Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (26 page)

With no path, the vegetation on the mountain proved to be thick and lush. The towering pines engulfed her quickly in their moist darkness.
If I could climb just one of these trees, I might get a signal
. Panting, she ducked under a thick branch to determine if it would hold her weight.
Easier to climb a tree than a mountain
. She wrapped her hand around a limb, bearing the pain of the needles digging into her palms only to feel the spongy branch bow towards the ground.
Shit, shit, shit.
She wiped the thick sap along her still-wet pant legs.

Feet skidding in the mud and mire covering the ground, Lorna stumbled uphill. There was no gradual progression up the vertical escalation. One moment, she was essentially level, the next she scrambled on all fours to keep from slipping back down. Pushing forward, each step brought her closer to her destination. Her jaw ached, joining her other pains as she ground her teeth and continued inch by painful inch. Rising above the pines into the stubby spruce, she continued, still completely surrounded by thick foliage. She straightened to gauge her progress and release some tension on her back. Her final destination remained impossibly far away.

A rose hue colored the eastern sky, giving her hope for this new day. “Mama’s coming home to you,” she whispered to a faraway Kris. She rubbed her palms along her aching thighs. With growing determination, she turned her back to the light to plunge forward.

However, despite her most determined effort to place her feet with caution, she slipped on the mud and started to fall backward. Waving her arms like a bird about to take flight, struggling with balance, she instinctively reached for one of the bushy limbs close by her face. The scream escaped before she could check herself.

***

Mitch lunged forward to grab Hank’s arm, halting his pace. “What was that?”

“Could be birds,” Sinclair offered, looking up to the sky, checking for any winged creatures.

“Sounded like a scream,” Mitch looked towards the peak on their right. “Lorna. I’m sure of it.”

He opened his mouth to yell and felt a meaty hand clamp across his jaws. “Jesus, Mitch,” Hank hissed in his ear. “Stop reacting and think. We need to find the Fongs. You want to alert those brothers to our location? Blow the whole goddamned thing.”

Mitch lowered his eyes, ashamed. “I just need to see her safe,” he muttered for Hank’s ears only. “We’re so close.”

“Yeah, we’re close, but so are they and you know it.” He turned so his back was to the other officer. “You wanna see her safe; we get the bad guys.”

“Here,” the older officer pointed a few feet from where they stood, his flashlight illuminating footprints. “She came out here.”

Clambering forward, Mitch shone his own light on the print. “But’s what’s this?”

Sinclair moved his beam of light. “Two more,” he said without inflection. “Seems we have the Mister Fongs on the same path.”

“That’s why she screamed. They have her,” Mitch said, taking the lead to follow the clear trail left in the mud.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sinclair clutched his arm. “No,” he said firmly. “You have the satellite phone. We call this into depot and alert alpha team. This trail is fresh. We need to surround the area and cut these guys off. I don’t know how you city boys operate, but here we practice via a well-constructed system. Lives are at stake.”

Inhaling deeply, Mitch nodded. Sinclair loosened his grip.

“You’re right,” Mitch admitted reluctantly. He handed the phone over to the older officer, while he pinched his relay together at his neck to speak to the other teams via the shortwave.

“Beta team, west bound along the river, over,” Mitch spoke clearly through the mike attached to the small wire extended from his headset.

Scratchy static filled the earpiece before the clear, deep voice of Avery answered. “Alpha team, over.”

“Beta team pursuing fresh trail along the river, over,” Mitch continued, relaying the most up-to-date information to their squad leader, ending with letting them know the intel had been called through to headquarters.

Sinclair nodded as he returned the phone. “You should have said something about her not just being a person of interest to the case—a hostage and bystander—but a person of interest to you. It changes the dynamics of the operation.”

When Mitch declined to respond, the seasoned cop continued. “Information is key in what we do.” The wizened eyes shone in the early morning light. After a moment, his graveled voice warmed. “She’s not going far, and she’s not going fast. We’ll get to her. Soon.”

It was part of his training to trust his teammates. Without trust, there was no team on a mission. Mitch followed the old tracker without further comment.

***

Did I scream out loud?
Her head throbbed with the echo of her screech.
I did.
Pain ripped up her arm like lightning. Not able to release the thorny branch without risk of falling back down, Lorna maintained the painful grip. Her toes slipped and slid in search of a foothold while she reached her free hand towards the ground, clawing for balance. Finding a rock to brace her feet, her fingers closed around some scrub weeds while she panted, breathing through the pain. Secure in her position, tears streaming, she uncoiled her fingers and gently released her grip on the bough, hoping none of the thorns would remain intact in the palm of her hand.

“Holy Mother of God,” she whispered shakily, raising the palm close to her face to see the damage. Five small pricks oozed scarlet. Careful not to lose her footing, she felt around for some foliage to lie across her palm and ease the burning sensation. Wet leaves were the only things available at hand, so she fisted her hand around them and continued her agonizing journey upward, avoiding the tangle of thorny bushes that monopolized the vegetation and looked to be taller than any basketball player. Staying low to the ground to both avoid falling backward and keep under the ensnaring branches, Lorna bit her lip to stifle her moans.

The higher she climbed, the thinner the vegetation. Praying no one heard her scream and the reverberation of that sound in her head was louder than the actual event, she carried on.
I could use some luck about now
.

Another deadfall tree blocked her path and she hesitated to clamber over it and be further snagged in the barbed bramble. In a brief respite, Lorna lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat from her brow and move her clinging hair back from her face. The vista revealed an early pink sky had chased away the storm clouds of the night before. Drawing strength from the beautiful vision, she hesitantly stood to see above the foliage and pulled out her phone. Nothing.
Goddamnit
.

Twisting onto her stomach, she eased down to the other side to continue the trek upward. A flash of movement to her left caught her eye. Just a deer.
Thank God
. The animal glanced her way. She felt the allied connection of the hunted before he broke the trance to tear off through the bush.
How’d he manage that?
She caught glimpses of him through the foliage as though he were on a path with no thorn bushes or other obstacles whatsoever in his way.

Deciding his way might be an improvement, Lorna dropped down to all fours to move diagonally towards where she thought the deer had been standing.

It is a trail—of sorts.
Her heart skipped a beat, excited.
I can see through the thicket
. Clearly an animal trail. Memories of her foster father’s many wildlife stories came back to her.
What did Bret call this type of track when he used to go hunting? A game trail?
Recollections of Bret’s warm and easy manner helped her focus. The going was significantly easier, though she was still unable to stand on the vertical grade. She was finally making progress.

***

“She’s damned lucky.” Sinclair knelt by an old log, reading something in the soil invisible to the other two officers. “If it had been light, they’d’a had her for certain.”

“What?” both men said in unison.

“She holed up here,” Sinclair pointed to the depression under the log. Now that he pointed it out, Mitch could see the leaves and general debris altered from their natural fallen state. “And here”—his leathered fingers felt the firming tracks of shoe prints in the mud, going back and forth from the log—“the brothers stopped here.”

“Holy shit,” Hank mused, bending to look closer. “I’m no tracker, but it looks like they walked back and forth a couple of times towards the log.”

“Likely arguing some more,” Mitch added, waiting for more revelations the tracker could glean from the trail.

“Likely,” Sinclair agreed. “But I tell you, if there had been even a moon, she’d’a been found for sure.”

The man stood and walked a little ways down to where the footsteps led away before returning to the log. “She’s gone back up, while our guys are off in that direction.” One hand illustrated the rocky slope while his thumb hitched back over his shoulder.

“You think they’ll continue to follow the river?”

“Hard to say, really. It’d be easier, for sure. The slope’s polluted with Devil’s Club.” Sinclair’s leathered face screwed into to a pucker of distaste. “Miserable thorny shit, that. Friend of mine in forestry tells me how his guys get tangled in it all the time doing their survey work. Maybe a blessing if the pair do decide to risk the hill. Make ’em easier to catch. There’s no easy way out of it.”

Mitch had his phone out, ready to call the intel in. He lowered the cell slightly. “But you said Lorna went up. She’s likely trapped in that Devil’s whatever then?”

“Likely.”

“Could be why she screamed,” Hank offered.

“That doesn’t help,” Mitch muttered, turning towards the steep grade, phone to his ear, waiting for headquarters to answer, while Hank relayed via the shortwave.

***

Gradually the grade leveled off, and Lorna was able to stand without fear of falling back. Sweat stung her eyes from running in rivulets off her brow. Still sheltered by the tall thorny bushes and massive pines on either side of the narrow trail, she wasn’t worried about being seen. She bent double to catch her breath and ease the pain in her calves. Covered in mud from head to toe, she was completely inconspicuous.

Then there was grass beneath her feet.
Grass
. Not weeds or scrub grass typical to the bush, actual regular in-your-backyard grass.

The bush disappeared into a clearing. Lorna wiped the streaming sweat from her eyes, blinking to focus. It was a small clearing and off to her right were some deer munching contentedly on the lush green lawn, unaware of her. Shadows consumed her invading presence.
What is this place? Someone’s cabin?
She feared she may have circled back to the Fongs’ hideout.

She hunched down, palms flat against her thighs, massaging the tight and tired muscles. If she had to make a run for it, she didn’t know where she would go. Observing through her fringe of heavy hair, the answer lay in the clearing in front of her. An oil lease.
Of course. That’s why we chose the general area to film the commercial for Aqua Oil
. A small, unobtrusive patch of industry within nature, causing no ill effect.
Yeah, whatever.
The animals were attracted to the sweet grass.

Her breathing leveled out, and she glanced back under her arm the way she’d come. Raising her hands to cup her face before swinging her hair back from her forehead, she stood and assessed what potential the lease offered. The small clearing was a couple-to-three acres square, featuring the typical black wellhead moving up and down. Next to it stood the small mechanical hut and on the other side a tower, which relayed a site signal back to the monitoring office to ensure all was running smoothly. If something or someone interfered with the beacon, a field crew would be dispatched immediately to allay the problem.
That’s usually when I’d be called in by corporate
, she thought dryly, wondering at the irony of her current situation.

Taking out her phone, noting the red zone of her battery, she held it high for a signal. One bar bounced on and off the screen.

“Jesus, fuck.” She huffed softly, pounding her fist against her hip in frustration. Her sudden movement alerted the deer to her existence, and they stopped eating, wary of her company in the meadow. The single buck was the first to flee. The does moved towards the edge, but remained steadfast.

Almost apologetic for her vulgarity, Lorna lowered her head, thinking.
The tower
.

Raising eyes to the clear, brightening sky, she limped towards the drill head, uncomfortable leaving the safety of the trees, alert to noises, and balancing her weight alternately between the sides of her feet and her toes to alleviate some of the pain of walking.
It can’t be helped. I need to get to the tower.
Lowering her head, gritting her teeth, she looked all around the small well-manicured clearing, as watchful to foreign presence as the deer.

Yes, I need to reach the tower.
Scanning her memory for useful information, she remembered each oil lease has a distinct number assigned to it in the event of a mishap
. I need to get that number. Even if I can’t call, I can text the tower number, and Mitch will know where I am. Yes!

***

“Copy that,” Avery said. “Confirmed chopper en route.”

“’Bout bloody time,” Sinclair grumbled, bending to run his hands along the drying track. “Could have walked from Prince George in the time they’re taking to get organized.”

Relaying what they had found, Avery proposed the two teams further divide. “We know the woman moved up the ridge. I would suggest in addition to your team moving back towards us along the river, hoping to flush the brothers out, you send one of your men up the hill in the event they tear off,” Mitch glanced at Hank and Sinclair, relieved when Hank nodded his head in agreement.

“That’s an affirmative,” Hank agreed.

“Once at the top, my man will keep the river in sight,” Avery continued. “I suggest you do the same.”

“Copy that. Over.”

“Out.” Avery ended the transmission.

Standing, Sinclair motioned Mitch and Hank forward. “We go slow and steady now. Quiet. We’ve the river to hide some noise, but we can’t count on that. Can hardly see shit in this growth, so keep your eyes peeled.”

Mitch nodded before casting his eyes towards the embankment. “How do I get through that Devil’s bramble?”

“Devil’s Club,” Sinclair corrected. “You don’t.”

Mitch must have looked as confused as he felt. Sinclair added. “You avoid that shit.”

“How?”

“You go back about a quarter mile, maybe a little more.” He lifted a leathery hand and pointed back in the direction they had come. “There was a bit of a rock formation. Looked like three rocks stacked together, almost like a snowman, without the friendly curves.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Hank interjected. “Towards the last bend in the river where the rapids were bouncing back in the eddies, remember?”

“Okay, yeah,” Mitch turned, struggling to recall the rock formation. The only thing that came to mind was being splashed. “I think I can find it.”

Sinclair scratched under his cap, moving his fingers behind his ear in contemplation. “There was a game trail leading up. I’m sure of it. It’ll look like a thin thread of a trail through this thick mess, but follow that. It’ll lead you to the top.”

“You sure?”

“Hell, no. I’m not sure and not about to take the time to confirm.” Sinclair’s face screwed up tight. “You get to those rocks and can’t find the trail, head up anyway. Nothing to be done for it. You’ll be cut to shreds, but stay low.”

“Glad we’re taking the time to plan it out anyway.”