Before Sunrise (28 page)

“It's like trying to find a straw in a haystack,” Cortez said tersely as he stared intently ahead.

“It's a big forest,” the sheriff agreed. “But you're right in concluding that Miss Bennett would likely take Miss Keller to a place she knew. Since she's not a native, thank God, that narrows the search area a bit.”

“I wish we could get in the air,” Cortez said fervently. “We'd stand a better chance of finding her.”

“She seems like a very sharp woman,” came the quiet reply.

“She is,” Cortez said, “and she's got a great background in anthropology and archaeology. She's no stranger to back roads and wilderness.” His eyes
narrowed. “She'd try to walk out, if she could. She'd be on a path.”

“You don't think she'd stay put?”

“It's unlikely,” Cortez replied. “It's too wet to make a fire and there's the risk of exposure. She'd keep moving. I'm sure of it.”

“At first light, I'll get a plane out here if I have to commandeer one, and a pilot to go with it,” the sheriff promised. “One way or another, we'll find her.”

“It wouldn't hurt to check with the posse and see if they've found any sign.”

The sheriff already had the mike in his hand. He grinned at Cortez. “Just what I thought myself.”

 

B
UT THE POSSE HAD NOTHING
. Neither did the forestry people. It was difficult to search at night, even with the snow making it light enough to see. The forest was immense, and a lone person would just blend in with it.

A call came in from the dispatcher. The sheriff answered it, while Cortez's heart leaped with hope.

“We've had contact from one of your units,” the dispatcher said. “One of the guests in a cabin saw a four-wheel-drive vehicle go by twice, headed for the dead end past the picnic area about three hours ago.”

“On my way,” the sheriff said, stopping to wheel the vehicle around.

Cortez grinned. Finally a break! Now if only they found Phoebe alive…

P
HOEBE WAS BEGINNING TO TIRE
. She was in good health and her legs were strong, but the combination of exertion, exposure and lack of food was telling on her. She'd had breakfast, but she hadn't been hungry at lunch. She'd used up her reserve energy. She stopped, at a sudden crossroad where the road split into four different directions. Looking ahead at the incredible expanse of snow and forest, she felt despair. There were no obvious tracks, and this time there was no distant singing to point the way. For the first time since the ordeal began, she felt that it was going to be impossible to walk to safety.

If she'd had more strength, if she knew where she was going, even the direction, there might have been a chance. She didn't know where she was, so she didn't
know in which direction to go. If she made the wrong choice, she was going to die. If she stayed here, she was going to die. If she went into the woods and covered herself up with leaves and pine tree limbs to try and keep warm, they'd never find her and she was still going to die.

She was soaked to the skin from the falling snow. Her hair was wet as well. Her feet were totally numb, her hose soaked. As she took one more step, she became aware that she couldn't feel her feet.

It was too much. She had no more hope. It was going to end, because she couldn't walk anymore. She was so tired. She seemed to have been walking forever. She was cold and hungry and her feet were frozen. She looked up and felt the sleet and snow hit her in the face. She closed her eyes. It was all over.

She sat down in the middle of the crossroads with a long sigh, and then curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes. They said freezing to death wasn't painful. She hoped that was true. She hoped that Cortez would remember how wonderful their brief time together had been, before Tina and Drake complicated everything. Before she complicated everything. She should have gone to Cortez and made him listen. He would have to live with the guilt of walking away from her, and that
hurt her, too. She loved him. She whispered his name and her breath sighed out in a weak, final little burst.

 

I
N THE SHERIFF'S CAR
, Cortez was grinding his teeth. The road had four forks just past the cabins. What had seemed like pinpointing a location was now another puzzle.

“Stop,” he told the sheriff. He got out of the car and walked to the crossroads, narrowing his eyes as he bent down to look carefully at the ground. The snow had covered up everything, but surely there would be a trace of tire tracks if the Bennett woman had come this way!

The sheriff got out and stooped as well, searching. He brushed at snow-covered leaves gently.

“You hunt, don't you?” Cortez asked him.

“Since I was a teen. You're looking for ruts, right?”

“Right. It's the only chance we have.”

They bent to the task with flashlights. It didn't take long. The dirt roads weren't well-traveled this time of year, so there were no old tracks to confuse them.

“Found it!” Cortez called, motioning to the sheriff, who stooped beside him.

There, just under the snow, was a firm tire track in the soft dirt—missing one vertical tread! He explained it to the sheriff, who'd been following the case.

“Good thing she didn't realize that tread was so easily identifiable,” Sheriff Steele said.

“Absolutely. Let's go!” Cortez jumped up, running for the car.

The sheriff got in under the wheel, started the engine, and turned down the path from which the four-wheel-drive vehicle had come. He called on his radio for reinforcements, in case they had more crossroads to check. Considering how long Phoebe had been missing, she'd be near dead of exposure by now. Another few hours and it wouldn't matter if they found her—because it wouldn't be in time.

Cortez knew that. He also knew that there was every possibility that Claudia Bennett had killed Phoebe. She could be lying in the snow, her soft eyes closed forever in death. His jaw clenched so tight that his teeth hurt. As the car sped along the snow-covered trail, he was praying for all he was worth.

The rutted path seemed to go on forever, down and down, around curves and turns, toward a valley below. There was still a chance that the Bennett woman had killed Phoebe, just as she'd killed her accomplice. Unarmed, Phoebe wouldn't have stood a chance. Cortez couldn't think about that possibility. He'd been cold to her at their parting. It would haunt him forever if she died.

The snow was still coming down, heavier now. The sheriff was slowing for the turns. Both men were intent on the road ahead as it leveled out and ran in a straight line toward the horizon.

The radio buzzed and the sheriff answered it. He stopped the car in the middle of the road and listened, his eyes wide and stunned. Cortez was listening, too. He only smiled.

“We have a message from a Mr. Redhawk in Oklahoma to relay to you,” the dispatcher had said. “He says it concerns this case, and it's important.”

“Okay,” the sheriff replied, puzzled by Cortez's fixed gaze. “Let's have it.”

“He says you should look for a fork in the road where two huge hemlock trees are placed, one across from the other, and there's a dead log lying halfway in the road. She'll be there. He also says,” she hesitated, clearing her throat, “that the young lady is pregnant.”

Cortez groaned out loud. “Is she alive? Ask him if she's alive!” he demanded.

The sheriff gave him a curious look, but he relayed the question.

There was a brief pause. “Yes. He says she is.”

“Thank God!” Cortez ground out, averting his face, which would show a suspicious wetness in his dark eyes.

The sheriff thanked the dispatcher and gave Cortez a glance. He barely noticed. Phoebe was pregnant? He couldn't believe it! But his father was almost never wrong. If he hit the nail on the head this time, he might have just saved Phoebe.

The sheriff's expression was elegant. “You don't believe in this psychic business, I hope,” he scoffed. Just as the last word left his lips, they parted and he gaped as he stopped the car suddenly.

There, in front of them, the road forked. At the left fork, there were two hemlock trees and a dead log just halfway in the road. “My God!” he exclaimed. “Who is that Redhawk guy?”

“My father,” Cortez murmured dryly. “He's a shaman.” He didn't add that among the Comanche there was no organized group of medicine men, or shaman, that visions were individual and private. His father's gift wasn't because of any status in the culture he belonged to. It was as individual as Charles Redhawk himself was.

The sheriff glanced at him. “I'd like to meet that gentleman,” he said sincerely, wheeling the car down the rutted road.

Cortez leaned as far forward as his seat belt would allow, his narrowed eyes intent on the road ahead. Please, he prayed silently, please don't let me lose her. Nothing
in life would ever matter again if Phoebe wasn't in the world.

The sheriff slowed as they rounded a curve and then accelerated on the straightaway, where the surroundings widened into clearings on both sides of the road. There were huge oaks and pines and hemlock trees along the road. Snow blanketed the surroundings. In the rear view mirror, he could see his own tire tracks growing deeper.

“Stop!” Cortez yelled suddenly.

Instinctively the sheriff hit the brakes and stopped about a foot from a curled up figure right in the middle of the road.

Cortez jumped out and ran to Phoebe. He caught her up in his arms, horrified that it might be too late, despite his father's assurances. His arms crushed her to his chest. “Phoebe…sweetheart, can you hear me?” he grated at her ear.

Incredibly, after seconds of anguish, he suddenly felt her breath against his throat. “Thank God, thank God, thank God!” He groaned into her hair. “Phoebe. Baby, can you hear me? Phoebe! Phoebe!”

She heard a voice. She felt warm, strong arms around her. Had she died? She took a painful breath and coughed, shivering as her eyes slowly opened. She looked up into Cortez's drawn, contorted, beloved
face. “Jeremiah?” she murmured. She smiled as her cold fingers reached up to touch his cheek. “Am I dead and gone to heaven?” she whispered fervently.

“Not dead,” he groaned. “But it feels like heaven. Thank God we found you in time…!” His mouth ground down into hers fervently, with all his fear behind its pressure. Under it, her lips were cold, but responsive. He wanted to kiss her until she warmed, but there was no time for it now. He had to force himself to stop. His face pushed into her throat as he held her. He let her go for a minute and wrenched off his jacket and stuffed her into it.

“Oh, that's so warm,” she whispered delightedly, shivering.

“You're half frozen!” he groaned, wrapping her up tight.

“I never thought you'd find me,” she whispered, clinging to him. “My feet were numb. I couldn't walk anymore. I was so afraid…!”

His mouth stopped the words. “You're safe. You're safe now! I'll never let you go again! Not until I die. I swear it!” He pulled her up gently, hesitating when she cried out as she put pressure on her feet. He turned her so that he could lift her with his right arm, so that his left only had to support her legs. He carried her to the car, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder.

“You'll hurt your shoulder! You mustn't lift me…!” she protested.

“Be quiet.” It was painful to know that even now, she was more concerned for him than for herself. She loved him. He could feel it. He loved her, with every cell in his body. He wrapped her up tighter.

Even though he felt the pain with every step, he carried her all the way to the car. He had the sheriff open the door from the inside, and he put her into the back seat. He pulled off her shoes and rubbed her stockinged feet roughly with his big hands, until feeling came back into them. “Have you got a blanket?” he asked the sheriff.

“No, but I've got a sleeping bag in the boot,” the sheriff replied, popping the trunk button on the dash. He went to fetch it, handing it in to Cortez, who wrapped it quickly around Phoebe's legs.

“We have to get her to the hospital at once,” Cortez said to the sheriff. Only then did he recall the other thing his father had said. He looked at her with wide, curious eyes, wondering if the old man could possibly be right. He had a high percentage of accuracy. Could she be carrying his child? It seemed almost too much to hope for, on top of the miracle that put her, alive, in his arms after the terror of the past few hours.

“We can't go to the hospital,” Phoebe said in a croaky tone. “I know where the pistol landed. We have to find it. I'm sure it's the murder weapon.”

“Phoebe,” Cortez protested.

“I knocked it out of her hands at the last minute,” she added. “She was going to shoot me in the back. I thought if I could turn fast enough and knock the pistol out of her hands, I might be able to get away. I was scared to death, but it worked. She has small hands and it was a big .45 automatic.”

Cortez shivered at the thought of what could have happened, at point-blank range with a gun of that caliber. He could still see the last murder victim, most of his face missing. He wrapped Phoebe up tighter, his face anguished. “You need treatment,” he argued.

“It can wait. I'm all right. If we don't go now,” she said gently, “I'll forget. She can't be allowed to get away because you don't have the gun that will convict her.” She glanced past him at Sheriff Steele, who was trying to be invisible. “Tell him I'm right,” she pleaded.

The sheriff grimaced. “He knows you're right,” he replied.

Cortez lifted his head. His eyes were warm and soft in the interior light of the sheriff's car. “Okay, we'll look for the gun. That's my girl,” he added softly, and with pride.

She smiled and touched his mouth with her fingertips.

“We'll look,” he said, getting out of the car. He closed her door. “Let's go,” he told the sheriff. “If she can point out that weapon, we'll have a good case.”

“You bet we will,” Steele said with a chuckle.

 

T
HEY DROVE TO THE SPOT
where the Bennett woman had almost killed Phoebe. Incredibly, she'd walked almost three miles from the site.

“Pull right in there,” she pointed over the front seats. “It was just in front of that big oak tree.”

The sheriff stopped the car. Phoebe, warm now, got out and handed Cortez back his jacket. She was wrapped up in the sleeping bag, wearing it like a shawl.

“It's this way,” she said, gritting her teeth as she recalled the terror of her last visit to the spot.

She led the two men to the edge of the small ridge that sloped down to yet another, and then another. She closed her eyes, remembering her position and Claudia Bennett's position. For an instant, she felt sick. Then she caught herself and straightened. A lot depended on her memory. She couldn't let a killer get away.

She looked toward the ridge. “It went in that direction,” she pointed past the big oak tree. “It was very heavy, so it couldn't have gone too far. She tried to
search for it when I ran and hid, but she couldn't find it. Snow was falling and it was getting dark. I guess she thought I might attack her from behind if she stayed,” she added with a wan smile.