Spirit Of A Hunter

Spirit of a Hunter

Sylvie Kurtz

In memory of Charlotte L. Bégin.

Her spirit of adventure will always be an inspiration.

A special thanks to Bill and Lorrie Thomson,

and Chuck Kurtz. For planning hikes in the

White Mountains, then making sure I survived.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Sabriel Mercer guarded the church’s arched doorway, nodding curtly at each arriving guest, wishing he were anywhere but there. He rolled his shoulder against the starched stiffness of the rented tux and tugged at the noose-tight shirt collar with a finger. Only for a fellow Seeker would he endure such torture.

Church bells pealed, echoing with joy in Winter-green’s Currier-and-Ives town square. Indian summer spiked the air with warmth on this first weekend of October. With their explosion of gold and red, even the trees got in to the celebration.

A perfect day. His hands itched to plane the maple planks he’d joined for the kitchen cabinets of the cabin he was building. Instead, there he was holding a basket with a big cranberry bow. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this public emasculation.

“Cell phone.” Sabriel shoved the basket at Hale Harper, straggling in late, as usual. Rumor was Harper was Falconer’s cousin, which would explain the slack Falconer cut him.

“It’s off.” Harper held the device up so Sabriel could verify his claim.

“Orders from the boss. Hand it over.”

Harper glowered, his dark brows and eyes pinching much like Falconer’s did when he wasn’t pleased. “Falconer?”

“Liv.”

Without another word Harper dropped his cell phone with the dozen already in the basket and made his way into the nave. There was no point arguing with Liv. Even the newest Seeker understood that Sebastian Falconer’s wife always got her way.

Standing in the refuge of the vestibule, Sabriel scanned the crowd seated in the wooden pews. Most were strangers, people from the bride and groom’s hometown in Massachusetts. With no desire to join the crush, he melded deeper into the shadows.

The organ overhead in the loft stopped its nasal whine midbar, then burst into “The Wedding March.” The notes plucked at memories he’d thought he’d reconciled. But was there ever a way to explain a senseless death?

His jaw knotted. Eyes ahead.

On the arm of her former WITSEC inspector, Abrielle Holbrook glided down the aisle. She glowed in champagne silk. Sabriel knuckled the tender spot at his breastbone, grinding down until the serrated pain dulled. His wife had done that, too—chosen an off-white dress because she’d wanted to shine on her wedding day. She’d said that pure white made her look dead.

If only he’d known…. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on Reed and Abbie’s moment of happiness.

Grayson Reed looked as if he’d swallowed the sun as his bride made her way up the crimson carpet.

Noah Kingsley, Seekers, Inc.’s computer wiz, stood at Reed’s side, red suspenders visible under the black tux that fit his compact body as if it had been made for him—and probably had.

Falconer and Liv, wrapped arm in arm, beamed at the bride.

The newly engaged Dominic Skyralov held hands, fingers twined with Luci Taylor. His other arm looped around her son’s shoulders. There was a settled air about the blond cowboy that had been missing before he’d found Luci and Brendan. The corner of Sabriel’s mouth twitched. Watching Skyralov play Mr. Mom when Luci started at the police academy next month was going to be a kick.

Sabriel squeezed his nape and the portrait of joy before him turned into mist. Had he ever been that happy? He couldn’t remember. He’d thought so once. But his few months with Anna were nothing more than a dream, eclipsed by the nightmare that had followed. He’d barely survived the Colonel’s revenge. But he’d kept Anna’s secret.

A phone warbled a tinny melody. His? He frowned down at the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Other than the Seekers gathered in this church, only his mother and Tommy had this number.

And neither would dial it unless he was their last recourse.

LAST NIGHT.

Tommy Camden had many faults, but the one quality he had in spades was patience.

In the cold of night, he squatted by the Camden estate’s iron-and-stone fence, watching, waiting. He’d zapped the CCTV with a program to loop already filmed footage. His father had always underestimated him. Lack of military motivation didn’t equal lack of brains.

Caesar and Brutus, the German shepherd guards, were chowing down on Benadryl-laced hunks of moose. Tommy had spent months priming them to override their training to be fed only by their handler—whose own free lunch had proved soporific. When he woke up, he wouldn’t tell. Not if he wanted to keep his job. Tommy smirked. And where else was there to work in this butt-end-of-nowhere town except for the Camdens?

The balls of his feet were going numb and Tommy willed one more set of lights to blink out.

Nora had protected their son for the past ten years, but if the conversation Tommy had overheard on his last visitation with Scotty was already in motion, then Nora would soon be caged in a loony bin, drugged to the gills, so far off the map that Scotty wouldn’t even appear in the margins. Then nothing would stand between the Colonel’s cruel hand and Scotty.

Scotty was too good, too sweet to be broken. He should have a chance to make choices. He should get to laugh and play and be an ordinary kid.

Nora would understand. She always had—even when Tommy had betrayed her. She knew what the Colonel was capable of doing. She’d see that Tommy had to save their son from this circle of hell.

At precisely eleven, the Colonel’s bedroom light snapped off, and Tommy leaked out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d held prisoner. Only the security spots lit the perimeter of the I-shaped English country estate. For all his unbending rhetoric on tradition and heritage, the Colonel had all but gutted the interior of the house after Grandpop’s death eleven years ago. He’d modernized the gray stone house, with its slate roof and steeply pitched gables, to an inch of its original design—and destroyed everything that had comforted.

What would Grandpop think of what the Colonel had done to his grand old home? Or to his business?

Tommy shook his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Only getting Scotty out before it was too late mattered.

Brutus groaned and stretched by the gate. Tommy petted the tan-and-black rump. “Sorry, boy, but I couldn’t let you or your brother alert the Colonel. You’ll both live to snarl another day.”

Tommy stealed along the stone wall, a shadow among shadows, to the back of the mansion. He fished out a Maglite from his camouflage pants and signaled Scotty. The two quick flashes answering him told him Scotty was awake and ready—a gamble Tommy had hated to take.

Makes you just like the old man. Lie and cheat as long as it gets you what you want. Tommy shrugged away the guilt. Not the same thing. Not the same thing at all. The Colonel broke. I’m trying to fix.

Tommy had shown Scotty how to disarm the alarm system. Would he remember? Tommy had Scotty prepare an “adventure kit.” Had he put everything in? Tommy had sworn the boy to secrecy—even from his mother. Had Scotty been able to keep their secret adventure from Nora? So many uncertainties. But Tommy had seen no other way around the Colonel’s protective fortress.

He wished he could have taken Scotty during a visitation instead—cleaner, less dangerous. But two hours lead wasn’t enough. Tomorrow being Saturday, he’d get at least eight, possibly ten. Long enough—if Nora understood the note.

The door to the back entry inched open. Pulse keeping jagged time, Tommy hoped that the Colonel’s Glenlivet nightcap had put him under. Scotty’s blond head poked through the door, and he looked left and right as if he were about to cross a street, then searched along the fence, into the darkness.

Tommy’s gaze flickered to the bedroom windows. All black. His thumb hesitated on the Maglite’s switch. Last chance, Tommy. No going back if you give him the all-clear.

With a guttural explosion of breath, Tommy signaled Scotty. Under the spots, Scotty’s smile ate up his face. Red backpack flopping on his back, Scotty zipped across the manicured lawn. “Dad!”

“Shh!”

Scotty slapped a hand across his mouth and kept running. He’d lucked into Nora’s good brain and her laughing brown eyes, but had inherited Tommy’s unruly blond curls and his lust for the outdoors.

Pride-swelled tears bruised Tommy’s chest. God, he loved that boy. But love wasn’t enough. He’d let him down so many times. With a flex of fingers, he tightened both hands into fists and rose to parade-review straightness. No more. He would do for Scotty what he couldn’t do for himself: he’d set him free.

When Scotty reached the fence, Tommy lifted him, backpack and all—he was so light!—to the top of the stone wall, then changed his grip and helped him over the iron spikes.

As he checked his son over, as he looked into that innocent face, a chicken bone of breath lodged in Tommy’s throat. What if he couldn’t do this? What if he failed Scotty again? What if all he managed to do was lead his son into a deeper hell?

“Dad?”

Tommy forced a smile. “Hey, champ, are you ready for our big adventure?”

Brown eyes bright with anticipation, Scotty patted his backpack. “I got everything, just like you said.”

Well, what’s it going to be, Ranger? Action—or another excuse?

Rangers lead the way.

Tommy folded Scotty’s small hand in his. Time to set a proper example for his son. Be a man, Tommy. He did an about-face on his past and focused on his mission. “Let’s roll.”

THIS MORNING.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Nora Camden pushed open Scotty’s bedroom door and peeked in, anticipating her son’s protesting grumbles. He wasn’t a morning person.

Scotty had the covers up over his head, still hard asleep. He’d had a rough couple of days, and he’d desperately needed a decent night’s sleep. She hated to wake him up, but the Colonel didn’t have much patience with her interference or Scotty’s asthma. He accused her of coddling the boy and making Scotty weak. As if a child could will himself well. As if a mother could watch her son suffer without doing everything she could to help him.

“It’s almost nine.” Nora added a lilt to her voice, hoping to lure Scotty out of hiding. “I talked the cook into letting me make some of your favorite blueberry pancakes. They’re waiting for you in the kitchen. Come on. Up and at ’em.”

No movement from the bed. “Scotty?” Had his asthma flared up again? How could she not have heard? Heart knocking, she rushed across the golden oak floor-boards. “Did you have a bad night, sweetie? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

She reached down to shake her son awake. Her hands sank into the lump on the bed and a gasp sucked all of the room’s air into her lungs. She whipped off the denim comforter and found a fleece blanket vaguely shaped like a body. “This isn’t funny, Scotty.”

She dropped to her knees and skimmed a glance under the bed. “I know you don’t want to go to James Enger’s party, but that’s no reason to hide from me.”

Another of the Colonel’s attempts to get Scotty to fit in to the proper social circles. She snorted. As if offering up his grandson as prey to a bully would win anyone anything. Unfortunately, Nora had to weigh her battles and, on this one, she’d retreated.

She dusted off the knees of her black wool slacks—Camden women are always proper, Nora—and tilted her head at the closet door standing ajar. Scotty liked to hide there to read forbidden comic books with a flashlight. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her amusement at his act of civil disobedience. “You don’t have to stay long. I promise. We’ll go late and, as soon as you’ve had cake, you can call, and I’ll pick you right up.”

She jerked open the closet door. Empty. Frowning, hands on hips, she whirled toward the center of the room. “Come on, Scotty. It’s time to come out.”

Where would he have gone? It wasn’t as if he could leave the grounds. Not with the dogs and the alarm system ready to betray any attempt at escape. Even in this 13,000-square-foot house, there weren’t that many places to hide from the Colonel’s all-seeing eyes.

Maybe he’d sneaked into the family room for some cartoons. He’d better hope the Colonel didn’t catch him or he’d have to endure another lecture on mass media’s corrupting influence.

Nora’s lips quivered into a smile. On the other hand, maybe that had been Scotty’s plan all along. A lecture would make them even later for James’s party, and Scotty really hated James Enger. The Colonel didn’t give the boy enough credit for smarts. She turned and headed out of the room.

That’s when she spotted the note on Scotty’s desk.

Nora—

Don’t worry. Scotty’s safe. We’re going on an adventure—taking the Band on the Run on Route 66 to Deep Water and into Graceland.

Talking Heads: 77.

Love, Tommy.

After his name, he’d doodled a smiling stick moose with giant antlers.

“Oh, Tommy, what have you done?” Why had he taken Scotty when he had visitation this afternoon? Was he off his meds?

She closed her eyes and squeezed the note tight. If she told the Colonel, he’d find Scotty, but Tommy would lose his visitations, and those visitations were what kept her ex-husband sane. And she didn’t want Scotty to grow up not knowing his father. A child needed to know both his parents loved him. A child needed his family.

Her knees lost their locking ability and she sank onto the desk chair. Tommy was trying to tell her something with this note, but what? She ironed the piece of paper on the desk with the side of her fist until it was perfectly flat again. In spite of everything, Tommy adored their son. He wouldn’t hurt Scotty. But if Tommy was off his bipolar disorder meds, he could be unpredictable. A pick of ice stabbed her heart. Would he be able to take care of Scotty then? What if Scotty had another asthma attack?

She bolted to Scotty’s night table and rifled through the drawer. Scotty’s inhaler was missing, but the disc of Advair was still there. She splayed a hand across her chest. “How could you do this, Tommy?”

Don’t panic. Not yet. Scotty had his inhaler. He was due for a new one soon, but this one should last a couple of days. And he would be okay without the other meds for a day. Swallowing hard, she clenched the purple disc. He had to. Please, please, don’t let him have another big attack.

“How could you? How could you? How could you?” Gritting her teeth, she searched Scotty’s room for what was missing. His red backpack. His yellow fleece jacket. His camouflage pants. His hiking boots. Tiny bits of armor that would have to protect her son in whatever shortsighted foolishness Tommy had led him into. She batted at the runaway tears.

Tommy had put her in a sticky spot. But maybe she could rescue both father and son from the Colonel’s sure punishment. She had to stall. Buy them time.

And find them both. The sooner, the better.

Back at the desk, she rubbed at the writing on the note as if it were a magic lamp. Tommy had given her the map. All she had to do was figure out the key to his insanity.

Scotty’s okay. He’s with his father who loves him. Everything will be okay.

She hung on to that thought and let it pulse a backbeat as she tried to decipher Tommy’s code.

“Band on the Run” by Wings. She plunked her elbows on the desk and raked her hands through her hair. Think! What does it mean? Did he want her to focus on the title or were the lyrics part of the key? Was he running with someone else? Why was he running in the first place?

She dug her fingers into her scalp. “Route 66” by Bobby Troup. Was he really taking Route 66 or was he going two thousand miles or was it the kicks part she was supposed to make something out of?

“Deep Water” by Richard Clapton. She rubbed the heels of her palms against her pulsing temples. Was he drunk? Heading to California?

She fisted both hands into her hair and pulled. What was it with all the road songs? None of this made sense. Tommy, help me out.

“Where’s the boy?”

Nora started and spun the desk chair around, instinctively blocking the note from the Colonel’s view. He stood in the doorway, suit-clad body army-straight and stiff, white hair—what was left of it—cut military-short around the shiny pink dome, brown mustache and eyebrows accent marks on an already well-punctuated face.

“I thought he was with you.” Of course her treacherous cheeks had to blush, giving away her lie. “You shouldn’t force him to go to a party he doesn’t want to attend.”

The Colonel’s nostrils flared at her inappropriate challenge. “James Enger is a fine, upstanding young man with a bright future ahead of him. It’s never too early to make connections.”

She knitted her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting like a nervous recruit. “I’m sure Scotty’s around somewhere. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I want him dressed and ready to go in ten minutes.” The unspoken or else hung in the air.

“Yes, sir.”

Shoot. What was she supposed to do now? Give Tommy up? No, not yet. There was still time to keep the peace.

As the Colonel left, she whipped back to the note. A fist of panic gripped her chest. You can work through this, Nora. Deep River. Maybe Tommy had taken Scotty for a hike along the Flint River. They loved to hike together, but two hours of visitation every other Saturday didn’t give them much time. Not that she wanted Scotty stuck on the side of a hiking trail while having an asthma attack.

She shook her head. Don’t go to the worst-case scenario. Find them. Bring them home. She dashed to her room, slipped the note, Scotty’s Advair and a fresh inhaler in her purse, then headed toward the garage. Her lips disappeared into her mouth as she listened for the Colonel and tiptoed along the precisely cut diagonal limestone tiles in the hallway.

She was reaching for the key to her Mercedes on the pegboard by the garage door when the Colonel marched into the hall, steps thundering.

“Where’s the boy?” he asked.

“Scotty’s already in the car. I, uh, had to go back for something. We’re heading off to the party. As ordered.” Shoot, her face was flaming again.

The Colonel waved an envelope. “He forgot James’s present.”

“I’ll take it.” She reached out for the check.

The Colonel jammed it in his breast pocket. “I’m driving.”

Double shoot. The Colonel stepped past her, the drumming heels of his boots a reminder of his power, and into the garage where half a dozen cars were parked. “Where is he?”

“In my car.”

Oh, great, now she’d have to make Scotty look like an ungrateful grandchild to cover her lie. She pretended to look in the backseat, then under the car. “Scotty? Come out right now!”

“You need to keep a tighter hand on that child. A boy needs to know who’s in charge. All this lack of discipline leads to insubordination.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a Camden. He has obligations. A reputation to uphold.” Blocking her escape with his broad shoulders, the Colonel flipped open his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial button. “Prescott is missing.”

Nora bit the tip of her tongue to keep herself from pleading Scotty’s case. That would only make things worse. Choose your battles. Better to wait until she’d found him.

The Colonel’s already ramrod-straight body stiffened. “I’ll take care of it. Find the boy. Bring him to me.”

Siccing hired muscle after a ten-year-old boy. Her fingers clenched around the strap of her purse. What was wrong with him? The bruiser would find Scotty all right, scare the snot out of him, then hand him to the Colonel. And the Colonel would feel obliged to punish Scotty for his unsoldier-like behavior. She couldn’t let that happen.

Breathing in courage, she shored up her defenses. The thug might be good at tracking, but Scotty was her son, and she understood how his mind worked—and Tommy’s, too, as fried as it was. The muscle would scour the estate, but she already knew Scotty and Tommy were gone. Key tight in hand, she wended her way around the Colonel’s Cadillac toward her car.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Colonel barked at her.

“For a ride.”

“Now?”

“I need fresh air.” In spite of her best effort for a show of strength, she squirmed into position behind the wheel and reached for the armor of the door.

The Colonel grasped the top of it in one hand and denied her a shield. The pointed end of his icy stare pinned her against the blood-red leather upholstery. He knew. She swallowed the series of hard knots notching her throat. He knew she was holding something back. He knew that she wasn’t telling the truth.

“If you’re abetting Tommy’s folly, you’ll pay the price.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You lost the boy.” In the cavernous garage, the Colonel’s voice rumbled in warning.

“He isn’t lost.” He’s with his father.

The Colonel’s gaze slitted to a knife edge. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up filleted. “I don’t want you anywhere near that boy until I’ve had a talk with him about responsibility.”

More like a hazing. A snort escaped her. “He’s not a soldier. He’s a little boy.”

“He’s a Camden.”

Reminding her once again that only his benevolence allowed her to stay at the mansion. But what choice did she have? Scotty had never signed on for this tour of duty. If she tried to leave, the Colonel would use all of his influence to take her son away from her. The threat of loss ripped through her, leaving her clutching the edges of her seat to keep balanced. At least this way, she had a say. She could protect her son—the way Tommy’s mother never had. The way her mother never had.

Nerves rattling, she ratcheted her chin up one notch…two. “I know where he likes to go when he’s scared.”

The Colonel’s face quivered in a purple mottle. “You’ve turned him into a sissy boy.”

I’ve made him into a sweet, mostly happy boy. Knowing her chances of searching for Scotty depended on the Colonel’s goodwill, she submissively lowered her head. “I’ll bring him home.”

“See that you do.”

With a shaky hand, Nora cranked the engine over and backed out of the garage bay. She stopped at the gate and waited for the iron monstrosity to lumber open.

The situation was getting worse. Every year the Colonel expected more out of Scotty, and his expectations were beyond Scotty’s age capacity, especially with the asthma factored in.

She had to get her son out. Somehow. She had to find a way. But how? A sea of tears formed in her chest, swirled into a hurricane and threatened the back of her eyes with landfall. Dumpster-diving for food was no life for a sick boy. How could she get him the medicine he needed, the education he deserved, the safe home every child should have?

The Colonel would never stop looking for them. She blinked against the coming storm of tears. He’d made that immensely clear after she’d had the nerve to divorce Tommy. And he’d follow up on his threats. Scotty was his only grandchild. His only heir now that he’d disowned Tommy. He had the resources—money, influence, power.