Hunting Fear (31 page)

With wonderful politeness, Samantha said, “This is the point where you tap into your other senses.”

“Needling me again won’t work, Sam.”

“Think so?”

In some surprise, Caitlin said, “You’re psychic too?”

“He is sometimes,” Samantha told her. “When he lets himself be. Control issues. You know how it is.”

“Cut it out, Samantha.”

“That means he’s getting pissed at me. He only uses my whole name when I’ve irritated him.”

Ignoring that, Lucas looked at his watch and said, “Less than four hours left now. Glen, is there a shorter way?”

“Only if you’re a bird. Those of us on the ground have to take this lousy dirt road that leads to an old logging road that’s even worse. It’ll take us another hour, easy.”

Caitlin said desperately, “But what if I’m wrong? You had decided to search another spot, hadn’t you, before I showed up? Something already on your list?”

Still twisted around in his seat in order to see her, Lucas said, “I hadn’t made up my mind, Caitlin. But, as I said, your hunch is probably as good as anyone else’s, and this mill on the creek sounds a likely place.”

“And,” Samantha said in that same spuriously polite tone, “following your hunch rather than one of his own sort of absolves Luke of responsibility, you know?”

Instantly, Lucas said, “You know goddamned well that isn’t true. If I didn’t believe we could find Wyatt up here, I wouldn’t have come. If we don’t find him, it certainly won’t be Caitlin’s fault.”

“No, of course not. So whose fault will it be, Luke? Who gets the blame if Wyatt Metcalf dies because we couldn’t find him in time?”

“Me. I get the blame. Is that what you want to hear?”

“No, I want to hear you feeling what he feels, right now, this minute.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not, because you’re still closed up. Think I can’t feel that, Luke? Lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to me, not about this.”

Caitlin, following the quick, back-and-forth conversation warily, half expected the two to come to blows. She’d never heard either of them sound so fierce, but she barely knew Lucas and wasn’t sure how unusual it was for him. It was Samantha’s pitiless determination that surprised her; she would never have expected such force from the slight, watchful, quiet woman she’d thought she knew.

Seemingly transformed by anger, Samantha was leaning as far forward as her seat belt would allow, one hand gripping the shoulder strap and the other braced on the seat. Her face was tense, her heavy-lidded eyes narrowed and normally full lips thinned, and every word bit with sharp teeth when she repeated, “Not about this.”

“You’re not a telepath, Sam,” Lucas retorted.

“I don’t have to be. Think I can’t read you, Luke? That I couldn’t always read you, all the way down to your bones, to your soul? Think again.”

“Sam—”

Abruptly, in a soft voice that was nevertheless audible over the straining engine of the ATV, Samantha said, “I even know about Bryan, Luke.”

By sheer chance Caitlin’s gaze happened to be on Lucas when Samantha spoke, and she wanted to look away from what she saw. Shock, and then a flash of pain, intense, raw, draining the color from his face. He looked like a man who had just been knifed in the gut.

“How could you—”

“Feel,”
Samantha snapped, her voice intense again. “Damn you, open up and
feel
.”

Clearly unhappy, Glen Champion said, “Hey, you guys—is this really the time? I mean—”

“You just drive,” Samantha ordered, never taking her eyes off Lucas. “Feel, Luke. Reach out. Open up. Wyatt Metcalf is going to die if you can’t connect with him. Do you really think the kidnapper is going to leave his victim in a place you’re likely to search? No, not this time, not again. He meant you to find Lindsay, meant her to die before you could get there, but he won’t take a chance you might find Metcalf in time, so he’s hidden him from you, very deliberately.”

“I don’t—”

“Where is he, Luke? He won’t be anywhere on the map, on that list you’ve drawn up. He won’t be anywhere you expect. And when time’s run out and Metcalf is dead, you’ll get another taunting message telling you
exactly
where you can find the body. Do you want that? Do you?”

“Stop.”

Glen jammed his foot on the brake, instinctively obeying the harsh order.

Softly now, Samantha repeated, “Where is he, Luke?”

“North,” Lucas replied slowly.

“At the old mill?”

“No. North.”

“This road is pretty much a straight shot northwest,” Glen said, bewildered. “There isn’t another, at least not for miles.”

“North,” Lucas said again.

Caitlin thought he looked almost hypnotized, not quite there with them but somewhere else. At the same time, his gaze was fixed on Samantha, and there was certainly awareness of her in his eyes.

“How far?” she asked him.

“A mile, maybe.”

“Glen? How long will it take us to cover a mile in this terrain?” She never took her eyes off Lucas.

“Christ, I don’t—experienced hikers in good shape and with the right equipment could do it in an hour or thereabouts. But I don’t know about you guys. North from here is straight up the fucking mountain.”

“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” Samantha said briefly. “Let’s go.”

Caitlin was more than a little surprised to find herself out of the vehicle and going along, climbing up a steep slope with the help of the deputy while Lucas and Samantha led the way. Nobody had told her specifically to go or stay, Caitlin just went, her fascinated gaze fixed whenever possible on the couple ahead.

No longer staring at each other, they were nonetheless connected, holding hands whenever possible but connected in a less tangible and possibly stronger way as Samantha determinedly kept him focused. From time to time Caitlin could hear her calm yet curiously relentless voice, asking the same question again and again.

“What does he feel, Luke?”

Caitlin heard the question asked over and over, but only once did she hear the response. His voice low, haunted, Lucas said, “Terror. He’s afraid. He knows he’s going to die.”

Caitlin shivered and grasped a sapling with one hand, grimly pulling herself up the steep, rocky slope.

It was getting cold. Wyatt didn’t know if that was because his surroundings were actually growing colder, or if it was sheer, icy terror.

There was certainly that. He was far, far beyond the point of being able to dampen or ignore it.

His wrists were raw, his body sore from his attempts to free himself from the guillotine, and he was just as securely fastened as he had been hours ago.

Too many hours ago.

There was only half an hour left. Twenty-nine minutes and thirty-odd seconds to go.

Jesus.

It wasn’t enough time. Not enough time to reconcile himself to death. Not enough time to make peace with himself, to think about all the guilts and regrets of his life. Not enough time for what-might-have-beens or what-ifs. It was over.

Just . . . over.

And there wasn’t a single goddamned thing he could do about it.

With that realization, that certainty, Wyatt accepted what was going to happen to him. For the first time, he relaxed, his body going boneless, and his mind was curiously quiet, almost at peace. He heard his own voice speaking aloud and was a little amused by the conversational tone of it.

“Always wondered how I’d face death. Now I know. Not with a bang or a whimper, but just . . . resignation.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lindsay. You’d probably be disappointed in me, wouldn’t you? I bet you were never resigned. I bet you fought with your last breath, didn’t you, baby? I know you didn’t want to die. I know you didn’t want to leave me.”

“They’re coming.”

Wyatt blinked and stared up at the blade suspended over him. He could have sworn he’d heard her voice, though whether in his head or out loud he couldn’t have said. “I guess a dying man hears what he wants to hear.”

“Idiot. They’re coming. Just a few more minutes.”

He frowned slightly, and said, “I don’t think my own imagination would call me an idiot. Although—”

“Just hold on.”

“Lindsay? Is that you?”

Silence.

“Didn’t think so. I don’t believe in ghosts. Don’t think I even believe in heaven, though it would be nice to believe you were waiting for me somewhere beyond this life.”

“Don’t be maudlin.”

Wyatt found himself grinning. “Now, that sounds like my Lindsay. Come to keep me company in my final moments, baby?”

“You aren’t going to die. Not now.”

Deciding he was probably just quietly hysterical rather than being as calm as he’d thought, Wyatt said, “Twenty minutes left on the clock, babe. And I don’t hear the cavalry.”

He didn’t hear her voice again either, though he did try to listen for it. And hoped for it. Because there were, he thought, worse things to take into death than the voice of the woman he loved.

When Lucas stopped suddenly, it caught Caitlin off guard. She leaned against an oak tree, trying to get her ragged breathing under control, and stared at the two just a couple of yards ahead of her. Her legs felt like rubber, there was a stitch in her side, and she couldn’t remember ever being this weary.

They had finally reached the top of the ridge they had spent more than two hours climbing and from this position could see across a fairly level clearing to where the mountain again began rising steeply upward.

Caitlin stared up at that vast, looming shape and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t go on. Not up that . . . thing. She was just about to gather the breath to tell the others, when she heard Samantha speak.

“Luke? What is it?” She sounded remarkably calm and not the least bit breathless.

“He’s not afraid anymore.”

Samantha frowned up at him. “But you can still feel him?”

“Yeah. But he’s calm. Not afraid anymore.”

Glen looked at his watch and said desperately, “We’ve got less than fifteen minutes. Where is he?”

Lucas turned his head and looked briefly at the deputy, frowning, then began moving forward again, faster. “Over there. The mine.”

“There’s a mine up here?” Glen sounded surprised, but then followed that question with a disgusted, “Oh, Christ, I forgot all about the old mine on Six Point Creek. It closed down when my grandfather was a kid.”

Caitlin, somehow finding the strength to hurry along with the others, was about to ask where the creek was when she nearly fell into it. Swearing under her breath, she followed the others as they jumped from rock to rock to cross the twenty-foot-wide, fairly shallow stream.

The entrance to the mine lay nearly hidden behind what looked like a thicket of honeysuckle, and all Caitlin could think was that it had to be really, really dark in there.

Glen paused long enough to shrug out of the backpack he’d grabbed from the ATV, and quickly handed out big police flashlights. He started to draw his weapon, but Lucas spoke, his voice certain.

“Nobody’s here except Wyatt. At least . . .”

Hesitating with a hand on his gun, Glen said, “At least what? Has he booby-trapped the place?”

Lucas seemed to be listening, and after a brief moment, he turned on his flashlight and shoved the tangle of vines aside to enter the mine. “No. No trap. Let’s go.”

The mine shaft was fairly clear of debris and angled slightly upward into the mountain, with plenty of room for them all to move freely. They traveled probably sixty or eighty feet in a straight line, and then the shaft turned sharply to the right—and widened considerably into a sort of cavern.

They saw the light then, bright and harsh and focused on the deadly, eerie guillotine and its captive.

Both Glen and Lucas, cops acting on instinct, rushed forward. Caitlin leaned a hand against the damp wall, feeling decidedly weak with relief—because that gleaming blade was still suspended above Wyatt. Still, she didn’t think she breathed normally until she was certain that Glen held the cable so that the blade remained securely up while Lucas was unfastening the straps holding the sheriff prisoner.

She looked to the side then and saw that Samantha also had paused for a moment. There was just enough light for her to see the other woman lift a shaking hand briefly to her face, and then Samantha was moving forward and speaking calmly.

“Can I help?”

Lucas was easing up the wooden block pinning Wyatt’s neck to the table, and said, “Got it, I think. Wyatt—”

The sheriff lost no time in sitting up, removing himself from harm’s way. He slid to the edge of the table so that he was sitting on it. He was pale and haggard, but there was also a peculiar peace in his face. “The cavalry did come,” he said, only a slight quiver in his voice. “How about that.”