Spirit Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz
pack of rabid wolves, yellow teeth bared, red tongues lolling, fiery eyes glowing, to spring out at her. Never mind that there weren’t any wolves in these parts.
Her pace faltered. Oh, God, what if Tommy and Scotty were attacked by a bear? Or charged by a moose? Or pounced on by a bobcat?
Up ahead, a cottage creaked. The haunting wail of its misery lingered in the brittle air. Nora froze. Her breath chugged in ragged bursts.
“Hello?” Her voice fractured like a teen scream-queen’s. “Is anyone there?”
No answer but the lamenting sough of wind.
Her gaze scoured the woods. Never before had she felt so isolated. Alone like this, she made a perfect target. What if something happened to her? No one to see her. No one to hear her. No one to fight for Scotty. The last time she’d felt this vulnerable, she’d been sixteen. Pressure built behind her eyes and her throat worked itself raw.
She almost wished she were back at the estate, letting the Colonel take charge.
Don’t talk crazy. Keep moving. Find clothes. Be ready.
She hesitated at the cottage door, knocked, then wrenched the knob. It turned in her hand. The door squealed open, blasting her less-than-moral intentions to break-and-enter to the world.
She wasn’t stealing; she was borrowing. She’d give everything back once she’d found Scotty.
Two bunk beds held up the narrow walls of the cabin. Weather-resistant mattresses lined each bunk. One bench crouched beneath the lone window. The smell of must and the bite of wood smoke lingered in the air. No clothes. No boots. Nothing of use at all.
Maybe the next one would prove more fruitful.
Nora made her way to each of the cottages in turn, finding each as empty as the first. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness knocked her to her knees. Head in her hands, the edge of despair threatened to turn her into a sobbing mess. She sniffed back at the thrust of tears. If she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Images of Scotty spun a tornado of memories that tormented her. What if they were all she had left of her son?
No! I refuse! She reared back with a roar. She would not collapse. She would stay strong. Scotty was counting on her, and she wouldn’t let him down.
Hiking clothes didn’t matter. Her cashmere sweater was warm, especially when moving around. The good wool of her slacks was as tough as any material. And her fashion boots sported soles made to grip the sidewalk. She’d handle an afternoon out in the woods just fine. The important thing was to find Scotty before the Colonel did—before dark.
As she scrambled to her feet, the crunching of tires on gravel echoed from the bottom of the drive. Sabriel. Her heart lightened, and she raced down the path, back toward the lodge.
She was about to burst out of the tree-lined trail when she spotted the black Hummer creeping up the drive. Instinct shot her down to a crouch. Three men scuttled out of the vehicle like beetles. Boggs, all six feet of intimidation and testosterone, and two more of the Colonel’s muscle with their close-cropped hair, black battle-dress uniforms and black jungle boots.
Impossible. How had they found her?
The sink of letdown knocked her off balance. She grabbed a pine bough and steadied her stance.
Sabriel. He’d betrayed her. Led her like some Marie Antoinette to the guillotine—right where the Colonel could make her head, her whole body disappear.
Voices came at her, bouncing around the woods as if she were surrounded on all sides by a radio not quite tuned in. An angry whisper. A tinny mumble. A conversation where the words made no sense, but sent crawls of warning shivering down her spine.
The blue jays stopped jabbering. The trees no longer swayed. Even the waves on the water lapped at the rocks on the shore in near silence. She couldn’t let the thugs corner her. Not until she’d found Scotty.
The Hummer’s cooling engine pinged, giving her a start. She scrunched down farther, then inched backward, away from the Colonel’s men.
A hand, big and rough, clamped over her mouth. A steel-strapped arm banded across her chest and dragged her backward. A scream tore from her throat, but the vise of a hand securing her mouth muffled it. She fought, twisting and kicking, and worked to free her lips to bite the offending fingers. But the body clinched tight against hers had no give and the flesh might as well have been granite. Her left hip bruised against the hard outline of a holster. Her peripheral vision caught a blur of black and panic ran rampant.
Another of the Colonel’s thugs.
She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But her body was ice, and her breath was gone. The thug said something, but through the thunder of her blood, she couldn’t make out the words.
No, let me go. I can’t go back to the Colonel’s. Not
until I find Scotty.
“Shh. It’s me. Sabriel.” The hiss of his breath rasped hot and urgent in her ear.
Sabriel, who was no savior, but one of them. She wasn’t going back. Not without Scotty. Her limbs thawed enough for her to renew her struggle.
“Stop. They’ll hear you.”
As if he cared. He’d told them where to find her.
He hauled her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a loaf of bread and dragged her deeper into the woods, where he crouched, folding down her uncooperative body along with his. A surge of adrenaline shivered through her. How could she have been so trusting? Just because he was Tommy’s friend? Given Tommy’s mental state, common sense would have warranted more caution.
“If I take my hand off, will you keep quiet?” Sabriel said in a sandpaper-harsh whisper.
Breathing fast and shallow, she nodded. She needed to save her strength for escape. Give herself time to think. She had to find real help and fast. Where could she go? Not the local police—they were bought and paid for by the Colonel. The resort where Tommy worked? It was far enough from Camden to not give a damn about Camden money. Someone there would help her. Time, all that time, trickling away from her, and Scotty out there, needing her.
Sabriel loosened his hand from her mouth, but continued to press on her shoulders to hold her down. She cranked her head over her left shoulder and caught a glimpse of him. He looked even more dark and dangerous than she remembered with that wild animal caution in those panther-green eyes, that dusky skin and that camouflage gear, fitting into the forest as if he belonged.
Once a Ranger, always a Ranger. Once a Camden soldier, always a Camden soldier?
“You led them to me.” Nora’s voice cracked. “You’re supposed to be Tommy’s friend.”
“Your car is equipped with a GPS.”
That neat little blue button that summoned help with the press of a fingertip. Her shoulders deflated in a sag of surrender. “Of course. Bugged. Just like the phone and the computer.” And she’d used her phone repeatedly. Had she left an electronic bread crumb trail for the Colonel’s men to follow and not just a record of her calls?
Nora couldn’t stop shaking. Even rubbing her arms didn’t seem to spawn any heat. The Colonel’s men would fan their search in this direction any second. She’d lose Scotty. “I can’t let them take me back.”
“Then let’s roll.” Sabriel’s gaze scanned forward and back. “Now.”
“SHE CAN’T BE FAR.” Boggs’s craggy voice ping-ponged from tree to tree. “Her engine’s still warm. Spread out and find her.”
Sabriel allowed his vision to widen, seeking possible danger in the escape route he’d picked. He jerked his head in the direction where he’d left his Jeep, signaling his intent to Nora. Brown eyes dark and wild with fear, she glanced in the goons’ direction before following him like a scared mouse.
He