Cache a Predator (16 page)

“You can change that. Just ask God into your life. Develop a friendship with the Guy. You’ll see that amazing things happen when you do.”

#

Brett parked the cruiser at Hursey Lake Park, the closest parking spot near the trails. He’d have to hike the rest of the way on foot. This cache was buried somewhere off the beaten path. The clue had been “fools look for gold.” What was that supposed to mean?

Clay had had to get back to the precinct to organize a team of searchers, so Brett went on his own.

He opened the trunk, took out his backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. He remembered the last time he’d hiked. He’d been eight years old, and the backpack had been too heavy for him to carry.

He’d gone with his father on a two-day trip through the Hoosier National Forest. His father had showed him how to use a compass, and how to identify poison ivy and poison berries, and they’d brought two magnifying glasses to inspect nature’s world. They sat on the ground and watched ants dance up a hill, and identified animal tracks. They saw spiders in their webs and a praying mantis up close.

His father had showed him the beauty in nature and how to listen to their sounds. They once sat on a tree stump next to each other and played a game. Dad said, “Close your eyes and listen.”

Brett heard a strange sound, a chattering noise. He played the guessing game and said, “Is it a monkey?”

His father laughed. “Nope, just a squirrel.”

Brett opened his eyes and looked to where his father pointed. In a tree, out on a limb, a squirrel faced another, sounding like he was shouting at the other, making a noise Brett had never heard before.

They had played the game until Brett recognized all the sounds on the trail—the wings of a bat, a cardinal’s call, a crow, the difference in the buzzing sounds of a fly and a wasp, and the creek’s water lapping over rocks.

Would he recognize all the same sounds today?

As he trudged toward the trails, he saw people sitting on picnic benches, and children running on the playground, glancing his way. They must have seen him getting out of his car. Cops had a way of drawing attention, even when they weren’t dressed in uniform. Concrete trails leading into a greenway bordered the park alongside a large creek that fed into the lake miles away. Cyclists, joggers, and dog-walkers filled up the scenery.

He welcomed the hike, avoiding the time when he’d have to go home to an empty house. He checked his map and his iPhone, studying the coordinates he’d transferred from online—the one closest to Terry Bull’s house.

The sun beat down on his back until he reached the trail where he lost the sky in the woods. He welcomed the trees’ shade. Flies buzzed, birds called back and forth, and a nearby stream gurgled. Leaves rustled, making him think someone was near, but each time he turned he only saw squirrels skipping over the ground and scurrying into the trees foraging for nuts.

After swatting at a half-dozen mosquitoes, he stopped, opened his bag, and took out a can of insect repellent, then sprayed himself. His cell phone vibrated. He unclipped it from its strap and glanced at the caller ID. His mother. He didn’t want to talk to her, but if he didn’t take her call now, she’d keep calling.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Have you heard how Quinn did last night?”

“Yes, I saw her this morning. She looks great and seems to like her foster home. I’m good.”

She sighed. “Thank God.”

“How’s Dad?”

“He’s okay. We’re at the hospital waiting to talk to his doctor. I hope you get Quinn soon.”

“Me too.”

“Dad wants to see you. It’s been too long since you two spoke. This is the perfect opportunity to get you two back together.”

“I’m not sure of the timing right now.”

A young girl, maybe in her twenties, jogged past him. Her long ponytail swished from side to side. Another man walked by with a large white fluffy dog. The dog’s tail wagged as he pulled his owner down the path.

“Mom, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Are you eating well?”

He rolled his eyes. She always thought about food. “Yes, I had lunch with Clay. Thanks for thinking of me. I’ll call you when things are back to normal. I promise.”

He disconnected the phone. Would things ever be back to normal? How much time did his father have? Pancreatic cancer was a killer. He worried about his mother. This had to be difficult for her. She and Dad had always been close.

Would he ever have the kind of love his parents had? He checked his cell again. Had he missed a text from Ali? Nope. None. He returned his phone to the clip and put the thoughts of his family on another shelf, continuing down the path.

After another quarter mile the worn path continued one way, but the coordinates of the GPS directed him down an area where there was no path, in another direction. It wound its way around a creek and through dense woods. He avoided tree roots and stumps threatening to trip him. Mosquitoes buzzed in his ear and swarmed around his head. Locusts chirped all around him. He trudged up a steep hill, watching the GPS. He was getting closer. He hoped he’d be able to find his way back. Finding his way with the navigation system was easy, but he’d never asked how to program it for his return. His stomach churned thinking about finding his way out of the middle of the woods.

He panted as he climbed. Man, he was out of shape. He listened to himself puffing like an old man. Pitiful. When had he let himself go?

When he reached the top of the hill, the sun beat down through a clearing, but the trees and bushes rustled as a breeze kicked up, cooling the air for a moment. Brett stopped to sip water from his canteen. The GPS indicated the cache was approximately twenty more feet, but he had to go down a narrow dirt path and over the pebble creek first. His steps were smaller now, not as surefooted. He leapt over larger rocks, slipping often.

A clicking sound whirred toward him. It came out of nowhere and seemed to be getting closer. He turned, looking behind him. A cyclist weaved in and out between the trees. A neon orange flag waved to and fro from the back of the seat. Brett hid off to the side, watching from the shadow of a tree as the cyclist flew down the path next to him and splashed over the shallow creek in the same direction Brett was headed. As quickly as he’d come, the cyclist was gone.

Brett continued in the same direction and stopped when the GPS displayed “you are at ground zero.”

Really? He didn’t see anything that looked like a cache box. He unzipped his backpack and took out his flashlight. It wasn’t dark, but the dense cluster of trees blocked the sun’s light. He shone a light under the brush. Nothing. He picked up a stick and searched in the nearby bushes, moving the branches from side to side. Sticks and leaves brushed up against him. Besides mosquito bites, he’d probably end up with poison ivy.

Clay had said the first cache had been found up in a tree. Brett flashed the light up one tree and down another. Nothing. He moved to his right and followed the same procedure, shining his light up, down, and under the brush. Still nothing.

What was the clue? Fools look for gold. Where does a person find gold? In the ground? In rocks? What about fool’s gold? Wasn’t it near the creek? Was the cache buried near a rock?

On his last circle of the area, his foot struck a large rock. He tripped and paused. He bent down, flashing his light over the ground, and found several larger boulders. He kicked the first one. It wouldn’t budge. He kicked several others until he kicked one that tumbled over. It was a hollow piece of plastic, disguised as a rock.

After sitting in the dirt in front of the boulder, he opened his backpack and took out a pair of gloves. He tapped the rock and turned it upside down, looking for a way to open it. Underneath was a six-by-six-inch hinged area. He needed a coin to turn the notch. He stood, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a nickel, then twisted it in the groove until the latch clicked open.

He shook the contents onto the ground. A tiny deck of cards, a small notepad, a pair of red fluffy earmuffs, and a plastic bag fell onto the dirt. Inside the bag was something liquid, red, and squishy. He held the corner of it away from his body and flashed his light on it, examining it closer, shivering at what he saw.

A fly landed on his hand. He shooed it away. Fighting nausea, he threw the bag back into the boulder, lifted the rest of the other contents, and shoved them into a different bag. After placing them all in his backpack, he rolled the gloves off his hands, balled them up into another bag, and zipped his backpack shut. He unclipped his phone to call Clay, but when it lit up, he noticed he only had one bar of service. He’d have to wait to make the call when he got to a clearing.

Just as he stashed his phone in its clip, a voice rang out.

“You can’t steal the cache. That’s cheating.”

Brett swung around, dropping his backpack, and faced the direction of the voice.

Huh? What was she doing here?

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah stood with her arms across her chest, her bike leaning against a tree, waiting for Brett to say something. She almost laughed at how she’d made him jump and how frightened he looked, and at the mosquito bite welts covering his face. Obviously, he wasn’t a seasoned hiker.

Still bent over his backpack, Brett said, “Are you trying to scare me to death? What are you doing here?”

“I’m hiking for the same thing you just found. What are
you
doing? Why are you taking the cache?”

“Police evidence.”

“What?”

He shuffled through the backpack in front of him. “There’s someone whacking—” He took out a roll of wide yellow Caution tape.

Sarah cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to finish your sentence, are you? What was in that rock?”

“Have you seen the news today?”

“No, why?” She left her bike at the tree and moved toward him.

“Let’s just say I’m not authorized to talk about it. I’ve got to close off this area. He stood, throwing the backpack onto his shoulder, and draped the tape around the trees within a ten-foot perimeter, four feet from the ground. “Sorry I can’t share it with you. This is one find you’ll have to give up.” He tore a piece of tape with his teeth.

He scratched at a mosquito bite on his neck. “Do you know your way back to Hursey Park from here? I’m a little turned around.”

She chuckled. “A cop without a sense of direction?”

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing. Don’t let it get out, okay?”

“I’m a professional. I keep lots of secrets.” She helped him hold up the tape. “I know these woods like the back of my hand. I grew up around here. My house is just over the creek and up that hill.” She pointed to her left.

“Perfect.” He tied the last bit of tape in a knot and put the roll in his backpack, then zipped it shut. “I guess you probably think I’m crazy for working while Quinn is gone and Ali’s missing.”

“I don’t judge.”

“Don’t you?” He stared into her eyes as if looking for something.

She didn’t back away. “No, I don’t.”

He held his gaze. “What am I supposed to do? Go to my apartment and stare at the walls?”

“I’d probably do the same thing.” Sarah was queen of the “keep busy” strategy, always looking for ways to keep her mind and body occupied. She averted her eyes and moved toward her bike, taking the handlebars, and turning to go. “I’m sure it’s easier to keep busy.”

Brett followed. “How many of these cache boxes have you found?”

“Forty-eight.” Sarah led him out of the woods and toward the clearing.

Brett whistled. “Not that you’re counting, or anything.” He grinned. “All in this county?”

“No, I’ve searched in six other counties, but all in Indiana.”

“What’s the most bizarre thing you ever found?”

Sarah turned her bike toward the trail, its tires crunching on debris. “Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Probably a toilet seat. Although there have been some crazy things.”

“A toilet seat? That must have been one large cache box.”

“Yeah, it was in a large trunk, hidden in a cave.”

“When was the last cache your found?”

She paused, noticing something different in his tone. “A week ago.” Why was he asking her these questions? The trail narrowed. He let her go first.

“Where was it?”

She spoke over her shoulder. “On the other side of town. Why?” He sounded suspicious of her. Why?

“Did you see anyone out of the ordinary on the trails or near the caches?”

She hesitated. “Like?”

“I don’t know. Anything or anyone different than you normally do.”

She paused. Did he suspect her of something? “Nothing and no one I can remember.”

“Why do you do it?”

“I enjoy being outdoors, being one with nature, and as a child I didn’t get to play too many games. I guess this is my inner child coming out.”

As they approached the clearing, Brett’s phone vibrated. He stopped and unclipped it from his belt clip. “I haven’t had service since I entered the woods, and now it’s catching up to me. I missed five calls. Can you wait while I call my partner? I need to ask you a few more questions.”

She glanced at her watch. “I have five minutes.”

He pushed a few buttons on his phone and said, “Hey, I found what we were looking for.” He paused.

Sarah watched as Brett’s expression changed from victory to concern. What had happened?

A frown creased between his brows. “No!” He shook his head. “When? Where is she now?” There was another pause before he disconnected the call and turned to Sarah. “Ali has been in an accident. She’s at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. He surely didn’t need one more thing to go bad.

#

Brett’s sirens blared, and the colors of his flashing lights pulsed like the throbbing in his head as he headed to the Hursey Lake Hospital’s emergency room. He pulled up to the automatic doors, the ones he’d been to before as a cop doing his job, following the victims or perpetrators after a crime had been committed.

Clay had said someone died in the accident. A woman in her twenties. Ali’s fault. Brett’s stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. A woman was dead because of Ali.