Primal Obsession (20 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

He waded onto the pebbled shore and tied the Whaler to a birch overhanging Otter Stream. He fingered the newly broken twigs dangling from the birch.
He
’d never be careless enough to leave sign like this.

Then his face contorted with unconcealed fury. Wrapping his hand around the bunch of twigs, he yanked them free. He ground the twigs beneath his boot. “Damn them. Damn them. How dare they think they can trick the Hunter!”

Last night, he’d remained hidden in the bushes across the stream from their camp. They sat around solemn faced in a tight huddle, but he couldn’t hear them. Watching with the night scope, he longed to know what they were up to.

He spent the night there on the damp ground. He welcomed the rigors of his hunt. He could lie silently, still as the earth beneath him for as long as necessary. The discomfort, the aches pleased him. Proved his strength. He could do it all. Without sleep. Vigilant.

In the morning, he remained close enough to observe. They scurried around like squirrels, repacking the equipment. The foodstuffs too. Their obvious fear excited him.

Now that they knew about the old man, what were they going to do? It worried him, but only for a moment. They could do nothing. He’d made sure they had no weapons, could contact no one. They might suspect the Hunter followed them. But no one counted on his being so close.

He wanted to laugh, but contained his mirth. They were fools. The bitch traitor, too. Hunting her would be worth the torture of anticipation. Then he would find satisfaction. He would be in life-and-death control.

A long time ago, he’d begun with small creatures. Like this hapless arachnid. He plucked the black-and-yellow plant spider from its web. He impaled the wriggling, quarter-sized creature on the point of his knife. A smile curved his lips. He pinched off one leg. Another. Then another. “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me...”

Yes, control.

Now he needed to gain control over his human prey. He’d followed the canoes without the motor. If not for the broken twigs, he’d have missed their deception. No, he’d have known. Somehow. He would have sensed that the bitch had left the others. The Hunter had no doubts. Doubts were like the spider, to be squashed. He found tracks in the muddy bank where they’d hiked into the woods. Two sets of prints.

Kincaid and the bitch.

They couldn’t escape the Hunter. He swung up his pack and picked up the Remington rifle and scope. He marveled at the light weight of the titanium. Perfect for back-country treks.

He’d left the other guns at the cabin although he hated the necessity of smashing them. They were unnecessary. What he had was enough. This rifle and the detailed map the old man had kept pinned to the wall.

Did the bitch think she could get away? That Kincaid’s skills would outstrip the Hunter’s? A washed-up jock was no match. The Hunter might be a few hours behind them, but he’d catch up fast. He had plenty of time. Time to anticipate the hunt.

He eyed the dark clouds pelting him with rain, tilted his face to the cooling moisture. Lightning flashed to his left, thunder shook the ground. Kincaid and the bitch might have to stop. They were weak. No storm would slow him down. The elements were his friends. He feared nothing.

He stabbed the rifle at the sky.

Brilliant white light exploded around him.

The Remington flew from his hand.

He sank into blackness.

TWENTY-FIVE

The driving rain curtained Sam’s view, but behind a clutch of boulders lay darker shadows. He glanced back to see Annie slogging along close behind. Warmth washed through him. Without complaint, she was keeping up.

“There might be a cave over here to the right. Or we can crouch down among those rocks. Let’s move it, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widened. With rain beading her eyelashes and running down the bridge of her nose, she was a wet owl, one whose feathers he wanted to smooth with his hands, with his body. Wrong time and place. Would there ever be a right time?

She tipped her chin in that stubborn way that had bugged him at first. Now the gesture tempted him to kiss her. “
You
’d better move it, or I’ll run you over. Let’s get out of here.”

The wind-driven rain whipped their ponchos around them as the storm continued its rampage east. Moments later, they ducked under an overhanging stone slab. Sam was pleased to see the relatively dry bowl of a cave as big as a two-man tent, and no higher, so neither could stand upright.

“Looks like heaven.” She dropped her pack. “And no bears.”

Sheltering bushes and the angle of the opening prevented most of the rain from blowing in. Sam spread their ponchos on the ground.

Stretching out her legs, Annie settled against the root-bound back wall. Every muscle sighed. She didn’t care what bugs or offal might litter the floor or that rocks and roots poked her butt. Packed-earth mustiness mingled with the rain smell.

“Ah, this is nearly as good as a hot bath.” She caught her self before she said
nearly as good as sex
. Not that sex had been all that great with Ian. Not something she wanted to think about. She cast a cautious glance at Sam, too sexy with his hair wet and glistening like dark honey. He was off limits if she knew what was good for her. Considering her present circumstances, her judgment was in grave doubt.

“A hot bath is a distant dream, so enjoy.” He lounged beside her, close enough to share his body heat.

“You think the storm will last long?”

“Nah, the wind’s whipping it across the Hump pretty fast. Be in Presque Isle by the time we finish lunch.” He dipped a sandwich and an apple from his pack.

“You just finished a packet of cookies.”

“Cookies aren’t lunch. They’re trail energy.”

Smiling, she followed suit. As they watched the onslaught thrash the bushes outside, they ate in companionable silence. Lightning and thunder rapid-fired, competing with the howling wind, but the earthen stronghold muffled the attack. Sam’s warmth and solidity made the cave cozy. Almost.

“When do you think he’ll figure out we left the others? Folding her legs, she wrapped her arms around them. She wasn’t exactly cold, but the storm had lowered the temperature. Or was it the thought of the Hunter tracking them?

Sam shrugged. “Hard to say. I figure he doesn’t dare get close to the expedition until after dark. That should give us plenty of time to reach the river.” He paused and narrowed his gaze at her. “You’re plotting something. What is it?”

Her heart skipped. Busted. Did he know her that well? “Me? I’m fleeing for my life. How can I plot?” She hadn’t worked it all out in her head. She wasn’t ready to explain.

“I can tell by the gleam in your eyes. You have more in mind than escape. Give.”

She sighed. She had to tell him sometime. “Sam, I can’t just let him get away scot-free. We have to stop him.”

“What the hell do you expect us to do, walk up and make a damn citizen’s arrest? Maybe he’ll give you another interview. Got your notebook handy? Maybe your little computer?” He chomped the last of his sandwich.

The constant heartache inside her erupted into a stabbing pain. She blinked away tears. “Sam, he brutalized and murdered five young women that the authorities know of. I swore on Emma’s grave I’d see him locked in a maximum security six-by-eight. We have a chance to stop him. If he kills again, I’ll feel responsible.”

“Maybe you need reminding.” His mouth was tight, his words clipped. “The goal of this little walk in the park is to save your life. And to lure him away from the others. But
not
, I repeat,
not
so
you and I
can capture him.”

“
Lure
him is the right word. Don’t you see? You know all about trapping. That’s how Rainsford saves himself in ‘The Most Dangerous Game.’ He makes traps to capture his hunter.”

His eyes flashed. “Jesus H. Christ, woman, this isn’t fiction. It’s real life with a vengeance. We’re not setting traps for Ray or the Hunter or whoever the hell he really is.”

She was hoping he couldn’t resist the opportunity to redeem confidence in his abilities. “But Sam, you’re a Maine Guide. You’re as knowledgeable in the woods as he is, maybe more so. Here’s your chance to prove your expertise.”

He shook his head. “That’s crazy.
I’d
be crazy to let you talk me into it. The guy has one gun, maybe more. We have a knife, a small hatchet, and this multi-tool.” He jiggled the folding instrument hanging on his belt. He folded his hands over her clenched ones. “The answer is no.”

He felt so big and solid and safe that she leaned closer. Her safety wasn’t the only point, but how could she risk his? He was risking his life already. No, stopping the killer was too important. “But Sam—”

“Annie.” He tugged on her ponytail, wove his big fingers through the damp strands as though attempting to lull her to capitulation. She leaned into the contact. “When we get to the take-out, Ben will meet us. He’ll radio the state cops. They’ll send dozens of guys into the woods. Surround the bastard. Take him down. For God’s sake, let
them
deal with the Hunter.”

It was the sensible thing to do, the safe choice. “Maybe.”

“That’s the Annie I know. Stubborn to the end.” He tilted his head to one side, released her hair. “Listen.”

She scrambled to her knees. “Not the bear. Does it want in here?” Her voice rose to a quivery squeak.

“No. The rain has stopped. The lightning’s moved on. We can make it over the ridge now.” He levered to his feet, then shook out his poncho and stowed it in his pack.

They stepped into a dripping world, steaming in the sun like a sauna. The forest air smelled as though the whole world had been cleansed. She blinked at the sun-sparkled treetops.

Their earlier scramble to safety had brought them most of the way up the slope. A short climb around saplings and over mossy rocks finished the job. She accepted Sam’s hand-up to the top of the ridge.

“Behind us is Otter Mountain that you climbed yesterday. The storm moved off the other way.” He pointed to the dark clouds pushing northeast toward the next mountain, partly obscured by the storm. “Over there’s Big Loon Mountain. If not for the rain, you’d see the Eagle River.”

She saw only more treetops and mist toward the east. “Will we make it that far today?”

He brushed a cool finger across her cheek. She fought the urge to kiss it. “You did some mighty fine hiking back there. The rest of the way will be downhill.”

He smiled, a dazzler that sizzled her insides like lightning.

His open confidence buoying her, she took a step down the steeper east side. At least she didn’t have to climb it.

“Downhill I li—”

Her feet slid from beneath her. She plummeted downhill in a slurry of mud and moss.

***

Greenville

Justin and the other detectives arrived at the small airport at eleven. By the time the sheriff’s cruiser delivered the three of them to Moosewoods Resort, Lieutenant Watson with more detectives and tech support had also arrived. As predicted, Watson threatened to relieve him, but he pointed out that Greenville was a hell of a long way from Augusta, and he was already there. Besides, he knew the case better than anyone else. Watson hesitated, but relented, vowing to heave him if he behaved with anything less than total professionalism.

As anxious about his brother as Justin was about Annie, Ben Kincaid turned over the knotty-pine-paneled banquet room to them for a command post.

“What the hell do you mean, you can’t give us their exact location?” Justin glared at Ben.

Five years younger than Sam, Ben Kincaid was shorter and leaner. Quieter and less flamboyant than his brother, but with the Kincaid whisky-colored eyes and hair and athlete’s square jaw. The satchels under his eyes indicated that he hadn’t slept since their call woke him last night.

Ben rubbed his temples. “Gomagash Wilderness spreads over fifty thousand acres with some connected waterways navigable by small boat. We planned the expedition in a general way, but once they got to Ted Wolfe’s cabin, the rest depended on the water levels. If the Otter Stream chain of ponds was too low, they’d have to paddle farther east and follow the Eagle River south.”

Justin understood, but hated that the itinerary was so loose. While the other detectives followed different threads, he needed to ascertain how they could reach the expedition. The lieutenant directed the techs to set up computers and radio equipment. Tavani contacted federal sources on the trace of Holden Smith while Peters conducted backgrounders on the canoe expedition so they could pinpoint which camper masked a killer.

Ben led Justin to a map spread out on a table. A network of blue streams, ponds, and lakes crisscrossed the green expanse of forested hills.

Ben placed his index finger on a lake to the north, fifteen miles from the Canadian border. “Here is Gomagash Lake where the floatplane left them on Wednesday. We keep canoes and other equipment in a shed there, accessible only by a woods road in from the north.”

“Then they canoed east?” Justin peered at the minuscule print that indicated the Eagle River.

“East as far as here.” Ben slid his finger to the right. “That’s where the caretaker’s cabin is. Ted Wolfe.”

“What does he have to say about them?” Justin almost didn’t want to hear the answer. If only they could have talked to Wolfe before the canoe party left.

“Can’t raise him either. Universal—that’s the paper company owns the property—sent in two security men in a helicopter a couple hours ago. They’ll have to hike in the two miles from the landing field. We’re waiting for their report. Game Warden from Millinocket went with them. Your brother.”

Justin ought to object to their involving Thomas. But his brother probably involved himself, and he could be counted on for a complete and truthful report. No spin control, like the paper company flacks might cook up. “Okay. But in the meantime, show me where we might insert teams to locate the expedition.”

“You could drop them in by parachute, but I wouldn’t recommend it. All those treetops? Too dangerous. Otherwise, there are only two places. One’s the field near Wolfe’s cabin. The other’s down here—” he indicated a point twenty or more miles south on Big Loon Pond “—our take-out point. I drive the van there on the gravel road from Eagleton.”

“Which one’s closer to where they might be?”

Ben’s jaw worked while he thought. “Six of one, half dozen of the other. They’re about halfway to the take-out, I’d judge. But going from the cabin is downstream, and you’ll need boats. Wolfe would let you use his Boston Whaler for one. In an outboard, you could make it in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks. I’ll work something out.” A helicopter could pack in men and inflatables and other equipment, no problem. The MCU had several guys who knew their way around in the woods, himself included. He didn’t intend to be left out.

“Those campers, I hope...” Ben swallowed hard. “That is, Sam’s a capable guy, smart though he refuses to believe it. He’s never had to face anything like this killer, but he knows the woods.” His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his large hands fisted so the knuckles gleamed white. “If anyone can get them out alive, it’s Sam.”

Justin shook the man’s hand. “Thanks.”

After Kincaid left, Justin sat down to make notes of what teams would need for such a search. He would organize that once they heard from Thomas and the security guys. Pencil in hand, he stared at the blank sheet of yellow lined paper. Concentration on the routine ought to be easy, second nature, but he kept picturing his sister.

Frightened, hurt—or worse.

He’d seen every one of the Hunter’s recent victims. The image of Annie suffering the same horrors and mutilations wouldn’t leave him. The lead ball in his gut wouldn’t dissolve until he knew she was safe. Until he saw her. Talked to her. What could he tell their parents? Or Thomas? He should’ve protected her better. He should’ve—

His pencil snapped in two.

He looked up to realize the lieutenant had spoken to him. Watson summoned him and the other detectives to a central table. “Tavani has an update on our suspect.”

The FBI agent tapped a key on his laptop. A wry twist to his mouth, he leaned back in his chair. “Not much of an update. Do you realize how many Smiths there are in the U.S.?”

“Can’t be too many
Holden
Smiths,” Peters said, peering over his shoulder.