Primal Obsession (29 page)

Quickly he described his escape from his bonds. He’d slithered like a snake into the bushes to retrieve his Buck knife. Then holding it between his knees, he sliced away the rope strand by strand.

“I tore the duct tape off my ankles just before you found me. Hell, it seemed to take me a year to get free. I went crazy thinking that bastard had caught you.” He kissed her dirty nose. “Sweetheart, we have to hide before he sees you.”

“No, no. Sam, he’s not coming. We did it.” A hysterical laugh rang from her. “I mean the bear trap did it. I...he…” Giggling and weeping, barely lucid, she got out the words. "He's in it. In the bear trap. It worked. He fell. He fell. Oh God!"

He gaped at her. “The bear trap? How?”

She held up the compass, explaining how she’d palmed it. In breathless phrases, she described her trek through the woods. “Back to the clearing. To the bear pit. He’s in the well. He is
so
trapped.”

She swiped her hands across her damp cheeks, but her scraped palms left a bloody smear.

He shook his head, humbled. Whispered an oath. “Annie. You’re amazing.” He kissed the cuts on her hands, the scrapes on her shoulder. The Hunter was responsible for those wounds.

“I used the skills you taught me.” She was more coherent now, breathing normally.

“You did a hell of a lot more than that. I am so damn proud of you. Get dressed. Much as I love seeing you naked, I don’t want him looking at you like that. Then we’ll get more rope from the canoe before we go check out your trap.”

She bent and retrieved her clothes. Cut and bruised, eyes red, she looked exhausted. She needed to rest, have her wounds treated.

But they weren’t safe yet. He set his jaw. “Hurry. If the fall didn’t hurt him, he could climb out.”

***

The bleat of Justin’s cell phone startled him. He barked a greeting into the receiver.

“Uh, Detective Wylde? Philbrook here, on the Eagleton Road.”

Justin slumped. He’d hoped for news of his sister, but having it transmitted by cell phone and not radio didn’t make sense.

The state trooper was calling from the checkpoint on the dirt road to the village of Eagleton. Word of the Hunter’s location had leaked, so the authorities had to stall the media who were winging north like flocks of Canada geese in spring.

“What’s up, Trooper?” They better not let some bozo with a video camera slip through. He braced for the response.

“Got a woman here says you know her. Kinda thin. Dark hair with a streak of white. Driver’s license says her name is—”

“Rissa Cantrell.” Shit. He shouldn’t be surprised. “I know her. What does she want?” As if he couldn’t guess. She wanted to be in on the kill.

He could hear Rissa’s voice in the background. The trooper came back on. “Says she wants to, um, see the Hunter when they bring him in.”

A bloodhound, she’d sniffed out every step of this investigation since her daughter’s disappearance. He’d be damned if he’d let her interfere in this operation. “Philbrook, tell her—” He remembered her devastated expression when he’d lit into her in Portland. His conscience nagged at him. “Ah, hell, let me talk to her.”

“Justin, is it true?” Her frayed nerves shredded the edges of her voice. “Do they really have this man Smith cornered in the woods?”

“Now, Rissa, you know I can’t tell you anything that the lieutenant hasn’t made public. We know his general location, and searchers are closing in. That’s all I can tell you.”

“What about Annie?”

Good she wasn’t so far gone she’d forgotten her friend. “As far as we know, my sister’s all right.” He prayed that was the truth. “I want you to go on home. I’ll phone you once we have the suspect in custody and I have more information.”

“Let me through. I need to see him. To know the nightmare is finally over.”

He wavered in indecision for a second longer than was professional. The lieutenant would have his badge if he let a civilian in here, even a victim’s parent. No matter how sorry he felt for her, the answer was no.

But he wouldn’t put it past her to con the trooper into thinking he’d given permission. He heaved a sigh into the phone. “Hand me back to the officer, and I’ll give him instructions.”

“Oh, thank you, Detective. I— Thank you.”

He heard a murmur as she handed off the unit.

“Yes, sir?” Philbrook said.

“Listen carefully, Trooper. Under no circumstances are you to let that woman or any other civilian through. Except for Ben Kincaid, and you know him. No matter what Ms. Cantrell tells you, I did not give her permission to come to the lake. Tell her to go home and wait for my call. Do you have that?”

“Got it, sir.”

Justin stabbed the power button. Philbrook’s voice sounded resolute. He would hang tough no matter how much Rissa fumed.

To know the nightmare is finally over.

He doubted her nightmare would ever end. The Hell of losing her only daughter to brutal murder would gnaw at her soul forever. Unless she sought help, the obsession would suck the very life from her. And might push her into doing something she would regret. How vengeful was Rissa? What was she capable of?

“Yo, Wylde, someone’s coming.” Peters handed him a pair of binoculars. She pointed toward the northwest side of the lake.

As he squinted into the glasses, his heart lurched into overdrive.

THIRTY-SIX

Annie tugged on her clothing, wincing at the rasp of fabric across her cuts. “I don’t think he’ll try to climb out. It’s strange.”

“About the Hunter? What
isn’t
strange about him?”

As they crossed to the campsite, she said, “When he fell, he dropped like a bucket. I heard the splash when he hit the water at the bottom.”

“Not enough to drown him. Too damned bad.” They’d checked it last night. Water would reach only to his knees.

She lifted a club-sized log from their woodpile. “Just in case.”

“What are you going to do, start a fire under him?”

“For your information, I swing a mean bat. You couldn’t grow up in my family without playing some baseball.”

“I should’ve known.” He slipped a coil of rope over his shoulder. “So you think the fall knocked out the bastard?”

She fell into step with him. “No. He thrashed around for a minute in the tarp and water. Then I heard a whimper, like he was crying.”

“Maybe he’s claustrophobic. And?”

“That’s when I ran for you.” She shrugged. “He might have a pistol in that pack.”

The well with its treacherous occupant lay dead ahead.

“Nah. He’d have shot me instead of whacking me with a branch.”

"But he does have your other knife. I saw him put it in the pack." The log in her hand and Sam by her side gave Annie the strength to approach the well.

Stones lined the deep hole to within a few inches of the top, where weeds concealed its edge. A splash resounded when a loose stone tumbled to the bottom.

A low moan rose from the depths, along with unintelligible words and raspy breathing.

She peered down.

Sam’s hand clamped on her upper arm. “Don’t lean over too far.” He aimed the flashlight beam into the blackness below.

“Don’t leave me here.” Camouflage cap gone, the Hunter’s thin hair stood up in tufts on his pale head. He blinked at the bright light and quieted, stunned like a nocturnal animal caught by a headlight.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Sam muttered.

The labored breathing—asthma? Had being in the well triggered an asthma attack? “He could be acting,” she whispered. “Oscar caliber. He played the part of Ray like a pro, and he conned his victims into going with him.”

Finally the Hunter answered. “It’s slimy and tight.
She
used to shut me in places like this.” He whined like a small child, cradling his bandaged hand.

A steady cascade of dirt and pebbles continued to fall from the well’s sod-and-stone walls. “The well is crumbling. His falling in made it unstable,” she said.

Another, larger stone splashed into the murky water.

“I’d love to leave him down there.” Sam sneered. “Let it cave in on him. Bury him.”

“It’s a long fall. His hand is burned. Probably infected. What if his ankle is broken? He could die from shock.”

He held up a palm. “You going soft? I thought you wanted this asshole dead.”

He was no killer. He was just venting. But a part of her wanted the monster dead. Her chest ached with thoughts of Emma. But she was no killer either.

“Revenge for Emma? He deserves a slow, painful death, but the cops need what he knows. If we leave him, the well could cave in on him. Or enough rocks and dirt could fall so he could climb out. Can you be sure he won’t escape?”

His sigh sounded a lot like a growl. “Okay, we pull him up.” He tossed one end of the long rope down the well and pointed. “Tie the other end around that poplar over there.”

She hurried to comply. She loved watching Sam take charge and direct a project. Despite what she’d told the Hunter, by now she could tie a secure knot.

“Okay,” Sam yelled down the well. “We’ll get you out of there. But first, empty your pockets into the backpack. Knives and other weapons first.”

After the backpack came up, Sam made their captive send up his shirt and trousers to show he had no more weapons.

“There’s no gun in here, just your knife and his,” Annie said, closing the pack.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe not. She couldn’t hold a gun on him as Sam hauled him to the surface, but he couldn’t grab it and shoot them either. “But look.” She held out two wallets.

“I bet one is Ray’s.” Sam rigged a loop in the rope.

Annie rifled through the contents. “Yes, here’s a driver’s license for the real Ray Hadden.” At the dim photo of a bearded man with a cheerful smile, her eyes stung. “Oh, Sam, if I’d only stayed in Portland, he’d be alive.”

“Don’t do this, sweetheart. If not Ray, the bastard would have killed someone else. You caught him.
You.
He won’t kill again.” He soothed his big hand across her shoulders.

“Thanks for that.” She tilted her head against his hand and pressed into his secure warmth. “This other wallet has two IDs. A Maine Driver’s License for a Holden Smith."

“Smith. Such a plain name. Guess I shouldn’t expect something obvious, like Dracula.”

“If Smith
is
his real name,” Annie said, stowing the wallets in the pack. “But knowing any name beats feeding his ego by calling him the
Hunter
. Wait, there's also a Canadian ID for a Charles Pelletier.”

Canada.

She gasped. “He told me he was planning to escape to Canada after this.”

Sam nodded in comprehension. "Using you as a shield. He won't make it now."

He tossed the rope loop down. “Yo, Smith, or whatever your name is. Hook the loop under your arms. Use your feet and back to help rappel up the wall.”

“I... don’t know,” came the reply. “My hand is burned. It’s weak.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Annie warned. “He’s hurt all right, but he managed earlier with one hand.”

Sam nodded. “If he thinks I’ll come down there and boost him out, he’s crazier than I thought.”

He wound the rope around his arm and elbow. Sending Annie a wink, he called down the well, “If you can’t manage, we’ll have to leave you down there. We’ll send help later. Whenever we make it to civilization.”

A second later, tension tightened the line as Smith began his climb to the top.

She gave Sam a thumbs-up sign.

“You can do it. Take your time.” Setting his jaw, he hauled on the rope.

She watched him pull the line taut at each step in the ascent. She knew he was strong, but seeing him leverage a full-grown man from a twelve-foot depth made her mouth water. This was no time to ogle his broad shoulders and his muscled arms, bulging with the strain, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Keep an eye on him. See if he’s up to anything,” he said between gritted teeth.

She swallowed, smacked herself mentally, and redirected her gaze to the well. At the sight of The Hunter—Smith—her pulse pounded in her ears like a tom-tom. He looked pale clad only in camouflage boxers, as meek and mild as he had as Ray. But wiry strength bulged his shoulders and arms. He couldn’t be trusted.

Didn’t they say a wounded animal was more dangerous? Wounded or not, this man was the most dangerous animal in this forest.

The most dangerous game was man. She wouldn’t forget that.

“He’s nearly at the top,” she said.

“Get back, then.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Clutching her log, she edged away toward the tree anchoring the rope.

Smith’s head topped the opening, and then he faltered. “I can’t... make it. Help me.”

Sam didn’t let up his two-handed grip on the rope. “Come on, or I’ll have to drop you back down.”

Smith grasped the well’s edge.

Sam yanked him to the surface.

Then everything went to hell.

Smith plowed his head into Sam’s midsection.

Sam fell backwards, with his opponent on top. They grappled on the ground. The struggle rolled them over, away from the well. Smith slammed a punch at Sam’s jaw. Sam returned with a left hook.

Something sparked at Smith’s ankle. In the next instant, sunlight flared on metal in his hand.

“Sam, he’s got a knife!” Annie ran to the grappling men.

She shifted back and forth, raising her log ready to swing. But with the way they were thrashing around, she couldn’t get good aim at Smith’s head or shoulder.

They twisted and rolled and slammed each other. The short, wide blade flashed between them.

The Hunter gripped the knife in his left hand.

Sam had to grab for it with his weakened right hand.

The point plunged toward Sam.

Annie saw red. Saw blood stain his shirt.
“
Sam!”

She weaved, looking for a way to help.

“Keep back!” Sam’s voice grated with strain. He jabbed his left fist at Smith’s arm, but the knife didn’t drop.

Smith rose above Sam. Wrenched his hand free from Sam’s awkward grip.

He raised the knife.

Annie swung the log with all her strength.

She connected with the side of his head. Wood struck bone and flesh with a thunk.

Without another sound, Smith dropped. He lay still, his lower half draped across Sam's legs.

“Oh, Sam, he stabbed you. You’re bleeding.” She dragged her shirt over her head and pressed it hard against his shoulder.

Jaw rigid and face ashen beneath his tan, he kicked away from Smith's inert form. He sat up with her help. “I’ll be okay. He didn’t hit an artery, just muscle.”

“Oh, God, he could’ve killed you.” She threw her arms around him. With her cheek against the security of his bristly chin, she wept again.

“I’m fine, slugger, thanks to you.” He turned to kiss her bruised lip. “Your swing’s no poetry in motion, but it got the job done.”

The familiar silky brush of his mustache reassured her. “That was my blow for Emma.” Nothing would bring back her friend, but the ache in her chest eased a little. “Now let’s tie him up before he comes to.”

She had this irrational fear that if she let go of Sam, he’d disappear. But his amber eyes were clear, his gaze steady. She blinked away her tears and moved to their captive.

She secured Smith’s hands with the rope, then paused at his feet. “Maybe I should use his duct tape.”

“Stick with rope. We’ll have to free his legs later for him to dress and to move him.” Sam grinned. “Nice of the asshole to provide the duct tape. I have other plans for that.”