The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5 (117 page)

The glass started to dissolve in Fiona’s hand. She set it down before she dropped it. “Are you sure? Meg, are you sure?”

“It’s him. It’s not perfect, but it’s him. The eyes, the shape of the face. I know this is him. It’s a police sketch, isn’t it? Oh my God.”

“This is a police composite of what Eckle looks like now?” Sylvia’s voice was utterly calm and seemed to come from inside a wind tunnel. “Fee!”

“Yes. Yes. Davey brought it over earlier. Tawney sent it in to the sheriff.”

“Meg, go out and get Simon. Right now. Right now. Fee, call Agent Tawney. I’m calling the sheriff.”

But before she called the FBI, Fiona went upstairs and got her gun.

 

 

WHEN SHE CAME DOWN she’d found her calm, and ignored the quick look of distress on Sylvia’s face when her stepmother saw the gun strapped to her belt.

“The sheriff’s on his way.”

“So’s the FBI. They’ll coordinate with the sheriff en route. Everything’s under control.” Fiona laid a hand on Meg’s shoulder as her friend sat at the counter.

“I was alone with him in that cabin. I showed him through it last spring, chatted with him. And yesterday . . . Oh sweet Jesus, that poor woman was in the trunk while I was making small talk. That’s why Xena kept sniffing all around it. I should’ve known—”

“Why? How?” Fiona demanded. “Let’s just be grateful you’re okay, and you’re here, and you recognized the sketch.”

“I shook his hand,” Meg murmured, staring at her own. “And that makes me feel . . . God, I have to call Chuck.”

“I already did.” Sylvia moved behind Meg and began to rub her shoulders. “He’s coming.”

“You may have saved that reporter’s life,” Fiona pointed out. “You may have saved mine. Think of that. Simon.” She walked out of the kitchen to the living room, kept her voice low. “I know what you want to do. I can see it. You want to go over there, drag him out of that cabin and beat him to a pulp.”

“The thought crossed. I’m not stupid,” he said before she could speak. “And not willing to risk even the slim chance that he’d get away from me. I know how to wait.”

She took his hand, squeezed it. “He doesn’t. Not like Perry. It was wildly stupid to come here like this, and to bring her—he must’ve brought her.”

“Stupid, yeah, but if he got away with it? A big splash if they found the reporter dead all but in your goddamn backyard. Perry just wanted to kill. This guy wants to be somebody.”

“He’ll never get away.” Still, she rubbed her arms to warm them as she checked through the front window again. “He won’t get off the island. But he’s had her for two days now. She may already be dead.”

“If she’s got a chance, it’s because of you.”

“Me?”

“You’re not stupid. He brought her here to unravel you, to hurt you. He’s boxed himself in, and he may have hurt you, but he hasn’t unraveled you.”

“I like having you around.”

“It’s my house. I have you around.”

She didn’t think she could laugh, but he brought it out of her. And with it she put her arms around him and held on until the sheriff pulled into the drive.

When they stepped out to meet him, Sheriff McMahon didn’t waste time.

“We’ve got the road to the cabin blocked off. Davey was able to get close enough to get a look through binocs. The car’s there, all the windows in the cabin are closed, the curtains drawn.”

“He’s inside. With her.”

“It looks that way,” he said with a nod to Fiona. “Feds are coming in by chopper, and I called in for some backup. Ben Tyson over on San Juan’s heading in now with two of his deputies. Feds don’t want us moving in, but I’m going to argue some on that. It would help us out, Simon, if we could use your place here as a base for now.”

“It’s yours.”

“Appreciate it. I need to talk to Meg, and keep the line open with Davey and Matt. They’re watching the cabin.”

Fiona felt the minutes dripping like syrup, so slow, so thick.

No movement, the deputies reported, again and again. Each time she imagined what moved inside, behind those shuttered windows.

“The problem is, there just aren’t enough of us, and goddamn it, Matt’s still green.” McMahon scrubbed his fingers over his head. “We can keep watch, but I can’t argue with the feds that if we go in, he might get through us. It doesn’t sit well, I can tell you, but sit’s what I have to do. At least till Tyson gets here.”

“I’ve got a shotgun.” Chuck stood, his arm around Meg’s shoulders. “We could have half a dozen men here in ten minutes willing to help out with this.”

“I don’t need a bunch of civilians, Chuck, or to be worried about maybe having to tell somebody’s wife she’s a widow. He killed the others where he buried them—I can’t argue that fact, either. Odds are she’s alive, and we’re going to get her out the same way.”

He pulled out his phone when it signaled and walked outside to take the call.

“He’d have her up here, wouldn’t he?” Fiona gestured to the printout of the floor plan they’d gotten off the cabin’s website. “In one of the bedrooms. Not downstairs, just in case somebody got in. But where he could lock her in. So they not only have to get into the cabin but up the stairs—if he’s with her.”

She tried to think of it as a search and applied the same principles of most likely behavior. “The master has the little deck off it. I don’t think he’d keep her there. He’d use the smaller room, the one with less access. But they could get men on that deck from the outside, and they could go through the slider, into the cabin on the second floor. Then—”

She broke off when McMahon strode back in. “Chopper just landed, they’re on the road. And Tyson’s on island, on his way. I’m going out to meet them. I need all of you to stay here. Right here. I’ll keep in touch best I can.”

 

 

FROM HIS PERCH in the trees on the rise well beyond Simon’s house, Eckle watched the sheriff through his field glasses. The third time the man paced the back porch, with the phone at his ear, Eckle knew they’d made him.

He pondered how. The e-mail he’d composed wasn’t set to send for another two hours. Maybe there’d been a glitch.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Things would just get started sooner. He heard it, faintly—the whir of a helicopter.

The gang’s all here, he decided. The chances of his escape, of going under long enough to write the article, finish the book, dropped dramatically.

He’d most likely die on Fiona’s island.

That didn’t matter either. If formerly pretty Kati wasn’t dead by now, she’d likely be before they found her, so he’d have had his own.

And while they were looking, he’d find Fiona and accomplish what his teacher never did, never could.

 

 

THEY WENT IN much as she’d imagined—fast, silent, covering every door and window. As one unit rushed through the first floor of the cabin, another rushed the second.

Tawney swept into the second bedroom steps behind the team.

He didn’t need the calls of
Clear!
to know Eckle had moved out, and taken Starr with him.

“He’s on his own script now. He’s tossed Perry’s and he’s on his own.”

“The trunk’s empty.” A little breathless, Mantz joined him. “He had her in there. It’s lined with plastic, and it’s bloodstained. Jesus,” she added with a murmur when she saw the plastic, and what stained it, covering the bed.

“He left us plenty of her scent.”

He wondered why.

Fiona wondered the same as her search unit reported to the cabin. She listened to the theory speculating he intended to come back, clean up, clear out—he’d left clothes behind as well—after he’d killed and buried Starr.

She didn’t argue. Her unit had a job to do, and the focus was to find the reporter.

“We’ll use the buddy system,” she said. “None of us goes in alone. Meg and Chuck, Team One; James and Lori, Team Two; Simon and me, Team Three. Two people, two dogs per team.”

She took a breath. “There are going to be armed police and federal agents swarming everywhere. You’ll keep in regular contact with Mai, and with Agent Tawney. They’re running the base. We’ve got about three hours before we lose the light. There’s a strong chance of a storm hitting before dusk. If we don’t find her before dark, we call it until morning. Everybody’s back to base at dusk. We don’t risk ourselves or our dogs.”

She glanced toward Tawney. “We all heard what Agent Tawney told us. Francis Eckle is a killer. He may be armed, he’s certainly dangerous. If any of you want to opt out of this search, it’s not a reflection on you or the unit. Just tell Mai, and she’ll recoordinate.”

She stepped aside as Mai signaled. “I don’t like you going in, Fee. You’re a target. He’s fixed on you already, and if he got any sort of a chance—”

“He won’t.”

“Can’t you convince her to take the com on this?” she said to Simon. “I’ll take Newman in, go with you and Peck.”

“I’d be wasting my breath, just like you, and Tawney, for that matter. But she’s right. He won’t get the chance.”

Mai swore, then caught Fiona in a hard hug. “If anything happens to you—anything—I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Fear of that alone will keep me safe. Let’s get started,” she called out. Signaling the dogs, she moved off toward her sector.

“Aren’t you supposed to give them the scent?” Simon asked her.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “I need you to cover me here. I’ll explain.”

When she judged the distance enough, she drew the scent bag out of her pack. “We’ve got four experienced search people and dogs looking for Starr—and cops and feds. They’ll find her, or they won’t.”

She looked up into Simon’s eyes. “We’re not going to look for her. We’re going to look for him.”

“That suits me fine.”

This time she blew out a breath. “Good. Okay, good.” She opened the bag. “This is his. He wore this sock and it hasn’t been washed. Even I can smell him on it.”

She gave both dogs the scent. “This is Eckle. It’s Eckle. Let’s find Eckle. Find him!”

As the dogs scented the air, noses twitching, heads lifted, she and Simon followed.

A
s they covered the first quarter mile, Simon swore the dogs consulted each other. Ear flicks, tail wags, a duet of sniffing. The temperature eased down under the cover of trees, along ground soft with its bed of needles, and rose again in the open, through wild grass and juts of rock.

“If he brought her this way,” Simon wondered, “why didn’t he use the road, keep her in the trunk until he found his spot? And if he did that, why is the car back at the cabin, and the cabin empty?”

“He didn’t bring her this way. At least I don’t see any sign of it.” Fiona trailed her flashlight over the ground, over brush and branch. “He left tracks, he wasn’t being careful. But I don’t see any that could be hers. It doesn’t make any sense, but I know damn well we’re following his route. His solo route.”

“Maybe he spotted the cops, or got wind of them somehow and got out. It could explain why he left everything.”

“Panicked, ran.” She nodded. “We’ve only been on a couple of searches where the person didn’t want to be found. A pair of teenage lovers, and a guy who stabbed his wife during an argument when they were here on a camping trip. The teenagers had a plan, such as it was, and covered their trail, hid out. The man just ran, and that made him easier to find. I wish I knew which category Eckle falls into. If either.

“I have to check in with Mai.”

Simon watched her take out the radio. “Decide yet what you’re going to tell her?”

“We’re still in our sector, so I’ll tell her the truth. Just not all of it yet.” She stared at the radio in her hand. “I should tell her all of it. I know that in one logical part of my head. Tell Agent Tawney or at least the sheriff. I could tell Meg to tell Sheriff Tyson. We could pull a couple of the deputies in on this trail.”

“You could,” he agreed. “And spend time arguing with them when you’re told to go back to base.”

Which wasn’t an entirely bad idea, Simon considered. “Can any of them—Davey, McMahon, Tyson—handle the dogs on a search?”

“Davey might. That’s a maybe. The reality is he hasn’t had much more training or experience than you have. Which isn’t enough, not without an experienced handler on the team. I know how to read my dogs. I can’t guarantee any of them can.”

“I guess that’s the answer.”

She called in, gave their location. “I’ve made some tracks,” she told Mai, “and the dogs have a good scent.”

“Tawney wants to know if you’ve spotted any blood trail, or any signs of struggle.”

“No, none of that.”

“James and Lori found blood, and strong signs of someone falling, possibly being dragged. Their dogs have multiple alerts. I’m working on narrowing the sectors.”

Fiona looked at Simon. “I’d like to follow this for now. I don’t want to confuse the dogs when they’re alerting.”

“Understood, but . . . hold on. Stand by.”

“I gave the dogs Eckle, and they took his route. It must be fresher than the trail James and Lori picked up. I can’t lie to Mai, to any of them,” Fiona told Simon. “The unit’s built on trust.”

“So give it to her straight. Argue it out. You’re still going to do what you have to do.”

Even as she nodded, the radio crackled. “All teams, Agent Tawney’s just relayed that Eckle sent a timed e-mail from Starr’s computer. They’re speculating that he wanted it traced, wanted the authorities to find the cabin. Fee, he wants you to head back, now. They think this might be a lure to get you out there.”

“I am out here,” Fiona responded. “And we’re tracking him. Eckle, not Starr.”

“Fee—”

“The dogs are alerting, Mai, and I’m not coming back in while the rest of my unit is out here. I’ll stay in contact, but I need a minute to think this out.”

She shoved the radio back onto her belt, turned down the volume. “I have to see this through.”