Against the Wild (28 page)

The little girl's hand shook as she leaned down and carefully stroked Finn's bloody head, then she turned back into Winnie's arms and started sobbing.

“We're going to take care of him, sweetheart,” Lane said. “We'll call as soon as we know he's okay.” Knowing they didn't dare wait any longer, Lane picked up two corners of the sheet while Caleb picked up the other two.

Moving carefully, they headed for the gate. Once they were out in the open, they made their way down the slope toward the water.

Finn didn't move.

On the floating dock, they laid him down next to the door of the plane.

“Flight check's done and we're ready to go,” Dylan said. “We just need to get him aboard.”

Lane looked down at Finn, lying limp and unmoving, and her heart squeezed. “Is he . . . is he still breathing?”

Dylan knelt beside him, felt for a pulse, checked for breath. “He's alive. We need to go.”

She nodded. Lane climbed in first and helped Dylan and Caleb lift Finn into the plane, settle him next to her behind the pilot's seat. Dylan climbed aboard and strapped himself in while Caleb threw off the lines.

The engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the dock. Then they were skimming over the water, lifting into the air, swooping upward, flying over the sea that dropped away into the darkness beneath them.

“How's he doing?” Dylan shouted over his shoulder.

“He opened his eyes once. But he's . . . he's unconscious again.” Finn had looked straight at her, his dark eyes filled with pain. It was as if he were trying to thank her, as if he were saying good-bye.

Her throat tightened. “Stay with me, boy,” she whispered, running a trembling hand over his head. “I love you, Finn. I don't want you to go.”

“Just hold on!” Dylan shouted. “We'll be there soon.”

Those fifteen minutes in the air seemed like hours. Then the plane was descending, winging over the flickering lights of Waterside. Dylan dropped the plane into the sea. The aircraft slid over the surface and roared up to the float dock, making a bigger wake than it usually did, waves that rocked the plane.

In minutes, the engines were shut down, the plane was tied up, and they were lifting Finn out onto the dock. A young man in jeans and a T-shirt raced toward them. With his blond hair and light blue eyes, he looked more like a student than a vet.

“I'm Dr. Kennedy. The white SUV is mine. Let's get him in the back.”

Grabbing two corners of the sheet, Dylan and the doctor carried Finn up to the parking lot and loaded him into the back of the SUV. They all jammed into the vehicle, and Dr. Kennedy drove away.

It didn't take long to reach the clinic, a two-story white stucco building with the doctor's office below and an apartment above. The lights were on in both floors. The doctor moved with efficiency, hurrying them inside, through the waiting room, into a room in the back, where they set Finn down on a surgical table.

“You can wait out in the reception area. I'll let you know what's going on after I take a look at him.”

“If you need some help—” Lane offered.

“That's my wife, Sherry.” A pretty little blonde hurried down the stairs. “She's also my nurse.” A warm look passed between them. Lane felt better knowing Finn was in good hands.

The doctor and his wife disappeared into the surgical room with Finn, while Lane and Dylan found seats in the waiting room.

“He looks competent,” Dylan said.

“Yes, he does.”

“I think he'll do his best for Finn.”

Lane just nodded.

Silently, she prayed that his best would be enough to save Finn.

 

 

Kyle peered through his binoculars, scanning the lodge below. It was nearly midnight, but some of the lights in the house were still on. He'd seen the plane take off, seen them load the dog aboard. He figured they'd headed to Waterside to find a vet.

Damn dog.
He thought he'd killed it. The good news was even if the animal survived, it was injured too badly to track him. In a way, he hoped the poor beast lived.

Whatever happened, Kyle just hoped Lane never figured out he was the one who had hurt her beloved pet.

He took a last look down on the lodge. As late as it was, Brodie probably wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

Coming up off the ground, Kyle collected the rifle he had found in a closet in the cabin and started to carry, then used a couple of branches to erase the place he had been.

Instead of heading up the mountain to the cave, he started north, to the cabin he'd discovered. It didn't look like anyone had been staying there lately and it was well off the beaten path. Lots of places up here were only used part-time.

He moved his Jeep into the lean-to that served as a garage and made a check of his supplies. He was thinking it might be a good place to take Lane for a couple of days, give them time to renew their acquaintance before he used the open-ended tickets he had bought for the ferry that would get them the hell out of town.

In the meantime, he had to get rid of Brodie.

Kyle still hadn't quite worked out how he was going to accomplish that.

Dylan dozed in the waiting room at the clinic, sleeping off and on with his head against the wall. Lane slept against his shoulder.

It had been nearly three hours and Finn was still in surgery. He'd called Winnie and let her and Emily know the dog was in with the doctor; then they'd settled in to wait.

His muscles were stiff by the time the door to the back room opened and Dr. Kennedy walked out. Lane straightened against him, her nails digging into his arm as they stood up from the blue vinyl couch and looked at the man in the light green scrubs.

“Finn's out of surgery,” the doctor said, pulling off the cap he wore. “He isn't completely out of danger, but it looks like he's going to make it.”

Lane made a sound in her throat, half sob, half cry of relief.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dylan said. “Finn's a great dog. We really appreciate your helping him that way.”

Sherry Kennedy walked up beside her husband. “That's what we do,” she said with a smile. “And when things go right, it's a very rewarding job.”

“When can he go home?” Lane asked.

“We need to keep him under observation for a while,” the doctor said. “He'll need antibiotics to fight off infection. We'll know more in a couple of days.”

Lane nodded. “Can I see him?”

“He's still out from the anesthesia. If you're in town in the morning, you can see him then.”

Lane looked up at Dylan for confirmation and he nodded. “We'll be here.”

He planned to spend the night, show Whitaker's photo around tomorrow. “What happened to him, Doc?” Dylan asked. “He have a run-in with a bear or something?”

Kennedy shook his head. “Finn had a run-in with a knife. A big one. He's lucky to be alive.”

Dylan's chest clamped down. Angry heat rose at the back of his neck. Someone was trespassing on his land. Someone dangerous. More and more, he believed his instincts were right. The man who was out there was a killer. And Kyle Whitaker was that man.

He settled a hand at Lane's waist. “We'll be back in the morning to take care of our bill and see Finn. Thanks again—both of you. If you need us, we'll be staying at the Sea View Motel.”

“Do you need a ride?” Dr. Kennedy asked.

Lane looked up at Dylan. “If it's okay with you, I'd rather walk. I need to clear my head.”

“I'm with you there.” He glanced back at the doctor and his pretty blond wife. “Thanks again.”

Urging Lane toward the door, Dylan stepped out into the cool night air, started walking the few blocks to the motel.

“Someone stabbed him, Dylan.”

A fresh shot of fury boiled through him. “That's right.”

“I don't think it was those boys from Yeil or anyone from around there.”

“Neither do I.” Dylan didn't say the man who had done it was very likely Kyle Whitaker.

And that none of them would be safe until he was caught.

Dylan phoned the lodge as soon as they checked into the motel. He was worried about Emily. He figured the child wouldn't be able to sleep until she knew Finn was okay.

Winnie answered the call. “I'll tell her. She tried to stay awake till you called, but she finally fell asleep in my bed. I don't think she'll sleep long, not until she knows Finn's going to be okay.”

Dylan hung up the phone, relieved he'd been able to give his daughter good news. He knew how much she loved that dog. It was going to break her heart when Lane took him home.

Something else he was to blame for.

He glanced over at the bed, where Lane had fallen asleep. She was exhausted. Outside the window, a purple dawn hovered on the horizon. He had so much on his mind, so much to do, but he wouldn't be any good to anyone if he didn't get some rest.

Sliding into bed next to her, he eased her back against his chest, holding her spoon-fashion against him. He bent and kissed the side of her neck, heard her soft purr. His erection stirred. He wanted her as he always did, but she needed to sleep as much as he did.

He settled against the pillow, worried he wouldn't be able to sleep with so much on his mind, but the next time he opened his eyes, it was ten thirty in the morning.

He smiled at the feel of soft lips trailing over his chest. He knew he should get out of bed and head for the shower, but whatever willpower he had evaporated like mist on a breeze.

“Time to get up,” Lane teased, nipping him playfully. “Oh, I see you already are.”

Dylan laughed and pulled her beneath him, came up over her, and slid himself deep inside.

They made love slowly, enjoying each other until both of them were sated. He would have dozed again if they didn't have so much to do.

“We'd better get dressed,” he said against her hair, loving the silky feel of it trailing over his skin.

She looked up at him, looped her arms around his neck. “I'd rather stay here. We could spend the day in bed, pretend none of this is happening.”

“I wish we could, love. I truly do.” Reluctantly, he eased himself off her, sat up on the edge of the mattress.

Lane sighed as she slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom. While she showered, Dylan phoned Johnnie Mellon down at Pete's Garage and told him he needed to use the Toyota again. Johnnie told him it was still parked in the gravel lot behind the float dock, the key under the bumper.

Dylan showered and dressed, then checked them out of the room, and they walked down to retrieve the car. He dropped Lane off at the clinic so she could spend time with Finn and drove out to Convenient Rental Car. The brunette who'd helped them before was working in the booth.

Dylan got in line behind a customer, waited till she had finished with the rental contract and handed the balding man the keys, then stepped up to the counter.

“Hi, Elaine,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I'm Dylan Brodie. You helped me a couple of days ago.”

She gave him a friendly smile in return. “I remember.” Her smile slipped. “I can't give you any more information, Dylan. I might get into trouble.”

He wondered what new information she might have, but let the comment pass. “No problem. I just came to show you a picture.” He pulled out his cell and brought up the booking photo of Kyle Whitaker in an orange jumpsuit. “Is this Dusty Withers?”

Her eyes widened. “Is he a convict?”

“No, he's served his time.” He held out the photo. “Is this Withers?”

“He's better-looking than his picture, but yeah, that's him.”

He took a chance. “His car rental's almost up. Have you heard from him?” She took a step back as if to avoid the question. “Keep in mind the orange jumpsuit.”

She sighed. “He left an envelope full of money, enough for another week. He shoved it through the mail slot. We found it on the floor when we opened the day after you were here.”

Dylan smiled. “Thanks, Elaine.” He'd figured the bastard was about to leave. He just wasn't ready quite yet.

“Are you going to call the police?”

“Like I said, he's served his time.” Dylan headed out the door. He needed to pick up Lane, tell her Whitaker and Withers were one and the same. He was crossing the lot when his cell started ringing. “Brodie.”

“Hey, bro.” Nick's deep voice drifted over the line. “I got that intel you wanted on Whitaker.”

“Was he Army?”

“Special Forces. His file says he was given an honorable medical discharge, but it doesn't say what for. Guy was a real hero, though. Silver star, all kinds of commendations.”

“Anything else in the file?”

“Not enough. I decided to get hold of some friends, call in a few favors, see what else I could find out.”

“Rangers?”

“That's right.” Having been one of them, Nick still had a lot of friends on active duty. “Kyle Whitaker was Delta,” he said. “One of the best. He'd been in the service five years when he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. That's the reason he was discharged. Started hearing voices in his head.”

“Jesus.”

“I figured that would make your day.”

“Lane couldn't figure out how he found her, but a guy with his background probably wouldn't have any trouble.”

“Is she using e-mail? Facebook, other social media?”

“She's got a business to run, so yeah.”

“There's your answer.”

Dylan scrubbed a hand over his face, felt the roughness of the beard he hadn't bothered to shave. “Looks like he tried to kill Lane's dog.”

“Fuck, Dylan. He may be escalating.”

“We're in Waterside now. Vet says it looks like the dog's going to make it. Finn got out of the yard yesterday. Must have run into Whitaker and the guy wanted to be sure the dog didn't lead us back to him.”

“Could be. One more thing. You remember our old friend, the nonexistent Dusty Withers?”

“What about him?”

“Whitaker's best friend in Delta was a guy named Dusty Rawlins. He was KIA in Afghanistan.”

“More good news.”

“Listen, bro, I'm not liking this. I'm coming down there, see if I can help.”

“Let me talk to the police first. I've got enough info now to at least get their attention. I'll call you later.” Dylan signed off before his brother could object.

Nick had his own problems. But Dylan wouldn't hesitate to accept his offer if things continued to slide downhill.

 

 

Lane was ready to leave the clinic when the battered blue Toyota rolled up in front of the vet's office. She headed down the sidewalk and slid into the passenger seat.

“How's Finn doing?” Dylan asked.

“He's awake. He was happy to see me.” Her eyes filled. “Oh, God, Dylan.”

He pulled her across the center console into his arms. “We're going to find this guy. The girl at the rental agency ID'd Whitaker as Dusty Withers. We'll head out to Mad Jack's and talk to the bartender to confirm, but I'm sure it's him.”

She felt sick to her stomach. Easing away, she slid back down in her seat. “So he's here.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She took a shaky breath. “There's still no proof he killed Holly.”

“He's trespassing and he's been stalking you. That's enough for the cops to bring him in for questioning.”

Her insides tightened. She prayed Dylan was right and the police could find Kyle before someone else got hurt.

Dylan reached down and started the engine. The Toyota rolled along the road through town, then turned north toward Mad Jack's. It was already past two. Unfortunately, the bartender, Brian Cresky, wasn't due in for another hour.

Lane sat next to Dylan at one of the rustic wooden tables and they ordered lunch, cheeseburgers and fries for both of them, though Lane mostly toyed with her food. When Brian arrived, Dylan showed him Kyle's photo, and like the girl at the rental car agency, Brian immediately recognized him as the man he'd seen in the bar.

“Has he been in here lately?” Dylan asked.

The bartender shook his head. “Hasn't been around. At least not on my shift. Maybe he caught the ferry and left.”

“I don't think so. He hasn't turned in his rental car. You still have my card?”

Brian reached under the counter and came up with Dylan's Eagle Bay Lodge business card. “Got it right here.”

Dylan pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “His real name's Kyle Whitaker. If he comes in, call me. It'll be worth a lot more than twenty.”

Brian smiled, moving the weird little lip whiskers on his chin. “You got it, man.”

From the bar, they drove to the police department and parked in front. Police Chief Wills was in and agreed to see them. Lane took a deep breath as she and Dylan walked into his office.

As tall and imposing as ever, Wills stood up from behind his desk. For the first time, Lane noticed the fishing trophies proudly displayed on the walls.