Black Hills (59 page)

“He loves her.” Coop took the sweater Mary brought him.

“We’ll have to separate the others.” Tansy hurried to the enclosure with him.

“Do what you have to do. Make it fast.”

He held the sweater to the bars. Baby prowled over, then grumbled in his throat. Rubbed his face against the sweater. Purred.

“Yeah, that’s right. You know her. You’re going to find her.”

Interns chicken-baited the range area while Eric pulled up the door. Baby lifted his head, looked around while his companions rushed through the feed. Then turned back, pushed his face against the sweater.

“This is crazy,” Matt said, but he stood by with the drug gun. “Get back, well back. Tansy.”

She unlocked the cage. “Find Lil, Baby. You find Lil.” Using it as a barrier, she opened it.

He slunk out slowly toward the unknown, drawn by Lil’s scent. Coop held up a hand toward Matt as the cougar approached him. “He knows me. He knows I’m Lil’s.”

Once more, the cougar rubbed against the sweater. Then he began to track. “She’s everywhere, that’s the problem. She’s everywhere.”

Baby leaped onto Lil’s cabin’s porch, called, called. Then leaped off again to circle around.

“I packed you a kit.” Mary pushed it into his hands. “Bare essentials. Put that sweater in this plastic bag. It’ll confuse him otherwise. Get her back, Cooper.”

“I will.” He watched the cat stalk over the yard, then gather himself to run for the trees. “Let’s move.”

 

 

 

LIL GAUGED HER time, mentally planned out routes while she sat on the rock in the dying day with the man who wanted to kill her.

Her nerves smoothed out with every minute that passed. Every minute took her mother farther away and brought Coop closer. The longer she could keep him here, the better her chances.

“Did your father teach you to kill?” She spoke conversationally, her gaze aimed west, toward the setting sun.

“To hunt.”

“Call it what you like, Ethan. You gutted Melinda Barrett and left her for the animals.”

“A cougar came. A sign. Mine.”

“Cougars don’t hunt for sport.”

He shrugged. “I’m a man.”

“Where did you leave Carolyn?”

He smiled. “A feast for the grizzlies. She gave me a good game first. I think you’ll do better. You may last most of the night.”

“Then where will you go?”

“I’ll follow the wind. Then I’ll come back. I’ll kill your parents and burn their farm to the ground. I’ll do the same with that zoo of yours. I’ll hunt these hills and live free, the way my people should have lived free.”

“I wonder how much of your view on the Sioux comes from actual truth or your father’s bastardization of the truth.”

Color flooded his face, warning her not to test him too far. “My father wasn’t a bastard.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you think the Lakota would approve of what you do? The way you hunt down and slaughter innocent people?”

“They aren’t innocent.”

“What did James Tyler do to deserve to die?”

“He came here. His people killed my people. Stole from them.”

“He was a real estate agent from St. Paul. It’s just you and me here, Ethan, so there’s no reason to pretend this is anything but what it is. You like to kill. You like to terrorize, to stalk. You like the feel of warm blood on your hands. It’s why you use a knife. Otherwise, saying you murdered Tyler because of broken treaties, lies, dishonor, greed perpetrated by people who’ve been dead more than a hundred years would just be crazy. You’re not crazy, are you, Ethan?”

Something—a slyness—came and went in his eyes. Then he bared his teeth. “They came. They killed. They slaughtered. Now their blood feeds the ground like ours did. On your feet.”

Fear blew through her again, one icy blast. Ten minutes, she reminded herself, if he kept to his own rules. She could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. She got to her feet.

“Run.”

Her legs quivered to. “So you can watch where I go? Is that how you track? I thought you were good at this.”

He smiled. “Ten minutes,” he said and backed into the cave.

She didn’t waste time. Her first priorities were speed and distance. Cunning had to wait. The farm was closer, but she needed to draw him away from her mother. Cooper would come from the east. She scrambled down the slope, warning herself not to sacrifice safety for speed and risk a broken ankle. Fear urged her to take the shortest, straightest route toward the compound, but she thought of the bow. He’d track her too easily that way, and he could disable her from a distance with the bow.

And any trail she left for Coop, Ethan could follow.

She veered north, and raced ahead of the dark.

 

 

 

AT THE CHANCE FARM, Joe stuffed extra ammo in his pockets. “We’re losing the light. We’ll use flashlights until moonrise.”

“I want to go with you, Joe.” Sam gripped Joe’s shoulder. “But I’d just slow you down.”

“We’ll stay by the radio.” Lucy handed him a light pack. “We’ll wait for word. Bring them home.”

He nodded, moved out of the door ahead of Farley.

“Be careful.” Tansy wrapped her arms around Farley, held hard and brief. “Be safe.”

“Don’t you worry.”

Outside, Farley took point with Joe ahead of the three armed men who would join them on the search. Dogs, already on the scent, bayed.

“If he’s hurt her,” Joe said quietly to Farley. “If he’s hurt either of them, I’ll kill him.”

“We will.”

 

 

 

MILES AWAY, Coop studied the signs Lil had left for him. He hadn’t seen the cougar since it had run into the forest. He had two college kids with him, and twilight falling fast.

He should’ve come alone, he thought now. Shouldn’t have wasted even the few minutes it had taken to outfit the backup, release the cat.

The others were ten minutes or more behind him, with some steering south, others north. He knew Joe, by the information relayed by radio, led another group headed in from the west.

And still, there were untold acres to cover.

“You two wait here for the rest to catch up.”

“You’re worried we’ll screw up, or get hurt. We won’t.” Lena looked at her companion. “Right, Chuck?”

Chuck’s eyes were huge, but he nodded. “Right.”

“If you fall behind, go back. Radio back our new direction,” he ordered Chuck, then headed southwest.

She’d left clear markings, he thought as he forced himself not to run, not to run and miss one of those markings. She was counting on him. If he hadn’t stopped to play Good Samaritan, he’d have gotten her call, he’d have convinced her to wait until he could go with her. He’d have . . .

No point, no point. He’d find her.

He thought of Dory. Good cop, good friend. And the long, syrupy seconds it had taken to draw his weapon.

He wouldn’t be too late, not this time. Not with Lil.

 

 

 

SHE LAID A trail to a stream, backtracked. With sundown the air chilled. Despite the sweat of exertion and fear, she was cold. She imagined the warm sweater she’d shed in her office that afternoon as she took the time to remove her boots, her socks.

Brushing out tracks as she went, she returned to the stream, gritted her teeth as she waded through the icy water. The false trail might fool him, might not. But it was worth a try. She waded downstream ten yards, then ten more before she began to search the banks. Her feet were numb by the time she spotted the tumble of rocks. They’d do.

She climbed out, put her socks and shoes on again, then picked her way over the rocks until they gave way to soft ground. She ran, cutting away from the water, circling the brush until she was forced to shove through it. Her boots thudded as she propelled herself up a slope.

She sought the shelter of trees again to rest, to listen.

The moon rose like a spotlight over the hills. It would help her avoid tripping over roots or rocks in the dark.

Her mother should be halfway back to the farm by now, she calculated. Help would be coming from that direction, too. She had to believe her mother would make it, and would direct the help toward the high ground she’d chosen for her stand.

She had to cut east again. She rubbed her chilled arms, ignoring the sting from nicks and scrapes she’d incurred on the run. If her maneuver at the stream bought her any time, she had the distance to make it. She just needed the stamina.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed to her feet, then cocked her head as she heard a quiet splash.

Some time, she thought as she turned east. But not as much as she’d hoped.

He was coming. And he was closing in.

 

 

 

COOP STOPPED AGAIN. He saw the slash, fresh, on the pine bark. Lil’s sign. But he studied the prints—cougar tracks. The first pointed west, and the second north.

Nothing to prove it was
her
cougar, he thought. And clearly, she’d gone west. Following Ethan’s trail, to find her mother. But after, he’d want the hunt. Want the thrill.

Coop’s head said go west, but his heart . . .

“Head west. Be slow, go quiet. Follow the slash marks. Radio back, tell them I’m heading north from here.”

“But why?” Lena demanded. “Where are you going?”

“I’m following the cat.”

Wouldn’t she have led Ethan away from her mother? Coop asked himself. His heart thudded every time he thought he’d lost the trail. What made him think he could track a cougar? Mr. Fucking New York. She wouldn’t leave signs now. No handy slash marks or rock piles. She couldn’t leave signs because by now he was hunting her.

Come after me, she asked him. He could only pray he was.

Twice he lost the trail, so desperation and terror made his skin clammy. And his belly would clutch each time he found it again.

Then he saw the bootprints. Lil’s. Even as he crouched, touched a finger to the impression she’d left on the ground, his body shuddered. Alive. Still alive and moving. He saw where others—Ethan’s—crossed hers. He was following, but she was still ahead. And the cat followed both.

He moved ahead. When he heard the murmur of water on rock, he picked up his pace again. She’d headed toward water, to lose him in the water.

When he reached the stream, he stood, baffled. Her tracks led into the water, while Ethan’s moved forward, back, circled around again. He closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind and think.

What would she do?

False trails, backtracking. He had no skill for that. If she’d gone into the water, she might’ve come out again anywhere. The cat had gone in, that was clear enough. Maybe just to cross, or maybe to follow her. Which way?

His hands fisted at his sides as he struggled to see, to look at the land as she would. Upstream and across, she could cut around to his grandparents’ farm, or other houses. A long clip, but she could do it. Down and across, her parents’ farm. Closer.

She had to know help would come from that direction.

He started to wade in, to follow that instinct. Then stopped.

Downstream, and east. The grassland. Her camera. Her place.

He cut back, circled, and ran. He didn’t follow tracks now, but the thoughts and patterns of a woman he’d known and loved since childhood.

 

 

 

JOE STARED DOWN at the blood staining the ground. It was black in the moonlight. His head went light, his knees weak, so he knelt down, laying his hand over the blood. He thought, could only think: Jenna.

“Over here!” one of the deputies called out. “It’s Derrick Morganston. Goddamn it, it’s Derrick. He’s dead.”

Not Jenna. Not his Jenna. Later, sometime later, he might feel sorrow that he didn’t think of the man, his family, and only of his own. But now fresh fury and fear pushed him to his feet.

He started forward again, searching for tracks.

Like a miracle, she came through the shadows and the moonlight. She staggered, fell, even as he raced toward her.

He dropped to his knees again, pulled her up, rocked, wept. He stroked her bruised face with his fingers. “Jenna.”

“The grasslands.” She croaked it out.

“Here’s water. Ma, here’s water.” Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as Farley held water to her lips.

She drank to ease her raging thirst as Farley petted her hair, as Joe rocked. “The grasslands,” she repeated.

“What?” Joe took the bottle from Farley. “Drink a little more. You’re hurt. He hurt you.”

“No. Lil. The grasslands. She’s leading him there. Her place. Find her. Joe. Find our baby.”

 

 

 

HE HAD TO know where she was going now, but it couldn’t be helped. She only had to get within range of the camera, trust someone would see. Then hide. All that tall grass, she could hide.

She had the knife in her boot. He didn’t know about that. She wasn’t defenseless. She hefted a rock, clutched it tight in her fist. Damn right she wasn’t defenseless.

God, she needed to rest. To catch her breath. She’d have sold her soul for a single sip of water. She wished the moon behind clouds, just for a few minutes. She could find her way now in the dark, and the dark would hide her.

The muscles in her legs wept as she fought her way up the next slope. The fingers that clutched the rock were numb with cold. Her breath whisked out, little ghosts, as she panted, as she pushed herself to the edge of endurance.

She nearly stumbled, hated herself for the weakness, and braced her hand on a tree until she found her balance.

The bolt slammed into the trunk inches from her fingers. She dropped, rolled behind the tree.

“I could’ve pinned you like a moth!”

His voice carried through the clear air. How close? How close? Impossible to tell. She lunged up, keeping low in the sprint from tree to tree. As the ground leveled out, she pushed harder. She imagined the shock and pain of one of those vicious bolts in the back. Cursed the thought. She’d come so far, nearly there. Her lungs burned, pushing air out as whistles as she tore her way through the brush, waking her freezing skin with fresh cuts.