Escape to Morning (13 page)

“It's been recently dropped,” Sarah concluded.

“Yeah, that's my take also.”

Missy returned with the ball. Sarah took it from her mouth, tossed it back down the trail from where they'd come.

“Well, what do you want to do? Pitch camp, head back, or keep looking?”

Dannette stood up, stared at the forest. It seemed to darken and close in on them with each passing step. And she couldn't ignore the disappointment that hung in her chest. She'd hoped—
seriously
hoped—to find the girl before dinner.

In fact, that hope had been so alive, it kept her from feeling the fatigue that now weighted her legs, her shoulders. “I don't know—”

Missy barked. Short, alarmed. As if in warning or … fear?

Sarah glanced at Dannette, then raced down the trail. Dannette ran behind her, her heart blocking her wind supply. It wasn't unheard of for a dog to attract the attention of a wolf or even a bear. They had bears in these parts, right? grizzlies?

“Missy!” Dannette picked up her pace, hearing Missy's growls, and caught up to Sarah.

Sarah skidded to a stop, her arm out, and thwacked Dannette neatly across the throat.

“What?” Dannette choked out. She spied Missy up ahead, and a streak of fear ran through her. Missy's nape hair stood on end, and she had her legs planted, her lips drawn back and showing incisors.

She hadn't seen Missy this angry since she'd gone face-to-face with a skunk on a search in Oklahoma. “Whoa, Missy,” Dannette soothed as she crept toward her dog.

Sarah grabbed her arm.

Dannette shot her a look, took in Sarah's whitened expression, and followed her gaze.

A man stood on the side of the trail, slightly concealed in the trees. Dressed in black from head to toe, with mud smearing his face, he held up his hands as if in surrender.

Only he held a knife in one of those surrendering hands. One that could probably carve out the heart of Dannette's dog. Or hers.

“Um … we don't mean you any harm, mister.” She kept her voice soft as she curled her hand under Missy's collar. “Please don't hurt us. We're just out here looking for someone.”

He stared at his knife, then lowered it. “I'm sorry …”

Dannette felt her breath gust out, fast and hard, as if she'd been punched in the chest.

No, it couldn't be.

“I'm looking for the same thing you are,” he said as he sheathed his knife.

Beneath her hand, Missy relaxed, even began to wag her tail.

Traitor.

“Any luck, Dani?” he asked with that Western drawl that had the power to sizzle the nerve endings under her skin and drive her to fury.

Was she seeing things, or had Will Masterson gone from nosy, annoying reporter to die-hard stalker?

Chapter 8

“WERE YOU PLANNING on using that thing?” Dannette's voice held only a touch of fear. The rest was 100 percent pulsating anger. “Because I don't appreciate your threatening my dog with it.”

“Missy, shh, it's just me,” Will said, holding out his hand to the dog.”

Dannette made a sound of disgust but put a hand on Missy's head. “C'mere, Miss. It's just Mr. Can't-Understand-No.”

Missy sat, and her tail swishing in the leaves told Will that perhaps she had a better opinion of him than her mistress did. Will felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't meant to scare the animal, but when he heard something rushing through the forest toward him, his reflexes kicked in and he'd palmed the knife and headed for the brush.

Of course, Missy had to follow him. He felt sick when Dannette appeared before he could silence the dog—nicely, of course—and hide.

She glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Like I said, looking for the same thing you are. A teenage girl. Lost, maybe hiding.”

Dannette narrowed her eyes. She glanced back at a tall blonde, who had an equally angry death-ray look zeroed in on him.

“How did you know she was hiding?” Dannette asked, wariness in her tone.

He opened his mouth, trying to dredge up words.

“Forget it. Really, I don't want to know.” Dannette shook her head. “You are the most tenacious reporter I've ever met. And that's putting it as politely as I can. Don't even try to find a decent explanation for your getup. I can spot a stalker when I see one.” She grabbed her dog's collar, tugged her gently to her side. “Get lost, Masterson, or next time I'll tell Missy to fetch, as in your nose.”

He made a face, conjuring up that visual.

Dannette and her friend turned and headed up the trail. He heard the woman ask Dannette, “Who is he?”

“I'm a reporter,” he answered, amazed that he was still sticking to that story. Someone who was trained in stealth should obey Dannette's words and turn around—at least far enough back so his scent would blend in with the forest. Then he'd reacquire Amina's trail.

Only following Dannette's and Missy's footsteps the last hour had confirmed a few basics—namely, he'd find Amina faster on Dannette's tail than sniffing out his own lead. And with darkness closing in and Hayata on their own determined manhunt, Dannette and her friend might need a little protection. Especially if Hayata decided on commandeering the K-9 team for their own personal SAR use.

That last thought made him speed up the trail behind her. “I'm also a guy who wants to help.”

Dannette whirled, and if he wasn't already wearing mud, the look she gave him would make him feel like pond scum. “We don't need your help. We're just fine.”

Her friend wore a frown. “Dannette, maybe he can help us.” She shot Will a look. “If he takes a bath somewhere and dosn't stand too close.” She wrinkled her nose, waved a hand over her face. “You've got the sneaky thing down to a science.”

“Obviously not, or Missy wouldn't have found me.” Will touched Missy's head. “You're too smart; you know that?”

Dannette moved between him and her dog. “What is it with you? Do you not understand the meaning of the word
no
? I don't want your help.” She held up a finger to stop her friend's protest. “We've been down this road. This girl's trail is erratic, so my guess is you're right on the idea she might be in trouble. I do think she's hiding. If you do the math, you can probably guess that any news articles about her aren't going to make her life better. In fact, you're liable to decimate it. So turn your smelly self around and head south, Cowboy, before I unleash Missy on you.”

Will crouched before the dog, who was pushing her snout around Dannette's hand, looking for his affection. “Missy loves me.” He rubbed her jowls. “And what if I promise not to write a word?”

Dannette frowned at him as he looked up. “I'm not sure you're physically able to make that kind of promise.”

More able than she realized. Writing wasn't his forte, and in fact, he'd sent more than one article off to HQ for them to hone and edit before turning it into the paper. He grinned. “No articles. Scout's honor.” He held up two fingers.

She rolled her eyes. “I don't know. Do you even know how to survive in the woods? The last thing Sarah and I need is dead-weight. You gotta keep up.”

He stood. “Yeah. I've been on a couple of camping trips. I'll be all right.”

“This isn't camping. This is make do and keep warm and don't get hurt so we can find a young girl before she dies of exposure.”

O … kay
. She'd be a good addition to Special Forces if took took women. Will nearly saluted. “I'll try not to be a burden,” he said instead, keeping his voice small and warm.

“Just … don't get hurt.” Dannette turned, headed back up the trail.

Yeah, right. Don't get hurt. This mission had the makings of a world of hurt, starting with the Hayata terrorists then on to the cold draft from the local K-9 handler. Only he had a feeling the deep freeze from Dani—no,
Dannette
—might hurt more than anything Hayata could dish out.

He caught up to Dannette's friend. “Are you her partner?”

She gave him a half glance, with a matching smile. “Missy's her partner. I'm a friend. We planned to go canoeing this weekend.”

“Ah, right, the girls'-night-out canoe trip.”

The woman frowned at him.

He gave her his nicest I'm-not-a-bad-guy smile. “Before I turned into the reporter-slash-stalker, Dannette and I had a nice dinner date.”

“Did not!” Dannette yelled, but she didn't slow.

“Will Masterson,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I promise, I'm not out to stir up trouble.”
Well, sorta
. At least he was out to make sure that if the pot got stirred, they'd all make it through alive.

“Sarah Nation. From New York. And if you're a reporter, I'm a cyborg.” She gave him an icy look, from the feet up. “You look like a creature from the
Swamp Monster Returns
.”

He gave her a mock-offended look.

She smiled. “Listen, I know that Dannette wears her skin scratchy side out during searches, but she's really warm and cuddly when you get to know her. Sorta like Missy.”

“Sarah, don't talk to him.” Dannette glanced over her shoulder. “You'll end up as quote of the week.”

Sarah laughed, but Will couldn't help but feel as if Dannette had kicked him low and hard in the stomach. What was it with her and reporters? So he hadn't scored any trust points with his sneak-up-and-scare move, but really, it wasn't like he was a terrorist, intent on wreaking havoc on her life, was it?

Okay, maybe he looked like it just a little.

He clicked on his flashlight as the darkness invaded the forest. Twilight still hued the sky, but the clasp of forest turned the light tenebrous and gloomy. The feeling mixed with the soggy smells of spring and the spongy crack of twigs breaking beneath the thump of hiking boots. A fine layer of sweat simmered between his sweater and his skin, and he tasted his worry in the pool of saliva in his mouth.

Somewhere, lost in the tangle of pine, poplar, and bramble, Amina hid, hoping for her deliverer.
Please, Lord, let us find her soon
.

Fadima dragged the coil of brush against the overhang of rock, climbed inside, and pulled more brush in to close off the entrance. She'd built a bed of pine boughs, berating herself for dropping her blanket. Although it had had more holes than cotton, it had staved off the sharpest bites of the cold air, and she dearly longed for it as she pulled her flimsy, torn jacket around her. How she longed for the arid heat of her home, the smell of steppe grass in the wind, even the feel of perspiration that lined the robes she wore to protect her body and face from the sun.

She was lost. And hungry. And very, very alone. No Hafiz would come to her rescue. Her contact was dead, and if she didn't find help soon, she and her family would follow him.

Sorry, Father
. Defeat filled her throat. What had her father been thinking to label her their rescuer? Couldn't he see that she didn't possess even an ounce of her mother's courage? She curled into a ball, propped her backpack under her head, pulled her arms out of her sleeves, and wrapped them around her body.

She'd filled her water bottle in the stream she'd crossed early this morning and eaten the rest of the scone she'd purchased in the London airport before changing planes. Her stomach clenched with hunger, but she ignored it. People could go weeks without eating if only they had water. She'd learned that while watching her father interrogate prisoners over the years.

She had to focus on finding help. She'd nearly escaped this morning—she'd seen safety and compassion on the faces of the elderly couple. But she'd hesitated too long, trying to gauge their intent. She didn't know if it had been Hayata operatives who screeched up to the rest area, but she hadn't lingered to find out.

They would have shot the old couple on the spot and left their bodies for the crows. And who knew what they would do to her?
See, Father? I'm not brave
.

She had to put kilometers between herself and Hayata and then find help. Only … where was the nearest road? She felt as if she'd been walking in circles or perhaps just trekking farther into this immense tangle of woods. Blood dappled her skin where branches had snagged her jacket, scraped her wrists. She never felt so dirty, her fingernails embedded with mud, her hair inhabited with foreign forest creatures.

She clenched her teeth and tried not to cry.

Father, help me
. She imagined his face and the face of her brother, Kutsi, and tried to soothe herself with their smiles, their warm assurances that they would soon all be safe.

Yes, just like her mother had been safe. Her father had tried, three years ago, to send his wife and Fadima's younger sister to safety, hoping they wouldn't be detected inside a refugee camp. Yet Hayata had found them and made examples of them as traitors. Her father hadn't allowed her to see inside their wooden coffins.