped and took in a breath.
Inside the tent, he heard the rustling of a sleeping bag. Zane held still for a long moment until the man quieted again. He reached for the propane and worked his way back toward the fire but stayed hidden in the shadows while he tore fabric from his flannel shirt and saturated it with propane. He wrapped the fabric around a stick and shoved it toward the fire. The fire crackled and flamed up as his torch caught on fire.
He had only seconds to act. He poured the remaining propane on the fire. It flared. He ran toward the tent and touched his torch to it and then to the second tent, as well. He tossed the torch in the direction of the third tent and then yelled, “Fire!” They’d be able to put the fire out quickly. He didn’t want anyone to be harmed, only panicked and distracted. He dived into the shadows.
It took only seconds for the men in the tent to exit and start shouting for help. Zane slipped farther back into the shadows and made his way toward Heather, pulling his knife from the sheath.
He listened as the ruckus grew louder. Timing was everything. He waited only feet away from Heather for the men watching her to emerge from the trees and race toward the fire.
Three men appeared at intervals and dashed toward the fire. Was that all of them? He couldn’t be sure—but he also knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The distraction would only work for a short time.
Zane hurried toward Heather and cut her free. She pulled the blindfold off her eyes. Without a word, they both jumped to their feet and headed into the trees. The crashing behind them told him the men had figured out they’d been hoodwinked.
He grabbed Heather’s hand and pulled, indicating that they needed to change direction. They were running in a predictable pattern, which made them too easy to track. She followed as he led. They charged through the forest, circling around to the backside of the camp. Staying close to the camp was risky but it was a move the pursuers wouldn’t figure out right away.
The noise of their pursuers grew dimmer and more spread out. Heather and Zane skirted close to the smoldering tent where only one boy stomped on the flames and then sprinkled a canteen of water on it.
Zane’s heart pounded against his ribs. Heather’s heavy intake of breath told him she was on high alert, as well. He slipped behind a pile of elk and deer bones. Heather pressed in close to him.
He heard the baying of a dog. He tensed. The dog would be able to track them back to the camp faster than people would. He tugged on Heather’s sleeve and tilted his head. She nodded in understanding.
They ran in the opposite direction the men had gone until they were some distance from the light of the camp. The barking of the dog grew louder and more intense as he sprinted. Heather’s footsteps sounded behind him.
The dog sounded like he was on their heels. When he peered over his shoulder, he saw the men.
Heather caught up with him. Their feet pounded the bare earth. The baying of the dog grew more distant and then more off to the side. For some reason, the dog had lost their scent—or had chosen to chase another one instead.
The breaking of branches in front of him caused him to stop short. He held a protective hand out toward Heather. A doe appeared through the trees. She stopped short when she saw Zane and Heather. Her tail flicked several times before she bounded off in a different direction.
Zane released a heavy breath. The sound of the dog had grown even dimmer. Maybe there was other wildlife around that had distracted the dog. They had only a precious few minutes to escape before the dog refocused and picked up their scent again.
Zane tried to picture the layout of the terrain in this area. Seven years was a long time. But some things didn’t change. The river was still downhill. That much he knew, and it was still their best bet for getting out of here alive.
He turned a half circle and took off running. More crashing noises landed on his ears. More deer probably disturbed by the fire and the smoke it had created.
He spotted the silhouette of a man running from tree to tree. Zane stopped short and drew his gun out from his waistband. His gaze darted around. Where had the man disappeared to?
He detected movement behind one of the trees.
“Step out. I’ve got my sights on you,” said Zane.
The man stepped out from behind the evergreen. Zane could barely make out any features beyond the covering of a beard and long hair.
The baying of the dog grew louder again. He’d found the trail again and was close.
The man held his hands up. “Go ahead. Shoot me.”
Zane felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The gun dropped to his side. He knew that voice.
Jordan, after all these years.
SEVEN
Heather watched in stunned silence as Jordan pulled his gun out and held it on Zane. She dared not run. Zane wasn’t moving at all. He lowered his head and stared at the ground. Jordan’s teeth curled back from his lip. The intensity in his eyes suggested he would pull the trigger if Zane gave him the slightest excuse.
What in the world was going on? Zane had blown their chance to get away.
The baying of the dog pressed on her ears. Other pursuers emerged through the trees.
“Restrain them,” said Jordan.
Zane lifted his head at the sound of Jordan’s voice. She thought she saw pain in his expression. The two men must have some kind of history. Clearly, Zane thought being captured was better than injuring Jordan so they could get away.
The other men drew close. Heather held out her hands to be restrained without putting up a fight. What was the use? They were outnumbered and outgunned. If they were going to escape, it would have to happen later—provided either she or Zane could come up with a plan.
Zane waited until the men stepped away from them. He leaned toward her and whispered. “I’ll get us out of this.”
“You could have gotten us out of this a minute ago.” She spoke looking straight ahead, not wanting to draw their captors’ attention. “Whose side are you on?” She snuck a glance at him.
Zane’s face turned beet red and his jaw hardened.
Jordan waved his gun. “You
two, stop talking.”
They walked back through the woods in silence, both of them with their hands tied behind their backs. When they returned to the camp, the debris from the burned tents had already been gathered into a pile and stacked some distance from the undamaged tents.
Jordan indicated that Heather and Zane should be taken to the tent with the animal skins. Heather settled back where she’d sat previously.
Zane stared at the ground. “I meant it when I said I’d get us both out of here.”
She shook her head, still stunned by his actions.
“I’m not one of them. You have to believe me,” he said.
“But you used to be one of them. And clearly you still feel some loyalty to them, or at least to that animal, Jordan.”
Zane continued to stare at the ground. “He’s...he’s not an animal.” When he lifted his head his eyes were glazed. “He’s my little brother.”
The shock nearly knocked her over. Her throat went tight as guilt washed through her. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
Zane shook his head as wrinkles formed on his forehead. “I got out. He didn’t. I tried. I really tried to convince him not to stay with Willis.” He looked off to the side as though some memory was playing through his mind.
A teenage boy stuck his head through the open flap of the tent. He set down a plate of food and a container of water before reaching inside and cutting the rope around Zane’s hands. “Just you get to eat. Jordan says.”
A chill ran down Heather’s back. Of course they didn’t need to feed her anymore. Her usefulness had expired.
As soon as the boy had left, Zane leaped across the tent and grabbed Heather’s wrists to untie her. She felt a tug as he struggled to get the ropes loose.
“Wish they hadn’t taken my knife,” he said.
Jordan stuck his head in. “Always quick to act.” He lifted the gun he held and aimed it at Heather. “And ready to rescue anyone who is in distress.”
Heather cringed when the laser sight of the gun skittered across her chest. Jordan smirked at her fear before he let the gun fall to his side.
