Masters 02 Master of the Abyss (26 page)

Moron, here.

At least she knew when to cut her losses. Even if he got down on his knees and begged, she’d never have anything to do with him again. Not that he’d want her to. All he’d said earlier was, “
Kalinda, I’m sorry
.” Of course he was. Of course he felt bad for hurting her because, despite being a cowardly asshole, he was wonderful, caring, strong, smart, and…

With a snort of disgust, she wiped her eyes. Could she get any more maudlin?
Yes, it hurts. Get over it and move on.

She picked up her whittling knife, pulled her current project out of her pack, and winced as she saw the carved figure of Jake. She should have taken time to find something else.

Well, maybe she’d just whittle a few pieces off him. But the thought gave her a pang. As she worked, the need to concentrate lent her peace. She carefully added the hair that hung over his face and hid his scar. Then an ear.

After she finished, she’d store it away and not look at it until she reached…oh, maybe seventy or so? Maybe someday the memories of how his hand cupped her face, how he’d nestle her against his side, how his rumbling voice sounded when he teased her and called her sprite… Maybe someday she’d manage to think of the past month as a wonderful time, without mourning that she’d not feel his touch or see him.

See him…
Oh no no no
. She’d have to see him with other women. Even her anger wasn’t enough to overcome the way her stomach twisted with nausea at the thought. Oh hell, how would she ever endure that? What if he asked Gina or Serena out, and she had to hear every tidbit of what he did?

Her knife scraped down. Hard. Too hard, slicing the chin right off the figure. Tears filled her eyes, and wasn’t that stupid? As if she could hurt a wooden man.

As if she could ever hurt Jake.

“To hell with this.” She flung the knife toward her pack. It landed point down in the dirt, the handle quivering. Aching inside, she tossed the wooden man into the fire.

The soft pine burned hot and fast.

Doubting that sleep would help, she pushed to her feet anyway. She hadn’t bothered to bring a tent. No rain in the forecast, and this time of year, the dry forest held few bugs. She tossed her pad on the ground, unrolled and unzipped her sleeping bag, and crawled inside.

Her body felt slow, heavy. Probably PMS. She gave a bitter laugh. Because of Jake, she’d made an appointment with her doctor to get birth control pills. No need for them now. So hey, she’d found the bright side to all this; she could cancel the appointment and keep her legs out of the stirrups.

A crackle of something in the underbrush drew her attention. Probably a bear checking out the possible food situation. Poor sucker wouldn’t find anything. Lacking any appetite, she’d already hung her small emergency stash from the wire that Uncle Harvey had put up years ago. She glanced at it, a small bag, black against the stars. Isolated in the night sky.

Like her. She pulled in a breath as grief pushed her down, its own kind of immutable force, like gravity. The rocky ground might feel like a feather mattress now, but around four a.m., her hips would register every lump. She tucked her hands behind her head. Tall pines speared into the night sky like dark arrows, and above them, stars filled the sky. Thousands and thousands of stars, millions…each with their own solar systems and planets.

Maybe other civilizations lived on those planets; other forms of life going on about their way.
And none of them would care that Jake Hunt broke my heart
. As she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay, she watched the stars and waited for the moon to rise.

* * *

Taking advantage of a straight section of road, Jake punched the Off button on his cell-phone speaker. He’d barely finished the call to Logan before the service gave out. The lodge was closer to the Masterson’s than the town, so Logan should arrive right about when Jake and Masterson did. One more man for a total of three. A shame the other two Mastersons hadn’t returned from their hike yet. He stepped on the gas to catch up with Masterson’s car.

The curves started again, and the truck tires screeched as he took a corner too fast. His shoulder hit the door. They might need Logan’s help if the shit hit the fan.
What kind of a police department has only four cops and a chief? And two of them elsewhere?

Chief Jackson figured Secrist had panicked and fled, so one of the cops had headed for Secrist’s house in the mountains east of town. Another went to set up a roadblock. Jake could see the logic in Jackson’s actions. After all, Secrist had witnessed two men fighting, not a man and a woman. But he couldn’t forget Jackson’s words: “
Serial killers exist in a different reality, and they’ll kill for the damnedest reasons
.” But neither Jake nor Masterson would take the chance that Jackson was wrong. Secrist had taken off right after their fight. If he went after Kallie…

Please have run, you bastard.

Of course, cops from the Mariposa County sheriff’s office were on the way…would get to Bear Flat eventually. Jake’s teeth ground together.
Never a cop when you need one.

And women were never where they should be. Kallie hadn’t done it deliberately, but he’d yell at her anyway for scaring him twice today. Might make him feel better.
God, let her be alive. Safe.

Illumined by the headlights, a deer leaped out of the forest in front of Masterson’s car, and his brake lights flashed.

“Fuck!” Jake slammed on his brakes. As the cop car fishtailed, Jake fought his pickup out of the skid and then stomped on the gas again. Both vehicles surged forward, up the winding gravel road.

Concentrating only on the road, not on what could be happening…anywhere…Jake drove for what seemed forever as minutes and miles stretched into infinity. Finally the turnoff into the Masterson’s dirt road appeared.

The dust from Logan’s truck still hung in the air when Jake pulled up to the house behind the cop car.

Five minutes later, the three men hit the trail, flashlights flickering over stumps and branches. Masterson had his pistol. Logan had brought Thor. Jake was armed with sheer rage.

* * *

He loved the forest at night. As Andrew reached the ridgeline, the breeze cooled his sweat-dampened skin and dissipated the poison lingering in the demon’s wake. He waved his flashlight back and forth over the trail, checking the footing ahead, and studying the left side for white stones. Only a few minutes ago, he’d found his weapon in a mass of deadfall where the hefty limbs had been snapped off and scattered along the trail. One branch was the size of a baseball bat. After he’d cleaned it off, he had his cudgel—his instrument of punishment and death.

Death was the only solution. Once a demon infected a woman, it clung like a parasite until the host died.

He swung the branch now, checking the balance. Gave a nice whistling sound, felt heavy in his hand. The impact against her flesh would be satisfying. He glanced toward the east, where the moon had barely cleared the mountains. He would wait until it was high enough to give him light.

So he could watch her die.

* * *

Kallie’d started to drift off when a rustling noise pulled her awake, the tiniest of sounds, but only a fool disregarded anything in the wilderness. Part of her job included keeping her clients safe: seeing they returned from three a.m. bathroom breaks and checking they remained safely in their tents if a bear prowled through camp.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her side. Her fire had died down to sullen red coals, but the moon spilled silvery light across the clearing and sparkled on the stream. Near the trail, a shape moved in the shadows. From the size, a bear. Despite Yosemite’s policy of not feeding the wildlife, tourists inevitably did…or didn’t get their food out of reach, so the animals frequently raided campsites.

As she unzipped her sleeping bag, she saw it lurch closer. Noisier than normal. She’d watched one bear steal a backpack from beside a camper’s head without making more than a whisper of sound. This one crunched as if…

As if it wore boots
. When the man stepped into the moonlight and hefted up a piece of wood the size of a baseball bat, terror spilled straight into Kallie’s bloodstream, cold as a mountain glacier.

She tried to roll out of the sleeping bag, but it had tangled around her legs. As she frantically shoved at the bag, the man raised his weapon and stormed across the clearing.

Her legs wouldn’t come free.
Oh God.

He stood above her and brought the club down hard and fast.

She screamed.

His flashlight illuminating the trail, Jake ran, jumping tree trunks and brush that no one had bothered to remove. Next time pick a better-maintained trail, Kallie, he thought. God help him, please let there be a next time.

Thor ran ahead of them, his tail straight up, the white tip like a beacon. As the dog disappeared around a curve, Jake picked up the pace. He heard Logan’s harsh breathing behind him, a grunt as Masterson miscalculated a step.

Not slowing, Jake flicked his flashlight upward and managed to spot the dog’s dark fur against the black forest. Next dog they got would damned well be white.

“Almost there,” Masterson called, just loudly enough for Jake to hear. “Watch for her name.”

Suddenly Thor disappeared. A whip of the flashlight revealed no dog. Turning, Jake swept his light along the side and paused at a bunch of scattered white stones that he’d disregarded. Not her name like Masterson had said. Jake sidestepped to keep Logan from plowing into him and asked, “Is this it, Masterson?”

“That’s it, and he’s here, dammit. Kallie would never mess up her stones. Where’s the dog?”

Logan shone his flash downward. “There.” Thor had already moved down the tiny animal path and stopped to wait.

Masterson said in a low voice, “It’s not far.”

Jake cocked his head, could hear the soft gurgle of water, and said reluctantly, “Take the lead.” This was Masterson’s territory.

The fear gripping his guts hadn’t loosened. All the way up, he’d hoped the bastard had gone somewhere—anywhere—else tonight. An icy hand squeezed his spine. Every instinct yelled that the woman he loved—and he did, dammit—was in danger.

He had a second of thinking they should turn off their flashlights, and then a woman’s scream of terror ripped through the quiet night.

Kallie frantically rolled. The club aimed at her head caught the edge of her shoulder and slammed into the bag with a muffled thud. Her shoulder flared with agony, and then she kicked free of the bag, scrambling away on hands and feet. From some instinct, she dodged left. The club grazed her thigh, a sharp slap of pain.
Go, go, go.

She rolled, dodged one blow, shoved up.

Before she gained her feet, he struck her hip, knocking her sideways onto her back. Helpless.

“Beat the demon out of you.”

Stunned by the pain, she stared up. Stocky, barrel chest. Red hair. “I know you,” she gasped. “Andrew?”

Andrew attacked me? With a club
? “
Someone beat that woman to death with a heavy branch
.” He’s the killer. “Why…?”

“No! Don’t talk!” he shouted and swung.

Roll
! She heard the thud as he missed her again. He roared in frustration, and then his boot came down on her back and flattened her like roadkill. His weight was too much. Her hands scrabbled in the dirt. She futilely kicked her. He wouldn’t miss, wouldn’t miss…

As her muscles tensed, anticipating the blow, her hand bumped against something cold—metal. Her fingers closed around the handle of her whittling knife. She ripped it out of the ground and blindly swung up behind her back.

The impact hurt her wrist, and he screamed like an animal, the sound terrifying. She gripped tighter and yanked downward against the resistance of jeans and flesh.

He staggered sideways, and the weight lifted off her spine.

She shoved away, gained her feet, and darted for the trees. Fast. Faster. Dodge left, right, left. Into the shadows.

Too dark. She tripped over a log and landed on her hands and knees.
Stop
. He’d track her by the noise she made. Hunkering down behind a patch of brush, she tried to silence her gasping breath. Her heart hammered so hard she couldn’t hear anything past the pounding of her pulse.

An outraged bellow ripped through the night. Beyond the trees, sparks flickered upward like fireworks. He was taking his frustration out on her camp, she realized.

Then his footsteps headed straight for where she’d entered the forest. “Come out, demon.” An eerie note tinged his voice. He didn’t sound like the delivery man she’d met. He didn’t sound entirely human. Or sane.

Light flickered through the trees.
Oh God
. He had a flashlight, and the full moon had risen. She couldn’t hide long in the too-open forest.
I can fight him
. But if he caught her squarely with that club, she’d never get back up.
Hide. Fight if I have to.

An explosion of crackles and a curse broke through the silence. She realized he was hitting the underbrush at the edge of the clearing…and working his way closer.

She shoved her hand against her mouth and bit down to muffle her breathing.

Barking came from the clearing, and Kallie’s head jerked up. A dog? Help?

Andrew stopped. His footsteps retreated. “Demon dog. Hellhound,” the unnatural voice called.

A growl ripped through the silence, and the killer yelled. A yelp.
Oh, God, the dog.

Kallie almost stood up, then forced herself down. Jumped back up at a shout—Virgil’s voice, “Put it do—”

Another yelp and a grunt. The roar of a monster, sick with delight.

No
! Terror filled her, and she ran, bursting from the protection of the forest into the clearing and straight into a nightmare.

Virgil on his back, unmoving. Andrew on one knee beside her cousin, holding her whittling knife up with his head cocked as if he’d never seen a blade before. He spotted her and laid the edge across Virgil’s throat.