Hunting April

by Danica St. Como

  Suddenly, he halted again, sniffed the air. "He was here, wasn't he? Black Crow."

  He crouched, scanned the ground, found the boot impressions in the light layer of dust.

  "For fuck sake, I told you to stay indoors and lock up behind me, didn't I? Did you think I was talking just to listen to the sound of my own bloody voice?"

  Not knowing what else to do, she shook her head. Tears welled, then dripped down her cheeks. "S-s-sorry. It was the cat. I had to help the cat, she was stuck under the table."

  "The cat? What cat? We don't have a bleedin' cat!"

  April held up the raggedy collar. "Cat."

  Daniel carefully stepped around to her other side, not disturbing the boot prints.

  "Forget the sodding cat. Are you all right? Did he harm you in any way?" He holstered his weapon.

  "He . . . he . . . ." She couldn't do it.

  "April, look at me." He gently turned her head in both his hands. "Take a deep breath. Now, tell me—are you harmed? Did he hurt you?" Looked closer. "Sod it, you're bleeding."

  "Kn-n-nife."

  Daniel pulled out his satellite phone. "MacBride. Wyndsor at Sanctuary. You'd better get out here. Your poacher put in another appearance. This was up close and personal."

  It took the sheriff barely twenty-five minutes to make the half-hour trip. April was calmer by then, seated in the kitchen with a clean handkerchief and an iced tea. She continued to avoid Daniel's eyes.

  "Did he actually touch you?" MacBride asked, as he feverishly jotted the pertinent facts in his notebook. He'd sent his deputy to make plaster casts of the boot prints while he handled the interview.

  April shook her head. "Just with the knife blade. Does that count? I don't think he meant to cut me—he had the opportunity, and didn't take it."

  Black Crow had been a bit sloppy. The razor-sharp tip of the blade caused tiny cuts on her shoulders, where the knife sliced through her straps, leaving the droplets of blood that first caught Daniel's attention.

  "Wait. Yeah, he did. He yanked my hair when he wanted, when he wanted—"

  The words came to an abrupt end as she choked up. She sat straighter, tried to pull herself together. "And he took my gun. The .22 from the pantry, I had it on the table."

  "You're lucky he didn't use it on you," Daniel growled. "The gun would have been more useful in your hand."

  "The cat couldn't get free, so I needed both hands."

  MacBride gave her the look that sane people give crazy people. "Cat? What cat?"

  Daniel made a rude gesture. "Forget the damned cat."

  "Okay, so, forget about the cat." The sheriff ticked off possible offenses. "We have assault. Assault with intent. Assault with a deadly weapon. Battery. We have an entire list of grounds here, more than enough to hold him when we catch him. He has a prior, did time—but it was quite a while ago, juvie—and I'm not entirely sure that justice prevailed. I looked up the case, found too many discrepancies in the victim's version."

  MacBride patted April's hand without being patronizing. "I'll put out an APB.

  But if he stays to the woods, he'll be tough to find. The guy has stronger survival skills than anyone I've seen since I left the SEALs. He's never been known to be violent—his service record is impeccable. But we'll find him."

  Daniel moved from his chair to stand next to April. "If you can get O'Connell back here, she'll be a big help. She knows this guy's methods better than anyone else.

  She doesn't need to know the Martone angle. The poacher story should cover any questions."

  "Consider it done," MacBride said. "And Glennon should be ready to bail out of the trauma unit. He's such a pain in the ass patient, they'd be thrilled to discharge him sooner than later."

  As MacBride climbed into his vehicle, then pulled away, Daniel walked April back to the lodge, his arm around her shoulders. She still carried the cat collar and the book. They reached the front stairs. A gasp caught in her throat the same moment she felt Daniel's body tense.

  Laying on the welcome mat was the .22 Smith & Wesson.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tuesday morning

  "Don't be such a blockhead. There's plenty of room to set you up on the main floor so you don't need to negotiate the stairs." Annoyed, April quickly sidestepped to avoid being run over by Glennon in his electric-powered wheelchair. His right leg, fully immobilized by a cast, stretched out in front of him like the big gun on an army tank.

  He stared at the calico cat sitting on the arm of the sofa. The cat stared back.

  "What's with Puss-in-Boots? It wasn't here when I left."

  Abigail shrugged.

  April piped up. "She just showed up. She's no bother, really. I've been feeding her tuna for breakfast, until someone can pick up kibble. She stays out all day, comes in at night, goes back out in the morning. Doesn't need a litter box. Her name is Callie. She brought me a dead mouse this morning to pay her way." April dodged the wheelchair again. "Quit using that damned thing as a weapon, RoboCop."

  "Uh huh."

  Abigail smirked. "RoboCop, for sure. Under the cast, surgical pins and a plate keep His Majesty's shattered thighbone together. The cracked scapula and fractured humerus couldn't be put in casts. Therefore, the sling wrapped around his torso. Any more damage, and he'd look like Tutankhamen's mummy."

  Both women shook their heads.

  "Too sad for an adult human male to be sidelined like that," Abigail said.

  Glennon spun in his chair. "Yeah, well, this adult human male needs to work in the com center. Keep up on the intel chatter. Everything is there—including a bedroom.

  And I can sleep on the sofa bed in the com room if necessary."

  April turned to Abigail. "Okay, you talk some sense into his thick skull. It's about the only thing he didn't break.

  Abigail held a bag of Glennon's clothing and hospital incidentals in one hand, a pair of crutches hanging in the crook of her other arm. She relieved herself of the burdens. "Forget it. He's all big and badass Marine Recon dude. Let him go wherever the hell he wants to go. He'll do it anyway."

  "Hey, I'm sittin' right here, y'know." Glennon sounded all huffy. "Quit talkin'

  around me, will ya?"

  "Calm down, Jarhead—I can outrun you." She turned to April. "When he gets stuck, he can whimper and whinge until someone arrives to un stick him."

  Abigail flicked a speck of dirt off her shorts. "If he wants to clunk around in that huge freakin' cast, by all means, let him."

  Glennon reached for a crutch, scratched his toe with the rubber end. "Dearest Abigail, so glad you didn't decide to go into nursing. Your bedside manner sucks."

  She ignored him. "Actually, the only reason he would need to tromp downstairs is for meals, and he can eat upstairs. You and I can take turns supplying food for the invalid."

  "Who's tromping, and where?" Daniel came in from the garage. "And what exactly is a tromp? Is that a Yank word?"

  Abigail flipped a thumb. "Attila the Hun over there. Wants to tromp all over the place."

  " Aha, I see. Crashing about like a pissed off water buffalo."

  "That about describes it. Abigail volunteered me as maid service." April wasn't thrilled at the prospect. I don't need to be in the same room with Glennon, let alone waiting on him.

  "Hey now, I didn't volunteer only you. Fair is fair, we'll take turns."

  April turned with the speed of a dog chasing its tail. "What's with this we shit?

  How is that fair?"

  "Didn't Mac tell you? I'm squatting here for the duration, until Glennon's functional." Abigail caught Daniel's squinty-eyed glare. "Peace, chief. I know the situation and I know the drill. I also know you're not stupid enough to turn away a useful person who can handle firearms in badass situations, are you? And spell you for guard duty, so you can get some sleep."

  Daniel glared at Glennon. "Big mouth."

  "Morphine. It wasn't my fault. She took advantage."

  "Did not!"

  "
Did too."

  Abigail thumped on Glennon's cast."Garrett, don't make me flip my witch switch all over you!"

  "Damn woman." Glennon swung the cane, missed."It's too late, O'Connell. You already switched."

  April threw her hands up. "Jesus H. Christ! All right, enough, fer chrissakes!

  Listening to the two of you is like dealing with preschoolers."

  A chart of rooms and responsibilities took shape the moment April got her hands on a notepad. She also delegated cooking chores.

  "Since each of us is accustomed to living alone, this should help prevent any misunderstandings. Any issue with the assignments?" April glared at the others, daring anyone to speak. "I'm so glad we're all in agreement."

  She wrote out copies for everyone. "I do have one request. Actually, two requests. Since we're stuck here for who knows how long, and this marvelous facility is at our disposal, I would really appreciate it if you, Daniel, could train me properly in the use of firearms, and if you, Abigail, would teach me better self-defense."

  Daniel shot her a questioning glance.

  "Look, I got away from Angelo using underhanded farm kid tactics not included in the Marquess of Queensberry rules. I'm fairly accurate with a .22 rifle and a .22

  pistol—but those were the only two weapons to which I was exposed. I'm a fast learner, and I promise I'll work hard. How about it?"

  Glennon shook his head. "Great—armed and dangerous, in addition to being cranky."

  Daniel's phone rang. He listed for a moment. "You don't say."

  He walked to what appeared to be a linen closet under the gallery balcony, opened the door. "I see. Thanks, Yank."

  He flipped the phone closed.

  "That was MacBride. There's an electric lift behind that door that runs up to the gallery floor, right over our heads. Opens near your friend Lucian's door, next to the com center. Or so I'm told. It appears the dilemma is solved, doesn't it? I need something to drink. Anyone care for cherry limeade?"

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday

  "Forget your well-organized routine." Glennon shook his head as April held up her training chart, again. "Forget your efficient schedule. Yes, it's easier to plan. But it's also convenient for your opponent to know you have specific habits. A mark's OCD

  mannerisms are an observer's best tool."

  "What enemy? I thought this was a hotshot secure facility. Besides, who's going to see us up here? Moose? Chipmunks and squirrels? Everyone seems sure that Black Crow high-tailed it out of the immediate area when Daniel showed up." She flopped down on a sofa.

  He rapped his knuckles against his cast with his free hand. "That's not the point. I can't teach you to shoot or train you in the art of self-defense at the moment, but I can instruct you how to become more aware of your surroundings. How to preserve your personal security. Lesson one: do as you're told. Wyndsor told you to secure yourself in the lodge for a good goddamned reason; you should have listened. Lesson number two: never follow a pattern. Being predictable leaves you vulnerable."

  He seemed to consider for a moment. "Let's make that lesson three. Lesson two should be to keep your gun in your hand when you're alone."

  April cocked her head, ignored the comment about the gun. " Hmm, I never thought of patterns."

  "You need to think that way. If I'm observing a mark and he does the same thing every day, if he has any sort of routine . . . . Maybe he goes to his favorite diner for meatloaf every Wednesday. He's an easy target—and easier to take out if bad guys are the people doing the observing."

  "All right. I see your point."

  "Here's another scenario. You're a single woman, living alone. You get up at five o'clock every morning to go running, travel the same path every day, stop for a mocha latte at the same coffee shop on the way home—"

  "Okay, I get it, I get it." What the hell did he do, spy on me before my normal world came to an end?

  "To give credit where credit is due, you did a passable job of flying under Angelo's radar when you escaped. You didn't use any traceable ID—so you avoided the major mistake most people make. You changed your look, wore large dark sunglasses to hide the shape of your eyes to screw up facial recognition software, used cash, moved to different low-profile hotels and motels, used various coffee shops. You have some OCD mannerisms, but I think you inherently understood how to go underground."

  She gave him a look, but held her tongue. You're damn straight I did a passable job.

  If it wasn't for that one little incident at the coffee shop . . . .

  Glennon used an unbent metal clothes hanger to scratch an itch inside the hard resin cast. "Yes, we're in the middle of the woods. Yes, we're surrounded by security systems. Be warned: the worst thing to do is become complacent and depend on technology."

  He shifted in the wheelchair, obviously uncomfortable. "My livelihood revolves around understanding people's dependence on technology. That self-same technology is only a tool, not a failsafe. From this moment forward, your mantra should be: vigilance always. Remember, the life you save will most likely be your own."

  * * * * *

  "Damn, he's exasperating!" April tread heavily down the stairs into the training facility after another anti-surveillance session with Glennon. She stormed over to the mats. "Does he expect me to read his flippin' mind? I don't know what he wants from me."

  Raising her hands into defense mode for her lesson, she was forced to jump back a step when Abigail suddenly got in her face.

  Slender, but tough, lean, and nearly half a head taller, Abigail invaded April's personal space on the wrestling mat. "Y'know, you might consider cutting the guy some slack. He's not having an easy time of it. If you're not interested, don't fuck with him."

  " Me? If I'm not interested? He's so not interested in me. He twisted me into an emotional pretzel before we left Jersey, so I should worry about his feelings?"

  "Yeah, his feelings. His emotions. I guess he's not ready to jump back in the saddle."

  "Back in the saddle? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "After his wife—" Abigail stopped, her jaw clenched tight. "Shit, I didn't mean to

  . . . ."

  April dropped her hands, limp, to her sides. "His wife? Glennon has a wife?"

  "Look, just forget it."

  "You're kidding, right? You can't lay that on me, then leave it hangin' in the breeze."

  Abigail's shoulders slumped. "He'll murder me if I tell you."

  " I'll murder you if you don't tell me."

  "I think we should go to the kitchen." Abigail bolted up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  April sighed, followed at a more sedate pace. "Whatever."

  After fussing in the dish cupboards for glasses, Abigail poured the lemonade.

  She sat at the kitchen table across from April, avoiding eye contact.

  "Oh, man, he's gonna have my butt."Abigail shook her head, finally looked at April. "Glennon had been married while he was still Uncle Sam's young fair-haired Marine. From what the guys let drop, he was a total kick-ass Force Recon dude. Quite the knack, the magic touch, for snooping out intel from the weirdest sources. Well, one time when he was home on leave, his wife . . . ." Abigail's voice cracked. "His wife was killed during a robbery at a gas station convenience store. Lisa—her name was Lisa—

  and an attendant were shot. The cops took out the killers in a firefight. Glennon blames himself."

  April, stunned, sat back in her chair, slack-jawed. "Why?"

  "Don't know the whole story—he believes he should have been at the gas station instead of her."

  "Holy shit. I had no idea. Why didn't he say anything?"

  "He doesn't talk about it. I found out totally by accident. One night, the guys were drinking fairly seriously, which is kinda unusual. They prefer to stay sharp."

  "Why that night?"

  "Best guess? Lorelei found out she was pregnant, and they were celebrating.

  Adam was over the moon, Lucian went to
tally bonkers and couldn't wait to tell everyone. But Glennon . . . well, he lost it. The story I wheedled out of Lucian was that Glennon's Lisa was pregnant when she was gunned down, but he didn't know. I guess he wanted to be happy for his buds, but . . . . I poured him into my bed that night. The next morning, he left the lodge, skedaddled back to Jersey."

  "He walked out on you?"

  "Don't be stupid."

  "But you said, y'know, about bed . . . ."

  Abigail swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "He fell into my bed. Well, the bed I use when I stay over. I jerked his boots off, tossed a blanket over him, and . . .

  went to sleep." She abruptly looked away for a moment.

  "Lorelei wasn't feeling well, so she'd headed up to her room early. I was in no mood to sit up all night drinking with Adam and Lucian in cheerful celebration. They're great guys and I'm happy for them, but I'm not really a kid and family kinda person.

  Being around babies and people making goo-goo gaga noises and goofy faces makes me break out in a rash."

  "Her room? But I thought . . . .

  "Don't be concerned if you're behind on figuring out the sleeping arrangements.

  You need a scorecard around here. Lorelei has her own room, but the guys share their beds with her. It seems like a complicated deal to me, but it apparently works for them.

  I've never seen Adam happier."

  Abigail paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Truth be told, none of us ever actually saw Adam happy, until Lorelei crashed into their lives. Literally." She chuckled. "And Lucian, God love him. That boy is definitely knee-deep in happy—plus he's an annoyingly cheerful bugger as it is. Sometimes it's tough to remember he's a stone cold, Marine killing machine."

  April made daisy designs with the condensation rings her glass left on the table.

  And you're not telling all, Ms. Park Ranger, are you? "So, I didn't do anything to make Glennon hate me?"