by Paty Jager
“What kind of lies are you telling that dog?” Dani asked, standing on the ground in front of him wearing a jumpsuit that covered her compact body.
As usual, her presence flustered him as if he were a teenager instead of a fifty-three-year-old. That was one of the reasons he hadn’t pursued her. That, and the fact he’d survived just fine the last thirty years on his own after his wife divorced him because he’d arrested her brother for possession of drugs.
“I’m not telling any lies. I saw how wide his eyes were before he jumped into my arms.” Hawke joked. He’d finally discovered under that military gruffness Dani had a good sense of humor.
“His eyes were wide because he couldn’t believe it was you.” She opened the back door of the helicopter.
“Here, let me get that.” He reached around Dani, bumping her as he latched onto his backpack. His body came to life. Ignoring it, he opened the pack, acting like he was inspecting the contents. “Gotta love ’em,” he said, tying the top closed.
“Love who?” Dani asked from behind him.
“My landlords. Herb grabbed the right pack and Darlene put cookies in it.” He faced the woman staring at him with a wrinkled brow and pursed lips under her short-cropped dark hair.
“They take good care of me and my animals.” Hawke set the pack away from the helicopter and faced her. “Did a trooper bring something as well?”
She nodded to the still open back door. He leaned in and found the file Lt. Titus sent with information about the man he was tracking.
“Are you going after the murderer who escaped here in Idaho?” Her tone was soft, tinged with worry.
He pulled the file out and stood in front of her. “It’s what I was asked to do.”
“But you could have turned it down. You were at a conference with how many other trackers? Twenty? Thirty? Couldn’t one of them have gone instead? One from Idaho?”
He didn’t know what to say. Her being worried about him had his chest expanding. He had hoped she’d someday have some feelings for him other than exasperation, but now wasn’t the time to think about it. “I was asked to do it. And there is another tracker, from Idaho, going with me. The command station is only three miles that direction.”
“But you would rather do this by yourself. You and Dog, wouldn’t you?” Now her tone was confrontational, like so many of their conversations.
He put a hand on her shoulder. Nothing more than he would do to a friend. Touching her face like he wanted, would make the moment to intimate. “Yes, I would prefer to do this by myself, only to keep others from being harmed. But I’m stuck with a know-it-all tracker, and I’ll deal with it.”
“You better be careful. What am I supposed to tell Kitree if you don’t come back?” She peered into his eyes.
“She’ll understand, I do what I must to keep others safe.” He dropped his hand to his side. “You better go. I need to meet up with the other tracker.”
She held his gaze for a moment and slammed the helicopter’s back door before climbing into the pilot’s seat. “You better be careful,” was her order before she closed the door, waited for him to get out of the blades reach, and started the helicopter up.
Hawke stood beside his packs with Dog at his feet and waved until she was a dot on the horizon. Damn! He didn’t need or want anyone worrying about him. Shoving the daypack into the larger backpack, he had to admit it was kind of nice having someone worry about him. However, he didn’t want to dwell on it and become a victim of the dangerous man they were tracking.
“Come on, let’s get hiking. If we don’t show up, the others will think I’m lost,” he said to Dog. He wanted to be good and tired when he stopped for the night. Sleep would keep any yearnings, he had for the woman or a life other than what he had, at bay.
«»«»«»
Hawke groaned when he came upon Sheridan leaning against his pack at the area where they had planned to meet. He’d secretly hoped the man had gone rogue and headed out without him.
Mathews and his group of six were waiting in the same area.
According to the map, the homestead the authorities believed White would head to, was six miles away near Elk Horn Spring. There were several craggy mountain ranges Hawke and Sheridan had to climb to get to the area, all while keeping an eye out for other hikers and the escaped convict and woman.
He let Sheridan take the lead as they headed toward the first mountain they had to cross.
Mid-day, Hawke suggested they stop to eat. He pulled out the report Lieutenant Titus had sent along.
“What are you reading?” Sheridan asked, tearing the top off a bag of trail mix.
“The report on White.” Hawke continued to read and eat his jerky.
“How did you get that?” Sheridan stood and walked toward him.
“My lieutenant sent it to me.” He glanced up. “You said you found the bodies. What can you tell me about White?”
The man shrugged. “What’s to know? He killed five people, went to jail, broke out, and now he’ll get what’s coming to him.” He added. “When we find him.”
It was clear the man knew nothing about the escaped convict. Hawke flipped through the pages. There were photos of White and the woman, Tonya Cox. At least he would know them before they figured out who he was.
The convict’s file read like a typical antisocial psychopath. He’d been in and out of jail since he was eighteen. Each instance was an escalation of the prior conviction until he murdered the Goodwin family. Husband, wife, and two daughters. And a Mr. Theodore Shoat, who had been visiting the family. Photos of the crime scene were in the file. The cabin was a bloody mess. The bodies appeared to have been stabbed and sliced like White had been on something. What kind of animal would do this to five people?
Reading on, White was picked up by Idaho Fish and Wildlife when he’d walked to the edge of the Snake River and knelt to wash dried blood off his face and hands. He’d rambled about people and blood everywhere. Eventually the bodies were found, and he was charged with their murders. His counsel had tried to plead insanity, but the man had passed all the evaluations that might have put him in a mental health facility rather than prison. The jury had found him mentally competent.
Hawke closed the file and shoved it back in his pack. This was one messed up human he was tracking.
“Come on. I’d like to get on the south side of Triangle Mountain by dark.” Hawke shouldered his pack and headed along the side of a rock outcropping.
Sheridan fell in step behind him, for once not trying to run the show or even talk. It was a nice hike.
A couple hours later, Dog stopped. The hair along his spine stood up. His lip raised, baring his teeth as a low growl bubbled in his throat.
“What do you see?” Hawke whispered and watched Dog’s ears twitch as he curled his neck to look behind them. “Someone sneaking up behind us?” Hawke asked, noticing they’d lost Sheridan. The man must have stopped to take a dump or a leak.
They’d been traveling with the man for hours. Hawke wondered that Dog would have such a reaction to the man coming back up behind them.
He placed his pack on the ground and pulled out a water bottle and granola bar. He opened the bar and placed it across the top of the water. “Come,” he whispered to Dog. They walked up a rocky area and sat down behind a boulder, watching his pack.
Fifteen minutes later Sheridan came into view. As soon as he spotted the pack, water, and snack, he stopped and scanned the area. The man’s familiar shape, short legs, long torso with wide shoulders and pack, should have eased Dog’s reaction. The animal continued to growl deep in his chest.
Hawke cursed under his breath and stood up from behind the boulder. He really didn’t like whatever game Sheridan was playing.
Dog ran down the rocky slope, snarling.
“Hey!” Sheridan pulled his pack around in front of him as a shield. “You know me.”
“Dog, sit,” Hawke commanded.
Dog plopped down on his haunches, still
showing his teeth at Sheridan. Seeing his dog’s reaction to the man solidified how he’d always felt about the obnoxious tracker. Someone to not trust.
“Where did you disappear to?” Hawke asked, bending over and picking up his water and granola bar.
“Stopped to take a dump. Didn’t think you needed to know what I did every minute.” The man wore sunglasses, making it hard to read if he was being sarcastic or angry.
The hair on Hawke’s nape tingled. This was not a man to trust. He had a feeling Sheridan didn’t make any excuses for always wanting to win. Hawke just wanted to keep people safe and would have preferred to find White on his own. He’d not worked with Sheridan before. Only knew the tracker from his boasting. So far, the man had acted as Hawke had feared.
“We’re supposed to stay together. You know this man is a killer.” Hawke unscrewed the top of his filtered water bottle and drank.
“I’ve chased after other killers before and lived to talk about it.”
This was the attitude that could get them both killed. Hawke preferred to sneak up on the subject he was following and have surprise on his side.
“Besides, we know he had a head start and he’s headed for the homestead.” Sheridan shrugged and pulled a water bottle from the side of his pack and drank. “We’ll find him there and take care of things.”
“We don’t know for a fact he is at the homestead. He could be anywhere.” Hawke stared at the other man. They had no clear knowledge White was at the homestead. He could be following them for all they knew.
Sheridan replaced the water bottle and pulled out a map. “I was part of the search and rescue who went looking for the bodies after White was found washing at the river. We’re only about a mile from the homestead.” He placed his finger on a spot on the map.
Hawke didn’t even look. “If we’re that close, anyone we come upon could be the man.” He shouldered his pack. “Best to not even talk about an objective.” He continued in the direction he’d mapped out. It would take him about a hundred yards above the area where the homestead stood. He’d rather not have Sheridan with him, the man was a loose cannon. But he had no choice.
Dog trotted ahead. Hawke heard Sheridan breathing and kicking a rock now and then behind him. The man’s sounds made it hard to focus on the sounds of nature. He not only relied on what he saw but what he heard to make sense of a situation.
Dog placed his nose to the ground and started to move down the side of the cliff.
“Come,” Hawke said only loud enough to catch Dog’s attention. The animal returned to him. It had to be the trail of a person. Dog had learned not to follow the scents of animals. Had White and the woman crossed here on their way to the cabin?
He decided to see how well Sheridan would work with him. “Dog caught the scent of something. You check that way. I’ll look this way for the tracks of a person.” Hawke had suggested Sheridan go the direction the person or persons may have come from.
The man narrowed his eyes. “The homestead would be downhill from here. I’ll take the tracks that way.”
Hawke grabbed his arm. “You go the direction I tell you. If they should be this direction, I don’t want them to know we are here. Our job is to locate and call authorities. That’s all.”
“Are you saying you think I’ll give us away?”
“I’m saying I don’t trust you to just find them and back off. Your boastfulness makes me think you would try to engage. That’s not why we’re here.” Hawke pointed. “See if you can find which way they came from.”
He told Dog to heel and searched the ground for tracks leading downhill. It took some searching on the rocky surfaces to find a spot that finally showed a boot heel mark on a small patch of dirt between rocks. The print did show the person to be heading down into the small gorge below. The map and file weren’t clear as to whether the homestead was in the bottom of the gorge or up the other side.
Following the telltale evidence of tracks for fifteen minutes, he could discern there were two people. This fit White and the woman, but it could also be hikers, though why they were off the trails would be interesting to know.
Dog growled quietly.
Hawke glanced behind him and knew why the animal was talking. Sheridan followed.
“I figured you’d found their tracks when you didn’t come back right away,” the man said, accusingly.
“I don’t know whose tracks they are. I was following to figure out which direction they are headed.”
“Right.” Sheridan said, sarcastically.
Hawke faced the man who’d butted heads with him from the beginning of the assignment. “There is no way of knowing if these are White and the woman.”
“But you think it is because of the direction they are headed.” Sheridan studied him.
He had never lied to another person, especially one he was working with. “I do believe these could be their tracks. But we can’t rush down the hill and either get caught or compromise the woman he has with him.” Hawke glared at the man as the sun hovered just above the western horizon. “It’s going to be dark soon. Make camp. We’ll continue in the light tomorrow.”
He walked over to a spot that was relatively flat and unrolled his sleeping bag. He placed his pack at the head end of the bedroll and sat, watching Sheridan wander about studying the ground.
“You aren’t going to find any soft rocks,” Hawke said, laughing to himself over his joke.
Sheridan glared at him and finally rolled out his sleeping bag and sat down.
Hawke smirked and pulled out a bag of jerky. It appeared all the other man had was a sleeping bag. Hawke had an inch-thick mat. Darlene, Herb Trembley’s wife, had made a pocket on one side of his sleeping bag several years ago that allowed the mat to slip in and had a Velcro lip that kept the mat in place. It saved time to roll it all up and out at the same time, plus the added padding. He’d have a bit of cushion from the rocks, but Sheridan wouldn’t have any.
Hawke radioed Mathews to let him know they’d stopped for the night and would have an eye on the homestead in the morning.
He glanced over at Sheridan, shimmying around on the ground as if making a bed in the dirt. While he would have rather spent this night with just Dog, at least he knew he had another person to keep an ear out for anyone sneaking up on them.
Chapter Three
The skittering of rocks and cold air through the open zipper from Dog rising off the sleeping bag roused Hawke. Stars twinkled in the inky sky. The sliver of moon barely lit the tops of trees. He shifted to his side, glad it was so dark. His eyes didn’t have to adjust from darkness to light. His gaze landed on the empty spot where Sheridan had spread his bedroll.
Damn! The boastful tracker had headed to find White in the dark. Hawke sat up. Sheridan not only put his life at risk, but Hawke’s as well. Maybe even the SAR officers as well. He scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking. It was senseless to try and follow Sheridan or find the homestead in the dark.
He studied the sky. At least three hours before the sun would come up. Might as well get more sleep. He called Dog back, and they settled down to sleep a few more hours.
«»«»«»
Hawke discovered Sheridan’s trail easier than the tracks of the two he’d found the day before. To Sheridan’s credit, he was following the faint tracks of the two headed into the gorge. Hawke kept Dog at his heels, not wanting the animal to rush forward and make their approach known.
An hour after rising and eating a couple of granola bars and downing a bottle of water, Hawke stopped behind a rock formation and studied what appeared to be a shack across the narrow rocky gorge.
He pulled out a small set of binoculars and scanned the area around the building. Someone was presently at the homestead. A pack, that wasn’t Sheridan’s, sat beside the door and freshly chopped wood was stacked under the only window he could see. The inside was dark, and no matter how hard he tried, Hawke couldn’t see the interior.
Using the binoculars, he surveye
d the area between him and the shack. Sheridan had to be somewhere in between. There weren’t any trees and only a few bushes besides the ragged teeth of basalt that sprang out of the hard rock ridges.
Movement caught his attention. Honing in on the area, he spotted a small herd of mountain sheep. They didn’t look disturbed. Sheridan must be closer to the shack.
He did a careful back and forth sweep of the far side of the gorge below the shack. There was the boastful tracker.
Damn! He was slipping out of his pack and heading toward the shack. Hawke had feared this behavior when the man had been asked to join him on this assignment. Sheridan was like the chattering Blue Jay. He wasn’t happy unless he had a story to tell. Especially, if he came out looking like a hero.
Hawke had planned to sit here, watch for movement, and see if the couple were in the shack. After verification, he’d call Mathews and wait for help to apprehend White and the woman. Or, if the man and woman took off before the authorities arrived, to follow them, relaying their whereabouts.
If Sheridan made contact, there was no telling what White might do.
Hawke’s only recourse to keep from losing his objective was to wait and see what happened.
His gut churned as he held the binoculars to his eyes and watched Sheridan sneak up to the side of the shack. The way he crouched, approaching the building, there must have been a window. Yep, Sheridan slowly raised up, looked at the building, and froze.
What did he see?
The blast of a shotgun dropped Sheridan to the ground. Hawke stood. His instincts bunched to go to Sheridan’s aid, but the door of the shack flew open.
A woman, fitting the description of Ms. Cox, and a man, resembling the description of White, ran to the side of the shack. White had a shotgun in his hands but it wasn’t aimed at Sheridan.
The woman was talking, her arms swung wildly as if she was either in hysterics or chewing out White.
Sheridan sat up. He had some bloody spatters on his face, but no signs of a large amount of bleeding.