Spirit Of A Hunter

Chapter Three

The discreet hand-carved wooden sign announced the Lemire Adventure Camp and promised women the opportunity to learn outdoor skills with like-minded sisters.

Maybe Nora didn’t need a hero after all. Maybe these outdoorswomen would guide her through the mountains to track down Scotty. Sure beat waiting around.

The cinnamon gum she’d popped to calm the sea of acid swirling in her stomach turned to modeling clay in her mouth.

She discarded the gum into the ashtray and the car’s clock flashed over another precious minute. Where was Scotty now? How much farther away from home? How many minutes could she waste and still find him alive and well?

A rusty chain barred the gravel drive. Her heart tip-tapped with uncertainty. Was she supposed to wait there or drive on up? Sabriel should have given her better instructions. Didn’t he know the stakes? Didn’t he know that one mistake could take her son away from her forever?

Breathe, Nora. She forced in a breath and streamed it out in one long run, tamping back the frayed edge of her anxiety. Hold yourself together. You won’t help Scotty by going ballistic.

Logic. A plan. That would help her find Scotty, not blind panic. Her gaze slid through the car’s mirrors. Her white boat of a car would make too big a target on the narrow lane. She couldn’t park there.

She unclamped her stiff finger from the steering wheel, shoved open the door and unhooked the chain. She drove through, then stared at the heavy links in her hands. Should she hook the chain back up or leave it down? What did it say about the state of her mind that simple decisions required a Herculean effort?

This was all Tommy’s fault. Why did he have to take Scotty? Maybe everything wasn’t perfect at the estate, but they were safe.

She dropped the chain with a snort of disgust and let it lie like a dead boa constrictor. Leaving it down would save Sabriel time, and they could get going faster.

Back in the car, her gaze flitted from the thick pines lining the winding gravel drive to the shadows shifting like black ghouls searching to devour light. One thing was sure: the Colonel would never find her there. And that gave her a measure of confidence.

At the top of the drive, half a dozen cabins that looked too rustic to provide comfort or fun flanked a main lodge with a green roof and time-silvered logs. She parked by the hitching post to the left of the lodge.

The place looked deserted, and the oppressive quiet pressed on her chest, making her want to scream at the world. Stop it, stop it, stop it! How could the earth keep turning, the birds singing, the water lapping when Scotty was missing? She wrapped her arms over her chest, feeling the void of her son’s small body.

As she took in the scene, she realized Scotty would have loved it there—the woods to explore, the lake to swim, the campfire to tell stories. Tommy had talked about taking Scotty camping overnight last summer. But the Colonel had stamped the request “refused.”

“Why is the Colonel so mean?” Scotty had asked, pouting.

Nora had no answer. Not then. Not now.

As her gaze searched the grounds, she wrung her hands in her lap. Where were the outdoorswomen? Wasn’t someone supposed to meet her? There were no other vehicles. No voices. Nothing. No one.

She couldn’t just sit there and wait. She’d go crazy.

Clothes. You need outdoor clothes. Sabriel would arrive soon. And if she was ready, he’d have to take her to the mountains and help her find Scotty.

She rammed the car door open and headed for the lodge. Away from the car’s heater, the air chilled her through her sweater down to the skin. Her knock on the lodge door brought only a fading echo.

She curved a hand to the window and peeked through the glass. No movement. “Hello? Anybody there?”

The stubborn knob resisted her attempts to turn it. Was the camp closed for the winter? Why hadn’t Sabriel mentioned he was sending her to a deserted place?

On the other side of the hitching post, two A-frames groaned under the burden of red kayaks—three on each side. The grating ratchetlike calls of blue jays in a nearby oak jangled her already frazzled nerves. With halting footsteps she followed the path through the trees that would lead her to the cottages. Maybe all the Amazons were out hiking. Maybe they’d left some spare clothes behind.

The trail curved around a narrow strip of beach. The cloud-leached sun eked out pale light that barely scratched at the surface of the water. Pulling out her cell phone, she paced the length of a bench made from a fallen log placed around the dead fire in the stone pit. She was too worried to care if the Colonel had access to her call records. Biting her lower lip, she listened to the incessant ringing of Tommy’s phone.

She growled when Tommy’s voice mail kicked on. “Tommy, please. Call me. I need to know Scotty’s okay.”

How many messages had she left him? At least a dozen. What if something had happened? What if that was why Tommy hadn’t called to reassure her?

Scotty’s with his father, who loves him, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. It wasn’t as if a stranger had kidnapped him and was holding him for ransom in some dark hole. Tommy wouldn’t let any harm come to their son.

Unless Tommy was off his meds.

Her hand strangled the phone and she gulped in air. Scotty was fine. Tommy was fine. They were both perfectly fine. To think otherwise would push her over the brink into insanity. And she couldn’t afford that. Scotty was depending on her.

The mountains loomed on the other side of the lake, taunting her with their nearness, with her helplessness to find one little boy in their midst.

She slammed the phone shut. There was no one else to call. No Amazons to the rescue. Only Sabriel.

Adrenaline ants scurried through her limbs, goading her to take action. With an irrationality bordering on mania, she wanted to turn over rocks, climb trees, ford rivers—anything to find Scotty. She whirled away from the tormenting mountains and jogged toward the cabins.

Fingers of wind rustled through the fallen leaves in the woods and reminded her of chattering teeth. The shifting shadows of trees creeped her out—as if eyes were watching her from behind every trunk, following her, waiting to pounce. She half expected a pack of rabid wolves, yellow teeth bared, red tongues lolling, fiery eyes glowing, to spring out at her. Never mind that there weren’t any wolves in these parts.

Her pace faltered. Oh, God, what if Tommy and Scotty were attacked by a bear? Or charged by a moose? Or pounced on by a bobcat?

Up ahead, a cottage creaked. The haunting wail of its misery lingered in the brittle air. Nora froze. Her breath chugged in ragged bursts.

“Hello?” Her voice fractured like a teen scream-queen’s. “Is anyone there?”

No answer but the lamenting sough of wind.

Her gaze scoured the woods. Never before had she felt so isolated. Alone like this, she made a perfect target. What if something happened to her? No one to see her. No one to hear her. No one to fight for Scotty. The last time she’d felt this vulnerable, she’d been sixteen. Pressure built behind her eyes and her throat worked itself raw.

She almost wished she were back at the estate, letting the Colonel take charge.

Don’t talk crazy. Keep moving. Find clothes. Be ready.

She hesitated at the cottage door, knocked, then wrenched the knob. It turned in her hand. The door squealed open, blasting her less-than-moral intentions to break-and-enter to the world.

She wasn’t stealing; she was borrowing. She’d give everything back once she’d found Scotty.

Two bunk beds held up the narrow walls of the cabin. Weather-resistant mattresses lined each bunk. One bench crouched beneath the lone window. The smell of must and the bite of wood smoke lingered in the air. No clothes. No boots. Nothing of use at all.

Maybe the next one would prove more fruitful.

Nora made her way to each of the cottages in turn, finding each as empty as the first. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness knocked her to her knees. Head in her hands, the edge of despair threatened to turn her into a sobbing mess. She sniffed back at the thrust of tears. If she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Images of Scotty spun a tornado of memories that tormented her. What if they were all she had left of her son?

No! I refuse! She reared back with a roar. She would not collapse. She would stay strong. Scotty was counting on her, and she wouldn’t let him down.

Hiking clothes didn’t matter. Her cashmere sweater was warm, especially when moving around. The good wool of her slacks was as tough as any material. And her fashion boots sported soles made to grip the sidewalk. She’d handle an afternoon out in the woods just fine. The important thing was to find Scotty before the Colonel did—before dark.

As she scrambled to her feet, the crunching of tires on gravel echoed from the bottom of the drive. Sabriel. Her heart lightened, and she raced down the path, back toward the lodge.

She was about to burst out of the tree-lined trail when she spotted the black Hummer creeping up the drive. Instinct shot her down to a crouch. Three men scuttled out of the vehicle like beetles. Boggs, all six feet of intimidation and testosterone, and two more of the Colonel’s muscle with their close-cropped hair, black battle-dress uniforms and black jungle boots.

Impossible. How had they found her?

The sink of letdown knocked her off balance. She grabbed a pine bough and steadied her stance.

Sabriel. He’d betrayed her. Led her like some Marie Antoinette to the guillotine—right where the Colonel could make her head, her whole body disappear.

Voices came at her, bouncing around the woods as if she were surrounded on all sides by a radio not quite tuned in. An angry whisper. A tinny mumble. A conversation where the words made no sense, but sent crawls of warning shivering down her spine.

The blue jays stopped jabbering. The trees no longer swayed. Even the waves on the water lapped at the rocks on the shore in near silence. She couldn’t let the thugs corner her. Not until she’d found Scotty.

The Hummer’s cooling engine pinged, giving her a start. She scrunched down farther, then inched backward, away from the Colonel’s men.

A hand, big and rough, clamped over her mouth. A steel-strapped arm banded across her chest and dragged her backward. A scream tore from her throat, but the vise of a hand securing her mouth muffled it. She fought, twisting and kicking, and worked to free her lips to bite the offending fingers. But the body clinched tight against hers had no give and the flesh might as well have been granite. Her left hip bruised against the hard outline of a holster. Her peripheral vision caught a blur of black and panic ran rampant.

Another of the Colonel’s thugs.

She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But her body was ice, and her breath was gone. The thug said something, but through the thunder of her blood, she couldn’t make out the words.

No, let me go. I can’t go back to the Colonel’s. Not

until I find Scotty.

“Shh. It’s me. Sabriel.” The hiss of his breath rasped hot and urgent in her ear.

Sabriel, who was no savior, but one of them. She wasn’t going back. Not without Scotty. Her limbs thawed enough for her to renew her struggle.

“Stop. They’ll hear you.”

As if he cared. He’d told them where to find her.

He hauled her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a loaf of bread and dragged her deeper into the woods, where he crouched, folding down her uncooperative body along with his. A surge of adrenaline shivered through her. How could she have been so trusting? Just because he was Tommy’s friend? Given Tommy’s mental state, common sense would have warranted more caution.

“If I take my hand off, will you keep quiet?” Sabriel said in a sandpaper-harsh whisper.

Breathing fast and shallow, she nodded. She needed to save her strength for escape. Give herself time to think. She had to find real help and fast. Where could she go? Not the local police—they were bought and paid for by the Colonel. The resort where Tommy worked? It was far enough from Camden to not give a damn about Camden money. Someone there would help her. Time, all that time, trickling away from her, and Scotty out there, needing her.

Sabriel loosened his hand from her mouth, but continued to press on her shoulders to hold her down. She cranked her head over her left shoulder and caught a glimpse of him. He looked even more dark and dangerous than she remembered with that wild animal caution in those panther-green eyes, that dusky skin and that camouflage gear, fitting into the forest as if he belonged.

Once a Ranger, always a Ranger. Once a Camden soldier, always a Camden soldier?

“You led them to me.” Nora’s voice cracked. “You’re supposed to be Tommy’s friend.”

“Your car is equipped with a GPS.”

That neat little blue button that summoned help with the press of a fingertip. Her shoulders deflated in a sag of surrender. “Of course. Bugged. Just like the phone and the computer.” And she’d used her phone repeatedly. Had she left an electronic bread crumb trail for the Colonel’s men to follow and not just a record of her calls?

Nora couldn’t stop shaking. Even rubbing her arms didn’t seem to spawn any heat. The Colonel’s men would fan their search in this direction any second. She’d lose Scotty. “I can’t let them take me back.”

“Then let’s roll.” Sabriel’s gaze scanned forward and back. “Now.”

“SHE CAN’T BE FAR.” Boggs’s craggy voice ping-ponged from tree to tree. “Her engine’s still warm. Spread out and find her.”

Sabriel allowed his vision to widen, seeking possible danger in the escape route he’d picked. He jerked his head in the direction where he’d left his Jeep, signaling his intent to Nora. Brown eyes dark and wild with fear, she glanced in the goons’ direction before following him like a scared mouse.

He was a pushover for women with vulnerable eyes. Always trying to save them when he couldn’t save himself. And hers were especially compelling, sucking him in like the most gullible of marks. But he couldn’t let her get to him. She was a Camden, and he’d had enough Camden anguish to last him a lifetime.

He’d known from the second his phone rang that it meant trouble, and Nora Camden was proving him right. Fences, man. You’ve got to learn to keep up your fences.

She wouldn’t last an hour out in the mountains, especially bushwhacking. Even if it cost him time, he’d get her to the Aerie, where the Colonel and his goons couldn’t hurt her.

This time, he’d do things right.

The Colonel’s men scattered like cockroaches, not bothering to cushion their steps. Twigs snapped. Leaves rustled like snakes. They didn’t care if Nora knew they were coming. They probably wanted her scared. Made the sport more fun. Pinheads.

Despite her slight body, Nora wasn’t exactly Miss Light Foot as she trailed him, so all the hired guns’ noise gave her some cover. But then why should she know how to stalk? A refined woman like her belonged at country clubs and charity balls, surrounded and protected by friends and family. Not running for her life from the megalomaniac who was supposed to keep her safe. He remembered her bright smile, how she’d made Tommy so happy on their wedding day, and wished he’d warned her about the Colonel all those years ago.

Sabriel headed downslope, toward the private road farther west where he’d camouflaged his Jeep. Nora huffed and puffed behind him, but scared to death as she was, she kept pace like a trooper.

The intent footsteps on both sides grew nearer. Two pairs, parallel.

“Here, Nora, Nora, Nora!” the goon on the left taunted—as if she were a dog. Laughter exploded through each syllable at his own little joke.

Sabriel grabbed Nora’s arm, making himself a wall between her and the threat. He assessed his position on the fly. Hell. They wouldn’t get back to his Jeep fast enough. He had to find some place to hunker down till the goons moved on.

He propelled them toward a rock formation jutting out from the side of a hill up ahead, and hoped, despite the piled scat and acorn shells, that no creature was renting space there at the moment. The last thing he needed was for Nora to scream and give away their location while they were cornered.

Without ceremony, he pushed her into the crevice between two slabs of granite. The space was barely big enough for one, let alone two, but he wedged in front of her, his camo gear blocking out the white flag of her cream sweater. He unsnapped his holster and forced his pulse to slow.

“Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t breathe,” he whispered into her ear.

Her head rubbed a nervous “okay” against his arm, and the almost forgotten softness of a woman shot static into his muscles and scrambled his thought process for a second. He shoved the thought aside and sought to separate the sounds of the forest from those of the enemy.

In the darkness of the narrow cave, his senses sharpened. But like a compass needle seeking north, they kept bouncing back too close to home.

The sweet almond of her scent, the keenness of her fear, the mossy tang of the earth tugged at memories. Anna and Ranger school. The pills and Tommy. The sweat and the survival. His jaw ground down the unwanted flashes, and he forced his awareness back to his surroundings.

The cool hardness of the rock pressed against his sides. The warmth of the body pinned against his front. Her curves fitting into his knees, hips and shoulders like water. How long had it been since he’d held a woman this close?

Footsteps approached from above, getting nearer, their vibrations pulsing through the soft earth. A distinct crunch and pop that came from no woodland creature broke two feet from their hole. The hitch of Nora’s breath against his neck, its intimacy, brought on an unexpected reaction. Hell. He didn’t need a complication like that now. He gritted his teeth, squeezing as much space between their bodies as he dared. He needed his senses clear and alert, not jumbled by primitive urges.

She was shaking so hard, he feared the clacking of her bones would attract the hunter’s attention. In the cramped space, Sabriel slowly slid his right hand up her arm and cupped it around her nape, releasing calming energy into her body the way Grandma Fiona had taught him, quieting them both.

The roof of moss dipped under a boot, cascading a small avalanche of dirt onto their heads.

The pulse in Sabriel’s left hand pounded against the Beretta’s cold steel. One man. He could take him. But killing had never come easy, and his life wasn’t yet in jeopardy.

The moss ripped. A boot plunged through the opening. The tip of the toe scraped against Sabriel’s temple.

Nora’s feet climbed his leg like a tree. Her shaking fingers dug into his neck, cutting off his circulation. Her chest beat like a machine gun against his. But somehow she kept her terrified sobs caged.

Something scurried across his boots. Sabriel caught a flash of gray waddling into the clearing, snorting and snuffing.

Thank you, brother porcupine.

“Stop!” the Colonel’s man ordered. He rescued his foot from the hole and drew his weapon.

“Got something, Hutt?”

Boggs. Off to the right. Within line of sight.

Don’t move, Nora. Whatever you do, don’t move. As if she’d heard him, her body went death-still.

“Nothing.” Hutt swore. “Just some freaking porcupine.”

“Frisk him. He might know something.”

“You’re a riot, Boggs.”

“Keep looking.”

“We’ve already disabled her car. Let’s just leave her and come back after we find the kid.”

“We don’t know who she might have met here. I don’t like to leave loose ends behind.”

Nora’s throat pistoned against Sabriel’s shoulder.

Shh. It’s okay. I’ll get you out of here.

The footsteps faded and disappeared. Sabriel didn’t move. He kept listening to the sounds of the woods, much too aware of the woman wrapped around him like a second skin, imprinting herself into his flesh.

Five minutes. Ten.

Only when the high-pitched chip-chip-chip of a chipmunk resounded nearby and the watery toolool of a blue jay rolled above did Sabriel relax. “They’re gone.”

“How do you know?” A hint of cinnamon rode on her breath, and he wanted to taste her.

“The birds.”

Her breath whooshed in a gust. “They’re singing again.”

He eased out of the rocky fissure, surveyed the woods, then offered her a hand, which she ignored. She slapped at the dirt sprinkled on the shoulder of her sweater, making the stingy strings of sunlight poking through the trees weave through her brown hair in golden ribbons. “What if they come back?”

“We make sure we’re not here.” Sabriel cupped her elbow, aware of her delicate bones, of her heat, of her fear, and turned her toward the trail. With Boggs in the mix, finding Tommy was going to be hard enough. He didn’t need this extra liability.

As he walked, he reached for his phone and placed a call to Falconer’s private number. When Falconer answered, the wedding reception boomed in the background. “Everything okay?”

Sabriel’s jaw tensed, and the words ground out with more bitterness and resentment than he’d intended. “I need help.”

He gave Falconer a synopsis of his afternoon.

“I’ll alert Kingsley to fire up the computer,” Falconer said. “Liv’ll have a room waiting for your friend.”

Sabriel had no choice but to open what he thought of as a closed chapter in his life to Falconer. He couldn’t leave Nora in harm’s way. He knew the wrath an angry Thomas Camden could wreak. The goons’ guns weren’t there simply to prove their manhood. Their orders were to hurt her.

He crushed his eyes closed against the piercing pain of the video he’d watched so often he knew every frame by heart—the drooping hair, the limp body, the bloody foam.

His conscience couldn’t stand another death.

Chapter Four

Nora scrunched down in the Jeep’s seat, spine rounded, legs pressed together, arms tight against her sides, keeping still and quiet. She’d spent a great deal of her childhood quivering in fear, making herself invisible, yet fear had taken on a new dimension when she’d delivered Scotty and known unconditional love for the first time.

The thought of being pregnant, a mother, had petrified her. She wasn’t ready. Tommy wasn’t ready. Things were too unstable with the resurgence of his illness and their uncertain future. Then, when the nurse had laid this innocent little creature into her arms, all she’d wanted to do was to knit him back into the protective cocoon of her womb, away from this harsh world’s dangers.

She’d tried to protect him, whipping toy trucks and Lego pieces from under his dimpled feet, distracting him from the greenhouse of tempting plants with which his grandmother decorated every room, shielding him from the Colonel’s unreasonable expectations.

Love that fervent didn’t make you brave, she’d learned, it made you afraid—of everything. And the thought of losing her son—the best part of her—now terrified her like nothing before.

Her only job had been to keep her little boy safe. A job she’d done with a fierceness that bordered on obsession. He would have a happy childhood, if that was the only thing she accomplished.

Overcompensation, she knew. For all the good it had done.

Where was he? Was he warm enough? Was he hungry?

Was he breathing?

What would happen to him if the Colonel’s men followed their orders and she met with a convenient accident?

On the verge of tears again, she turned to the window. She frowned as a road sign zoomed by. “Shouldn’t we be heading north, not south?”

“I’m taking you to a safe house.”

She strained against the seat belt. “No! That’s not going to work. I can’t abandon my son when he needs me.”