She didn’t want him to lose sight of her dogs and ruin their chances merely because she was having trouble keeping up. The belief that they had to be close to success was what kept her moving long after she would have gladly quit and collapsed onto the leaf litter covering the forest floor. Those children were out there. They had to be. It didn’t matter if she was present when Mitch found them just as long as somebody did.
Finally, she couldn’t take another step. Completely spent and gasping for air she bent over and planted her hands on her knees. Just a few moments of rest. That was all she needed. She didn’t have to keep Mitch in sight to follow him. She could clearly hear him crashing through the brush and shouting back at her from time to time.
He’d find Tim and Megan. She knew he would. And by that time she would have caught her breath and be ready to join him to celebrate.
If she had not been exerting herself so much she might have noticed sooner how cool the air was becoming. Now that she had stopped, the change was quite evident.
She straightened. Looked around. There was a good reason for the chill. The sun was almost set, the wind was picking up and she could smell rain.
Shivering, Jill folded her denim jacket more tightly around her, glad she’d grabbed it before leaving, and took stock of her situation. She and Mitch had been in such a hurry to chase the dogs that they’d come away without flashlights. At least she had. And he was carrying the only two-way radio.
Well, so what? She wasn’t going to stop him when he was hot on the trail of the missing children. If she did happen to lose her way—as she was beginning to suspect had already occurred—she would simply use her cell phone to summon help. Maybe the sheriff could even talk her home using GPS coordinates the way the good guys did in mystery novels or on TV.
Still breathing raggedly, her muscles quivering, Jill patted her pocket and realized with horror that the garment she had heard ripping during her passage through the fence had been her jacket. The barbed wire had caught and torn open one of her pockets!
She gave a sharp, cynical laugh. Terrific. That pocket had held her cell phone. Her only lifeline. Her connection to both Mitch and the sheriff. And now it was gone.
Much of her earlier bravado vanished in a heartbeat. There was no way she’d ever locate a tiny, silver-colored phone like that amid all these crackling, shifting leaves. Not unless it happened to ring long enough for her to return and pick it up—assuming she had a clue about the path she’d traveled to get to the place where she now stood.
Jill peered into the darkening forest around her and listened, hoping to hear Mitch or the barking dogs in the distance.
Instead, the sharp, cracking sound of a breaking branch came from close by.
Jill whirled. Held her breath. Listened to the rapid pounding of her pulse. That couldn’t possibly be Mitch. It was coming from the wrong direction and was far too close.
So who or what was it?
EIGHT
Mitch assumed Jill was sticking close the way she’d promised. It wasn’t until one of the dogs started limping and slowed its pace that he paused long enough to survey the woods behind him more carefully.
“Jill? Jill!”
Scowling, he peered into the shadowy forest, hoping to spot her and wishing she’d been wearing a bright scarf or something like that instead of muted shades of blue denim.
At his feet, Salt, the whiter of the two herding dogs, whimpered and held up a paw as if trying to shake hands.
“Let’s see, boy,” Mitch told the animal, checking its foot and finding no detectable injury. He straightened and patted it on the head. “You’re okay. I’m tired, too, you big faker.”
He continued to scan the woods, listening intently. He couldn’t hear anyone or anything so he shouted, “Jill! Where are you? Answer me.”
Before he could call to her again he spotted a flash of color. Jill? No! Pepper had gone on ahead and was now coming back. Beside him walked a very weary, very dirty, barefoot, seven-year-old boy.
Mitch grabbed Tim, pulled him into his arms and held tight, as though he hadn’t really believed he’d ever see him again.
Closing his eyes, he thanked God in silence, then grasped the boy’s thin shoulders and held him away so he could study his expression when he asked, “Why, Timmy? Why did you run away like that? You scared us to death.”
“I—I have to find Megan. To take care of her.”
“That’s Miss Jill’s job now,” Mitch told the sniffling, penitent child.
Tim shook his head vehemently. “Uh-uh. No way. She didn’t do it good.”
Mitch was glad she’d missed overhearing that comment, although he was still concerned because she’d lagged behind. It figured. If he told her to stay away she was right under his nose. Now that he’d asked her to keep pace she was nowhere to be seen.
Well, that couldn’t be helped. Right now he had other problems. “Why did you decide to come this way? Were you following the dogs or were they following you?”
“I was following them! I saw them running off and nobody would listen to me and…”
“Okay. I understand.” Mitch lifted the two-way radio and broadcast, “Sheriff. I have Tim. You’d better send a team out this way. He says the dogs led him out here instead of the other way around. They’re with us now but it’s highly possible they were trailing the kidnappers. We may be close to Megan.”
“The boy’s okay?” Harlan asked.
“Yeah.” Mitch was squinting, trying to spot his erstwhile companion through the trees and wondering exactly which direction he had actually come himself. “Listen, Sheriff, I’m kind of turned around out here and I know I’d never be able to find this exact spot again if I move.”
“Fine. Stay there so we’ll have a starting point for the main search. We’ll come to you.”
“I have another problem.” Mitch swallowed hard. “I’ve lost track of Jill. I thought she was right behind me but there’s no sign of her. It’s starting to get pretty dark out here and the weather looks like it’s going to take a turn for the worse.”
“Copy. I’ll head straight for you. Boyd can take a few of the neighbors and fan out. We’ve gathered a lot of volunteers since you left.”
“Good. Bring some drinking water, too, will you? Tim’s probably dehydrated.”
“Okay.”
Mitch could hear the sheriff giving orders in the background right before he reported, “We have the GPS coordinates on that radio I gave you. When was the last time you saw Miz Jill?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ago. I kept an eye on her ’til she told me to run ahead so I wouldn’t lose sight of the dogs.” He gritted his teeth as he remembered making that difficult decision. “I never should have listened to her.”
Harlan chuckled wryly. “Take my advice, son. Don’t ever let her hear you say that. Just sit tight. We’re on our way.”
“Copy.”
Mitch dropped to his knees and hugged the still-trembling boy again. Timmy was probably in shock, or close to it, so his well-being had to take precedence over everyone else’s for the present.
What Mitch really wanted to do was scoop up Tim and backtrack to look for Jill. He supposed he could have, given that the sheriff now had the coordinates for his present position, but since the kidnappers could be close by he figured it would be smarter to stay put. The small clearing they were in wasn’t exactly defensible but it did give him a good view in all directions. Jill’s dogs were standing guard. Therefore, there was far less chance of exposing Tim to added danger if they waited right where they were.
“Besides,” Mitch muttered, “who knows if the GPS readings are accurate enough?” No machine was foolproof. He’d known more than one driver who had gotten lost following the disembodied voice from a personal navigational unit.
His sense of duty was under intense attack, his loyalties torn. Three separate people were depending upon him and he could only help one at a time. Since he had Tim in hand and th
e dogs were remaining alert, it made sense to do as the sheriff had instructed and sit tight.
The trouble was, Mitch’s heart kept insisting that he find Jill. He had led her into the woods and she was his responsibility, just as she had been since his fire department rescue squad had responded to the call for medical aid at the Kirkpatrick farm and he’d found her husband beyond any earthly help.
The sense of obligation that had begun that day as a totally innocent connection had blossomed into something more. At least it had for him. He was beginning to see that far more clearly of late and it bothered him. A lot. Surely Jill must blame him, at least subconsciously, for the death of her husband. He certainly tended to do so whenever he thought back to that fateful day. Like he was doing right now.
“It’s my husband. He’s out there. That way,” Jill had screamed, gesturing wildly as the rescue truck had slid to a stop behind her farmhouse. “Under those big trees. Eric was trying to cut one down for firewood and…”
Mitch had grabbed his gear and led the way at a run. Speed hadn’t helped. Although he’d administered first aid it had been clear from the outset that no one could have saved the injured man’s life. But that didn’t change the fact that Eric Kirkpatrick had died while waiting for an ambulance. Jill had watched the whole thing. How could she ever forget, ever view Mitch as someone other than the man who had been kneeling beside her husband as he’d breathed his last?
They had no future other than as friends. Mitch knew that as well as he knew his own name. He just wished with all his heart that they had met under more favorable circumstances.
Jill wasn’t totally panicked. Not yet. But she could feel her heart pounding and had a deep-seated urge to run blindly through the woods to escape from whatever creatures, human or otherwise, were out there with her.
She held her breath. Strained to listen. There was the occasional chirp of nocturnal insects and the flutter of wings. Since most birds bedded down for the night and she knew an owl’s feathers made no noise in flight, she assumed she was either hearing passing bats or perhaps an early season whip-poor-will.
Considering the abundance of limestone caves in the Ozarks and the number of native species of bats, that was by far the strongest probability.
Well, bats or no bats, she couldn’t just stand there and let the night close in around her. Was it safe to call out to Mitch again? Suppose someone else was out there besides the two of them? Would she be giving away her position and putting herself in worse jeopardy? After that first crunch of leaves and dead branches she hadn’t heard another thing.
“Father?” she murmured, peering at a tiny patch of dusky sky visible through the thin, upper reaches of nearby oaks. “Now what?”
It would have been comforting to have heard a booming voice from Heaven delivering precise advice. Jill chuckled at herself. God wasn’t going to talk to her like that. Besides, He had better things to do than worry about a foolish woman who’d managed to get herself lost in supposedly familiar woods.
Then again, she did recall the scripture in the tenth chapter of Matthew about their heavenly Father knowing and caring when even a sparrow fell. That comparison made her smile. Any dumb bird would do better than she had. At least it would know where it was.
Huffing in self-disgust she assessed her surroundings. Hilly terrain masked the actual sight of the setting sun, although she could detect its glow in the distance. Therefore, that direction was west. Since she and Mitch had been traveling due east before they’d left the Jeep, she could either turn west and try to return to her vehicle or continue in the opposite direction with the goal of eventually overtaking him.
Sensibility had little to do with her decision, she realized, chagrined. Above all, she wanted to find Mitch, to know he was close by, to sense his genuine concern.
She wasn’t kidding herself by imagining that he cared for her in a romantic way. She knew better than to do that. They had even gone so far as to discuss it when he’d begun spending a lot of time with her, so she was well aware of his pure motives.
“Please understand,” he had said a few months after Eric’s funeral. “The last thing I want is to visit so often that I damage your reputation in town, but the fact is, you need help around here. You can’t just let the pastures grow wild. Once those oak and cedar seedlings get a little bigger I won’t be able to bush hog over them and knock them down.”
“I don’t know anything about farming,” she’d replied. “Eric was…”
She remembered the pained expression on Mitch’s face and the way his jaw muscles had visibly tensed.
“Look. I can’t change the way things turned out but I can at least lend a hand when you need me.” Mitch had gazed at her intently. “Please? Let me?”
Jill hadn’t known what to say other than, “Okay.”
Later, more than once, they had reaffirmed their goal of friendship and nothing beyond. She’d truly believed that was all she’d wanted. In many ways it was still true. Loving and losing had been an intrinsic part of her past life and if she could guard against feeling that kind of pain again, she would.
Pressing her lips into a thin line and remembering, Jill shook her head. First, her mother had willfully abandoned parental responsibility. Then, her grandparents had refused to take in a half-grown child, resulting in Jill’s placement in a long series of foster homes that she had mostly endured rather then enjoyed.
When she had fallen in love with Eric Kirkpatrick and they had married, Jill had thought she’d finally have a real home again. Looking back, she should have known that was an impossible dream, one that had ended with Eric’s last breath.
If she let herself fall for Mitch—and she wasn’t admitting that she might—she’d be right back where she’d started, with even less assurance of a stable future. His job required him to be ready to risk his life on a daily basis. What kind of security was that?
None, she decided with conviction. She wasn’t a child. She could control her thoughts, could protect her tender heart from being broken again by purposely keeping her emotional distance from Mitch.
In the back of her mind was a niggling perception that it was already too late to avoid falling for the valiant fireman.
Jill ignored the silly notion. She was tough. Self-reliant. Independent. Twenty-eight years of life had made her that way and she intended to take full advantage of those hard-won strengths.
Right now, what she basically needed was to locate Mitch and her dogs, she reminded herself. She swiveled and peered to the east. It was darker in that direction but she’d be okay.
Eventually.
She took one step, then another. Behind her she thought she heard other footfalls echoing hers.
She stopped.
The sound stopped.
“Mitch? Is that you?”
No one replied.
“Mitch?”
Trying to convince herself that the unsettling noises were figments of her vivid imagination, she lifted a foot as if to stride, then halted before actually bringing it to the ground.
To her surprise and horror, a crunch of dry leaves sounded at the very moment she would have stepped down!
Her eyes widened. This was no game. There was someone else out there. Someone other than Mitch. And whoever it was, was definitely trailing her.
Her head whipped around. Shadows shifted. Was that a man’s shape? There? No, over there?
Jill crouched, ready to defend herself. Nothing moved except green, spring leaves in the treetops and a few dry ones that tumbled along on the forest floor, driven by the ever-increasing wind.
She turned to flee. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Lurching forward she leaned into the movement, her arms outstretched and groping to push aside intrusive vegetation.
A spider web brushed across her face and stuck, tangling in her flyaway hair. Stifling a scream, she whisked it away.
Her throat was dry, her breathing labored. She wanted to call out to Mitch again but the only sound
she allowed herself was the gasping necessary to gather enough air to fill her lungs and keep going.
A dead branch crashed close by. She thought she felt the swoosh of its passing before hearing it hit the ground. Was it thrown? Swung? She didn’t dare waste time looking.
Adrenaline had given her the strength to bolt and was maintaining her headlong rush among the trees. Feet flying, she paid no heed to the saplings springing back as she passed or the drier twigs that caught, tangled and tore at her hair.
A guttural voice cried out. Low. Male. Angry.
Jill knew her pursuer was gaining on her but she kept going. Kept praying. Kept running, stumbling and recovering, over and over. Her legs ached. Her lungs were about to burst. The landscape ahead swam in her vision like an out-of-focus photograph.
Suddenly, something caught the back of her jacket and she was thrown off balance.
“No!” she screeched, instinctively knowing she must not surrender.
A bulky, shadowy figure grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip when she pivoted and tried to strike back.
“No! Let me go!”
She thrashed. Kicked wildly and swung at him with her free arm, hoping to somehow inflict injury.
Her imposing captor laughed as though he considered her resistance funny.
Anger added to the strength behind Jill’s panic. She intensified her efforts. Her knee connected with the man’s body and doubled him over.
He cursed and whipped the hand holding her wrist to one side, apparently intending to fling her to the ground.
That was all the opportunity she needed. Wrenching free, she rolled across the leaves and dirt, wincing when her ribs connected with a low, rocky outcropping.
She gained her hands and knees then pushed off, struggled to her feet and stayed standing long enough to scramble away.
It didn’t matter which way she went. Not anymore. Her wrist and arm ached and she had a stitch in her side but all she cared about was escape.
The curses of at least one man—maybe two—echoed.
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