Spirit of a Hunter (7 page)

“For now.”

Her body finally cooperated and she sat up. She rubbed her arms and could not get a kilocalorie of warmth into her body. “Scotty. We can’t let them get to Scotty.”

“I won’t.”

On the main road up ahead, sirens shrieked in the dying afternoon. Blue lights swirled through the bleeding sky in a mottled tapestry of bruises. Nora swiveled her head to look over her shoulder. The Hummer wasn’t in sight. But it was back there, somewhere in that ant’s nest of dirt roads, hunting for them.

They were trapped.

And they were still in Camden country. The two police cruisers blocking the road were not there to help them.

A loose end.

Forward or back would lead them straight into the Colonel’s clutches.

He would once again get what he wanted—her out of the picture and Scotty to himself.

I’m sorry, baby, so sorry
.

Sabriel swore and steered the Jeep into the trees. Nora hung on to the dashboard as they catapulted onto a barely-there rut.

In spite of her tight grip, the ride bobbed her like a cork in a fast-moving stream. And like that cork, she had no control over her situation.

“Tree!” she squealed as Sabriel almost hit an oak.

“I see it.”

“Could you slow down?”

She might as well have spit into the wind for all the good her request did. He kept racing ahead, the sharp cranking of the steering wheel jostling her from side to side.

“If we crash,” she said, “they get what they want. Us dead.”

“You want the cops to hold us until it’s too late to find Tommy?”

“I want to get to the damn mountains and find my son. Preferably alive.”

Sabriel made a bone-rattling entry into a snarl of bushes and braked to a jarring halt, killing the engine.

A minute later, the black Hummer crept by on the narrow track they’d left. Sabriel remained unfazed, a statue in his seat, while she turned into a quivering mass of ringing nerves.

How could he stay so calm when everything was falling apart? They could end up dead before they ever reached the mountains and Scotty.

“The Colonel’s men tried to kill us,” she said, watching the taillights, red evil eyes, retreat into the darkening woods.

“The Colonel wants his grandson,” Sabriel said. “And what the Colonel wants, the Colonel goes after.”

“No matter who gets hurt.”

Sabriel’s jaw flinched. “Collateral damage.”

Nora rubbed at the tightness in her throat with one ice-cold hand. “He wants to control Scotty like he controlled Tommy and Anna. And look how that turned out.” Her gaze speared Sabriel’s jungle-green eyes. “I can’t let that happen.”

In the depth of his steady gaze, she found reassurance. An understanding that went soul deep. For the first time in her life, someone was seeing her. Really seeing her, and not flinching at what he saw there. He knew. He understood. The Colonel had almost broken him,
too. But he’d survived, and that gave her hope. Heat returned to her cold limbs, and she wanted to linger there in the calming balm of his sight.

Sabriel broke the odd connection pulsing between them and studied the woods until the Hummer was out of range. “We’ll find your son.”

She took his promise to heart.

He cranked over the engine and continued his mapless track through the woods.

“I can’t guarantee your safety out on the trail,” he said.

“Safety means nothing to me as long as Scotty’s out there.”

A few minutes later, without so much as a touch of the brakes, Sabriel shot out onto a two-lane road. At least it was asphalt and relatively smooth. Her tentacle grip on the dashboard loosened.

Sabriel whipped on the headlights, shifted gears and sped up. He was heading north. Relief fluxed through her muscles. She didn’t want to fight him, but she would if it meant saving Scotty.

The day faded to night, leaving behind a black so deep the headlights barely cut through its thickness. Sabriel’s profile slashed a jagged silhouette in the dim glow of the instrument panel. High cheekbones. A nose like an Indian brave’s in a Beverly Doolittle print. Square chin. The yellow cast of the light burnished his skin to dark copper. A good face. A strong face. One that wouldn’t crumple under the Colonel’s will.

Afraid Sabriel would change his mind and turn the
Jeep south again, Nora sat flagpole straight, hands folded in her lap, gaze on the road.

The silence between them grew until it was as dense as the darkness around them.

Her fingers itched to crank the radio full blast, tune in to a rock station, blow the roof right off the Jeep. She needed drums. Big, banging drums. Lots of drums. Entrain—“Rise Up,” “River Run,” “Mo Drums.” Loud enough to drown out the beat of her doubts driving her crazy.

She was at his mercy, just as she’d been at the Colonel’s and at her mother’s. And look where that had landed her. A wuss afraid of her own shadow, begging for just another chance.

I’ll be good, Mommy, please, I promise. Just don’t leave
.

I’ll accept your terms, Colonel. Please, just don’t take my baby away from me
.

I won’t complain. I promise, Sabriel. Please, just help me find my son
.

* * *

“T
ELL ME ABOUT
Tommy,” Sabriel said.

Though he appeared to study the road, Nora was acutely aware that he was watching her. For signs of a meltdown?
Won’t happen
. Not until she found Scotty. “Like what?”

“His mental state.”

Tommy with his mischievous smile, his eclectic playlists and his unabashed shows of affection. At eighteen, starving as she’d been for attention, she’d fallen for his
easy charm. So fast. Too fast. She’d never suspected that pharmaceuticals were holding him together. Not until it was too late. Regret rolled around her heavy heart.

“He seemed to be doing so well. He’d finally found a psychiatrist that got him.” She snorted. “One that wouldn’t report back to the Colonel.”

“What about his meds?”

“What about them?” A certain protectiveness where Tommy was concerned brought up caution.

“You said you thought he was off his meds.”

She’d forgotten the desperation of her pleas. “I thought he was keeping up.” She picked at the pale pink polish on her thumbnail. Had she missed the signs? The few minutes of conversation they shared when Tommy picked up Scotty weren’t enough to pass judgment. Not with the Colonel standing guard more often than not, listening to their exchange.

But in the past few months, Tommy had turned back to the man she’d fallen in love with eleven years ago. Sweet, funny, loving. But that was the danger point, wasn’t it? When the patient thought he was well enough to do without the meds. She shrugged and shook her head. “Taking Scotty like this, though…I don’t know.”

“Do you know the name of his psychiatrist?”

“You won’t get anything from him. Patient-doctor confidentiality.”

“Kingsley can.”

“Kingsley?”

“Seekers’ computer expert.”

She didn’t dare ask how, just savored the relief that
someone could tell her if Tommy was a threat to Scotty.
Sorry, Tommy. It’s for your own good, for Scotty’s
. “Dr. Montgomery at the Whiteside Clinic.”

“What was Scotty wearing when he left?”

What had she noticed missing in his room? Was it only this morning? It felt more like a week.

“His clothing could snag against branches,” Sabriel offered before she could answer—as if he was trying to make up for his earlier brusqueness, but didn’t quite know how to go about it. “Could let me know where he’s been.”

Nora nodded and knitted her fingers into her lap. “Red backpack. Yellow fleece jacket. Camouflage pants. Hiking boots.”

“What else?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to take inventory.”

“A backpack’s a good sign.” The words hitched out as if acts of comfort were foreign to him. “Tommy probably had him pack layers.”

If Scotty had layers, then he’d stay warm at night and maybe his asthma wouldn’t flare up. The hopeful thought soothed the raw edge of her nerves.

“Tell me about his footwear.”

“Why?” One of her heels clacked against the floor mat like a manic drummer hammering the pedal of a bass drum and Nora wished she could get up and move instead of being strapped in this car seat doing nothing.

“So I know what kind of tracks to look for.” Sabriel’s voice remained smooth and even, but she sensed the calmness cost him.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be a burden to
him, so she dug deep. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture the boots. “Tommy got Scotty hiking boots for his birthday last September. He gets a discount at work. I don’t know the brand. Brown. That’s all I remember.”

“Size?”

A small yelp escaped her. “That, I know. Size six.”

“Hiking poles?”

She didn’t think Scotty had any, but that didn’t mean Tommy hadn’t provided him with some. “I don’t know.”

“What time did they leave? Your best guess.”

Her head ached and her thoughts snarled in a mess. To keep from falling apart, she went back to scratching the pink polish off her nails. “Scotty went to bed at eight. I checked on him at ten. I let him sleep in this morning because he’d had several asthma attacks over the week, and he needed extra sleep. If I’d checked in on him when I got up—”

“They could still have had hours of lead time.”

On a logical level, she understood this, but emotionally, she kept thinking that she could have done something more. That, if she’d only been more observant, she could have prevented this nightmare.

Sabriel tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel, reeling her back to the present. “What kind of outdoor experience does Scotty have?”

Scotty talked about the hikes he and his father took on their Saturdays together. But two hours every other weekend wasn’t very long and kept them close to home.

“He’s hiked with Tommy since he was little,” Nora said, but the true answer was another
I don’t know
.

How could she know so little about her own son? The one person she spent most of her days with? The one person she thought she knew better than herself?

“His asthma keeps him from most sports.” Much to the Colonel’s irritation. “Especially in the winter when the cold triggers attacks.” Cold like tonight. And last night. Was he okay?

“Other than the asthma, is he in good health?”

Sabriel’s question derailed her grim train of thought once again. And she finally understood that the interrogation was in part meant to keep her from drowning in worry. Why in the world was that clinical approach so comforting?
Because you’re a mess, Nora
. She had to stay strong, and his calm questions were keeping her afloat, giving her a steady anchor. “Just the normal scrapes and bruises.”

“What about injuries?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Has he ever broken a leg or an arm?”

“Why would that make the difference?”

“Could alter his tracks.”

Oh. “Nothing.”

Sabriel knew how to look, what to look for. They would find Scotty. She knew it. “After a day? How hard will it be to pick up their trail?”

“If it doesn’t rain, the tracks should hold.”

She looked outside at the stygian night, so dark, so cold. No moon. No stars. That meant clouds. And clouds could mean rain. Her tongue turned to cotton and sweat prickled her armpits. How could she be sweating and yet feel so cold?

“What kind of kid is Scotty?” Sabriel asked.

There he was again, saving her from her dire thoughts with his question and part of her turmoil quieted. “He’s a great kid. Sweet, smart. Smarter than the Colonel gives him credit for.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s small for his age.” Which somehow seemed like a failure on her part when the Colonel looked at her son with disappointment in his eyes. “He has Tommy’s wild blond curls.” Blond curls he twirled around a finger when he slept—just as he’d done with her hair while he’d nursed. “Brown eyes like mine.” They sparkled when he recounted his adventures with his father.

She couldn’t help the small smile that formed at the familiar tug on her heart when she thought about her son. “Only one of his cheeks dimples when he smiles. His feet look too big for his small body, and he bounces in place when he’s excited and can’t contain himself.”
Not helpful, Nora
.

She pressed her temple against the cool window glass and noticed that Sabriel listened to her babble with studious intent, as if what she left out was as important as what she said.

At her pause, he glanced in her direction. “Go on.”

But she didn’t want to lean on him too much, to lose herself again because it was easier not to rock the boat than to swim on her own. “Didn’t Tommy ever send you pictures?”

Sabriel gave a quick shake of his head. “What about hobbies and interests?”

“What happened between the two of you?”

The tendons along Sabriel’s jaw became taut wires.

“Hobbies?”

“Tommy says you’re the only person he can trust, yet you two never talk.”

“Not related to the situation.”

“What if it is?”

“Hobbies?” Sabriel insisted with a quiet, yet unmistakable authority.

“You’re asking me to pour my guts out, but you can’t give me a single speck of something in return?”

His jaw slid from side to side. “You came to me for my skill, not my history.”

“But they’re related. By the Colonel.”

“Because of the Colonel, I’ll help Tommy.”

Cringing at the sting of his words, Nora went back to peeling away the pink nail polish. Still, something had happened to turn a treasured friendship into a net of guilt and regret. What had happened at Ranger School? Was there more? Was it because of Anna? Nora shook the thoughts of Tommy and Anna and Sabriel and their complicated relationship out of her mind. She had to concentrate on Scotty. He was her priority—finding him, getting him home safely was all that mattered.

“Scotty loves to read,” she said, hoping to defuse the tension she’d caused. She still needed Sabriel’s help. “Which the Colonel doesn’t consider a manly endeavor.” She snorted. “As if generals were born knowing everything there was to know about strategy without ever cracking open a book.”