Primal Obsession

by Susan Vaughan

  “Forget it.” Her casual concern made it difficult to contain his anger. “Baseball is my past. This is my life now.”

  After a pause, she said, “Tell me about Moosewoods.”

  Knocking away the residual anger like dirt from his cleats, he smiled at his brother’s accomplishments. “Ben started the company. I invested a few years ago. He bought the old log lodge and started with a few guide trips, but he needed cash to build the business.”

  “That’s where you came in?”

  “Moosewoods was a solid investment. Since then it’s grown to a full resort. We have antique-furnished rooms and a three-star restaurant. Ben’s built a string of cabins along the lakefront. You saw all the expeditions and resort activities on the brochure.”

  “You have a right to be proud. I can see the company’s doing well.” She turned to grin at him. “Too bad it’s way out in the boonies.”

  “Very funny.” He saw a few yards ahead the triangular wooden sign that marked the campsite. “We’re here.”

  The Gomagash campsite covered a point of land with sandy beaches on two sides. Cedar and maple trees edged a wide grassy opening with a fire ring and a wooden picnic table. “Isn’t this great? Worth the wait.”

  “A regular Club Med.” Annie scrambled out of the canoe as if the dry ground were the Promised Land. She twisted and bent to stretch.

  “What did you think? We’d have to hack it out with a machete?” When her gaze skidded away, he knew he was right. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

  “Did you expect me to?” Sweat dripped down her temple.

  He grinned. No, not yet. But she would. He reached out to swipe at the drip. Soft skin. Damn, even that light touch played havoc with his heart rate.

  Stepping back out of reach, she slipped her sunglasses off and let them dangle. With stiff motions, she tugged a tissue from her shorts pocket and mopped at her forehead.

  “Those sore muscles will feel a whole lot better after a rubdown.”

  Her eyes glinted silver with suspicion. “And I’ll bet you just happen to have some liniment.”

  He’d like to see her hair loose and those gray eyes go smoky with passion. If only they were alone. “In my duffel bag. Standard gear for a Maine Guide.”

  “The chances of letting you rub my body with anything are about the same as sharing my tent with you.”

  He affected a hangdog expression. “Nil.”

  She set off with her sleeping bag.

  Not until they’d started to unload the canoes did Sam realize what Annie had done to him. Damn, but she must be a hell of a reporter. He’d started quizzing her and ended up talking about himself. How did she do that? He was lucky he hadn’t spilled his guts about the benders.

  He hoisted the cooler from his canoe and stopped dead. If she’s such a city lover, why’d she leave New York?

  ***

  Waterville, Maine

  Rissa Cantrell stepped out of the oak tree’s shade, but even the late afternoon sun and her new spark of hope didn’t dispel the cold deep in her bones. Standing in front of the brick dormitory where her daughter had lived on the Colby campus chilled her with memories. And speculation.

  In front of her, the pretty senior shuffled her feet. “Ms. Cantrell, I’ve told you all I know."

  “I appreciate it, Caitlin.” Rissa smiled. These days, smiles were a struggle to produce. “But the state police will need to hear it in your own words. Can you describe the man? You and your roommate?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been nearly a year.” Caitlin edged toward the building entrance. “I only remembered because I saw a similar van the other day. I’m gonna be pretty busy. The psych prof’s working us long hours on her project.”

  Rissa’s pulse nudged upward. She understood the girl’s reluctance to talk to the police again, but dammit, some things were more important than a summer job. She forced calm into her manner. “Don’t you want to help catch Emma’s killer?”

  “Of course I do." Emma’s friend sighed her acquiescence. Her next steps led her nearly to the door.

  “Then I’ll phone Augusta. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Whatever.” Caitlin escaped into the sanctuary of the classic New England college building.

  Rissa walked back to her car. Even in summer the campus teemed with life. The college had no summer school, but high-school students trekked to and from basketball-camp activities or lounged on the green expanses between buildings. Two kids in swimsuits threw a Frisbee.

  Cars crammed the small parking area next to the West Quad dorm where the student employees stayed—new Saabs, Beemers, and a Mercedes. Cars of the elite. Her ancient Toyota didn’t fit in, but Emma had. Her beautiful, brainy, and athletic daughter had fit in anywhere, had thrived in the enriched atmosphere.

  Until a monster took her life.

  Once a month since last October Rissa had tortured herself by driving the seventy miles from Cumberland to Waterville. Someone must have seen something, heard something. If she kept inquiring, surely they’d remember.

  She had to try, to help. To do something. She was the last person—except the killer—who’d seen her daughter alive. The college had been Emma’s destination.

  Finally her persistence paid off. Caitlin and Breanna had seen a stranger in a dark van the week Emma disappeared. Maybe that Sunday night. She shuddered, nearly dropping her keys. It had to be the killer.

  The Hunter.

  Rissa slid into the hot confines of her car and picked up her cell phone. She hoped the detective they sent wasn’t Justin Wylde. Annie’s brother was short on patience. At least with her.

  ***

  If only Annie could escape Sam’s eagle eye. She wasn’t about to let him know the ache in her back made her feel ninety-five, and forty-pound barbells weighted each arm. She could barely drag her duffel bag up the beach.

  The blasted man strode past her as if the Hummer-sized cooler he carried weighed nothing. He set it beside the table. “Folks, well done for the first day. It’s still early, so let’s set up camp, and we can relax before dinner.”

  Hallelujah, a break. Annie returned to the canoe for her tent. With six separate tents, they’d be in close quarters. Sam was right about her assessment of the campsite, but she wasn’t about to tell him.

  She scoped out a grassy spot with saplings on one side and bushes on the other. The forest stood thick with underbrush, mysterious and shadowed, unlike manicured Deering Oaks Park in Portland. If she parked close to the bushes, any marauding night critters would have only two sides of her tent to assault.

  Each camper had to set up his or her own tent, but earlier they’d divided up the other chores. Along with Ray, Annie had chosen to cook tonight’s meal. At the time, dinner preparation seemed preferable to the other choices, but if the meal required more than boiling water, she was in trouble. Maybe Ray knew his way around a camp stove.

  She dumped her tent bag. She spread the yellow nylon tent out flat and considered how to begin.

  After erecting his tent, Carl set off into the woods to dig the latrine with a folding camp shovel. Ray helped Nora with hers before tackling his. Nora and her son had to gather deadfall for firewood, but so far Frank was sitting on a log engrossed in an electronic game. His tent remained in its bag. When Nora started toward her rebellious son, Sam waved her off. She threw up her hands and headed into the woods.

  Flummoxed by the metal rods and tent pieces, Annie needed help. Dammit. She looked around for help, but even Ray had vanished. Voices from the woods wafted on the pine-scented breeze.

  A moment later Sam approached Frank. He squatted beside the boy and observed the game before speaking in such a low tone that Annie couldn’t catch his words. His position stretched the shirt fabric across his wide back and tightened his buttocks. Solid muscle and then some. A man totally at ease in his body and in his appeal.

  Sam was too big, too bold, and too... much. Smug as she’d expected, but more—kind and charming and intelligent
. In talking about leaving baseball, his voice had held an angry layer. His wounds went deeper than the visible scars. He loved the sport. That was clear. For him it hadn’t meant only bucks and broads.

  He still wasn’t her type. Another pro athlete? Not in this lifetime.

  Any spare time she’d spend on her tablet, even though there’d be no internet connection. Yet sparring with Sam did lighten her mood and ease her anxiety about what Mother Nature had in store for her. Emma would have encouraged her. Heck, her extroverted friend would have competed for Sam’s attentions. She managed a wistful smile.

  Her mission was to make a success of the week’s challenges and study her notes, but what if immersing herself in this wild environment also helped her understand the Hunter? Could she grasp what he felt in this wilderness that was scary to her?

  She clenched her fingers together and blinked away tears. She had to try. “I’ll find him, Em. I promise.”

  She couldn’t let Sam sidetrack her. But the man sure was distracting. Too distracting.

  Sam didn’t wait for Frank’s reply, but stood and ambled over to her. “I’ll give you a hand with the tent.”

  “Thanks.” She jerked her chin toward the boy. “What—”

  Sam shushed her. “Not now.”

  Nora emerged from the trees with an armload of small branches, which she dumped beside the fire ring. With a guarded glance at her son and a sigh, she went back for more.

  Frank’s thumbs continued to fly over the game controls. Otherwise he didn’t move or indicate awareness of anyone else or of his surroundings.

  Sam showed her how to connect the aluminum tent poles into a frame. He whistled snatches of songs she didn’t recognize as they hooked on the nylon tent and the rain fly.

  “I can’t stand it any longer,” she whispered. “What did you say to him?”

  Sam winked, crinkling the fine lines around his eyes and arching one eyebrow. Darker than his hair, his brows bristled with the same unruly audacity as his personality.

  “I told him before we set out, no work equals no food. He had the travel time to decide. A minute ago I whispered to him that tonight’s menu is lobsters and corn on the cob.”

  A sputtered snort escaped before her contained her laughter, in case Frank could hear. “I hope he likes lobster.”

  “Nora said he always wants it on his birthday.”

  “Lobster doesn’t sound much like food for a wilderness immersion. Were you kidding?”

  “Nope. Eight live ones in the cooler, along with two more meals, chicken and stir-fry beef. After that, supper’s a wilderness challenge.” His mustache lifted with his grin.

  She didn’t want to know. “Poor Nora has to lug the firewood alone.” She scowled at Frank’s back. “He’ll test you, to see if you mean it.”

  “You bet, but soon that growing boy’s gonna get hungry as the proverbial bear.” He handed her a metal tent stake. “The batteries in his electronic gadget will die. His mom ditched the spares before they left home.”

  “My fingers are crossed.” Annie shoved the last tent stake into the sandy soil.

  Whistling another tune, Sam strolled off to help Nora. This one she recognized—“Don’t Fence Me In.”

  FIVE

  Northern Maine woods

  That afternoon sweat trickled down his back as he crouched between a boulder and a clump of low junipers. No matter. He had taught himself to sit motionless for hours. The cramping taught him patience. He knew he could go beyond pain.

  This was going to be easier than he thought. Easy to show his cleverness, his skill. No one could make fun of him. Use him. She’ll never shut me away again. I’ll show her. I’ll--

  He broke off, confused. A moment later, he pulled himself back, focused.

  Then he saw the bitch. Alone.

  His ultimate victim, so near. Sweat poured and his heart raced.

  She was alone in the camp. Maybe she’d go off alone into the woods. So naïve, so trusting. She disappointed him. Like the rest of these fools.

  None was any match for the Hunter. He was master of his natural element.

  Not even the guide. Drooling over her kept him from noticing the danger around them.

  People were so gullible. She had an inkling of the Hunter’s accomplishments, but only the iceberg tip. He’d thought they had a rapport. She’d led him to confide in her. And then she deserted him, left him like some assignment.

  Perhaps he’d confide the rest of his exploits before he did her. Too bad she’d never be able to write his full story. At the thought, blood pumped through his body, turning him painfully hard. He needed relief.

  But that could wait. He could wait. He would ready himself for this hunt. In the meantime, he’d make things interesting. Confusing. Aggravating. He knew just the tricks to play.

  How long would it take for the bitch to catch on? For fear to build? To paralyze?

  She was alone now. He knew exactly how to begin.

  SIX

  After organizing her sleeping bag and duffels inside her tent, Annie changed into her tankini. She walked along the shore with the bag of Emma’s ashes tucked in the crook of one arm. Wild raspberry bushes lined the rough path. The sun’s warmth and the sweet tang of overripe berries filled the air.

  Scanning the water for dangers, she waded one step at a time into the tepid water. “Idiot. No sharks here. Only Sam.” She frowned. Never mind that Emma would’ve laughed at her fears. And at her resistance to the attractive guide.

  The water was clear enough to distinguish individual grains of sand on the bottom and the herringbone pattern on the sandals’ straps. A school of minnows swirled around her calves. When she dipped her hand toward them, they darted away. Tiny silver arrows.

  Except for the hum of bees and a lilting spiral of birdsong, the forest behind her and the lake lay in silence. She could no longer hear her companions’ voices.

  “Well, Emma, here you are.” Tears choked her voice as she unzipped the plastic bag. “May the beauty and purity of this wild lake bring you peace.”

  She sprinkled the small amount of ashes over the waters along with a generous helping of tears.

  After the ashes sank, Annie swam until her sore arms forced her to stop and lather up with her biodegradable soap and shampoo. Feeling marginally better, she waded out and dried off. Sensing a presence behind her, she glanced back at the berry bushes and the dark forest beyond. No birdsong. No breeze.

  Nothing.

  She shook off her paranoia and spread her towel on a flat rock. A little work on her tablet was what she needed. She booted up and opened the folder labeled Hunter. A spreadsheet detailed each murder—victim description, place and time of abduction, body’s location.

  The police had no leads, no suspects and few clues. She owed Emma and her mother to do whatever she could to find Emma’s killer. After fleeing the city to return to Maine, she’d found a confidante and mentor in Rissa. The two women had helped her through the dark days.

  Immersing herself in this alien wilderness had to help her understand the monster that had taken Emma and the others. “I’ll find him, Emma. I promise,” she whispered.

  A rustle in the bushes lurched her heart into a rapid tattoo. She leapt to her feet and peered into the gathering shadows. A moose coming to drink? A bear eating berries?

  Another thump and she catapulted toward the path, her towel flapping behind her.

  A hand clamped her shoulder.

  A scream rose to her throat and stuck there. She tried to wrench away, but hard arms surrounded her.

  “Whoa, whoa, princess! It’s me.” The instant Sam grabbed her he knew he’d made a mistake. She stomped on his insole. She twisted around. Before her knee could score on his most vulnerable area, he held her at arm’s length.

  “Sam!” Gasping for breath, she wrenched free and swung her towel at him. “You scared the bejesus out of me. I broke another nail. Dumb jocks, everything has to be physical with you. What were you doing grabbi
ng me?” She tossed the towel across her shoulder.

  Damn, she was beautiful breathing fire and whaling at him. Her wet hair was slicked back and brushed her shoulders. Her cheeks flamed bright pink to match her swimsuit, and her breasts heaved. Round and high, full enough to fill his palms.

  His eyes were glued to her chest until he noticed the way her top played peek-a-boo with her navel. His hands started to sweat. Oh man, he’d been alone too long if he got this excited about a woman’s bellybutton.

  He dragged his gaze to hers. “If I’d taken the time to be cerebral about it, you’d have tripped over that rock and sent that baby computer to cyber heaven.”

  She shot a glance at the tuft of grass that concealed a jutting stone. “Why’d you sneak up on me in the first place?”

  He pointed toward the path. “I was coming to get you. Fire’s ready to cook the lobsters.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And you thought you’d scare me first by tromping like a bear through the raspberries?”

  “Not me. I was just walking along the path. I saw you about to trip. I yelled, but you didn’t hear me.” He examined the purpling bruise on his foot. “You got some good moves. Your knee came awful close to crunching the family jewels.”

  Her mouth twitched into a small, smug smile. “Living in New York, a woman learns to take care of herself.”

  Ah, here was his chance. “Now you live in Portland, Maine. A nice little city, but no Big Apple to a hotshot reporter. Why’d you leave?”

  She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, I needed a change. The Messenger offered me a by-line. It’ll look good on my résumé when I go back.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What? You don’t believe me? As if I care.”

  She bent over to pry a stone from her sandal. The movement opened a gap in her swimsuit top and afforded him a peek at one shadowed nipple.