Primal Obsession (19 page)

For the next few hours, they raced ahead of the storm and toward the ridge. The smell of ozone laced the breeze. As they climbed, the undergrowth grew denser and the ground rockier.

Annie looked up to see Sam watching her slap mosquitoes. A bug or two wouldn't stop her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t slow them down while she dug out insect repellant.

Twice she’d had to bite back the demand for a rest. They needed to keep ahead of the Hunter, to get to shelter. She’d asked for this, hadn’t she? She’d be damned if she’d complain now. Or acknowledge the fear tiptoeing up her spine. She squared her shoulders.

Sam trooped ahead of her with an easy lope as though he was strolling a sidewalk and not picking his way over loose granite shards and sneaky roots. The pockets of his microfiber trousers and dark T-shirt were stuffed with snacks. From time to time, he popped a cookie in his mouth.

Ducks quacked overhead as the wind blew them along. Something rustled in the ground hemlock. She muffled a shriek and kicked up her pace to walk at Sam’s side. Sticking close to him was her plan. She’d been crazy to imagine she could flee through the woods alone.

He winked at her, that subtly suggestive smile on his mouth, but worry darkened his eyes. “I understand how you got so involved with this mad killer, but how’d you get into journalism in the first place?”

“I see your plan.” She winked back. “Keep the city girl’s mind off the rough hike.” When his smile widened, she shrugged. “Okay, you can blame Nancy Drew.”

“My cousin Sherri used to read those books. She sat under a tree and read while the rest of us played ball. But wasn’t Nancy Drew a detective?”

“Right, but her creator was a reporter until she died at age 96. When I was in junior high, I did a report on Mildred Benson, who wrote as Carolyn Keene, and became fascinated with the possibilities.”

“She must have been some slugger.”

Annie punched him in the biceps. Solid as granite. He didn’t flinch, and she surreptitiously rubbed her hand. “I don’t know about baseball, but she tried nearly everything else. Earned a pilot’s license and went to the Amazon on an archeological expedition. I think they even got lost.”

He uttered a low whistle. “Some old babe. So you wanted your own adventures?”

“I know what you’re thinking. I got more than I bargained for this time. But no, I wanted to investigate the stories behind people’s adventures and write about them like she did.”

“Is that what you were doing in New York? Reporting on adventures?”

The memories swamped her. Sam had shared intimate, even humiliating secrets with her, about the collapse of his marriage, about his disintegration after his accident. He’d trusted her. Electric attraction pulsed between them, but they’d built an odd sort of friendship. Some of what had happened she’d never told anyone but Emma. Maybe enough time had passed so she could talk about New York. And New Orleans. To him.

“I worked for a sort of local
People
magazine in the Village.
Who’s Next?
publishes articles and interviews about up-and-comers in the city—actors, entrepreneurs, inventors, you name it. I did an article about a Harlem principal who turned her failing school around.”

“Sounds interesting. But you left the city.” He clasped her elbow as they negotiated around a tangle of deadfall. His tone remained engrossed but neutral.

“I left to cover the cleanup after the BP oil spill.”

"New Orleans?"

She inhaled for strength, but discovered that she no longer needed fortification to examine the disillusioning parts. The pain had dissipated and the memories were of heroism and altruism. “Humanitarian and church groups from New York went to Louisiana and Mississippi to help during the disaster. My editor sent me to cover their experiences."

“That must have been rough. You were there to see the damage?”

“It was so sad. I accompanied a rescue-boat crew that combed the shores for birds.” Her heart squeezed at the memories of the poor animals she saw during those days. “I can’t describe the scene adequately. I got my story but I was glad to help. Everyone who could, contributed.” Some tried to take advantage.

“I can see why you needed to get away.” He hugged her shoulders before striding ahead to thrash a path through leafy undergrowth.

She didn’t reply. There was more to the story, but she wasn’t quite ready to dive into it. He seemed satisfied and dropped the conversation.

Although she knew he had a healthy fear of their pursuer, this rough hike was exactly the physical challenge he relished. He was going in harm’s way for her, to protect her. She shivered at what that might mean.

Ian would never have put himself out, let alone put himself in danger for her. For anyone.

Sam wasn’t a selfish egotist like Ian. His problems—the hand accident, losing his career, his wife deserting him—slammed him to the ground, left him bleeding self-confidence. Still, he wasn’t bitter or self-pitying. He was kind and generous, funny and brave. Hiding in the woods wouldn’t heal his wounds or help him find his way out of the wilderness.

She cared more than she wanted to, and regret banded her chest. No matter how attracted, she wasn’t the woman to show him. Or even accompany him. No, she was bound to her work and to city life. When this was over, she’d return to Portland, maybe try New York again. Or somewhere new.

“Let’s dig out our ponchos. Easier to do it here. The ridge is steeper up ahead.” They stopped in a small clearing. Sam shrugged off his pack and unzipped it.

“Poncho? Now?” Lost in her reverie, she hadn’t noted the deteriorating weather.

A steady, light rain was falling.

Even with the extras she’d stuffed in, the pack’s light weight didn’t bother her. The sweat and friction of having it pressed against her spine was a constant reminder of their nemesis. She flapped her T-shirt to cool her back. “You have some shelter in mind, Sam?” Savoring the rain-scented air, she shook out her rain gear.

“The Hump is conglomerate, not solid granite. Erosion has carved out overhangs and caves. I’m hoping for a dry one.” He slipped a black poncho over his head, then adjusted his cap.

A dry, rushing sound crashed through the trees. Saplings shook like pom-poms.

Heart pounding, she clutched her poncho to her breast. “The Hunter’s found us!”

Sam frowned. “I don’t think—”

A low-pitched snuffle resounded as the thrashing came through the luxuriant growth. A large, shaggy black shape shambled from between two junipers.

A black bear.

They spied each other at the same time. The bear skidded to a stop on four paws not six feet away.

Annie froze. Her heart stopped, then slammed against her ribs. The bear’s small, beady eyes peered into hers. Her nose wrinkled at its strong, musky odor.

The bruin looked bigger than a truck. Its snout lifted, wriggled as it sniffed them.

It reared up on its hind legs.

TWENTY-THREE

Portland

At eight A.M., Justin left the duplex. His eyes felt like they contained all the sand in Wells Beach. He blinked in the pewter sky’s glare.

A Portland Police Crime Scene team had swarmed throughout the apartment to photograph, video, measure, and record the contents, with particular attention to the suspect’s chamber of horrors, his trophy closet. Peters, Tavani, and he had hoped to mosey on home to bed at midnight, but no luck. It was their case, so they stayed, propping their eyes open with take-out coffee and pizza from Bampy’s 24/7 Mart.

The leaden sky darkened their gloom at having identified the Hunter too late. And that wasn’t the worst of it.

Among Smith’s varied talents was computer hacking. He’d apparently broken into Annie’s email and that of Moosewoods Resort. He used the Internet to learn about her canoe trip and about the other people on it.

Crime scene techs found a duffel bag that didn’t match the other luggage. It contained shorts and shirts one size smaller than the clothing in the closets and bureau. Speculation was he may have murdered a camper and taken his place.

Another death, and danger to Annie in one of the most fucking inaccessible places in the state of Maine. If only the investigation had sniffed out Smith’s damn trail earlier. Justin massaged his nape.

“We should get a few hours’ sleep before heading to Greenville.” Peters rolled her shoulders and yawned. “I can stay awake to drive to Augusta, but that’s it.”

“No. I have to see Ben Kincaid. Have to reach the campers.” Justin needed sleep as much as the others, but adrenaline thrumming in his body would keep him going. Greenville was a four-hour drive north, half on two-lane excuses for highways. “You sleep in the back. We'll take turns.”

Tavani and Peters exchanged a look. Peters nodded. “I understand the urgency, Justin, but none of us will have a working brain cell without some rest.”

The FBI agent jerked his chin toward the other side of the street. “Anyone know that woman?”

Justin turned. Rissa Cantrell huddled in a woolen sweater against the early-morning chill. The white in her dark hair barely contrasted with her complexion. Strands of hair straggled from her black braid, and violet smudged her eyes. She looked like he felt. “Yeah, I know her. Give me a minute, and we can go.”

He crossed the street toward where Rissa stood by her Saab.

At the grim set of Justin Wylde’s mouth, Rissa’s throat tightened. She clutched her sweater closer around her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked. “How did you find out about this?” He stopped just short of trampling her. He loomed over her like a vulture.

“Is it true? Have you found the Hunter? Is this his house?” She tried to look past him, but his wide shoulders blocked her view of the narrow duplex. She gnawed her lower lip.

His blue eyes narrowed, and he scratched his stubbly chin. “I could have you arrested for obstructing an official investigation. Go home. You’ve done enough damage.” His jaw working, he started to leave.

Damage? That made no sense to her, but she didn’t have time to care. She grasped his sleeve. “It was on the CB. I heard the dispatcher sending uniforms to guard the house. Please, Justin, you have to tell me something. For God’s sake. For Emma’s sake.”

The detective paused, not fighting her restraint. He lowered his head, but he wasn’t looking at the street or at her hand on his arm. After a moment, he raised hard eyes.

“Yes, we’ve identified the Hunter. We found evidence in this house. So you should be happy.”

Tears welled, and she had to prop a hand on her car. The murderer was caught. He would be punished. The monster who slaughtered Emma and the other girls. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“If we can lay our hands on the son of a bitch, he’ll be put away for a dozen lifetimes.”

Her heart twisted. “You mean he’s not there? He’s not under arrest?” How could they have let him get away? She should have gotten here sooner.
Too late, too late
tolled inside her head.

“Our suspect has disappeared.” Justin’s calm demeanor was only veneer. She sensed the reverberations from his tension. “He may be going after my sister.”

“Annie?” Rissa murmured. What could it mean? She brought her hand to her throat. “He followed her on her canoe trip? You have to do something.”

Justin leaned forward, placing his hands on her Saab and trapping her between his arms. “I aim to try my damnedest. I could have learned about this days ago but for one delay.”

She flinched at his scathing tone, but she had to ask. “Delay? What delay?”

“
Your
fucking delay. The stranger in the van. Some asshole stalking his old girlfriend.” Color tinged his cheekbones. He fired his words at her like bullets, precise, pointed, and deadly. “You better hope to God we can reach the expedition. Their radio is out.”

She recoiled from his vehemence. “Oh, Justin, I’m... I thought I was helping. But Annie... I never meant—” She couldn’t find the words to continue.

Through a prism of tears she watched him stalk to the unmarked cruiser.

***

Justin slid into the back seat as Peters clicked off the cell phone. “Let’s get on the road.”

“That woman’s in rough shape,” Tavani observed from the passenger front seat. “Should you leave her like that?”

“She’s tougher than she looks.” As Peters guided the cruiser from the parking space, Justin glanced back to see Rissa sitting in her car and cradling her head in her folded arms on the steering wheel.

He refused to feel any more sympathy for her. If not for her interference, he could have helped Peters check on the businesses. They could’ve learned about Holden Smith sooner. Now might be too late.

For Annie. For Sam. For them all.

He pinched the bridge of his nose against the headache driving nails into his forehead. Shit. He shouldn’t blame Rissa. The van was a lead that needed following. Worse, losing Smith and worry for Annie were affecting his focus. He nearly revealed evidence to a civilian.

Maintaining a professional distance was crucial if he expected the lieutenant not to yank him off the case now his sister was involved. He sank back against the cushion.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes to see the I-295 exit sign for Main Street in South Portland. “What the hell, Peters! You’re going the wrong way. This is south.”

The next overhead green sign indicated one mile to the Portland Jetport exit.

“Once I convinced Lieutenant Watson of the urgency, he authorized a charter flight. He’ll meet us in Greenville.”

***

Northern Maine woods

Before Sam or Annie could blink, the bear turned tail and crashed through the brush back the way it had come.

Sam blew out a breath. For the first time he wished he had a gun. Not that a pistol would be much help against a bear. “I don’t like to be that close.”

“But... but.” The light in Annie’s eyes meant her brain had finally whirred up the memory she sought. “You said to shake something large at a bear. To make it think you were bigger. He... he just ran away.” She held up her navy blue poncho in futile demonstration.

Sam shrugged, feeling his mouth quirk at one corner with a smile. Damn, he loved to get this woman going. “Um, that’s what the guide books say, sure enough. I bet it would work too. But anytime I ever saw a bear, it took off like that one.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Rain dripped from the brim of Annie’s cap, and she pulled on her poncho. “Then why did you bother giving me that little nugget of instruction?”

He stepped closer to her, swiped the water from her hat brim with a finger. Her scent came to him on the rain and his body began to harden. “How did I say to hold up that towel you had?”

“Like this?”

As she raised her arms, he slid his around her. Before she could object, he kissed her. The warmth of her mouth, her softness against him swelled his arousal uncomfortably.

She melted against him, and he gave a little grunt of satisfaction. “Now do you know why?”

Twin spots flagged her cheekbones. The fire in her eyes said that she knew she’d been had. He heard the swish of her poncho as she swatted at his retreating backside, but he moved too fast.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Overhead. Behind. Everywhere. A raging dragon, it rolled across the sky.

“Let’s hit the trail.” Sam slung on his backpack. “Only good thing about this storm is it’ll slow the Hunter.”

He kept glancing back to make sure she hustled after him. Stubborn as a team manager, she wouldn’t give in to aches or exhaustion or let the rain and wind slow her. He hated to see her straining like a sled dog, but they had to put distance between them and the damn killer.

Her story about New Orleans rang true. She would be the one to put herself in the middle of a story. Just like she was doing now. But there was more to why she left the city. The spill was a catalyst, she said, but that wasn't New York. Being with her taught him a few things about getting people to talk. He’d pull the rest out of her later.

What had begun as a fine drizzle slapped them with shotgun pellets of water as the wind shrieked. Ozone crackled in the air. Saplings swayed and snapped like whips. A mossy rock-pile barrier, the Hump rose before them.

They had to find shelter up there. So far they were still dry beneath their rain gear, and he wanted to keep it that way. But this part of the ridge looked solid. He spied no erosion-scooped nooks for them.

He turned to see Annie swaying like the saplings, her eyes dull with fatigue.

When she noticed him observing her, she straightened, blinked. “Maybe we should keep moving. Get over the ridge.”

Without shelter, they had no other choice, though her reason likely had a motive beyond getting away. Time later to find out what. He had to yell over the wind. “I don’t like it. Lightning’s nearly overhead. We’ll move on uphill. Maybe hide in the rocks.”

He climbed ahead of her, choosing the easiest path through the maze of lichen-encrusted boulders and mossy outcroppings. “Be careful. The rain has—” He turned back to see Annie slip and land heavily on her right hip.

“—slicked the rocks.” On a groan, she pushed to her feet as he made it to her side. “I’m okay.”

To their left, a crack. A pop. A hiss. The ground shook.

Annie squealed like a frightened doe.

Sam grabbed her, tucked her tight against him, shielding her with his body.

A massive branch splintered and snapped down through the network of trees below it. It crashed to the ground only feet away. Steam rose from the branch, and the acrid odor of singed bark filled the air. All around, the lightning-and-thunder dragon rumbled in impotent fury at having missed them.

Shaking almost as much as the trees, Sam scanned the rise for shelter. They had to get undercover before the next thunderbolt fried them.