Primal Obsession (4 page)

“Only summers. They have a condo in Florida for the cold months. My father retired from law practice a few years ago.”

“No legal eagles among the three kids. Was your dad disappointed?”

“He tried to recruit Justin. My brother loves the chase of police work but not the days he has to spend in court. Dad knew neither Thomas nor I would bite.” She peered back at him. “What about your family? Are they part of Moosewoods?”

“Dad is,” he replied. “My mom passed away five years ago. Dad retired from the paper mill then and helps Ben out from time to time. Guides an expedition or teaches fly fishing now and then, enough to keep busy.”

He refrained from mentioning Ben’s threat to replace him with his father. The old man could lead this expedition a hell of a lot better. He had more experience, more stories.

But damn it, Sam could do this. He could bench his resentments and play the jovial guide, the Maine character. Not a difficult group. No challenging terrain.

He expected no disasters, no serious white water. No sweat.

FOUR

“How did your parents feel about your baseball career?”

He laughed. “Mom was always afraid I’d get hurt. Guess she was right.” He held up his scarred hand.

“The same for your dad?”

“He cheered me on, figured it was my ticket out of a future operating a pulp machine or driving a skidder.” He gritted his teeth. He might be facing that future after all.

“And you, how do you feel about baseball? Is it the glamour and the crowds, or is it something else you love?”

No one had ever asked him exactly that. A rush of memories flooded his mind.

“It’s hard to put into words. The glamour and crowds? Never. That was a distraction. No, I loved baseball from the first time I ever played catch with Dad.” Backyard baseball with his dad and brother, the carefree days.

“Nostalgia, huh?” Annie flung the question over her shoulder. “What else?”

How could he tell her that he craved action and physical involvement like some people craved power or money? After a night’s sleep, he felt like hell until he had coffee and food, preferably something sweet. Then he needed action to feel alive. That meant sports or physical work or sex—yeah, sex.

And how could he tell her the rush he got on a baseball diamond drove him nearly as high as sex? Hell, he couldn’t.

Keep it clean, Kincaid.

“I love everything about the sport,” he finally said. “Strategies like a squeeze play or a fielder’s choice or stealing second. The tension of waiting to bat. Psyching out the pitcher. The sound and feel when the sweet spot on the bat connects with that leather sphere. Teamwork, even rehashing after a loss. And in the outfield, that last-chance catch at the fence. Nothing sweeter.”

She peered at him over her sunglasses. “Wow, I’m impressed. That was almost poetic.”

Man, too freaking poetic. What was he thinking? Maybe he should ask
her
a few questions. “So how did you get into—”

“Hey, Sam, is our campsite on that island?” Carl waved and pointed from the stern of his and Ray’s canoe.

Ahead of them a wooded island rose from the lake’s middle. Driftwood littered a sandy cove and led up an incline to thick pines and a tangle of underbrush.

“Nope. Head to the left and another half mile beyond the island.” Sam heard a muffled groan from Annie, but she kept paddling. He grinned at her determination. “The site’s a beauty. You’ll be glad you went the distance.”

Carl gave him a thumbs-up and kept paddling. In the bow, Ray stowed his water bottle and dug in with his paddle. In the other canoe, Nora reminded her son to drink water, but he shrugged her off.

At least he’s paddling.
Sam hoped what he’d said to Frank back on shore wasn’t a bonehead play.

Over her shoulder, Annie said, “I studied the map of the other trip, but I don’t recall this part of the Allagash.”

“The Allagash Wilderness Waterway is a misnomer. Too much easy access and too crowded for wilderness immersion.”

“Of course.
Much
too civilized.” If sarcasm were acid, he’d have a hole in the canoe. Probably between his legs. “So where are we? Exactly.”

“I’ll show you a map later, but Gomagash Lake and the Gomagash Wilderness lie just east of the Allagash, on private lands not regulated by the park service. The owners—"

“A paper company?”

He frowned. A reporter would ask that. Paper companies owned most of the timberland in northern Maine, but the public could enjoy the waters. In most cases, state authorities policed recreation and hunting access. “Universal Paper. You got something against that?”

“I’m neutral. I’m the press, remember? During the flight here I had no trouble spotting clear-cuts. On the other hand, paper companies have done a lot for the state of Maine, but—”

“Like any big company, they need to be regulated and reined in. Is that it?”

She sent him a grin over her shoulder. “That’s where the press comes in. So if this area’s privately owned, the park service doesn’t maintain the campsites, like on the Allagash and the Penobscot?”

“Not here. The owners allow three guide companies access, one at a time. We share maintenance, along with their caretaker. We try to be unobtrusive and noninvasive.”

“To maintain the wilderness character of the area.”

“You catch on quick. Look off there to your left.” Sam indicated a jagged peak wearing a wreath of clouds. Bare rock slashed a white scar down its side. “That’s Renraw Mountain, the second highest in Maine, next to Katahdin. The Allagash flows around to the north of it, and the Eagle flows south out of it, along with a half dozen other streams.”

She propped her paddle and slipped her sunglasses down for a better look. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “You really love this, don’t you?”

Sam rested too. No more cookies, so he inhaled a handful of cheese crackers. He drank some water, and gestured to her to hydrate too. “Sure. Near as much as baseball. It’s home.”

“I’m trying to imagine feeling at home here.” She pulled a water bottle from her day-bag and tipped back her head.

He watched her throat work as she drank, admired her sleek neck, the lift of her breasts, and lust slammed into him like a ninety-eight-mile-an-hour fastball.

She recapped the bottle. “You were telling me our location. Where do we go after the lake?”

He forced his attention back to paddling in time to avoid a rock. The woman was a menace. “The Eagle River takes us east to a series of ponds that lead south to our take-out on Big Loon Pond. The amphib pilot meets us there on Tuesday.”

“A week.” She shook her head. “I’ll take it one day at a time.”

They paddled in silence for a while. He watched the steep bank for familiar landmarks. A cow moose stood in the shallow, her long muzzle dripping water plants. At their approach, she stopped chewing.

“Thoreau said moose looked like great frightened rabbits. I’ve never bought that description,” Sam said.

“Their ears are sure big enough, but this one looks more nearsighted than frightened.” She twisted to peer at him. “Henry David Thoreau, huh?”

“Surprised I read?” Hell, he didn’t read much, but he’d nearly worn out his copy of
The Maine Woods
. “Thoreau was a snooty aristocrat and no environmentalist, but his account of trekking through the Maine wilderness was damned detailed and accurate. Holds up even today.”

After the moose splashed up the bank and disappeared, she said, “I heard you tell the boy about your hand. Tough, having to quit like that. Could you have stayed with the Sox, worked for the team in a different capacity?”

“I gave it a shot.” He could tell her some of it. “Worked in the office doing publicity.”

“But you didn’t stay.”

“It wasn’t baseball. Lasted less than a year. If I hadn’t quit they would’ve fired me. I’d sooner wear a noose than a necktie.” He grimaced at the memory.

“And let me guess. To an active guy like you, an office felt like a prison.”

“Prison? It was hell.” And he’d made things even worse.

She turned and peered over her shades as if waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she dipped her paddle. “I understand how you must have felt. But there are other teams, other baseball jobs. From when I worked in New York I know a couple guys with the Yankees. Maybe I could—”

“Forget it.” Her casual concern made it difficult to contain his anger. “Baseball is my past. This is my life now.”

After a pause, she said, “Tell me about Moosewoods.”

Knocking away the residual anger like dirt from his cleats, he smiled at his brother’s accomplishments. “Ben started the company. I invested a few years ago. He bought the old log lodge and started with a few guide trips, but he needed cash to build the business.”

“That’s where you came in?”

“Moosewoods was a solid investment. Since then it’s grown to a full resort. We have antique-furnished rooms and a three-star restaurant. Ben’s built a string of cabins along the lakefront. You saw all the expeditions and resort activities on the brochure.”

“You have a right to be proud. I can see the company’s doing well.” She turned to grin at him. “Too bad it’s way out in the boonies.”

“Very funny.” He saw a few yards ahead the triangular wooden sign that marked the campsite. “We’re here.”

The Gomagash campsite covered a point of land with sandy beaches on two sides. Cedar and maple trees edged a wide grassy opening with a fire ring and a wooden picnic table. “Isn’t this great? Worth the wait.”

“A regular Club Med.” Annie scrambled out of the canoe as if the dry ground were the Promised Land. She twisted and bent to stretch.

“What did you think? We’d have to hack it out with a machete?” When her gaze skidded away, he knew he was right. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

“Did you expect me to?” Sweat dripped down her temple.

He grinned. No, not yet. But she would. He reached out to swipe at the drip. Soft skin. Damn, even that light touch played havoc with his heart rate.

Stepping back out of reach, she slipped her sunglasses off and let them dangle. With stiff motions, she tugged a tissue from her shorts pocket and mopped at her forehead.

“Those sore muscles will feel a whole lot better after a rubdown.”

Her eyes glinted silver with suspicion. “And I’ll bet you just happen to have some liniment.”

He’d like to see her hair loose and those gray eyes go smoky with passion. If only they were alone. “In my duffel bag. Standard gear for a Maine Guide.”

“The chances of letting you rub my body with anything are about the same as sharing my tent with you.”

He affected a hangdog expression. “Nil.”

She set off with her sleeping bag.

Not until they’d started to unload the canoes did Sam realize what Annie had done to him. Damn, but she must be a hell of a reporter. He’d started quizzing her and ended up talking about himself. How did she do that? He was lucky he hadn’t spilled his guts about the benders.

He hoisted the cooler from his canoe and stopped dead.
If she’s such a city lover, why’d she leave New York?

***

Waterville, Maine

Rissa Cantrell stepped out of the oak tree’s shade, but even the late afternoon sun and her new spark of hope didn’t dispel the cold deep in her bones. Standing in front of the brick dormitory where her daughter had lived on the Colby campus chilled her with memories. And speculation.

In front of her, the pretty senior shuffled her feet. “Ms. Cantrell, I’ve told you all I know."

“I appreciate it, Caitlin.” Rissa smiled. These days, smiles were a struggle to produce. “But the state police will need to hear it in your own words. Can you describe the man? You and your roommate?”

“I don’t know. It’s been nearly a year.” Caitlin edged toward the building entrance. “I only remembered because I saw a similar van the other day. I’m gonna be pretty busy. The psych prof’s working us long hours on her project.”

Rissa’s pulse nudged upward. She understood the girl’s reluctance to talk to the police again, but dammit, some things were more important than a summer job. She forced calm into her manner. “Don’t you want to help catch Emma’s killer?”

“Of course I do." Emma’s friend sighed her acquiescence. Her next steps led her nearly to the door.

“Then I’ll phone Augusta. I’ll be in touch.”

“Whatever.” Caitlin escaped into the sanctuary of the classic New England college building.

Rissa walked back to her car. Even in summer the campus teemed with life. The college had no summer school, but high-school students trekked to and from basketball-camp activities or lounged on the green expanses between buildings. Two kids in swimsuits threw a Frisbee.

Cars crammed the small parking area next to the West Quad dorm where the student employees stayed—new Saabs, Beemers, and a Mercedes. Cars of the elite. Her ancient Toyota didn’t fit in, but Emma had. Her beautiful, brainy, and athletic daughter had fit in anywhere, had thrived in the enriched atmosphere.

Until a monster took her life.

Once a month since last October Rissa had tortured herself by driving the seventy miles from Cumberland to Waterville. Someone must have seen something, heard something. If she kept inquiring, surely they’d remember.

She had to try, to help. To do something. She was the last person—except the killer—who’d seen her daughter alive. The college had been Emma’s destination.

Finally her persistence paid off. Caitlin and Breanna had seen a stranger in a dark van the week Emma disappeared. Maybe that Sunday night. She shuddered, nearly dropping her keys. It had to be the killer.

The Hunter.

Rissa slid into the hot confines of her car and picked up her cell phone. She hoped the detective they sent wasn’t Justin Wylde. Annie’s brother was short on patience. At least with her.

***

If only Annie could escape Sam’s eagle eye. She wasn’t about to let him know the ache in her back made her feel ninety-five, and forty-pound barbells weighted each arm. She could barely drag her duffel bag up the beach.