Prey (38 page)

He wrenched his thoughts from that direction, because hiking with a hard-on could get damn uncomfortable.

After they’d been walking for two hours, he called a halt to let her rest, and for them both to drink some water. They hadn’t started out until close to nine o’clock, so he figured there was no way they’d reach Lattimore’s before dark, but they’d be okay. They were experienced in the outdoors, and they were prepared.

Angie sat on a rock while she sipped from a water bottle, her gaze sweeping over the rugged valleys opening up before them. Dare sat beside her and studied the same vista. Down below, the flood-swollen creek curved away to the left, but some distance ahead it swept back to the right, and somewhere, somehow, they
would have to cross it. He could hear the creek even from this distance, a dull, distant roar as the rushing water tumbled over the rocky creek bed.

He pictured the topography, planning their route. He didn’t want to go all the way down to the creek, because there were rock formations that covered acres, and Angie couldn’t handle crossing them. In some places, going around them would be even more hazardous than crossing the rocks, so their best bet was to stay high enough to bypass the creek bank entirely. There was one place where they might—
might
—be able to cross the creek, and he’d check it out when they reached the area, but his plan right now was to go far enough south to pick up the road. That would take longer, but ultimately be a lot safer.

What the hell. He didn’t mind spending another night with Angie before they got back to the real world.

Progress was slow. Chad thought he could head east, but a swollen stream kept forcing him farther and farther to the south, till finally he was going in the right direction: down the mountain instead of cutting across it … at least for now. Time after time, just when he thought he was making some real progress, he ran into something that forced him off his chosen direction. He had to backtrack and go around obstacles so often he kind of lost track of how far he’d traveled, and that worried the hell out of him. What if he didn’t make it to Lattimore’s today? As cold as the weather was, he’d freeze his ass off tonight if he had to sleep out in the open.

Common sense told him he hadn’t traveled that far out of the way, that it was his impatience making every delay feel like hours when in reality it hadn’t been that long. The horse wasn’t making great time, but it was still faster than if he’d been on foot. Angie had mentioned that the camp had been almost ten miles away from Lattimore’s ranch, which wasn’t a great distance, so with any
luck, he’d be on the road in a couple of hours, four at the most—hooray and hallelujah. His stomach growled, but he didn’t want another protein bar; he wasn’t that hungry yet. When this was over with, he hoped to hell he never had to see another protein bar in his whole life. After he crossed into Canada there’d be time to stop for a good, hot meal before he caught the next flight out to Mexico.

He could almost see it, could almost taste the freedom. Another name, more money than he knew what to do with … and he was so close …

He guided the horse along the tree line of a meadow, studying the land falling away below him, trying to figure out exactly where he was and where he needed to go, when something far down the meadow caught his eye.

He’d grown so accustomed to seeing nothing before him but mud and trees and blessed blue sky, it took him a moment to focus on and identify the movement down and to his right.

People. Two of them—a man and a woman. They were still a good distance away, and unless they turned around and really searched for movement, they wouldn’t see him, because he was still under cover of the trees. They were in a large clearing at the moment, unprotected by the trees that shielded Chad.

He didn’t have binoculars with him, but he did have the scope on his rifle. Moving carefully, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope; at first he didn’t see anything because the field of vision was so narrow and he had to “acquire the target,” as the man he’d gone to for lessons had called it. Using small movements, he swept the scope back and forth until he found them, then adjusted the focus. Davis had made fun of his scope when he saw it, because it wasn’t one of the fancy brand names, but who was laughing now? Chad hadn’t seen any point in spending a thousand dollars for a scope he didn’t intend to use other than for show. He was pleased now that the scope worked just fine.

The man below was a big son of a bitch, but Chad didn’t recognize
him. He identified Angie right away, though: the dark hair, her height, her shape—not that he could see her shape, because she was wearing that heavy coat, but he knew the coat. She hobbled along, with occasional help from the big guy. She’d been hurt after all, somehow, but not badly enough to stop her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d met up with someone else who was also on foot; what were the fucking odds of that?

They both carried rifles slung over their shoulders, and they were on the path Chad needed to take in order to get off this damn mountain. He wasn’t going to waste a minute trying to go around them. Damn it, they were
in his way
.

Chad dismounted, said a couple of soft words to the horse, and looped the reins loosely over a branch. Rifle in hand, he sighted in on the couple below, but he couldn’t hold the weapon rock steady and at that distance even a tiny waver meant he’d miss his target.

No, shooting from this far away was too risky. He couldn’t be certain he’d hit his target, and he didn’t want to give them any warning. Rapidly he formulated a plan. Kill the man first, before they suspected that they weren’t alone. Not that Angie wasn’t a good shot, but she wasn’t very mobile, and he could outmaneuver her if by chance he couldn’t take her down, too, before she could react.

He’d practiced with both the pistol and the rifle, and he was a good marksman, but shooting downhill was a bitch at the best of times and his targets were moving—slowly, but moving. He had to get closer, but getting closer meant leaving the cover of the trees and exposing himself to view if they should happen to look behind them, not to mention return fire. And if he didn’t manage to get both of them, there
would
be return fire; he had to plan on it, choose his position accordingly.

The long downward sweep of the meadow was heavily dotted with rock—slabs of rock, boulders big and small, some barely jutting out of the earth and others sitting there like huge lumps.
There was a lot of cover to be had, if he could get to it without being noticed.

He took notice of the wind. It had been swirling all day, coming first from one direction and then another, but now it was blowing straight into his face. Marksmanship was mathematics, taking every little factor such as wind and drop and bullet velocity into account. He’d focused more on the pistol, knowing that was how he’d take down Davis, but he knew the basics of distance shooting. This didn’t qualify for true distance shooting, because they were no more than a hundred and fifty yards away at the most, but considering what was at stake he didn’t want to risk a shot that might miss.

They were moving at a snail’s pace, which was to his advantage, but he couldn’t delay too long or they’d reach the tree line below and he’d lose them. With the wind blowing sound away from them, they weren’t likely to hear him. Chad moved to his left, putting one of those big boulders between him and his targets, and headed for the boulder at a half-run, crouched low.

He was getting excited. It looked as if he’d get his hunt, after all. This was the wild, and in the wild survival of the fittest was the rule nature and man—and woman—lived by.

Ninety yards behind him, the bear was padding closer and closer to his prey, the scent now blowing strong in his nostrils.

Chad had worked his way to within fifty yards of his targets, which was as close as he dared go without running a huge risk that Angie or the big guy might see or hear him. Besides, they were getting into some rocks that would provide them with cover, and beyond the rocks was the edge of the meadow. If he let them get to the trees, he’d have a harder time getting off a good shot: too many shadows, too many tree trunks. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, sighted it on the middle of the guy’s back, allowed for the curve of the hill, the distance, and the light wind. He’d never met the man with Angie, had no animosity toward the soon-to-be-dead guy, but he was in the way and that was reason enough to take him out.

Killing was easy, as Chad had discovered when he’d shot Davis. One well-placed bullet and a life could be snuffed out for good; alive one moment, dead the next. One moment a problem, the next … no problem at all. He wouldn’t say that he got off on it, but he’d been surprised at how easy it was, how completely regretfree he felt afterward. He did what had to be done, that was all.

He took careful aim, took in a breath, let it out halfway as he’d been taught, and pulled the trigger. The man with Angie jerked, and as he fell he pushed Angie away from him. She took one off-balance, stumbling step, and fell. Before Chad could reacquire her in his scope, she scrambled behind one of those damn rocks.

“Dare!”

Angie was screaming his name almost before she hit the ground. The rifle shot had come from so close behind them that she’d heard the reverberating blast almost simultaneously with the deep “
Uhhh!
” sound Dare had made, then he’d shoved her away from him even as he was falling to the side. Instinctively she half-rolled, half-crawled to one of the rocks and crouched there, already getting her feet under her to launch herself across the opening to where Dare was sprawled.

But then he dragged himself to a sitting position and barked, “Stay there!”

Blood was pouring down his face, but his voice was as strong as ever; Angie froze in place, relief and adrenaline searing through her system and throwing all of her senses into hyperalertness. Dare was hurt, but he was mobile, he was conscious. He was also losing a lot of blood, so she had to do something, and fast.

She didn’t have to wonder what had happened; she knew. Somehow Chad had come up behind them. In a flash she knew it wasn’t even that much of a coincidence, because the flooded creeks would have forced him in the same direction they’d been traveling.

“Where are you hit?” she called frantically, because Dare was wiping blood from his eyes and it was streaming down, effectively blinding him, as fast as he wiped, but surely to God if he’d been shot in the head he wouldn’t be—

“Shoulder,” he grunted, his tone tight against the pain.

Shoulder?

Didn’t matter. She had to get to him. Ducking low, she darted her head to the side to look around the rock, to see if she could locate Chad’s position. Another shot boomed, chipping off some rock above her head; Chad had been anticipating that she’d take a look, because she’d have to, but he’d expected her to stick her head up over the top of the rock instead of peeking around the side.

“Fuck!” Dare exploded. “Don’t do that again.” He struggled onto his knees, reached for his rifle, then let loose a long, inventive string of curses as he wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

Angie shrugged the sleeping bag roll off her shoulder, pulled her rifle into position, and slapped the bolt down. “Damn it, Dare, you can’t see! Stay where you are.” She kept her voice low but forceful, the words punching through the air. “What’s wrong with your head?”

“It’s just a cut. I hit a fucking rock.”

But it was a cut that was bleeding profusely, directly above his right eye. Now that he was on his knees she could see the dark stain on the back of his coat, just below his right shoulder. He couldn’t shoot, at least not effectively. He could hold the rifle with his left hand and pull the trigger, but if he hit anything it would be pure luck because he couldn’t see to aim.

She knew where Chad was, about fifty yards away and uphill, slightly to the right. He had shot twice, so he had one more shot before he’d have to reload. If she could bait him into shooting, then she could set up her own shot while he was reloading, wait for him to stick his head up—

Behind him, the horse suddenly began whinnying in a shrill, unmistakably panicked sound. Chad whirled around, his back to the rock. What the hell? The chestnut was rearing, shaking its head, pulling hard on the simple loop Chad had used to tether it. Fuck!
If the stupid horse bolted, how was he going to get off this stupid fucking mountain?

Then, with a convulsive jerk, the chestnut pulled its reins free and thundered down the mountain toward him.

Chad froze for a split second, all of his options flashing in front of his eyes and none of them good. If he didn’t catch the horse he was screwed. If he left the cover of the rock Angie would probably shoot him, and he was screwed. Either way, he was screwed.

But maybe she wouldn’t be expecting him to try for the horse. He had no time to weigh the odds, no time to do anything except act. Chad lunged from the protection of the boulder, desperately trying to catch the horse’s reins as it thundered by, but it swerved to avoid him and he missed.

Convulsively, expecting the white-hot pain of a bullet to tear through him at any second, he threw himself back toward the boulder. God, he couldn’t believe it, he was still in one piece. Screwed, stranded, but in one piece. He grabbed his rifle, and as he did a dark blur of movement in the tree line caught his attention.

A massive black bear padded out of the trees straight toward him, its head low and swinging.

The horse was in the way. She couldn’t believe it when Chad jumped for the panicked animal, but as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder the chestnut swerved, coming toward her, and she couldn’t make the shot. Swearing under her breath, using words that would make Dare proud, she ducked back down. The chestnut swerved again, thundered past Dare’s position on the far side of him, heading toward the tree line below them.

Another shot came from above, but there was no hot zinging sound, no chips of rock flying, no dirt kicking up. She didn’t stop to wonder why the shot went so wild, she just knew that was the
third one and now he’d have to reload, so she rolled to a kneeling position and braced her rifle barrel against the side of the boulder, leaning forward and putting her eye to the scope.