Uncaged (13 page)

Of course, the breaking news always turned out to be a rehash of old news, but each time he reacted to the flashing red graphic rippling across the screen with a pounding heart. Brother Jacob needed to be caught and punished. Until then, there’d be no peace. It frustrated the hell out of him it wasn’t happening fast enough. After a promising start, the trail went cold. Brother Jacob, a seasoned survival expert, had disappeared into a national park. So far, dogs, helicopters, and thermal imaging equipment had turned up nothing.

Promising to stand guard, he’d finally convinced Mara to return to her hotel room to rest in a real bed. The machines at the bedside hummed intermittent beeps, keeping him company.

For the first time in forty-eight hours, Christy opened her eyes and scanned the room. “Mitchell?”

He bolted upright. “I’m here.”

She looked confused. “Is my mother here, also? Earlier, I thought I heard her voice.”

He rushed to her side and grasped her hand. “I sent her to the hotel to take a nap. She’s exhausted.”

With soft eyes, she gazed at him. “Who else is here? Is it just us?”

Kissing her fingertips, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Just us. Every hour, a nurse checks in and injects something into your IV bag.”

Christy rolled her eyes. “Whatever she’s injecting is doing a number on my imagination.”

Relief to hear her smoky voice rushed through him. “Are the drugs good?”

“Amazing! Mitchell, I have to tell you something. I know I’ll sound crazy. What’s happening to me may not be real, but it feels real.”

A tingle of alarm shot up his spine. “What?”

“I’ve been dreaming that I’m becoming a wolf.”

He leaned closer. “A wolf?”

“Yes, a real flesh-and-blood wolf! My heart beats faster. I’m covered in silvery fur. When I’m a wolf I can smell, which nurse is walking into my room. I have the wildest adventures. They’re so beautiful. I’m a wolf running through the woods with you. In the dreams, you’re a wolf, too.”

Fear and hope battled inside. “Wow, I want one of those IV cocktails, too.”

“In the dream. We’re happy together. We have this whole other life as wolves. It’s better than any make-believe game I could have created as a kid.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “Just get better, Christy.”

“I suppose I sound crazy.”

The red graphic for
Breaking News!
flashed across the television screen. He froze.

The strident voice of a male newscaster boomed. “State troopers have discovered what they believe to be the abandoned SUV belonging to felon at large, Brother Jacob….”

An old mug shot of the harsh-faced child kidnapper, sexual predator, and a heap of other offenses blanketed the screen.

“This morning, state police located the blood-stained SUV at the mouth of an inaccessible canyon. Jacob is believed to be traveling on foot and possibly headed for one of the many buried caches of supplies he’s said to have been living off for the past four years.”

“Holy crap!” Christy wailed. “Is he still on the loose?” She yanked at her IV. “I’m leaving.”

He grabbed her hand. “Sweetheart, don’t do that.”

“He’s out there! I know how to find him and the types of places they’d choose for a cache. Reverend Simon was always ordering someone to dig a bunker somewhere and stock it. It will be deep, too, at least ten feet.”

Patting her shoulder. “You’re heavily medicated with stitches. You can’t go anywhere.”

“I can talk to the police. I’m ready. Call a detective. Have him bring maps. Call a nurse. Get this damn IV out of my arm! I don’t need it. I want to help.”

“So do I.” His eyes narrowed on the screen drinking in every detail about the SUVs location. “I’m going to call the officer in charge, and then I have leave for a little while.”

“Where are you going?”

“On an errand.”

“Would you bring me back a burrito?”

“Sure.” He bolted toward the door. “I might be gone for a while.”

***

Mitchell released a blast of air from his tires before heading down a rutted fire road on the edge of the national forest. Following the police band conversations had been simple. Getting around the FBI barricades set around the perimeters of the park proved trickier. He’d cut through a wire fence and slipped past on private property.

Bouncing along a dirt road, he sniffed the scent of pine needles on the breeze. The fresh fragrance cleared his head of city smells. The hunt began in earnest. In his mind, Brother Jacob was prey with a bright orange target painted on his forehead.

In the distance, he saw the first signs of activity. A helicopter circled a wooded canyon then a second helicopter joined the chase. There were no roads leading into this remote area. Using the foot trails or an airlift were the only ways in or out. Having reached the end of the line, he pulled the truck within a grove of trees and parked.

Realizing the authorities were closing in, he hurried to ready himself. As dusk neared, he thought it likely the helicopters and ground search would soon retreat.

Darkness wouldn’t stop him. In fact, it was an ally. Locking his wallet and Glock in the glove compartment, he undressed. Taking a long drink from a plastic water bottle, he intended to travel light, no food, water, weapons, but most of all no trace of human Mitchell would be left behind.

If someone spotted his truck, he’d claim to be a concerned loved one, watching the FBI pursuit from a distance.

If he showed up on aerial thermal imagery, no one would blink at the presence of a wolf moving through the woods, not with more pressing matters to deal with like a violent pedophile on the run.

One last thing remained to be done. He removed the tiny shred of hunting vest Christy had managed to rip away with her fingernails, from the cellophane bag he’d placed it in. Holding the reeking bits of thread to his nose, he inhaled. To his heightened senses the scrap of cloth smelled of stale sweat, adrenaline, beer, and a trace of Christy’s blood. Beneath it all, Brother Jacob’s distinct scent burned deep into his brain.

The Wolf in him wanted justice.

Stepping out of the truck, he hid a key beneath the front bumper. Calling on the Great Spirit Waya, he silently asked to be granted keener senses and greater strength that he might serve the highest good.

Mumbling the words, “For Christy,” he knelt on the ground and shifted to wolf form. With a whimper and crackle of bone, he accomplished the feat in a seamless
swoosh
. Ready for duty, the Wolf appeared. With an amber sun sinking fast, he trotted beneath the cover of trees sniffing the ground for signs of Jacob.

A single helicopter continued to circle the south-facing wall of the canyon, so he headed in that direction. Soon it grew dark, and the helicopter returned to its home base. Without the choppy
whomp, whomp, whomp
of the helicopter’s spinning blades to create aural clutter, he tuned into the sounds of the wind, the dry rustle of rabbits darting through brush, the occasional screech of an owl, but no human sounds greeted his sensitive wolf ears.

Following a seldom-used trail overgrown by bramble, he descended into a canyon. Deer prints were the most common feature on the track. Then he saw a big boot print with a tiny avalanche of silt above. Glancing uphill, he spotted the place where a man slid down a steep grade landing in the middle of the path.

Excitement rose. The prints were fresh and the scent ripe. He’d picked up Brother Jacob’s trail. From here, the pursuit came with ease. Recent rain left the ground impressionable to footprints. Moisture held the scent. He raced forward, holding his intentions in mind. Jacob deliberately harmed Christy and even took pleasure in his brutality. He’d have no qualms about nixing the bastard.

A copse of trees near the base of the canyon caught his attention. Leaving the trail, he headed toward the grove. Immediately, his senses were assaulted by the odor of urine, the tang of sweat in the air, and, most telling, the gamy aroma of canned meat stew.

Without doubt, Brother Jacob was near, but where? The area beneath the trees appeared barren except for leaf litter. Sniffing the ground, his paws brushed the edges of a trapdoor. Below, he heard the hollow rattle of a spoon scraping inside a can.

Elated he’d found a cache with its grubby prize still inside, he considered how best to get in. Then he realized he didn’t have to. Jacob would come to him.

Throwing his head back, he wailed a booming wolf call that echoed through the canyon. He stood back and waited. Nothing happened. He howled again. This time the noises inside the bunker stopped.

A faint, “Goddamn it,” could be heard along with the
clink
of a can being tossed.

Pawing at the hidden door, he exposed a camouflaged net covered in leaves and shredded it. Once he denuded the door of cover, he scratched his claws against the wood, barking and making loud snuffling sounds. He bayed again for good measure, ending in a string of annoying
yip, yip, yip, yips.
Leaping into the air, he landed hard on top of the door, which made a rumbling
thud
when his weight connected. The wood flexed. He jumped again, landing as forcefully as his agile wolf body would allow. Catching his breath, he leaped back and thundered a booming howl.

The trapdoor burst open accompanied by a scattered cloud of leaf debris and a slew of sour odors. “Get the fuck out of here, buzzard bait!” Brother Jacob popped his head above ground with a gun pointed toward the trail.

Hidden behind the raised door, it took every bit of willpower to not lash out at the back of Jacob’s head. Instead, he waited with muscles coiled, prepared to spring.

“Goddamn pest, where are you?” Hoisting himself out of the hole, Jacob scanned the hillside. The foul residues of alcohol and fear shellacked his skin.

Crouched an arm’s length away, he released an involuntary growl of disgust.

Jacob turned. His jaw dropped.

Explosive as cannon fire, he sprang full force, arching through the air and slammed into Jacob.

With his arms wind milling, Jacob staggered and dropped the gun.

Riding the leap’s momentum, Mitchell knocked the target of his fury onto his back, landing heavy on the man’s chest. He clamped his fanged jaws around the bastard’s throat. With the satisfying snap of a steel trap, his teeth sank deep and tore skin and sinew. Jacob thrashed, grabbing handfuls of fur to no effect, his screams turned to horrid, wet gurgles.

The wolf in him raged as blood fountained from the jugular. Biting and growling, he shredded flesh. Too soon, all movement stopped. The kidnapper, child-rapist, and would-be assassin lay still on the ground, mouth agape with glassy eyes staring skyward at nothing.

Justice accomplished.

Drenched in blood, he limped to the bottom of the canyon where he’d caught the scent of fresh water. Killing Christy’s tormentor left him an uneasy victor. He wanted to be rid of all trace of Jacob on his fur. With a whimper, he hobbled down the steep canyon where he found a rushing stream.

Stepping into the icy water sobered him. He’d just killed a man. A man who deserved to die.
What will Christy think of the Wolf in me?
He worried she’d be frightened or repelled once she knew what he was capable of.

Lowering his head to the bubbling stream, he lapped a long drink, rinsing the thick taste of blood from his muzzle. Rolling in the current, he bathed his coat, hoping someday his soul might wash clean of all stain as well. It would be both a relief and disturbing to tell Christy she no longer had to worry about Brother Jacob. The deed spared her another round of endless court dates. He just wished he’d not taken so much pleasure in killing the bastard.

Once the blood washed free, he shook the water from his coat and started the long trot back to his truck. If he hurried, he could shower and get a couple hours of sleep at the hotel.

***

Mitchell woke midmorning. Once he’d fallen asleep in a real bed, he went down hard into a dreamless oblivion. Eager to check in, he dressed in clean clothes. He crept into Christy’s hospital room, holding a brown paper bag of warm, foil-wrapped burritos.

Christy was watching television.

“Mitchell.” She smiled the moment she saw him, and his heart filled. Pointing at the screen, she appeared agitated. “You won’t believe what happened.”

He glanced at the TV. The news played looped footage of state troopers and rescue crews descending on the canyon. A helicopter airlifted a body wrapped in a yellow blanket out of the ravine.

“The authorities are pretty sure they found Brother Jacob’s body this morning in a wilderness area.”

“Pretty sure?” His gaze narrowed on the screen. “That looks like a body in a bag to me.”

“His face is so badly maimed, forensics will need to confirm Jacob’s identity.” She paused to brush her fingertips across his brow. “Mitchell, you look exhausted.”

He handed her the sack. “I brought you a couple breakfast burritos with scrambled eggs.”

She grabbed one. “Thanks. I’m starving. Why don’t you take the other?”

He took the second burrito and unwrapped it. “Has anyone mentioned how Brother Jacob died?”

“Possible bear mauling. They found his throat torn open. Definitely an animal.”

Swallowing a bite of food before he choked. “Wolf.”

“Are there wolves in that area?”

“No.”

She looked puzzled. “Then it’s likely a bear.”

“Wolf.”

Christy blanched. “You sound certain.”

He dreaded her next reaction might be disgust. “I am.”

“Is this connected to your secret?” She drew a shaky breath. “The one you couldn’t share?”

“Yes.”

“Does this have something to do with your eyes flashing amber when you’re angry?”

“It does.”

With a creased brow, she looked concerned as she set the burrito down. “Did the avenging angel do this?”

“Yes.” He tensed. “With no regrets. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Wait!” She glanced around. “Are we alone? Slow down, Mitchell. Are you telling me you killed Brother Jacob and made it look like an animal attack?”

He gazed at the floor. How could he explain?