Primal Obsession (18 page)

“Soon after we left?”

He nodded. The radio had been smashed beyond repair, along with three of the guns from the case. His quick survey suggested that some ammo and one gun were missing—the rifle Carl and Frank had admired. He found the ATV shut in its shed with a full tank of gas.

“Wolfe kept his equipment in mint condition, washed and polished, just like his guns. I’ve seen him clean grass and mud off tires. That four-wheeler was spotless—except for a fine layer of dust.”

“So it’s been sitting there awhile.”

“Looks like it.”

Her throat tightened. “Sam, the outboard. He’s probably out there now watching us.” She looked around, staring into the darkness.

“He’d have to stop the boat far enough away we wouldn’t hear the motor. I kept an eye out. If he’s out there in the trees, he didn’t follow us to this part of the river. Vegetation’s too low growing. No cover.”

Annie peered at the wild roses on the bank as if they had answers. The upstream paddle wore her out. She couldn’t fathom this mystery. “Ray—the Hunter— did this. But what do you think happened here? Why?”

Sam scratched at his scars. “I’ve had the afternoon and some of the evening to puzzle this out. I’m as much of a detective as you are a Maine guide, but one reason springs to mind. The radio.”

“He killed Wolfe so he couldn’t call out on the radio?”

“So no one could summon help. So he could steal the guns and the outboard and who knows what the hell else. I couldn’t do a damn inventory.”

“The dog. Captain would have protected his master. Ray feigned allergies so Captain was locked away.”

“Exactly. Fortunate Ted put his pet in the bedroom, which has a dog door to the outside pen. He had access to water in the bathroom, but no food. If we hadn’t returned, he’d have died of starvation.”

“Oh, God, what can we do? I brought this all on us. All of it is my fault—the Hunter following me, the tricks he played to frighten us, Wolfe’s murder. If only I’d stayed in Portland.” She couldn’t halt the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Dammit, Annie, don’t talk like that. The fault lies with the damn killer, whoever he really is. He targeted you. You didn’t invite him along. You didn’t ask him to gaslight you and the rest of us.”

“But somehow he found out about my trip. Sam, you said both those men arrived in the state by airplane. So the Hunter must’ve killed the real Ray after he landed.”

“And took his place.”

Yet another death because of her. She shivered as if the temperature dropped twenty degrees. She didn’t resist when Sam pulled her into his arms. Nausea crept up her throat, but she swallowed it down, along with her sobs. His warmth and strength lent her a much-needed bulwark in her storm of emotion.

“The question is, sweetheart, what do we do now?”

His chin rested on her head, and the rumble of his voice soothed her frayed nerves.

Until the rest of his words sank in.

“We have no radio, no way to contact Ben or anyone else on the outside. No way to report the murder. Except for knives and a small hatchet, we have no weapons. And we’re three days from the take-out point.”

TWENTY-TWO

Annie's fear was a sharp stick in her midsection, but she had to ignore it. She knew what she had to do. “It’s me he wants, Sam. I’m endangering all of you. I should leave. I—”

He pulled back so fast she nearly fell off the log. “
Leave?
On your own? Are you out of your freaking mind? That monster would snare you before you could trek half a mile.”

“He might, but the others... it’s my fault.”

“We’ve been through the blame discussion. No way I’m letting you leave.” He held her arms as if to prevent her fleeing into the night.

“It’s not fair to the others to put them in harm’s way.” She flattened her palms on his chest. “He has a rifle and ammunition. Who knows what else? He could walk into camp anytime and kill us all. But it’s me he wants.”

“You keep saying that. Let me think.”

They remained silent on the log for a long time, Annie sheltered in Sam’s loose embrace. She knew what she had to do but maybe he’d think of an alternative. She was drifting into exhausted sleep when he finally spoke.

“Here’s the deal. You and I leave together tomorrow. Make it look like we’re paddling a canoe with the others, then strike out on foot through the woods east toward the Eagle River. We can make it to the lake ahead of the others. Ahead of the Hunter. By the time he discovers we’ve split, we’ll be long gone. We can signal Ben from the shore.”

“Sam, it’s a good idea, but you don’t have to go with me. I’m not your responsibility.”

“The hell you’re not.” He held her shoulders and gave a little shake. His gaze lasered into her. “You want to spread around a little guilt? I’m responsible for not checking out Ray’s ID, to see if he was really a damn computer geek from Boston. So who’s more responsible for the Hunter being here? You or me? Besides, I’m responsible for every last one of you on my expedition.”

“That’s why you can’t abandon the rest of the party.” She lifted her chin. How could she let anyone else be at further risk?

“You have an on-going feud with Mother Nature when you’re surrounded by people. What do you think would happen to you alone? Not to mention with a crazed killer chasing you. A killer who’s skilled in the woods.”

Her stomach was the consistency of jelly, but she held firm. “I haven’t been hurt much. I can manage. You’ve taught me how to find my way. Give me some supplies and a map. I’ll slip away like you suggested. Alone.”

“How do you think Nora and Carl will feel, not to mention young Frank, when they learn of your death? When the cops, maybe your brother, inform them the Hunter captured their friend Annie, hunted you, and then raped you? Gutted you like the rabbit we had for dinner?”

At the image he conjured, her stomach churned faster. She slumped, defeated. What choices did she have? Sam was right. If she set off alone, she’d be dead. Was she brave enough to try? She shuddered.

An insane plan, giving the Hunter exactly what he wanted.

He’d be free to kill again. To capture and murder more innocent women like Emma.

Although Sam and her leaving together on foot would fool the Hunter for a while, he was bound to catch on and follow. Once he ditched the outboard, he could track them through the forest. Sam’s plan was to evade him, escape, but that wasn’t good enough.

She had a better idea.

***

Portland

Late Saturday night, Justin trooped downstairs with the Ruger rifle and a red shoebox. Mouth tight, he showed the rifle to Lieutenant Watson.

The task-force leader’s brow quirked. “This can go to the lab along with what crime scene vacuums up in the SUV. Large dog cage in the back of the vehicle looks like where Smith might have kept his captives.”

Still rocked by what he’d discovered behind the upstairs closet, Justin scanned Smith’s living room. He didn’t know what sort of crib he expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t a neat-as-a-pin duplex his grandma could’ve lived in.

Except that half the room was dominated by a bank of electronics—three computer monitors, CPU’s, and other high-tech equipment rigged of components.

Except that an upstairs room was crammed with fitness equipment and camouflage and blaze-orange tents, backpacks and outdoor clothing.

Except that compulsive neatness fit what they knew of Smith—and the killer. A meticulous pervert, the Hunter.

Smith had earned the affection of at least one person. His white-haired landlady tearily reported that when he was in town, the geek drove her to the supermarket and did computer tutoring at her senior center. “Such a gentle, kind man,” she said.

A gentle, kind man with a wall case full of guns—two shotguns, three rifles, an assortment of hand guns, and a drawer full of knives.

Peters glanced up from one of Smith’s computer monitors but continued clicking the mouse. She frowned and returned her gaze to her task.

“What do you have?” Watson indicated the shoebox.

“The smoking gun,” Justin said. “Found a hidden storage area behind a large closet.” He and another detective had removed the closet’s contents and found a detachable panel. His stomach rebelled at what he’d discovered, but his cop’s mentality celebrated. “Inside was a stack of small boxes.”

“Trophies,” the lieutenant said somberly.

“Trophies.” Justin removed the lid of the shoebox. Still wearing latex gloves, he held up a pair of earrings and a white lace bra. “A label on the cover is dated April of last year and has the initials L.M.”

“Linda Mills,” Peters said, joining them. “The cocktail waitress who disappeared from the North Conway parking lot. One of the two in New Hampshire.” She reached a tentative hand to the angels dangling from the earrings, but drew back her hand without touching them.

“Do I dare ask how many boxes you found?” Tavani lowered himself onto an upholstered beige chair.

“Fourteen. Each containing a woman’s possessions. Some have jewelry and an article or two of clothing. Some just clothing, mostly underwear. Lacey DePalma’s box has one of her paintbrushes.” Justin paced. He had to be distant, impersonal to do his job. But the scope of this, the gruesome perversion, had his neck and shoulders cramping.

“More than we knew about,” Peters said. “All dated?”

When Justin nodded, Tavani leaned forward in his seat. “How far back do the dates go?”

“It looks like he brought some with him from Virginia. We may’ve solved those Appalachian Trail murders.”

Uttering oaths that could have been prayers, Peters returned to the computer.

“You found what we needed, Detective Wylde,” Watson said. “This is our fugitive, an unidentified subject no longer.”

“Except we don’t have him. Where the hell is he? Where’d he go? I found no shaving paraphernalia but suitcases are still in the closet. Impossible to tell if any clothing is missing.”

His attention veered to Peters. “Did you get in?”

“He wasn’t too subtle about his password,” she replied. “
Hunter
. No firewall or protection of any kind. Either he’s as cocky as the winner of
Survivor
, or he wants us to know where he’s gone. Or both.”

The three men crossed to Detective Peters.

“So you know where he is?” Justin demanded.

She turned, her face grim. “I believe I do. But you’re not going to like it one damn bit.”

***

Sunday

The next morning Sam and Annie separated from their companions.

“Like it or not, sweetheart, you’re moving beyond the Moosewoods Wilderness Immersion Expedition and into—”

“The Wilderness
Survival
Expedition. No kidding.” From where she stood on the mossy bank, Annie waved to the departing canoes. The party had left the cabin and moved beyond Upper Otter Pond to the stream that connected the chain of ponds. At an obscuring bend in the stream, Annie and Sam hopped out with their gear. The rest continued paddling south to Lower Otter Pond. “Do you really think they’ll be okay?”

“Sure. They have plenty of supplies, and they can’t get lost as long as they go downstream.” Sam managed to sound confident, but his guts churned with the idea of sending the three off on their own.

After some argument, they’d understood Annie’s insistence that she leave the group and Sam’s insistence that he accompany her. Except for Carl, who uttered the word
lawsuit
. Frank insisted they stick together, but subsided at the adults’ grave refusal.

Sam intended to leave the dog in his kennel enclosure with food and water to last until rescue could arrive. There wasn’t room in the canoes, he insisted.

Again Frank objected, fiercely hugging Captain to him. “You can’t leave him. With... what’s inside.” His eyes pleaded his case to his mom. “He can sit in the bow with me. He’s used to being in a boat. I’ll take care of him. I’ll feed him. You won’t have to do thing.”

“A dog might be protection,” Nora said, her tender gaze on her son.

The boy’s plea and the memory of the Lab’s mournful howls melted Sam’s resolve. What went unsaid was that having an animal to care for might help Frank deal with whatever the next few days had in store for them.

So this morning, Nora gave each of them a maternal hug twice—once when they pushed off from shore together, again when Sam and Annie left them.

When they
abandoned
them. Sam’s gut churned. Did they know enough about using the compasses and the maps? Did they know what to do if a canoe dumped them? Did they have enough canned food from Wolfe's cabin?

What if the killer went after them first, out of anger or for revenge? But Annie’d insisted that didn’t fit what she knew of him. He was too cowardly to attack a group, even with a firearm. He’d come along because of her, and he would follow her.

So Sam had no choice.

He hoisted his duffel, rigged as a backpack. “Let’s get moving. I want to be well away from Otter Stream and to the ridge by noon.” He glanced at the morning sky, swirling with clouds. They had to make tracks if they hoped to find cover before it rained. At best, it wouldn’t be much of a shelter.

He waited while Annie adjusted her smaller waterproof backpack, courtesy of Nora. She managed to pare her fancy gear down to essentials. No hiking boots, only sturdy sneakers and wind pants that would prevent more scrapes and cuts if they had to traipse through thickets. In spite of her penchant for injuries, she surprised him by proving herself brave and resourceful. If he could keep them ahead of the Hunter, she would do all right.

“You certain this is food I’m carrying in my pack? It feels too light.” Furrows marred her brow.

Damn. He hadn’t seen her smile since yesterday afternoon. “Liquid is what makes food heavy. We have three days of freeze-dried meals—beef stew, pasta, some kind of chicken. I had a few stashed away just in case.”

“Okay.” She sent him a wobbly curve of lips. “Lead on, Captain Clark. Or are you Meriwether Lewis?”

“I’ll be whoever you want if that makes you Sacajawea.” With a wink, he strode in the opposite direction of that historic expedition.

As they set off, the terrain was dry and relatively level, rising gently to the central ridge. Needles from cedar and spruce trees carpeted the ground and perfumed the air. Sam checked his compass as he tromped along.

“Tell me about this place. What are we headed for?” Annie hitched up her pack as she swung a leg over a fallen cedar.

He glanced back to see her setting her jaw with determination. And more. He’d seen that intensity in her eyes before and didn’t like what it meant. “I’ve crossed the Hump several times over the years, but never at this exact spot. This island is five miles across. Should make it late today to Eagle River if I’ve plotted our course right.”

“I hear more
if
’s in your voice.” She jogged faster to walk beside him. “Come on, Sam. This was my idea. I need to know what we’re facing besides the Hunter.”

“Maybe nothing.” He heard the boom of thunder in the distance. “Maybe a tough place to cross the ridge, the Hump. Maybe a thunderstorm.”

“I packed foul weather gear. Didn’t you?” Her bold tone projected confidence, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to be standing out among the trees if the storm’s looking for a juicy target. You might as well wear a lightning rod.”

The next thunderclap rolled across the sky like cannon fire from a distant battle.

“Still off a ways,” Sam said. The freshening breeze held the scent of rain. “But moving east. Closer. We have to haul ass.” He cut her a questioning look as he dug out a Fig Newton.

“You set the pace, Coach. I can keep up.”

He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. Tough cookie or bravado, he didn’t know, but he admired her grit and honor as much as he wanted her body.

“Okay, but let’s hydrate first.” He swigged from his canteen and watched as she unhooked her water bottle from her pack and drank.