Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Manhunt - Cassie Miles - Страница 10

At midafternoon on a sunlit day, Rain hunkered down beside a rippling creek. She reached into the cold, clear water and picked out a pebble. Round and smooth, the stone was the color of a tiger’s stripe and speckled with bits of quartz.

After careful inspection, she decided the tawny color was perfect for today—a very good day because she’d caught a fish. Today, she was fierce as a tiger. She was the huntress instead of the hunted.

Though she’d seen no sign of the men who had been pursuing her for days, she still felt their presence. At any given moment, they might appear.

Rain turned her back on the creek and scurried toward her wilderness home. Careful not to follow the same route and create a path that might lead others to her hideout, she zigzagged toward a wall of pines and a towering granite formation. Behind three fat boulders was a cleared space with a fire pit. She pushed aside a clump of sagebrush and entered her shallow cave.

Kneeling on the cave floor, she ceremoniously dropped the tiger pebble into a basket she’d woven from reeds and twigs. One pebble for every day of her new life. “Twenty-eight, so far.”

Proud that she’d survived so long, Rain smiled. The sunburned skin across her cheeks stretched and cracked, and she rubbed her face. Without moisturizer, her complexion must be a leathery disaster. Not that she was planning to win any beauty pageants.

Her jeans were torn, and so baggy that she held them up with twine she’d plaited from reeds and sweetgrass. Her blue silk shirt was in tatters. Several days ago, she’d given up on grooming her long, unmanageable, blond hair and had hacked it short—not stylish but functional. She didn’t have time to worry about how she looked. Every moment was dedicated to survival. Nothing else mattered.

Though it was a bit early for dinner preparations, she couldn’t wait to cook the fresh trout that would go so well with her usual salad of goldenrod, burdock and mint. As she took the leaves from the cooking pot where they soaked in water from the creek, she wished that she had oil or butter for frying.

Those were food items her backpack had not provided, but she wasn’t complaining. The pack had literally saved her life. Tucked inside, she’d found a Marmot Pinnacle sleeping bag, a serrated Buck knife, a collapsible fishing rod and Meals, Ready-to-Eat—the same kind of prepackaged, high-calorie food that the U.S. military used on maneuvers.

Though the last of her MREs had been devoured thirteen days ago, Rain found plenty of edible foods in the wild. Bark and grass. Flowers and roots. And now, the chokecherries and elderberries had begun to appear. She wouldn’t starve.

In fact, her health was good. Her wounds had healed, thanks to the first aid kit in her pack and her knowledge of medicinal plants.

Though she still couldn’t force herself to recall what had happened to her, memories had appeared like snapshots—moments caught in time. Once remembered, these pieces of the past became hers, not to be forgotten again.

Easily, she pictured her mother descending a sweeping staircase, being greeted by a golden retriever with a wildly wagging tail.

And there was a Little League game she’d coached.

On a green golf course, she practiced her swing.

Rain remembered her own wedding. The pristine lace dress. The filmy veil. And roses, tons of pink roses. Unfortunately, the groom wasn’t a clear vision, and she had the sinking feeling that her marriage hadn’t turned out well.

The elaborate, many-tiered cake, she recalled, had been delicious.

With a longing sigh, she fantasized about all the marvelous foods she used to eat. Gourmet sauces. Cheese and bread. Cream and chocolate desserts. She especially missed the candy bars her father used to bring home when she was a little girl. He’d hold out his arms and allow her to search his jacket pockets until she found the chocolate.

By far, her favorite memories were the days she’d spent with her father. A big, strong man, he’d taught her wilderness skills when she was a girl. They used to go backpacking together. He’d taught her how to forage; those skills had probably saved her life.

Through the mouth of her cave, she glanced heavenward. Her father—his name was Eric—had passed away several years ago. “I miss you, Dad.”

In her mind, she repeated his name. Eric. The golden retriever, also deceased, was Daisy. Her mother was Elizabeth. She’d remarried. Her new husband was Peter Rowe, and he had a son, Tom Rowe. All those names. But when it came to her own identity, she was still…Rain.

Knowledge of her immediate past remained elusive no matter how hard she tried to remember. The only thing she knew for sure was that hunters were trying to kill her, and their pursuit was relentless.

The only way to be safe was to stay hidden.

This was her life. The forest was her home. And it was time to build the fire and cook her fish. She took the cooking supplies from the backpack and went to the fire pit where the twigs and sticks were already laid.

Carefully, she guarded the flame of a match from her dwindling supply. For kindling, she used a hundred-dollar bill.

PILOTING SOLO IN HIS modified Super Cub, Liam MacKenzie swooped low and made a pass through an isolated valley in Rocky Mountain National Park. Not a particularly safe aerial maneuver, this dive wasn’t anything he’d try with the people who regularly hired him as a charter pilot. But Liam had been flying this little Cub so long that she was like an extension of his own body; he could make her do anything he wanted. He tipped the wing and stared down at the waving grasses. There appeared to be nothing unusual.

Nearing the edge of the meadow, he pulled back on the yoke, cleared the treetops and ruddered left, preparing to make another sweep. Two days ago, he’d flown high over several miles of terrain, including this meadow, taking aerial photos for a real estate developer in Grand Lake. When he’d gotten the developed pictures back and studied them, he’d seen a parka on the ground—a sign of human life where none should be.

There were dozens of possible explanations. An animal might have dragged the parka there. Someone outside the sanctioned camping area might have lost their jacket. But Liam hoped the parka was a sign of two people who had been missing for nearly a month: Kate Carradine and her boyfriend, Wayne Silverman.

The major search-and-rescue efforts had ended a couple of weeks ago and miles away from here. A forest fire had destroyed nearly a thousand acres, and these two missing people were presumed lost in the flames. No trace of them had been found. No bones. No rubber-soled hiking boots. And, significantly, no sign of a burned-out vehicle.

The absence of a car gave rise to speculation that they hadn’t gone camping in the first place, had never been in the area and didn’t want to be found.

None of these theories satisfied Kate’s mother, Elizabeth Carradine-Rowe, a wealthy socialite and—from what Liam had heard—a first-class pain in the rear. Miss Elizabeth couldn’t believe that her only daughter had disappeared. She’d contacted Colorado Crime Consultants. Through CCC, Liam had gotten involved.

In a soaring loop, he brought his Cub around for another view of the mountain meadow. He volunteered his time and his plane for search efforts because he believed in CCC and in the founder, Adam Briggs. Their goal was pure: solving crime for the sake of justice and to bring closure for the victims’ family and friends. Everyone who worked for CCC’s loosely organized network was a private citizen with special expertise. There were doctors, medical examiners, coroners, meteorologists, entomologists and pilots like Liam.

He first became aware of CCC when he was an assistant district attorney in Denver. That felt like a lifetime ago! Seventy-hour workweeks. Three-piece suits. Courtroom battles. Constant stress. Yeah, there had been a few rewards. Like the satisfaction of taking a dangerous perp off the streets. But there had been a hell of a lot more frustrations.

On his thirtieth birthday, three years ago, Liam dumped his career and moved to Grand Lake to be a charter pilot. Wise decision.

Now his only association with crime was CCC. Purely voluntary. He operated on his own schedule, followed his own methods. Twice, his aerial photos had been instrumental in locating missing persons—both dead.

RAIN HUNCHED HER SHOULDERS and ducked down. The plane was coming back. She heard the whine of the propeller. He was making a second sweep. Though her fire was too small to be seen, and well-hidden by the surrounding forest, he might notice the rising smoke.

Her heart beat fast. He was one of them—one of the hunters.

She tasted bitter fear in the back of her mouth. If she tamped the fire or doused it with water, the smoke would billow. He’d know she was here.

Her gaze encompassed her cozy campsite. It felt like home, and she didn’t want to leave. Damn it! If she was found, if the hunters came near, she would have to gather up everything and run.

But how could she escape unseen? There were hours of daylight left, and it would be easy for a pilot to spot her from the air as she made her way across the hillsides. There had to be another solution.

She went to her backpack and took out the gun.

AS THE CUB CAME AROUND, Liam’s gaze skimmed the distant peaks, still marked with snow in early August. He looked down on dense, old-growth forests and rugged cliffs. The noise of his plane’s engine startled a small herd of elk, and they darted into the forest.

Liam dipped down across the open terrain again. There was a flash from the ground—something was down there.

This sighting merited closer investigation, but he knew better than to land in a meadow with high grasses that hid rocks and prairie dog holes. The low-pressure tundra tires on his Super Cub were made for rugged landings, but he needed to see the obstacles. He pulled up and looked for an open stretch—a couple hundred feet was enough.

Nothing out here resembled a landing strip. There were no roads, no houses, no ranger stations. This area was miles away from sanctioned campgrounds, seriously isolated.

Nearly a mile and a half away, he spied a dry, gravelly stretch beside a wide creek. A challenging descent, but he could do it. He aligned his approach and cut the speed, slowed until he was floating on air. Then the wheels hit the earth, and Liam jolted like ice in a blender.

The Cub lurched to a stop, and he leaned forward to fondly pat her dashboard. She was a good old girl.

Before leaving the cockpit, he stuffed a candy bar into the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. Not much of a dinner, but it would have to do. He grabbed the photographs of the missing people and hiked due north.

Liam didn’t expect to find them alive, especially not Kate. Her photo showed an attractive, pampered Colorado blonde with long, smooth hair and cool blue eyes. She’d never last two days in the mountains, much less a month.

Pausing at the top of a ridge, he looked down at the mountain meadow. The sun hung low in the sky, and shadows had fallen across the land. He needed to hurry so he wouldn’t have to take off in the dark.

Jogging down the slope, he tried to pinpoint the area where he’d seen a flash. After a lot of tromping around, he found it. A crushed beer can—the ubiquitous sign of humanity.

When he picked up the can, he realized that it hadn’t been in this location for long; the grass beneath it was green and alive.

He followed a slight trail, marked by broken grasses. There was another can and three rocks piled on top of each other. What the hell was going on here?

Walking slowly, he came to a flattened area of grass. Someone had been lying here.

He squatted down to take a closer look. Caught in thorny shrub was a scrap of fabric. Blue silk. That was the kind of quality material Kate Carradine would wear.

When he stood, he caught a whiff of smoke. A campfire! What kind of moron would start a fire here? Too easily, the flames could spread. Danger of another killer forest fire was high. He hiked toward the faintly rising smoke, ready to kick some irresponsible camper’s butt.

At the edge of the trees, he heard a shout.

“Don’t come any closer! I have a gun!”

It was a woman’s voice.

“Ma’am,” Liam called out, “you can’t have a fire here. It’s dangerous.”

There was no response. Did she really have a gun? He called out to her again. “This isn’t a sanctioned camping area.”

“Are you a park ranger?”

He rested his hand against the trunk of a ponderosa pine and peered toward the sound of her voice. Though he couldn’t see her, she appeared to be hiding behind three lichen-covered boulders. “I’m with CCC.”

“Colorado Crime Consultants.” Rain had heard of them. CCC was a volunteer group, and she knew intuitively that they were the good guys. If he was telling the truth, she could trust him. “What kind of work are you doing for CCC?”

“I’m looking for two missing persons.”

“Who?”

“Their names are Wayne Silverman and Kate Carradine.”

“Kate, huh?” The name resonated through her brain. She heard the faint echo of voices calling that name. Her name? “I suppose that’s short for Katherine.”

“Probably.”

“Katherine Carradine. That’s a long name,” she said. Though familiar, she wasn’t ready to accept that identity. “Six syllables. You’d think a person would remember a name that long.”

“Ma’am? Is anybody here with you?”

Why did he want to know? Though she’d watched him approach alone, others might be with him.

The hairs on her nape prickled. Her head swiveled, trying to see in all directions at once.

Returning her attention to the tall man, her thumb twitched on the handle of the Glock automatic, and her trigger finger tightened as she kept her aim steady. Though she didn’t want to shoot anybody, she might not have a choice. He could be lying to her. He could be one of the hunters.

“What about you?” she shouted, keeping the tremor from her voice. “Is anybody here with you?”

“I’m alone.”

“You came in a plane,” she said. “I heard you buzz the field. You scared the wildlife.”

He took a step toward the rocks where she was hiding. “Have you got a name?”

“You can call me Rain. One syllable.”

“Nice to meet you, Rain. I’m Liam.”

When he took another step, she growled, “Didn’t you hear me? I have a gun, and I shoot trespassers. Now, back off. Walk away.”

“It’s not safe for you to have a fire out here.”

As if he cared. If he was one of the hunters, he would burn her alive. Panic crashed inside her head. “I told you to stop moving.”

“It’s okay.” He took another step toward her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Like hell he wasn’t. She aimed high and pulled the trigger. The gunshot exploded.