Fall Hunter Read online

  “I know; I’ve been down all of them as far as the highway.”

  He stood up, pulling the keys from his pocket. “I’ll head over to the trails.”

  “What are you going to find in the dark?”

  “Hopefully, our little girl making her way down the hill with a broken chain or something. I knew I should’ve given the bike a tune-up after she bought it, but I didn’t expect her to ride it that much.”

  “You haven’t been home much either.”

  “No, I haven’t,” he said. “Keep looking around here.”

  She helped him unhook his van from the trailer full of rafts. The outside lights flooded the yard, creating giant shadows out of the few pines at the edge. Did Keen have a light, or did she wander in darkness?

  Keen’s phone. She cursed her own stupidity. A few months ago, Keen had lost her phone but she logged in to her computer to find it in the cloud. Elizabeth ran back inside and pulled up the Find My Phone app. If Keen’s phone had any sort of signal, it would flash its whereabouts on the computer.

  She held her breath as the page loaded and a compass spun around. “No signal,” the screen warned. She reloaded again and again. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said aloud. Nobody had a signal in that canyon.

  Within an hour, Keen’s phone stopped ringing and went straight to voicemail, meaning no signal or no battery. Elizabeth prayed for no signal because that could change.

  She made the first of several phone calls to neighbors to ask if anyone had seen Keen out on a bike. Most said yes but couldn’t be sure if they saw her that day or another. Within minutes of calls going out, two neighbor women stood in the driveway, dressed in flannel pajamas with sweatshirts pulled over. These were Elizabeth’s closest neighbors. A third stayed home where five sleepy children were dropped off, freeing the others to help.

  After a few hours, Daniel returned to call his friend Solo Chapa, commander of the county’s search and rescue. Sol was there within minutes, telling them not to worry. Keen had probably lost track of time and got stuck in the dark. Elizabeth wondered how that would possibly make her not worry, but kept quiet as Daniel went out with Sol to drive the same roads again. They would make their way down the trails with headlamps.

  Unable to stay still, Elizabeth took a flashlight and a cell phone and walked up and down the streets, shining her light into every thick stand of weeds, every dry ditch, and every tall bush. A half mile took a half hour.

  When her phone rang, Elizabeth answered in one ring. “We didn’t find squat,” Daniel said before she could ask the question.

  She stared down the darkened road, interrupted by flashes of light from neighbors conducting their own searches. “Now what?”

  “Sol thinks maybe she fell or she got stuck in the dark. He’s going to call some of his guys to help him check the closer trails, but it’s going to be slow going until light. She’s just …” He took a ragged breath. “She’s probably just lost and come morning, she’ll ride in.”

  Elizabeth would not have her child out in the dark all night. By midnight, whatever remained of her good nature fled for good.

  3

  Only one sense registered when Keen woke up—pain. Her skull pushed inward, tighter; her brain would explode if she so much as formed a thought.

  An attempt to reach a hand to the source of that pain was blocked by something pinning her arms to her sides. A scream tried to burst out of her mouth, but that same softness binding her smothered it.

  She tried with her other hand, but it too failed. The binding went from head to toe. Her body arched in protest, panic filling in the few holes pain had left.

  Total darkness stole her sight. Each time she managed a quick breath, fabric sucked into her mouth, choking her until she spat it back out.

  Hold still, she commanded her body. The pulsing pain in her skull eased somewhat and her heart rate fell a few beats.

  But once her body stilled, she realized it still moved. Something moved beneath her, jostling her; her aching mind solved the riddle. She rode in a car, proved by the bouncing of a possible pothole.

  The pain and fear receded barely enough to allow in another sense. Somewhere, very close, the Beatles sang about “letting it be.” The muffled music echoed in the dark around Keen. The song settled the dust in her mind, and she held still for a far more terrifying reason.

  She wasn’t alone, and if she could hear someone, that someone could hear her.

  But who was that someone? Why had they hurt her? She strained for any sounds beyond the music and the car, but heard nothing. Her fingers explored the limited space to discover she’d been wrapped up in a blanket. The blanket, plush against her face, smelled faintly of lavender.

  The closeness of the music convinced her she wasn’t in the trunk of a car, but the hardness seeping into her hips made a back seat unlikely. Her best guess was the cargo space of an SUV, the way back. She lay still, curled in the fetal position. Each attempt to straighten out caused her to bump her head or feet into something solid.

  She ran a finger along the inside of the blanket until she reached an edge. The edge led to more blanket. It was her only restraint, but it had been wrapped around her enough times she couldn’t move. She tried to roll over but bumped into the side of the car, probably the cargo door. She scooted back to her original position and rolled again, unwrapping herself a few inches. The tight blanket made her want to scream, but she kept her lips shut and sniffed through her nose, not trusting her mouth to open. Didn’t want her attacker to know she’d awakened.

  The car slowed and not very far away, the Beatles concluded their song as Keen hit the door a third time. The thump filled the silent void.

  The car slowed more. Had he heard her?

  She pressed against the cargo door. Maybe when her attacker opened it, she could roll out, freeing herself from the blanket. The Beatles strummed the opening chord of “A Hard Day’s Night,” and the truck sped up again.

  The road beneath her changed from smooth to rough. Wherever they were, it wasn’t paved. There would be no crowded parking lot when the car reached its destination.

  After several more attempts to roll, she managed to untangle herself partway from the blanket. It still wrapped around her but looser. With it unwrapped from her face, she could detect a soft glow coming from the front of the SUV. A vague outline of a back seat kept her out of sight from the driver.

  With a free hand, she touched her throbbing head, picking at what felt like dried mud caked in her hair. But the accompanying sting and thick wetness trickling down her cheek proved it wasn’t dirt. An aching along her calf led to the discovery of another injury. What felt like road rash went from the edge of her bike shorts down her leg, as if she’d been dragged.

  She reached into the pocket of her bike jersey where she kept her phone, but it was gone. A vague recollection of it being in her hand before the attack meant a search for it would prove pointless.

  A small lump digging into the back of her jersey reminded her she carried more than her phone with her. A few pockets, the same bright yellow fabric as her bike shirt, blended into the small of her back. Inside, next to an energy bar and sunglasses, was a can of bear spray. She pulled out the small can, which could shoot its burning spray up to twenty feet.

  The car continued its drive down the dirt road. The darkness lent no sense of time, and she couldn’t tell if minutes dragged on or sped too fast.

  But ready or not, the car came to a stop.

  Keen kept the blanket pulled over her, hoping her kidnapper wouldn’t notice anything different. She clenched the spray in her hand. She flipped the safety tab over, keeping one finger on the trigger. The driver side door opened, and she flinched when it slammed shut. The only prayer she could mutter was, “Please, please, please.”

  No sound of footsteps accompanied the quick trip from the front to the cargo door. She flinched as the door handle clicked and the door rose. A light chased the darkness, blinding her more than the a
ctual darkness had. Hands pulled at the blanket, and Keen couldn’t hide any longer.

  She rolled toward the open door, spraying as she did. The bear spray shot out a long, single stream like the spray on a hose. A tall figure outlined in the light dropped with a guttural cry of agony. Keen leapt from the SUV and ran.

  Her eyes burned as she passed through the remaining mist. The blanket, still loosely wrapped around her, tripped her several feet out. She slammed face first into the dirt, rolling over as she landed to face any attack. But her attacker crouched in the dirt, his back to her. A shadow kneeling in the brush.

  Her attacker stood up.

  Keen flipped over and dug her fingers into the dirt, pushing herself back up. She took off running again, not looking back.

  Waist-high sagebrush blocked a straight escape and her tears gushed in a futile attempt to wash out the spray. With each bush she dodged, she waited for a bullet in her back or a tackle to her knees. Footsteps pounded behind her.

  The ground swelled into a hill, slowing her even more. The clips on the shoes caught in the few weeds, and she yanked her foot free. The moonlight highlighted the brush around her, but the rest of the night remained hidden.

  No warning came as her foot hit empty air instead of dirt and she spiraled down a steep embankment. Small brush slapped her face and body. She tried to roll on her back to get her feet below her, but the decline dropped far too steeply to do anything but ride it out. When she came to a painful stop, she lay on the ground clenching dirt and rocks in her fingers. The dizziness did her head no favors and vomit burned her throat, but she forced it back down.

  Somewhere above her the footsteps paused, and then faded away. She stayed on the ground, unsure of whether movement would provide escape or draw attention. As the footsteps faded completely, she made a decision. Distance was her only chance; she had to flee.

  The hill had ended at the edge of a small ledge barely visible in the moonlight. Below the ledge could be a twenty-foot drop or a two-foot. Unsure, she stared into blackness. Not wanting to risk more injury, she crouched down and ran alongside it.

  On this side of the hill, the hard-packed dirt of above had given way to broken shale, and with each step, the metal clips on her shoes echoed through the dark night. The rock scattered with each step, some of it rolling off the edge. Keen swallowed a curse. Whoever tracked her could do so via hearing alone. The sagebrush grew shallow on the steep hill, offering no hiding place.

  Above, a light brighter than headlights slashed through the night sky. Keen fell to the dirt, the shale breaking under her like a ripple. The light pivoted down, highlighting the hill. Her pursuer had a small spotlight like one carried to spot game.

  As a kid, she’d never won a game of hide-and-seek because the stress of waiting for the inevitable would drive her from her hiding spot to call out, “I’m here.” The desire to end it and stand up forced her to make a decision she couldn’t change. The only choice she had left.

  Keen rolled off the ledge.

  Empty air embraced her, but before she could regret her decision, she slammed into hard rock. The fall couldn’t have been more than five feet, but she had to remind herself to breathe.

  The ledge above offered some protection, and she hugged it as she moved away from the penetrating light. She made her way along for what could be hours, alternating walking and crawling, until exhaustion and pain forced her to halt a dark game she didn’t want to play.

  The decision to kill Keenley had been made in a moment. Impulsive, yes. Stupid, possibly. That would depend on the trouble it took to track her down. Her breath had been shallow as she’d been rolled into the blanket; her injuries should slow her. When she’d been placed into the SUV, she felt close to death. But there would be time enough for death to come in the desert. In a place where no one would find any trace of her.

  If taking her hadn’t been a mistake, then not binding her tighter surely was. The chase went on through the darkness until a temporary halt. She wouldn’t get to civilization, and she couldn’t go far in the dark. A decision was made to return with better tools for the hunt.

  Time wasn’t on Keenley’s side. She would be injured, exhausted, and scared come morning. An easy target to track.

  4

  Tuesday Early Morning

  Being sheriff over a county populated by more jackrabbits than people meant only the occasional sleepless night. The last night Sheriff Blake McKenzie’s sleep had been interrupted was a few months ago. A few of the Crofts’ sheep had broken through a fence and were promptly hit by a car. That situation resulted in charges once it came out John Croft purposely left his fence unfixed when he learned insurance would pay for each dead sheep. Blake had been out there again that very morning to clear a dead sheep from the road. The charges hadn’t proved much of a deterrent.

  When the phone rang at 2 a.m., Blake wanted it to be nothing more serious than a dead sheep and a dented bumper. However, with the day before being Labor Day, there was a good chance a drunk had celebrated the end of summer too much. He sat up, grabbed the phone, and slipped into the hallway out of habit. His wife, Grace, wasn’t fond of the wake-up calls.

  “What’s up?” Blake whispered into the phone. He had two children asleep in rooms on either side of him.

  “Keenley Dawson went out mountain biking and never came home.”

  “How long ago?” Grace and Elizabeth Dawson were friends, and he knew Elizabeth could overreact when it came to her only child.

  Blake hung up the phone with a promise he would be there in a few minutes. Keen had been missing almost twelve hours; it would be a long day. Wild wilderness existed within a few feet of every road in Lost Gorge. More than one person had disappeared into its depths.

  With a quick glance in his own children’s rooms to count heads, Blake went out into the night. He drove with the windows down to jiggle some alertness into his brain and wished he’d had time to make coffee—or shave. He rubbed the dark brown stubble that almost needed to be shaved twice daily. It was the black Irish in him, his mother-in-law would always say. What he didn’t point out was that he had a lot of bloodlines in him. The Irish name came from his mother; his father’s name didn’t open as many doors, and the man wasn’t around much to make a name stick anyhow.

  People with flashlights walked the roads leading to the Dawsons’. Their soft lights did little to pierce the blackness and Blake knew a search would be fruitless until morning. When he pulled up to the Dawsons’ house, he couldn’t park in the driveway as it was already filled with cars. The front door opened before he even knocked.

  Daniel Dawson stared back at him with a wildness in his eyes that only comes at 2 a.m. and an empty bed. “Keen never came home.” He smelled of the river, and going by the shorts and sandals he wore, had been there recently. His face, usually ruddy red, glowed against his almost white hair.

  Daniel led him into the house, where Elizabeth sat surrounded by women. The group parted and Elizabeth’s haunted glare halted him.

  She’d never, not once, welcomed him with any less than a large smile. When he married Grace, Elizabeth had been one of the few who welcomed an outsider marrying the prettiest girl in town. Experience had taught him a family in crisis needs to vent anger, and law enforcement is the closest person with any responsibility. He wished he’d brought Grace. As a friend of Elizabeth’s and daughter of the mayor, she would find, if not the right words, at least better ones than he could.

  One of the woman guards vacated her seat and Blake took it. “Elizabeth, tell me what’s going on and we’ll find her.”

  The glare, born of terror, narrowed into a penetrating stare. Her long brown ponytail pulled her face back even tighter, emphasizing her sorrow. For the first time, he noticed the ten-year difference between their ages. She’d babysat Grace as a teenager. Grace had returned the favor and watched Keen growing up.

  “Keen went biking. We were going to have a dinner, a goodbye—” Elizabeth closed her eyes and waved off
a woman who tried to hug her. “She didn’t come home for dinner. Her purse, all the bags she packed are here.”

  He pulled out a notebook. “She was going back to school today?”

  Daniel pulled a chair next to them and the crowd thinned out of the room. “She’s supposed to start this morning, but wanted to help us get through the holiday sale. She wasn’t too excited to get there, anyhow. Elizabeth packed up half her stuff for her this morning to get her moving.”

  She turned haunted eyes to Daniel. “I wasn’t pushing her out. I didn’t want her to leave,” she whispered.

  Daniel took her hand. “That’s not what I meant. I only meant she wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”

  Blake glanced up from his notes, where he’d already written a description based on his own knowledge. “Could this be a way to avoid going back to school?” Even he knew the question was pointless, but he wanted to exercise some degree of impartiality.

  They both glared at him. That was all right; he could be the focus of their fears. Elizabeth spoke. “She got homesick because she loves being home, but she’s not a kid who runs away.”

  Outside a dog barked, probably at the folks walking the roads. “I know she’s a good kid. Every time I come to the store, she seems to be running it,” Blake said. “All I’m saying is that maybe she went for a bike ride, lost track of time because she wanted to hold off leaving, and got stuck in the darkness.”

  Daniel rubbed his hand across the stubble on his face. “Maybe, but that still means she’s out there.”

  Blake stood. “We’ll organize a search party come dawn and go over the trails.” He sensed how well he handled this crisis would shape his career. The town would be watching and he couldn’t screw it up.