Primal Obsession (5 page)

The blasted man strode past her as if the Hummer-sized cooler he carried weighed nothing. He set it beside the table. “Folks, well done for the first day. It’s still early, so let’s set up camp, and we can relax before dinner.”

Hallelujah, a break
. Annie returned to the canoe for her tent. With six separate tents, they’d be in close quarters. Sam was right about her assessment of the campsite, but she wasn’t about to tell him.

She scoped out a grassy spot with saplings on one side and bushes on the other. The forest stood thick with underbrush, mysterious and shadowed, unlike manicured Deering Oaks Park in Portland. If she parked close to the bushes, any marauding night critters would have only two sides of her tent to assault.

Each camper had to set up his or her own tent, but earlier they’d divided up the other chores. Along with Ray, Annie had chosen to cook tonight’s meal. At the time, dinner preparation seemed preferable to the other choices, but if the meal required more than boiling water, she was in trouble. Maybe Ray knew his way around a camp stove.

She dumped her tent bag. She spread the yellow nylon tent out flat and considered how to begin.

After erecting his tent, Carl set off into the woods to dig the latrine with a folding camp shovel. Ray helped Nora with hers before tackling his. Nora and her son had to gather deadfall for firewood, but so far Frank was sitting on a log engrossed in an electronic game. His tent remained in its bag. When Nora started toward her rebellious son, Sam waved her off. She threw up her hands and headed into the woods.

Flummoxed by the metal rods and tent pieces, Annie needed help. Dammit. She looked around for help, but even Ray had vanished. Voices from the woods wafted on the pine-scented breeze.

A moment later Sam approached Frank. He squatted beside the boy and observed the game before speaking in such a low tone that Annie couldn’t catch his words. His position stretched the shirt fabric across his wide back and tightened his buttocks. Solid muscle and then some. A man totally at ease in his body and in his appeal.

Sam was too big, too bold, and too... much. Smug as she’d expected, but more—kind and charming and intelligent. In talking about leaving baseball, his voice had held an angry layer. His wounds went deeper than the visible scars. He loved the sport. That was clear. For him it hadn’t meant only bucks and broads.

He still wasn’t her type. Another pro athlete? Not in this lifetime.

Any spare time she’d spend on her tablet, even though there’d be no internet connection. Yet sparring with Sam did lighten her mood and ease her anxiety about what Mother Nature had in store for her. Emma would have encouraged her. Heck, her extroverted friend would have competed for Sam’s attentions. She managed a wistful smile.

Her mission was to make a success of the week’s challenges and study her notes, but what if immersing herself in this wild environment also helped her understand the Hunter? Could she grasp what he felt in this wilderness that was scary to her?

She clenched her fingers together and blinked away tears. She had to try. “I’ll find him, Em. I promise.”

She couldn’t let Sam sidetrack her. But the man sure was distracting. Too distracting.

Sam didn’t wait for Frank’s reply, but stood and ambled over to her. “I’ll give you a hand with the tent.”

“Thanks.” She jerked her chin toward the boy. “What—”

Sam shushed her. “Not now.”

Nora emerged from the trees with an armload of small branches, which she dumped beside the fire ring. With a guarded glance at her son and a sigh, she went back for more.

Frank’s thumbs continued to fly over the game controls. Otherwise he didn’t move or indicate awareness of anyone else or of his surroundings.

Sam showed her how to connect the aluminum tent poles into a frame. He whistled snatches of songs she didn’t recognize as they hooked on the nylon tent and the rain fly.

“I can’t stand it any longer,” she whispered. “What did you say to him?”

Sam winked, crinkling the fine lines around his eyes and arching one eyebrow. Darker than his hair, his brows bristled with the same unruly audacity as his personality.

“I told him before we set out, no work equals no food. He had the travel time to decide. A minute ago I whispered to him that tonight’s menu is lobsters and corn on the cob.”

A sputtered snort escaped before her contained her laughter, in case Frank could hear. “I hope he likes lobster.”

“Nora said he always wants it on his birthday.”

“Lobster doesn’t sound much like food for a wilderness immersion. Were you kidding?”

“Nope. Eight live ones in the cooler, along with two more meals, chicken and stir-fry beef. After that, supper’s a wilderness challenge.” His mustache lifted with his grin.

She didn’t want to know. “Poor Nora has to lug the firewood alone.” She scowled at Frank’s back. “He’ll test you, to see if you mean it.”

“You bet, but soon that growing boy’s gonna get hungry as the proverbial bear.” He handed her a metal tent stake. “The batteries in his electronic gadget will die. His mom ditched the spares before they left home.”

“My fingers are crossed.” Annie shoved the last tent stake into the sandy soil.

Whistling another tune, Sam strolled off to help Nora. This one she recognized—“Don’t Fence Me In.”

FIVE

Northern Maine woods

That afternoon sweat trickled down his back as he crouched between a boulder and a clump of low junipers. No matter. He had taught himself to sit motionless for hours. The cramping taught him patience. He knew he could go beyond pain.

This was going to be easier than he thought. Easy to show his cleverness, his skill. No one could make fun of him. Use him.
She’ll never shut me away again. I’ll show her. I’ll--

He broke off, confused. A moment later, he pulled himself back, focused.

Then he saw the bitch. Alone.

His ultimate victim, so near. Sweat poured and his heart raced.

She was alone in the camp. Maybe she’d go off alone into the woods. So naïve, so trusting. She disappointed him. Like the rest of these fools.

None was any match for the Hunter. He was master of his natural element.

Not even the guide. Drooling over
her
kept him from noticing the danger around them.

People were so gullible.
She
had an inkling of the Hunter’s accomplishments, but only the iceberg tip. He’d thought they had a rapport. She’d led him to confide in her. And then she deserted him, left him like some assignment.

Perhaps he’d confide the rest of his exploits before he did her. Too bad she’d never be able to write his full story. At the thought, blood pumped through his body, turning him painfully hard. He needed relief.

But that could wait.
He
could wait. He would ready himself for this hunt. In the meantime, he’d make things interesting. Confusing. Aggravating. He knew just the tricks to play.

How long would it take for the bitch to catch on? For fear to build? To paralyze?

She was alone now. He knew exactly how to begin.

SIX

After organizing her sleeping bag and duffels inside her tent, Annie changed into her tankini. She walked along the shore with the bag of Emma’s ashes tucked in the crook of one arm. Wild raspberry bushes lined the rough path. The sun’s warmth and the sweet tang of overripe berries filled the air.

Scanning the water for dangers, she waded one step at a time into the tepid water. “Idiot. No sharks here. Only Sam.” She frowned. Never mind that Emma would’ve laughed at her fears. And at her resistance to the attractive guide.

The water was clear enough to distinguish individual grains of sand on the bottom and the herringbone pattern on the sandals’ straps. A school of minnows swirled around her calves. When she dipped her hand toward them, they darted away. Tiny silver arrows.

Except for the hum of bees and a lilting spiral of birdsong, the forest behind her and the lake lay in silence. She could no longer hear her companions’ voices.

“Well, Emma, here you are.” Tears choked her voice as she unzipped the plastic bag. “May the beauty and purity of this wild lake bring you peace.”

She sprinkled the small amount of ashes over the waters along with a generous helping of tears.

After the ashes sank, Annie swam until her sore arms forced her to stop and lather up with her biodegradable soap and shampoo. Feeling marginally better, she waded out and dried off. Sensing a presence behind her, she glanced back at the berry bushes and the dark forest beyond. No birdsong. No breeze.

Nothing.

She shook off her paranoia and spread her towel on a flat rock. A little work on her tablet was what she needed. She booted up and opened the folder labeled
Hunter
. A spreadsheet detailed each murder—victim description, place and time of abduction, body’s location.

The police had no leads, no suspects and few clues. She owed Emma and her mother to do whatever she could to find Emma’s killer. After fleeing the city to return to Maine, she’d found a confidante and mentor in Rissa. The two women had helped her through the dark days.

Immersing herself in this alien wilderness had to help her understand the monster that had taken Emma and the others. “I’ll find him, Emma. I promise,” she whispered.

A rustle in the bushes lurched her heart into a rapid tattoo. She leapt to her feet and peered into the gathering shadows. A moose coming to drink? A bear eating berries?

Another thump and she catapulted toward the path, her towel flapping behind her.

A hand clamped her shoulder.

A scream rose to her throat and stuck there. She tried to wrench away, but hard arms surrounded her.

“Whoa, whoa, princess! It’s me.” The instant Sam grabbed her he knew he’d made a mistake. She stomped on his insole. She twisted around. Before her knee could score on his most vulnerable area, he held her at arm’s length.

“
Sam!
” Gasping for breath, she wrenched free and swung her towel at him. “You scared the bejesus out of me. I broke another nail. Dumb jocks, everything has to be physical with you. What were you doing grabbing me?” She tossed the towel across her shoulder.

Damn, she was beautiful breathing fire and whaling at him. Her wet hair was slicked back and brushed her shoulders. Her cheeks flamed bright pink to match her swimsuit, and her breasts heaved. Round and high, full enough to fill his palms.

His eyes were glued to her chest until he noticed the way her top played peek-a-boo with her navel. His hands started to sweat. Oh man, he’d been alone too long if he got this excited about a woman’s bellybutton.

He dragged his gaze to hers. “If I’d taken the time to be cerebral about it, you’d have tripped over that rock and sent that baby computer to cyber heaven.”

She shot a glance at the tuft of grass that concealed a jutting stone. “Why’d you sneak up on me in the first place?”

He pointed toward the path. “I was coming to get you. Fire’s ready to cook the lobsters.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you thought you’d scare me first by tromping like a bear through the raspberries?”

“Not me. I was just walking along the path. I saw you about to trip. I yelled, but you didn’t hear me.” He examined the purpling bruise on his foot. “You got some good moves. Your knee came awful close to crunching the family jewels.”

Her mouth twitched into a small, smug smile. “Living in New York, a woman learns to take care of herself.”

Ah, here was his chance. “Now you live in Portland, Maine. A nice little city, but no Big Apple to a hotshot reporter. Why’d you leave?”

She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, I needed a change. The
Messenger
offered me a by-line. It’ll look good on my résumé when I go back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What? You don’t believe me? As if I care.”

She bent over to pry a stone from her sandal. The movement opened a gap in her swimsuit top and afforded him a peek at one shadowed nipple.

He swallowed. Hard.

“As compulsive as you are about your work?” he choked out. “No, you had more reason than needing a change.”

“How would you know I’m compulsive about work?” She folded her arms. Her gray eyes flashed storm clouds at him. “Supposing I am, that is.”

“One, it looks like stress forced you to take a time out.”

She hitched her shoulders at that. “So you say.”

A swing and a hit. “Two, you brought your tablet. What’s the hot story you can’t let go?”

“None of your business.”

Correction—stand-up double. He was on a streak. “Top secret, huh?”

She started toward the lake. “I have lobsters to cook.”

“Take it easy. I didn’t mean anything.” He clasped her hand to halt her.

To his relief, she turned back to him, set down the case. “That really wasn’t you in the bushes back there?”

He traced an X on his chest. “Cross my heart.”

Her cheeks paled. “Could it have been a bear?”

She hadn’t tugged her hand away, so he stepped close enough to inhale her freshly shampooed hair and feminine scent. His breath hitched. “Doubtful. Maybe a porcupine. These campsites smell too much of humans. Bears stay away.”

“So I’m safe?”

“From bears, yes.” He sent her a lazy grin, flicked a finger at the towel over her shoulders, let his hand drift down her bare arm. Soft, smoother than the wood of a new ash bat. “But if you do see a bear, don’t run. You’d have more chance stealing home plate than escaping a charging black bear. Wave something, like this towel. Look big and scary.”

She maneuvered until she held the towel out like a cape. “Like this?”

Man, there was that navel again, a sweet little innie in a smooth white belly. His gaze cruised to her mouth. How soft were her lips? He longed to run his tongue along her full lower lip and taste her. His blood rushed south.

“Sca-a-ary. Man, if I was a bear, I’d high-tail it.” He just couldn’t help it; he slid his hands around her narrow waist and pulled her close. He’d promised Ben he wouldn’t have sex with her. A few kisses wouldn’t hurt, might take the edge off, like pre-game warm-ups. “But I’m not a bear.”

Her eyelashes drifted lower as she tilted her head back to look up at him. Her lips parted, inviting his kiss. “O-o-oh, Sam?” Her voice was breathy, sexy, inviting.

“Yes?” He circled his thumbs over the silk of her bare midriff. He lowered his head.

“You’re no bear. You’re a shark. And if you want to keep the family jewels intact, let me go
now
.”

Her voice floated so low and sweet to his ears that at first he didn’t comprehend her words. He lifted his head and backed up, releasing her. “That was a dirty trick.”

“Merely a defensive tactic.” She draped the towel around her shoulders like a royal mantle and stalked off.

Annie exhaled a shaky breath at her narrow escape. Her skin tingled where he’d caressed her, her nipples tightened, and her heart clattered. So much for resisting her attraction to Sam Kincaid. The man was walking temptation—hard body, killer grin, and more than a conman’s share of charm. She’d wanted to kiss him, oh, she’d wanted. She still wanted.

But she didn’t want the distraction from studying her Hunter notes. Involvement with another jock who thought he was sex on a stick?

No, thank you. She didn’t do casual. Her emotions would sneak in, and her heart would get broken.

***

Augusta, Maine

Justin tossed his necktie on the conference table. Wile E. Coyote flattened again. After what he’d seen this afternoon in Baxter State Park, that’s exactly how he felt. Only he wasn’t sure he could bounce back like a cartoon critter. Hikers had stumbled over another murdered young woman’s shallow grave. That made six. With each victim, the mutilations and violation increased. To what depths could the sick bastard’s depravity sink?

A glance at the bland sameness of the Major Crimes Unit headquarters calmed him. The state of Maine sure knew how to take care of the MCU. The brick building had all the ambience of a warehouse. He wrinkled his nose at the stale coffee, stale bodies, and musty files. A warehouse might smell better.

At least this conference room, designated as the Hunter Case Command Post, had all the information the investigators had collected. A new phone bank, computers, and other machines kept them on top of developments. His gaze was drawn to the pictures of the victims and other missing women splashed across a bulletin board. Which one was she?

He collapsed in a swivel chair and opened the top shirt button. With the heels of his hands, he massaged his eyes.

“You look like you could use this as much as me.” FBI Special Agent Mark Tavani set a mug of coffee in front of him.

Justin sucked down a swallow. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Tavani flopped on a metal folding chair that squeaked in protest. He took a tentative sip from his coffee mug. “This crap is worse than the industrial sludge brewed at Quantico.”

Justin blinked at the FBI profiler. Was that a joke? The man hardly ever cracked a smile. And yet Justin liked him, liked his professionalism and candor. “We try.”

Tavani was about Justin’s age, mid-thirties, maybe older. Silver threaded his dark hair, and deep lines made furrows between his brows and around his mouth. Maybe caused by the horrors he catalogued and analyzed every day.

The two men drank in silence until another detective approached. “Yo, Wylde, Bonnie asked me to give this to you. Just came in.”

Justin scanned the print. “Positive ID by the mother. It’s Lacey DePalma all right.”

“This guy’s all over the state. No apparent pattern to where he picks up his victims.”

“Only pattern is where he leaves them.” The latest body was a young art student who’d disappeared during April vacation from Southwest Harbor, where she’d been painting on a deserted shoreline. Justin and the profiler had spent most of the day on the case. And would probably spend the night.

“Even that’s all over the state.” Tavani deposited his empty mug on the floor. “There are two more missing women unaccounted for?”

“One in June, a teenager in Waterville who didn’t make it home from babysitting. Another this month in Rockland. She disappeared in the middle of the crowd attending the North Atlantic Blues Festival. Her friends thought she’d gone off with some guy she met.”

“She just might have. The wrong guy.”

“Tavani, can’t you give me something, anything to go on?”

The agent opened his briefcase. From a thick file, he plucked a single sheet. The lines between his straight, black brows deepened. “I think I have a handle on this guy. Seeing an actual crime scene only verified what VICAP says and what I think.”

The FBI Violent Criminal Apprehension Program provided data on similar crimes and criminals around the country. That and the agent’s expertise ought to provide some clues. Anything would be an improvement over the nothing they had.

Justin drained his mug. “I’ll set up a meeting. I want this perverted fucker. Before he can snatch another woman.”

He uttered a silent prayer of thanks that Annie was stashed away on her canoe trip.

At the so-called hardships she must be enduring in the wilderness, he allowed himself a half grin.