by Jenna Kernan
Rosie waited in the office, sitting glumly beside a metal desk. Nadine barely recognized her, she looked so small and downcast.
Unfortunately, Rosie had little to share in the way of details. She had gotten a very good look at the ATV, less so of the driver. The man had straddled the all-terrain vehicle in the darkness of the forest. His headlamp and the headlight prevented her from seeing him at all. When the security arrived, he’d reversed into the trees.
She and Skogen remained with her until Demko appeared, and Nadine left Rosie to speak with him.
“Seems you were right, again,” he said. “He’s targeting women around you.”
“She needs more protection. He’ll come back for her.”
They stood in silence, both recalling the fate of poor Linda Tolan.
“I’ll speak to Wynns. He’s the only one not in the forest.”
“Did they find him?”
“His camp. It’s temporary, according to Coleman. She’s the only one who picked up my call. They got the ATV by a creek. Running the serial number now.”
“He took a boat.”
“That’s what they’re thinking. He’d be on the St. Johns in minutes.”
“My mom used a kayak sometimes. No evidence trail.”
“He might already be outside our perimeter.”
“Or he lives inside it.”
“Tomorrow I’m going back to canvass the businesses around Salt Springs. This guy works in the area. I met him or I’ve missed him. I need to search again,” said Demko.
“And find the bellman.”
“Yes.”
They made it back to the safe house a little after midnight. Demko left her in her room with a kiss.
“You could stay,” she said, feeling exposed and needy and embarrassed.
He shook his head. “You’re exhausted.”
“Is that the reason?” she asked, feeling this was punishment.
“Mostly,” he said. “You asked for time.”
She had and he was giving it to her. Their relationship, already complicated before his proposal, now seemed as unstable as a home poised beside a deepening Florida sinkhole. Everything had changed between them since his proposal. She was afraid that moving forward would mean losing him.
He left her alone in the master suite.
She sat on the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand, drawing out the engagement ring box. The diamond sparkled with promise and she slipped it on again, wishing things could go back to how they had been. Recognizing they never would.
MONDAY
The following morning Nadine met Tina in the kitchen, accepting the coffee she offered.
“Thanks. What’s happening?”
“They haven’t found him. They’re processing evidence at his camp. Been there all night. The ATV was rented with a stolen card. Juliette left a few minutes ago. Back to the ME’s office for the Summerville autopsy.” Tina shuddered.
“Where’s Clint?” she asked.
“He took Wynns’s list and said he was running leads. Wanted to speak to Lou Anne Kilpatrick again.”
“Simon’s mother?”
Tina nodded.
“Why?”
Her assistant shrugged. “Toast or a corn muffin?”
“Muffin.” She retrieved her phone and sent Demko a text asking him where he was. Then she sipped her coffee and waited. By the time she’d finished, she was frowning at her silent phone. “Out of range?” she muttered.
There were plenty of places in this region that lacked cell phone service. Still, the disquiet remained as they went to work in the home office.
Agent Wynns connected with her midmorning with a video call. Kirk had a new database to offer. It included all the men between twenty and forty-five who applied for a hunting license. There were several hundred names. Nadine stared at the screen share.
“But this eliminates anyone who has lived here long enough to renew their driver’s license,” he said, “and this”—he hit something from the sort function—“includes only Caucasians who have brown or black hair.”
“How many names?” she asked.
“Fifty-seven.”
“All right. Thank you. Did you compare it to the list of men who moved into the area within the last year?”
He hit a button and half the names disappeared.
“What about their previous addresses?”
“None from Delaware or Louisiana.”
“Any live or work in our target area?”
“Seven.”
She studied the list for any familiar names. “Okay. Thanks. Did you give this to Clint?”
“He’s got it.”
“Great.”
“Also, the brass is on their way. Supervisory Special Agent Gabriella Carter is arriving sometime today.”
“Okay.” Nadine didn’t know if that was good or bad but suspected the latter. “Anything else?”
“Skogen got the handwriting report. He asked me to forward it to you. It’s in your in-box.”
Wynns disconnected and Nadine navigated to her email in-box. Ignoring the other messages, she opened Skogen’s forwarded email.
The report concluded that the handwritten documents were original, not copies, and that the writing was placed there mechanically. The details were not terribly helpful. The expert believed the card and letter were both written by the same person and that this person’s “chain code–based features indicated a male affectation.” So it was likely a man.
She closed the email that shed nothing new on the investigation.
Tina went for more coffee and Nadine tried Demko again. Then she left him a voicemail.
She had just lifted the coffee to her lips when another video call came through from Agent Wynns. If this kept up, she was moving back to the room and silencing her phone.
Nadine cast Tina an impatient look, relaying her annoyance at this latest interruption. Tina’s smile was knowing, well aware of Nadine’s need for quiet to work.
“Yes, Kirk.”
“Just got a voicemail forwarded from the Orlando office. You need to hear this.”
Something in his voice sent her heart pounding in her throat. She rose to her feet, sensing disaster.
“What is it?” she said. Was Demko safe? Had the Huntsman captured Juliette?
She gripped the laptop, lifting it from the countertop, her eyes fixed to the screen.
“Ready?” he asked.
She wasn’t. “Yes.”
“Okay, listen.” A moment later, he started the recording, and she heard a high male voice.
“Nadine, I’ve got your partner. He’s going to die, slowly. But first I’ll torture him one day for each time he dared to touch you. You won’t see him again, but I look forward to our first meeting.”
Nadine’s heart struck in her throat like the clapper to a bell.
“He’s got Clint!”
Twenty-Four
For the next ten minutes, Nadine slowly lost her mind as she paced from the master bedroom to her office. Meanwhile, Tina, seated at her desk, tried and failed to alert the team.
“I can’t reach any of them,” said Tina.
Nadine’s mind was a confused tangle as the shock and relief interfered with reason. There was something she needed to… think. She pressed both hands to her temples trying to focus. The Huntsman said he had her partner.
Her decoy partner!
Nadine rocketed to her feet.
“Skogen! Did he mean Skogen?”
Tina stared at her, mouth gaping as Nadine’s mind cleared. The Huntsman had Skogen or he had Demko.
“Call highway patrol and the sheriff’s offices.”
Tina lifted her phone and went to work.
When Nadine’s phone rang a few minutes later, she nearly jumped out of her pumps. It was Juliette’s number. She sagged in relief and took the call.
“Nadine? What’s going on? I’ve got troopers in my autopsy observation area. Are you okay?”
“Did yo
u get my message?” she asked. Her voice had risen an octave and sounded shrill.
“No. Phone was off. What happened?”
Nadine told her about the message from the Huntsman and that she needed to come in.
“Can I finish up here?”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Tell the troopers to wait. Have them escort you from the building and to the safe house.”
“Okay. Did you reach Demko?”
Nadine’s throat closed. “No,” she rasped.
“Oh, my God. I’m coming, Dee.” Juliette ended the call.
Nadine sank to her seat, cradling her forehead in her palm, letting the fear escape in the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Tina hovered, uncertain what to do.
She didn’t want it to be Demko or Skogen. But her heart ached for Clint and the fear that blasted through her nervous system was all for him. The effort of controlling her sobs took everything she had. She would not let this monster harm him or steal their future. This was her fault for bringing him here.
Why did it take this to recognized that she wanted a life with Clint? She needed him back. She squeezed her eyes shut praying it was a bluff and knowing it was not. The Huntsman had one of them.
She brushed away the tears. Time for that when she saw him safe. Held him in her arms and…
What if he was already dead?
No, she was not falling into that pit of what ifs… it was a quagmire that would only keep her from doing her job.
Agent Wynns phoned again. Tina huddled close to listen as she put the call on speaker.
“I reached Coleman. Vea’s been shot.”
“What?” How could that be? “What’s his condition?” she asked.
“Stable. Layah said that they were checking a houseboat on the St. Johns. Looking for the Huntsman, and the occupants fired at them. They engaged and killed the shooter. Axel took a round in the neck.”
“The neck!” Nadine’s hand went to her abdomen and the place that held the scar from her own bullet wound.
“Did they find them?”
“It was a meth lab.”
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “A what? So… unrelated?”
“Yes. Bad luck on both parts.”
She pressed one hand to her mouth as she exhaled, trying to hold it together.
“Clint?”
“Nothing. We’re looking,” said Coleman.
“Skogen? Do you know his whereabouts?”
“Unable to reach him. We’ll keep trying.”
Wynns disconnected and Nadine called Demko again, leaving another voicemail. She was just ending the call when Demko strolled into the bedroom.
“Hey, there you are,” he said to Nadine.
Nadine leapt to her feet, the tears streaming down her face, and threw herself into his arms. Her knees gave way and he wrapped her tight, holding her against the wonderful solid wall of his body. She inhaled the sweet scent of sandalwood and sweat. Thank God.
She buried her face in his neck and sobbed. He lowered her into the chair in the bedroom. Then he sank to one knee at her feet. She held tighter, locking her arms around his neck like an inexperienced wrestler, refusing to let go.
“Hey, there. What’s wrong?” He rubbed her back and gradually she released her grip and allowed him to ease away. He held her upper arms and stared at her wet face as she cupped his jaw in both hands and gulped air.
“Where have you been?” she said, her words a croak.
“Running leads at outdoor adventure outfits operating in the forest.” He pulled back and looked from Tina, also weeping, to his escort agent and back to Nadine.
“Why didn’t you call? I left messages! You didn’t—”
He interrupted. “My battery died. What happened?”
Tina explained about the phone call while Nadine tried to pull herself together.
Demko lifted her chin with the pad of his index finger. “You thought it was me.”
She nodded. The relief over his miraculous return set off a shudder and another round of tears. And now she trembled and sobbed, face planted in her hands.
“I’m here. Hey. Easy now. Breathe.” He stroked her head and then moved his broad hand in a circular pattern in the center of her back. “It’s all right.”
“It isn’t. This means he has Skogen,” she whispered.
Clint snatched up her phone. “I’m calling Coleman.”
Nadine stopped him and then caught him up, telling him about Axel, the meth lab, Skogen being missing and that Skogen’s supervisor, Gabriella Carter, was en route from DC.
She had just finished her explanation when Juliette burst into the bedroom. The two women hugged, triggering Nadine’s tears again.
“He’s safe,” said Nadine.
Juliette lifted an arm to hug Demko. Tina hugged them both and the four of them held each other until Demko broke away.
“We look like a rugby scrum,” he muttered.
Her team was all here. All safe.
But she felt a chasm open in her stomach as she remembered that Skogen was in horrific danger.
“Call Coleman. Tell her it’s Skogen,” she said to Tina.
“Or he’s bluffing,” said Demko.
Nadine wished that were true, but every instinct told her that the Huntsman did not bluff or make threats. He had Agent Jack Skogen and they needed to find him fast.
Supervisory Special Agent Gabriella Carter appeared on the conference screen before them as they all took their seats. The woman had a cap of short black hair, brown skin and a military bearing. Her lips were stained a burgundy color and her mouth was drawn into a tight line.
“Dr. Finch. Agent Wynns has briefed me.” She turned her head. “Wynns just heard from Florida Highway Patrol. They’ve located Agent Skogen’s vehicle at a marina south of DeLand and have secured the scene. His protective detail is dead and Skogen is missing.”
Nadine swallowed. This confirmed it. The Huntsman had Jack.
Carter turned her head again. “Coleman, how is Agent Vea?”
“Stable. Bullet passed through muscle at the base of his neck. Blood loss was significant.”
“I’m sure.” Carter scanned the room. “We have an abducted agent and one dead. We need to mobilize every law enforcement agency in the state and find Skogen. Get Skogen’s photo and description to media outlets, and I mean now. I want alerts to every cell phone in three counties.”
Nadine raised her hand as if she were back in elementary school. Something about this woman intimidated the heck out of her.
“We have a leak. Someone released my name to the media. I don’t want that leak to jeopardize this operation.”
The supervisory special agent cocked her head and gave Nadine a disappointed look.
“Special Agent Jack Skogen was the leak. He released information on you to the media when the investigation stalled, hoping to engage the unsub.”
Nadine’s jaw dropped open and she gaped, turning to Demko.
“Well, it worked,” said Demko, his tone relaying banked fury. “We got his attention. And he got our lead investigator.”
Twenty-Five
Jack returned to his senses, trying to remember why he was on the ground. His head throbbed. Had he fallen? He raised his hands to check for injury and saw silver duct tape secured his wrists before him.
A shiver of apprehension trickled down his spine as he thought of Jo Summerville strung to a tree like a rotting carcass. He remained motionless, moving only his eyes. He was lying on his side along the roots of a large tree. Blood dripped across his forehead and pooled against his cheek.
He heard only the wind—and then the sound of footsteps. Jack closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. Through veiled lashes he watched a person squat beside him.
“Wakey, wakey.” The voice was male, and the words punctuated with a tapping at his cheek.
Jack lunged, taking his opponent to his back. The man’s ey
es startled wide with astonishment. Jack used his bound wrists to strike the man’s jaw.
Blood sprayed across the ground.
The downed man lifted a hand in surrender. “Hey, relax. I was trying to help. Thought you were drunk.”
Jack had both fists raised above his head. He hesitated.
“I’m a federal officer,” he said and felt something brush his leg.
An instant later, his muscles spasmed and he toppled to his side. The man beneath him scrambled up and the cramping abated. Jack pushed himself up to sitting and this time saw the electric baton wielded by his opponent as it contacted his leg. Instant pain and cramping followed. His body seized, no longer able to follow his brain’s command. A moment later, the world went dark.
He came to, on his back, staring up at an opening between a web of tree branches. The gray-green Spanish moss hung limp over them against a cloudy sky. His first attempt to move met with resistance.
Jack lifted his head and glanced about. His wrists and ankles were now tied with leather straps. Each tether was anchored to a metal stake driven into the damp ground. He wore only his trousers. His shirt, shoes, socks and slacks had been stripped away, leaving him in only his boxers. Where was his gun—his phone?
His breathing accelerated as he recognized that he was staked spread-eagled. He tugged at the bindings and found them fast.
Helpless. Sweat poured down his chest as fear locked his aching joints. His hesitation might have cost him everything.
He listened for some sign of human activity. He’d been on the short trail from the archery range, heading for his vehicle when…
Cattle prod. It had to be.
Jack flexed his leg and found it ached, as if he’d suffered the worst cramp of his life.
A breeze rippled through the trees, fluttering the sheets of moss. The quiet and the peace were illusions. He needed to get free before whoever did this to him came back.
He tested the bonds again, wondering if he could yank one of the stakes from the earth. Given time, he might.
Then he heard the scraping sound. Rhythmic. Familiar. It took only a moment to find his captor. The man sat on a stump six feet behind Jack’s head, whittling. Beyond him stood a weathered, windowless shack. Someone had tacked a huge gator skin to the graying boards. Long ago, judging from the rusty nails. The man thumbed over his shoulder to the hide.