The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5 (17 page)

“Four,” she said. “Four women. There must’ve been suspects or leads.”

“Nothing that panned out, or stuck. I think he’s inside, or dead. It’s a long stretch without anything that matches his pattern.”

“And people don’t change that much. Not the basics,” she added when he looked at her. “That’s what killing is. It’s basic. If it’s the same killer, it’s not because he knows the victim, right? Not especially. It’s the type of victim—or prey. Female, alone, in a specific environment. His territory might range, but his prey didn’t. When a predator is successful in its hunting, it continues.”

She rode in silence for a moment, then went on when he didn’t respond. “I thought, or convinced myself, that Melinda Barrett was some sort of accident. Or at least a onetime thing. Someone she knew, or someone who knew her, targeted her.”

“You put a marker where we found her.”

“It seemed there should be one. There should be something. I tagged a young male up there four years ago. He’s moved on to Wyoming. That’s where the camera went down a couple days ago. It’s infrared, motion. We get a lot of hits. The animal cams, on the refuge and in the field, are popular on the website.”

She caught herself. She hadn’t meant to get into conversation with him. Not that it was, really. More of a monologue.

“You’ve sure gotten chatty over the years,” she commented.

“You said you didn’t want company.”

“I didn’t. Don’t. But you’re here.”

So he’d make an attempt. “Do the cameras go out often?”

“They require regular maintenance. Weather, wildlife, the occasional hiker play hell with them.” She stopped when they reached the stream. Snow lay in drifts and piles, crisscrossed with the tracks of animals who came to hunt or to drink.

“It’s not memory lane,” she repeated. “Just a good campsite. I’m going to unload before heading up.”

It was upriver from the spot where they’d often had picnics. From where they’d first become lovers. He didn’t mention it, as she knew it. Lillian Chance knew every foot of this territory as well as other women knew the contents of their closet.

Probably better than most. He unloaded as she did, making quick work of setting up his tent a good five yards from where she set hers.

The deliberate distance might have been the reason for the smirk on her face, but he didn’t comment on it.

“So how’s it going with the bunkhouse?” she asked when they were riding again. “Or does that fall into the area of none of my business?”

“It’s coming along. I should be able to move in there real soon.”

“Your valley condo?”

“Everybody gets their space, that’s all.”

“I know how that is. Before we built the cabin, anytime I’d come home for a stretch I’d start to feel like I was sixteen again. No matter how much room they give you, after a certain age, living with your parents—or grandparents—is just weird.”

“What’s weird is hearing the bed squeak and knowing your grandparents are having sex.”

She choked and snorted laughter. “Oh, jeez. Thanks for that.”

“Makeup sex,” he added and made her choke again.

“Okay, stop.” She looked over, and her quick, full-of-fun smile arrowed straight to his gut.

“You meant it that time.”

“What? To stop?”

“The smile. You’ve been holding back.”

“Maybe.” She looked away, keeping those dark, seductive eyes straight ahead. “I’d say we don’t know what to make of each other these days. It’s awkward. Visiting’s one thing, and we’ve hardly been in the same state at the same time since. Now we live in the same place, deal with some of the same people. I’m not used to living and working in close proximity with exes.”

“Had many?”

She flicked him the quickest and coolest of glances from under the brim of her hat. “That would come under the heading of mind your own.”

“Maybe we should make a list.”

“Maybe we should.”

They wound through the pines and birch as they had years before. But now the air was bright and bitter cold, and what they thought of was in the past, not in tomorrows.

“Cat’s been through.”

She pulled up her mount, as she had before. Coop had a flash of déjà vu—Lil in a red T-shirt and jeans, her hair loose under her hat. Her hand reaching out for his as they rode abreast.

This Lil with the long braid and the sheepskin jacket didn’t reach for him. Instead she leaned over, studying the ground. But he caught a whiff of her hair, of the wild forest scent of her. “Deer, too. She’s hunting.”

“You’re good, but you can’t tell what sex the cat is by the tracks.”

“Just playing the odds.” All business now, she straightened in the saddle, those eyes keen as they scanned. “Lots of scratches on the trees. It’s her area. We caught her on camera a few times before it went down. She’s young. I’d say she hasn’t had her mating season yet.”

“So we’re tracking a virgin cougar.”

“She’s probably about a year.” Lil continued on, slowly now. “Subadult, just beginning to venture out without her mother. She lacks experience. I could get lucky with her. She’s just what I’m looking for. She might be a descendant of the one I saw all those years ago. Maybe Baby’s cousin.”

“Baby.”

“The cougar at the refuge. I found him and his littermates in this sector. It’d be interesting if their mothers were littermates.”

“I’m sure there’s family resemblance.”

“DNA, Coop, the same as cops use. It’s an interest of mine. How they range, cross paths, come together to mate. How the females might be drawn back to their old lairs, birthplaces. It’s interesting.”

She stopped again, on the verge of the grassland. “Deer, elk, buffalo. It’s like a smorgasbord,” she said, gesturing at the tracks in the snow. “Which is why I might get lucky.”

She swung off the horse and approached a rough wood box. Coop heard her muttering and cursing as he tethered his own horse. “The camera’s not broken.” She picked a smashed padlock out of the snow. “And it wasn’t the weather or the fauna. Some joker.” She shoved the broken lock in her pocket and crouched to open the top of the box.

“Playing tricks. Smash the lock, open it up, and turn off the camera.”

Coop studied the box, the camera in it. “How much does one of those run?”

“This one? About six hundred. And yeah, I don’t know why he didn’t take it either. Just screwing around.”

Maybe, Coop thought. But it had gotten her up here, and would’ve gotten her up here alone if he hadn’t impulsively come along.

He wandered away as she reset the camera, then called her base on her radio phone.

He couldn’t track or read signs with her skill, no point in pretending otherwise. But he could see the boot prints, coming and going. Crossing the grassland, going into the trees on the other side.

From the size of the boot, the length of the stride, he’d estimate the vandal—if that’s what he was—at about six feet, with a boot size between ten and twelve. But he’d need more than eyeballing to be sure he was even in the ballpark.

He scanned the flatland, the trees, the brush, the rocks. There was, he knew, a lot of backcountry, some park, some private. A lot of places someone could camp without crossing paths with anyone else.

Cats weren’t the only species who stalked and ambushed.

“Camera’s back up.” She studied the tracks as Cooper had. “He’s at home up here,” she commented, then turned to walk to a weathered green tarp staked to the ground. “I hope he didn’t mess with the cage.”

She unhooked the tarp, flung it back. The cage was intact, but for the door she’d packed on the horse. “We remove the door, just in case somebody tries to use it, or an animal’s curious enough to get in, then can’t get out. I leave one up here because I’ve had luck in this section. Easier than hauling the cage up every time. Not much human traffic up here through the winter.”

She jerked her chin. “He came from the same direction we did, on foot, at least for the last half mile.”

“I got that much myself. From behind the camera.”

“I guess he’s shy. Since you’re here, you might as well help me set this up.”

He hauled the cage while she retrieved the door. On the edge of the grassland he watched her attach it with quick, practiced efficiency. She checked the trap several times, then baited it with bloody hunks of beef.

She noted the time, nodded. “A little more than two hours before dusk. If she’s hunting here, the bait should bring her in.”

She washed the blood off her hands with snow, put her gloves on. “We can watch from camp.”

“Can we?”

She grinned. “I have the technology.”

They started back toward the campsite, but she veered off—as he’d suspected she would—to follow the human trail.

“He’s crossing into the park,” she said. “If he keeps going in this direction, he’s going to hit the trailhead. Alone and on foot.”

“We can follow it in, but eventually you’re going to lose the origin in other traffic.”

“No point anyway. He didn’t go back this way. He went on. Probably one of those survivalist types, or extreme hikers. Search and Rescue’s pulled two small groups out this winter. Dad told me. People think they know what it is—the wilderness, the winter. But they don’t. Most just don’t. He does, I think. Even stride, steady pace. He knows.”

“You should report the camera.”

“For what? Officer, somebody broke my ten-dollar padlock and turned off my camera. Organize a posse.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have it on record.”

“You’ve been away too long. By the time I get back home, my staff would’ve told the delivery guy and the volunteers, who’ll mention it to their boss, neighbor, coworker, and so on. It’s already on record. South Dakota-style.”

But she turned in the saddle, looked back the way they’d come.

Back at camp she unpacked a small laptop, sat on her pop-up stool, and set to work. Coop stayed in his area, turned on his camp stove, and made coffee. He’d forgotten the small pleasure of that, of brewing a pot of coffee over a camp stove, the extra kick from the taste of it. He sat enjoying it, watching while the water in the stream fought and shoved its way over rocks and ice.

From Lil’s neighborhood it was business, as far as he could tell. She spoke on the radio phone, working with someone on coordinates and data.

“If you share that coffee so I don’t have to make some right this minute, I’ll share my beef stew.” She glanced over his way. “It’s not from a can. It’s my mother’s.”

He sipped his coffee, glanced her way, and said nothing.

“I know what I said, but it’s stupid. Plus, I’m finished being annoyed with you. For now.”

She set the laptop on the stool after she rose, and went to her saddle-bags for the sealed bag of stew. “It’s a good trade.”

He couldn’t argue with that. In any case, he wanted to see what she was doing on the computer. He poured a second cup of coffee, doctored it as he remembered she liked it, then walked it over to her campsite.

They drank coffee standing on the snowy banks of the stream.

“The computer’s linked with the camera. I’ll get a signal and a picture when and if it activates.”

“Fancy.”

“Lucius rigged it. He’s our resident nerd genius. He can get a message to your grandparents if you want to check on them. But I told him to call them, or have Tansy call, and let them know we’re camped. Weather’s holding, so we should be good.”

She turned her head. Their eyes met, held. Something knocked hard and loud in his heart before she turned away. “It’s good coffee,” she said. “I’m going to settle my horse, then I’ll heat up that stew.”

She walked away and left him by the stream.

 

 

 

SHE DIDN’T WANT to feel this way. It annoyed her, frustrated her that she couldn’t just block what she didn’t want, just refuse it.

What was it about him? That hint of sad and mad, still there, still under the surface of him, just pulled at her.

Her feelings, she reminded herself. Her problem.

Was this how Jean-Paul felt? she wondered. Wanting, needing, and never quite getting the real thing in return? She should have every square inch of her ass kicked for making anyone else feel this helpless.

Maybe knowing she was still in love with Cooper Sullivan was her ass-kicking. God knew, it was painful.

A pity she didn’t have Jean-Paul’s option to go, just leave. Her life was here, roots, work, heart. So she’d just have to deal with it.

With her horse fed and watered, she heated the stew.

Dusk floated down as she carried the plate over to him.

“Should be hot enough. I’ve got work, so . . .”

“Fine. Thanks.” He took the plate, went back to reading his book by the dying light and the glow of his stove.

In the twilight, mule deer came to drink downstream. Lil could see their movements and shadows, hear the rustles and hoof strikes. She glanced at the computer, but there was no movement—yet—on the grassland.

When the moon rose, she took the computer and her lantern into her tent. Alone—she felt more alone with Coop there than she would have by herself—she listened to the night, to the wild. With the night music came the call of the hunter, the scream of the hunted. She heard her horse blow, whinny lightly to Coop’s.

The air was full of sound, she thought. But the two humans in it exchanged not a single word.

 

 

 

SHE AWOKE JUST before dawn, sure the computer had signaled. But a glance showed her only a blank screen. She sat up slowly, ears tuned. There was movement outside the tent, stealthy and human. In the dark, Lil visualized her drug gun and her rifle. She made the decision, and reached out to take the drug gun.

She opened her tent slowly, scanned through the opening. Even in the dark, she recognized the shadow as Cooper. Still, she kept the gun as she slid out of the tent.