The Killer Trail (19 page)

Chris looked at his cup, suddenly wishing it were filled with something stronger than coffee. “I don't know what the future holds, Stephanie. All I know is that I'm incredibly attracted to you and I really enjoy being around you. I always have. Doesn't that count for something?”

“It does. I find you attractive too. I found it very hard the other night to...” Stephanie's cheeks flushed. “But I'm at a point where I have to be selfish about my other needs. I need someone who is focused on me. Not on work, not on somebody else. On me!”

“What are you saying, Stephanie?” But he knew what she was working towards.

“Chris, have you listened to yourself tonight? You're preoccupied with your work, and that's bad enough. Now you're completely obsessed with Ray Owens, and that scares me. It really does. I can't sit idly by and watch you lose yourself in him.”

Chris felt his muscles tensing. “That's just not true, Stephanie. I—”

“Please, Chris, let me finish. I can't go on like this. I deserve better.” She took a deep breath, then reached out to touch his hand. “I know you don't want to hear this. I know you think I overanalyze everything. Maybe you're right. Maybe it's an occupational hazard for me. But I think you have trouble letting people get close to you out of fear of losing them... like your mother. I feel you're keeping me away.”

Chris gave a tired smile. “I knew it would come down to this. I don't know what else to say because I've been down this road before.”

They both looked down at their drinks. The silence was deafening. Chris' heart was pounding. He knew she was right. He could fool a lot of people, but not Stephanie.

Finally, he said in a beaten tone, “So what do you want to do?”

“I really don't know.” Stephanie's voice was quavering. She looked to be on the verge of crying. “I don't want to argue like this. Don't you see what's happening to you? You're losing control.”

Chris snapped, furious with Stephanie for saying he was losing control— and even more so because he knew she was right. “Fine, you do what you have to do.” He pushed away from the table to get up.

“Chris, where are you going?”

“Don't worry about me. I'll survive. Always have— always will.” He stood, mumbled a goodbye, and stormed out of the café, wandering aimlessly into the dark night.

Blind to his surroundings, Chris ambled towards his truck, ignoring the rain, ignoring everything but his misery. He didn't see Pierce Hennessy, who'd been watching Chris' every move from the moment he had stepped outside his apartment earlier that day for a run. Nor did Chris detect the man's rapid approach from behind. But he did feel the full impact of the sucker punch that knocked him to the ground. Before he realized what was happening, his assailant leaned down, grabbed him by his hair, and yanked his head off the ground. The rain smeared the blood gushing from Chris' nose and pooling on his jacket.

His attacker snarled in his ear, “Where's the cell phone?”

Still in shock from the speed of the attack, Chris was confused. “Wha—?”

“The fucking cell phone, asshole. Where is it?”

“I... I don't have it?”

His attacker backhanded him across the face. “Where is it?”

“It's safe.” Chris was starting to come out of shock and started thinking about his options.
No matter what else
happens, he's not going kill me because he needs me alive to
get the phone.

“Listen very carefully to me.” The man prepared to hit Chris again, but was distracted by the sight of a couple heading out of the coffee shop towards them. “You're gonna hear from me again, asshole, and you'd better have that phone. Or I won't be so friendly the next time.” To emphasize his point, he left Chris with a parting kick to the stomach before melting back into the night.

The couple approached Chris cautiously. “Hey, man, are you okay? Do you want us to call the cops?”

Chris gingerly rose to his feet. The air had been knocked out of him, and his face hurt. But it was his pride that had borne the brunt of the attack. “I'll survive. Always have— always will.”

THIRTY-SIX

Saturday, Feb 18, 9:23 a.m.
Chris woke up with blurry vision and an intense pain radiating from his left cheekbone. A glance in his bathroom mirror confirmed that he looked as bad as he felt, with a nasty-looking black eye and a badly swollen upper lip. On the one hand, he was relieved that it was Saturday and he didn't have to go in to work. On the other hand, the thought of Ray conspiring to have him ambushed infuriated him, and he didn't want to give Ray the impression of having successfully intimidated him. So he popped some extra-strength ibuprofen, grabbed an ice pack to reduce the swelling, and decided to go in to work after all. Besides, he told himself, his irregular work schedule had left him with a number of reports to complete and today would be a quiet day to get them done.

When Chris signed in at the security desk, Horace took one look at him and cringed. “Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?”

Chris thought of using the standard comeback, “You should see the other guy,” until he realized he hadn't even seen much of the other guy, let alone inflicted any damage on him. “I slipped in the shower.” He was embarrassed that he'd gotten his ass kicked, something he was pretty sure would never have happened to Horace.

Horace saw that Chris was hurting in more ways than one and decided not to make him feel any worse. “Hey, Chris, I have a feeling the Canucks are going to win tonight. It's only a matter of time before things start going
their
way, you know what I mean? Heck, maybe this is the year they actually take home the Cup.”

“Let's hope so. All the same, we could do without another riot if they don't win it all. Talk to you later.”

On his desk, Chris found an envelope addressed to him and marked URGENT.
Strange, who would leave an urgent
message for me on a Saturday?

The note read:
Mr. Ryder, you have something that
interests me and I have something that will interest you. I
suggest we make a deal. Return the cell phone to me and I will
return the girl to you. Use the redial function on the phone
and await further instructions on how you can be a hero. If
you go to the police with this letter, no one will ever see the
girl again.

The envelope had no stamp or return address or any marks that would identify the sender. Chris read the note several more times in an attempt to find some clue that would tell him what he should do next. Again nothing. Chris knew Ray was behind the letter and that he had someone on the outside helping him—someone who had broken into his apartment, someone who had attacked him on the street.
Oh God,
someone who might go after Ann Marie or Stephanie!
Chris reread the warning against involving the police. He knew he would be walking into a trap, but he also knew he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Elizabeth Carrier.
Besides
,
rescuing Elizabeth might be the best way to get rid
of the danger to Ann Marie and Stephanie
. The only thing he could do was to return to Woodland Park.

Chris started to leave his office, but at the last minute returned to make a call. Sergeant Ryan answered and Chris opened simply with “Brandon, you've got to trust me on this,” and outlined his plan.

Chris drove frantically to Woodland Park
.
Although he was greatly exceeding the speed limit, it felt like his truck was crawling along the highway. He didn't know what he was going to do once he arrived at the park. He wasn't thinking rationally now. He ignored the voice of reason screaming at him to turn the other way to safety. He was operating purely on instinct. And, not wanting to jeopardize Elizabeth Carrier's safety, he had refused Brandon's recommendation to allow police surveillance in the park, although, in the end, he'd struck a compromise with the sergeant that he would worry about later, assuming he got the chance.

Chris was going to the park completely unarmed and unprepared for what awaited him. He hadn't changed his clothing or picked up supplies, terrified that every second that passed could signal a lost opportunity to save Elizabeth. The only item Chris carried with him was a cell phone charger he'd grabbed from the department's supply cabinet. His mind kept replaying the same mantra:
save Elizabeth Carrier, save
Elizabeth Carrier.

When Chris got out of his Ranger in the Woodland Park parking lot, he was suddenly paralyzed by fear and overwhelmed by a flood of flashbacks. James Carrier's body, its torso partially blown away. The menacing voice at the other end of the cell phone. The iciness of Ray's rifle barrel pressed into his forehead. The crushing feeling of helplessness. Chris felt the familiar pounding in his chest as well as a nauseating anxiety that brought him close to vomiting. Was he walking to his death?
What the hell am I doing here?
Was there still time to turn back and let the police take over? Then he remembered the sorrow he'd felt when he discovered James' body and his sense of duty to prevent another Carrier family member from suffering the same fate.

He took a step forward onto the trail. The cold, grey day threatened snow. His Rockport shoes were no match for the slushy terrain of the park, and within just a few steps, his chinos were splattered with mud.

Although there had been no other cars in the parking lot, he knew somewhere on the trail, a killer lay in wait. And if Elizabeth Carrier was being held anywhere in this park, the most logical place would be the ramshackle cabin where he had sought shelter the evening this whole nightmare started. He saw fresh tire tracks probably made by an ATV headed in the direction of the cabin
.
He now understood that this was the message behind Ray's taunts about not being out of the woods yet. However, he was the only person aware of the precise location of the cell phone, so he was relatively safe until he had recovered it and contacted his enemy. Then it was anyone's guess if Chris would make it out of the trail alive.

Chris scanned his surroundings as he made his way to the phone's hiding spot. He was alone on the trail, or at least it felt that way. The crows in the nearby trees were eerily quiet as he passed by but seemed to be watching in anticipation of something. The only sound was the frozen ground crunching under his feet. He was cold and could see his breath in the air, but he knew it was his nerves that accounted the most for his unease as he jumped at the sound of his own footsteps. At last, he reached the location where he had hidden the phone. Taking a cautious look around him, he veered off into the brush to retrieve it.

Using a branch as a makeshift shovel, Chris scratched and scraped at the compacted snow. After several minutes of work, he was rewarded for his efforts. He wiped the snow from the phone's protective case, he marveled at the thought that people were willing to kill over this tiny piece of plastic and electronics. The police wanted the phone as evidence. Ray Owens wanted the phone to keep that evidence secret. And Chris, well, he wanted the phone as a bartering chip to save the life of an innocent person.

Chris' fingers were numb from a combination of cold and anxiety as he hooked the cell phone to the portable charger and pressed the power button. The phone came to life and vibrated in his hand.
Okay. Now what?
He hesitated to press the redial button.
What do I do now?
He was scared. He knew that if he made the wrong move, both he and Elizabeth would be killed.
What's Ray's plan?

Chris was sure that he'd been ordered to use Ray's phone to make the call because it would confirm that he actually had the phone in his possession. And if Elizabeth Carrier was in fact being held at the cabin, he would be lured there once he made his call. But maybe Elizabeth might be taken to another meeting place in exchange for the phone. In either case, Chris was almost positive that Ray had someone stationed inside the cabin, which meant his greatest chance for success would be to draw Ray's man out into the open.