Against the Wild (29 page)

“Word travels fast,” the chief said.

“How's that?” Dylan asked. Wills indicated the chairs in front of his desk, and Lane sat down next to Dylan.

“State Troopers are on their way to Eagle Bay with a warrant to search Caleb Wolfe's cabin and his truck.”

Dylan's jaw went tight. “Why now? Why not when they first came out?”

“We've had time to do some follow-up, talk to the people at Mad Jack's who saw him with Holly that night. They said the girl was all over him, practically seduced him right there in the bar.”

Lane sat forward in her chair. “Caleb went there to tell Holly to leave him alone. They fought about it. Those same people must have seen him leave.”

“He's a man, isn't he? He waited outside and took what Holly offered.”

“That's not the way it was,” Lane said firmly.

“We also interviewed Maggie Ridell again. Apparently Holly told her she was seeing Wolfe. He's denied it from the start. There may be something in his home or car that will tell us the truth.” He looked at Dylan. “I figured that's why you were here.”

Dylan shook his head. “You're looking in the wrong direction, Frank. Caleb Wolfe didn't kill Holly Kaplan. Did you find anything on Dusty Withers?”

“Only that you were right. Withers doesn't exist.”

“His real name is Kyle Whitaker. The girl at Convenient Rental Car identified him as the man calling himself Withers. The bartender at Mad Jack's confirmed it. Whitaker just got out of jail for aggravated assault. He followed Lane up here, has some kind of obsession with her. He's been watching the lodge. Last night, he stabbed her dog, damned near killed him. If you dig deep enough, you'll find he has mental problems. Whitaker's the man who killed Holly.”

For the first time, the police chief looked uncertain. “All right, so you've found the guy you've been looking for. Even if he is a stalker—and at the moment I'm not arguing that—what evidence do you have he killed the Kaplan girl?”

Dylan's frustration showed in the hard lines of his face. “Look, we know he was in Mad Jack's—the bartender saw him more than once. We know Holly had a fight with Caleb the night she was killed. Who knows, maybe she left with Whitaker to get even. Or maybe she met up with Whitaker somewhere else and they came back there together. The thing is, if we could find this guy—if we could talk to him—we might be able to figure out what happened to Holly.”

“You seem to know a lot about him. Any warrants? Has he broken parole?”

“No warrants and apparently he served his sentence.”

The chief leaned back in his chair. “Whether he killed the girl or not, he has no business trespassing on your property.” His thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows drew together. “You saw him out there, right? You know for sure it's him?”

“He was out there,” Dylan said. “Lane saw him.”

The chief's sharp gaze swung to her. “You're sure it was Whitaker? It couldn't be the man's just up here fishing and it has nothing to do with you?”

Lane flicked a glance at Dylan, wishing she could be more certain. “I think it was him. He was kind of far away.”

At least she'd seen someone she thought might be him, and they knew for sure he'd been in town.

“All right, we'll take a look at Whitaker. If what you've said about him checks out, I'll put out a BOLO. The problem is if he's the man you say and he wants to stay off the grid, we'll need the state police to find him. I'm not calling them in on a trespassing case. Hell, you can't even be a hundred percent sure it's Whitaker who's out there.”

Dylan leaned forward in his chair. “This guy is dangerous, Frank. He was Delta Force. I think he used a Ka-Bar knife on Lane's dog.”

Wills's frown deepened. He stood up from behind his desk. “I'll let my men know. As soon as I can free up a couple of officers, I'll send them to the lodge to check things out. But it isn't going to happen until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“I appreciate it, Frank.” Dylan stuck out a hand and the two men shook.

“I want the right guy for this as much as you do,” Chief Wills said. He looked over at Lane. “And I don't want another woman getting killed.”

 

 

As Dylan guided Lane out of the police station, his cell started ringing. Caleb's number flashed on the screen. Dylan pressed the phone against his ear. “I'm here.”

“Cops came out with a warrant,” Caleb said, his voice tight and strained. “Searched my cabin, tore it all to hell. Loaded my truck onto a tow and hauled it back to town.”

“We just left Frank Wills's office. He told us they were coming.”

“Jesus, Dylan, what am I going to do?”

“You're going to stay calm. The police are putting out a BOLO on Whitaker. Once they bring him in, this may all be over. In the meantime, call Peter Keller, bring him up to speed.”

“All right. I'll call him, then Paddy, and I'll take a look around, see if we can find any trace of Whitaker.”

“Negative on that. Turns out he's Delta. And it looks like he stabbed Finn to keep the dog from tracking him.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Wills is going to send out a couple of officers, but probably not until tomorrow. We'll keep watch tonight. Maybe we'll spot him. If he's trespassing, we've got a right to protect ourselves.”

“If he's Delta, we aren't going to find him—not unless he wants us to.”

It was probably the truth. Delta soldiers were in the same league as SEALs. Being an Army man, Nick would argue they were better. But Whitaker wasn't going to stay in hiding forever. Sooner or later, he was going to come after Lane.

When he did, Dylan meant to stop him.

It was late afternoon by the time Dylan had refueled at the float dock in Waterside and was ready to get the plane in the air. Lane had called to check on Finn one last time before they left town. He was sleeping peacefully, the doctor said, and his condition was improved.

Lane had asked Dr. Kennedy to keep them updated, and Dylan had promised to bring her back to pick Finn up as soon as he was well enough to go home.

Home.
The word stirred an ache in her chest. Home was beginning to feel more and more like being here with Dylan. With Emily and Winnie and Caleb. Eagle Bay was beginning to feel like the place she was meant to be.

It was impossible. She had a home of her own, a business to run. For heaven's sake, she was an interior designer from Beverly Hills!

And as far as she knew, Dylan hadn't the least desire for her to stay.

The plane lifted into the air, the roar of the engine pulling her thoughts back to the present. She watched the dark blue sea falling away beneath them, took in the sharp rise of snow-capped mountains in the distance. She had never seen a more beautiful place.

And yet there was trouble here, trouble she had brought with her.

“I'm worried about Caleb,” she said over the hum of the propeller. “You don't think he'll go after Kyle?”

“I don't think so. Caleb's no fool. He knows his limitations. He's not going to do something stupid.”

“You think the police will be able to find him?”

“I don't know. Trouble is, they figure Whitaker for a stalker, not a murderer. And in this kind of country it's going to be nearly impossible to figure out where he is.”

Lane looked down at the mountains beneath them. They were almost halfway home. She flicked a sideways glance at Dylan. “Since we're already up here—”

“Why don't we do a little searching of our own?” he finished, reading her mind, as he seemed to have a way of doing.

Lane smiled. “That's right. We know he rented a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Maybe we'll spot it.”

The wings tipped as Dylan started to descend to a lower altitude and began to change direction. “There're several seasonal owners up here, cabins they only use a few months out of the year. There are always some that are empty.”

“Maybe he's broken into one of them and that's where he's staying.”

Dylan looked down at the ground passing beneath them. “Trouble is those places aren't that easy to find. Almost no roads up here and the ones that lead to part-time residences get badly overgrown. Worth a try, though.”

Dylan descended a little more and began to do a perimeter search of the area on the mainland side of Eagle Bay. When they didn't see anything out of the ordinary, he decreased the circumference of the circle and began again.

Lane figured they were still about eight miles out when the tone of the engine changed. Her gaze shifted from the window to the man at the controls. The lines of his face were set, his jaw hard.

“What's happening?” The engine started coughing, making odd sputtering sounds. “Dylan?”

Instead of answering, he picked up the radio transmitter. “Waterside Airport, this is Dylan Brodie, Nancy Seven Three Five Able Charlie. We're having engine trouble.”

Lane's stomach knotted. The radio came to life. “Roger, Brodie. What's your location?”

Lane's fingers gripped the seat as the engine continued to wheeze and sputter and Dylan gave the airport controller their coordinates.

For an instant he turned toward her. “We've got a problem. We're going to land. We'll be okay.” His attention returned to the mic. “This is Brodie. We're close to Moose Lake. I'll set her down there. I'll check in once we're in the water.”

“Roger that,” came the reply. “Good luck.”

Dylan sliced her a glance. “Start watching for the lake. We should be almost there.”

Lane stared out the window, her heart pounding wildly. For miles ahead, all she could see were trees. The plane hiccupped one last time, sputtered, then went silent. “Oh, my God.”

“Watch for the lake,” Dylan said firmly as he tried to start the engine again. The plane swooped downward, losing altitude, the air rushing past the wings. Lane trembled. Her mouth was dry, her pulse thundering in her ears. As the airplane rushed toward the tops of the trees, she fought a wave of panic. Swallowing back her fears, she started to pray, then looked ahead and saw it.

“There!” She thrust out a finger. “There's the lake!”

“I got it!” Dylan worked the controls as the plane dropped, fighting to start the engine. It growled but didn't start. Growled again, then suddenly sputtered to life. The propeller picked up speed, giving them a little lift, enough to miss the trees. “Hold tight.”

Lane closed her eyes, silently praying they would make it as far as the lake. When she looked again, pine trees were rushing beneath the cabin. One of the pontoons skimmed the very tip of a tree. The plane flew a ways farther then glided out over the water. Dylan eased the nose up and set the pontoons on the surface of the lake.

Lane released the breath she had been holding. Next to her, Dylan worked the controls, and the propeller carried them toward the far end of the lake. It wasn't large. The engine continued to run raggedly, but it was moving the plane toward the distant shoreline.

As if he had planned it, the wake carried them within a few feet of the sand at the edge of the water before the motor fell silent again. The plane settled. The wild ride was over.

Lane slumped against the seat. “We . . . we made it.” When she looked over at Dylan, he was grinning.

“What?” he teased. “You didn't trust me?”

She swung at him, hit him solidly in the arm. “This isn't funny.”

His smile slid away. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I'm sorry I scared you, baby. Sometimes things happen out here we don't expect. I try to keep my options open.”

Some of her anger faded. It wasn't his fault the engine had failed. “You loved it, though,” she said, unable to hold back the hint of a smile. “Admit it.”

His mouth edged up. “It was a rush. I loved it once we were down and you were safe. I was ninety-five percent sure we'd be okay.”

Her russet eyebrows went up. “Ninety-five percent?”

“Well, maybe only ninety.”

Lane leaned back in the copilot's seat, the jolt of adrenaline beginning to fade, her heartbeat still not quite slowed to normal. “I'm sorry I hit you. I've never been in a plane crash before.”

“Emergency landing,” he corrected. “There's a lot of water around. I'm usually not cruising so low. Finding a place to set down isn't as hard as it sounds.”

Or at least he didn't want her to be so frightened she would never go up again. She glanced at their surroundings. Miles and miles of tall, forested mountains and rugged granite peaks. Snow lingered at the higher elevations. “So what do we do now?”

“We let everyone know we're safe.” Picking up the mic, he radioed the airport, told them they had made a safe landing at Moose Lake and asked the controller to call the Eagle Bay Lodge and tell them what had happened. There was no cell service out here.

“Tell them we'll be spending the night at the lake and walking out tomorrow. I'll get someone up here to fix the plane as soon as we get back to the lodge.”

“Roger that.” The call ended, and Dylan set the mic back in its holder.

“We're spending the night?”

“Too late to get home before dark. It's only about five miles away. If it weren't such rugged country, it'd be a piece of cake.” He glanced off toward the direction of the lodge. “With Whitaker still out there, I don't like the idea of Caleb being there by himself, but there's not much we can do about it tonight.”

“Are we sleeping in the plane?”

The sexy grin returned. It did funny things to the pit of her stomach. “I always carry emergency gear. We'll pitch a tent, catch something to eat for supper. You said you've never been camping. Think of it as an adventure.”

It was definitely that. This whole trip to Alaska had been an amazing adventure.

Except for Kyle Whitaker. The grim thought reminded her of the man who had followed her. The man who might be a killer.

Dylan swung the door of the plane open and climbed out on the pontoon. Taking a rope out of the baggage compartment, he jumped onto the shore and began securing the plane to a tree near the shoreline.

As soon as he was finished, he came back, helped her out, and carried her to the shore. Then he went back and started unloading his gear. They hauled the equipment up to a nice, flat, sandy spot with good visibility and not a lot of shrubbery around.

She felt a pinch on her arm and slapped away a mosquito. “I hope you've got some insect repellent in that bag.”

“Never go anywhere without it.” He dug into his big canvas satchel, brought out an aerosol can of OFF!, and sprayed her arms and neck, then her jeans and T-shirt—the white one Dylan had been wearing under his shirt when they'd left the lodge last night. She'd had to borrow it, since hers had been covered with Finn's blood.

“The wind's coming up a little,” Dylan said. “Should be enough to keep the mosquitoes away.”

The breeze felt good, a little chilly but refreshing. And the mosquitoes were mostly down by the reeds at the edge of the lake.

“I guess you've probably never pitched a tent.” Dylan pulled out a cardboard box that said C
OLEMAN
P
OP
-U
P
on the side, took out a rolled-up green nylon tent.

“This little beauty sleeps four, and it only takes minutes to put up.” He told her what to do to help, and it was up in no time. He went back to the plane for sleeping bags. Brought them back and tossed them into the tent.

He flashed a devilish grin. “They zip together.”

Lane laughed. “Is that so?”

His grin widened. There was no mistaking what he meant and a little coil of anticipation slipped through her.

“We'll take care of it after supper,” he said.

She had never seen this side of him—relaxed, even playful. Away from the pressures of work, out in the forest he loved. He belonged here, she could see. But then, she had never doubted that.

Not since the moment she had first seen him, standing on the deck of a friend's house in Beverly Hills, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. Maybe she'd fallen a little in love with him right then.

He stood there a moment, staring out at the beautiful, smooth-as-glass, clear, blue mountain lake, his long legs splayed, his features completely relaxed. “You like fried fish, right?”

“Sure.” Not that she'd ever had any fish fried outdoors.

He took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. “Then I'd better go get my fishing pole.” He smiled, looking like the rugged he-man he was.

In that moment, Lane lost another little piece of her heart to Dylan Brodie.

 

 

Supper was over. Emily had gone up to her room to play while Caleb helped Winnie clear the dishes. He was almost finished when a knock sounded at the mudroom door.

Dread spilled through him. Had they come to arrest him? There was nothing to find in his truck, but still . . .

On the other hand, what if it was Kyle Whitaker? Caleb's hunting rifle was in his cabin. No way to get there in time. The shotgun was upstairs, locked in a closet in Dylan's bedroom. The .44 revolver Dylan carried in the woods was in his gear bag on the plane. There were a couple of hunting rifles in the gun safe in the garage. Unfortunately, at the moment he couldn't remember the combination.

Reminding himself it was too soon to panic, he ran over to the window that looked into the side yard. Relief trickled through him. Heading for the mudroom, he pulled open the door, found two boys in their early twenties, with black hair and dark skin, standing on the back porch. Caleb recognized one of them as Alex Kramer, the son of a friend of his in Yeil. Alex had been one of the kids involved in the haunting. His dad hadn't been happy when he'd found out about it.

“Hey, Caleb.”

“Alex.”

“Jacob Payuk told us about the trouble you've been having. He thought maybe we were the ones who'd been watching the lodge, but we aren't.” He gestured to his friend. “This is Jared Deacon. Is Mr. Brodie in?”

“Dylan won't be back till tomorrow. What's going on?”

“We wanted him to know we didn't break our word,” Jared said. “We figured you'd be trying to catch whoever is out there. We thought maybe you could use our help.”

Caleb pulled open the door and stepped back out of the way. “Come on in. Winnie's got some apple pie left in the kitchen if you want some. There's coffee, too.”

They flashed each other a glance. “That sounds great,” Alex said.

Caleb led them into the kitchen. “This is Winnie, the best cook in Alaska. Winnie, this is Alex and Jared. I told them they could have a piece of your pie.”

“Well, of course they can,” she said. “With Lane and Dylan stuck up at Moose Lake, they might as well eat it before it goes to waste.”

Not that any of Winnie's pie ever got thrown out.

The boys sat down at the long pine table. While Winnie cut slabs of still-warm apple pie and slid them onto plates, Caleb filled mugs with coffee and set them down on the table. He poured one for himself and joined the two boys.

Winnie set a piece of pie down in front of the taller boy. “You're Heather's boyfriend, Alex,” she said, referring to the girl who worked for her part-time.

“That's right.”

She set another piece of pie on the table in front of Jared and handed each of them a fork. “Heather says you've been working hard researching that no-good Artemus Carmack. How's it coming?”