Hunted. Beverly Long

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ later, Molly was sitting next to him in the truck, her head hanging out the window. An hour later, he and his new sidekick had made his first big-box-store run and had a coffee pot, an electric fry pan and an oscillating fan.

      A week later, he’d moved his meager belongings to the Donovan cabin, which sat three hundred yards down a dirt road, high in the Rocky Mountains.

      It was as close to off-the-grid as one could get. The nearest town, which was being generous because it was less than five hundred people, was forty minutes away. The nearest city was twice that.

      The isolation felt good after spending the past twenty years in the company of mostly men, many of whom had felt the need to talk. About their families, the jobs they’d left behind, their favorite places to eat back home. And he’d listened.

      Most hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t reciprocated with his own stories.

      He’d always assumed that once he retired after twenty years in Uncle Sam’s army, there’d be a few fellow soldiers he’d want to catch up with. Share some stories about acclimating back to civilian life. Had never dreamed that he’d come home with a cloud of suspicion hanging over his head. Certainly hadn’t been prepared for the hostility that he’d encountered when he’d run across men who not so long ago had called him friend.

      It was a damn mess. He didn’t know whom he could trust and whom he couldn’t.

      So he’d come to a place where he’d always felt safe. Crow Hollow. Freshman through junior years in high school, he’d spent his summers here, running between the two cabins that graced the wilderness. The McCanns’ and the Donovans’. Mack McCann and Brody Donovan had been his best friends. Rich kids who hadn’t seemed to understand the difference that money made.

      Maybe it was only the poor kids who knew that.

      It had been the happiest three years of his life. And if he’d been inclined to reminisce about his youth, it would have been those summers that he’d have remembered fondly.

      But then his stepfather had gotten some crazy idea that he wanted to live on the coast and they’d packed up and moved to Oregon for his senior year of high school.

      He and Mack and Brody had sworn they wouldn’t lose touch. And they hadn’t. Even when oceans and continents separated them over a period of many years.

      What the hell would Mack and Brody think about what had gone on this past year? Even in the middle of the worst of it, he hadn’t told them anything. They were active military and if they’d tried to help, it might have tainted them in some way. Ethan figured if he went down, he wasn’t taking his two best friends with him.

      But he hadn’t gone down.

      He’d survived the investigation with his career intact. But everything had been different.

      And that, ultimately, had led him to this place, to chasing a stupid dog through the mountains.

      “Molly,” he yelled. “I swear, if you and a coyote mix it up, I’m going to root for the coyote.”

      His dog barked in response. He took that as a good sign. And while they’d only been buddies for a few weeks, he understood the message. Hurry. I found something. Last week she’d practically barked herself hoarse because he’d been too slow to acknowledge the dead raccoon that she’d stumbled over.

      “I’m coming,” he said. He walked the remaining fifty yards, the frost-covered grass crunching under his feet.

      Molly was dancing, her nose in the air. He used his flashlight to search the ground. Nothing. He made another sweep. It was hard to see much; the whole area was thick with underbrush.

      He looked higher, thinking she might have something up a tree. He ran his flashlight from side to side.

      “What the hell?” he said, holding the light steady. There, barely visible through the thick branches, was a car suspended in the towering trees. The front end was badly busted up and was tilting down at forty-five degrees.

      He supposed it could have been there for some time. But he didn’t think so. First of all, there’d been heavy wind and rain just two nights ago, heavy enough to blow the car out of the trees. Secondly, the car still had a headlight burning. Given the noise both he and Molly had heard, he suspected it had just happened. He angled the powerful beam of his flashlight even higher to inspect the road above them. He didn’t see any other cars to suggest that it had been a multivehicle accident.

      Had the driver fallen asleep? Or maybe he was simply drunk? Whatever had caused him to plunge over the side of the mountain, one thing was pretty sure—if he wasn’t dead, he was likely banged up pretty badly.

      “Hey,” he yelled. “You in the car, can you talk?”

      No reply. He considered his options. He hadn’t brought a cell phone with him to Crow Hollow. Reception was always spotty in the mountains and quite frankly, he wasn’t interested in talking to anybody. His only good option was to hike back to the cabin, get his truck and drive into town for help.

      He studied the patch of trees. They were mammoth pines, the kind with big trunks and spreading branches, crowded close together. He walked around, looking up, Molly at his heels. He stopped when he found one that had possibilities. He considered the angle of the car.

      It was possible, he supposed. He’d done crazier things.

      It’d be a hell of a fall if he didn’t make it.

      “I’m coming up,” he yelled. He took off his coat, rolled his flashlight inside of it and then belted the sleeves around his waist. He was definitely going to need both hands free.

      “Are you sure?” a faint voice asked.

      A woman. If the wind hadn’t been blowing the right direction, he probably wouldn’t have heard her.

      He jumped and caught the lowest branch, then pulled himself up. Found a toehold, another branch, and scrambled up another five feet. The bark was sticky and it was hell on his bare hands but he kept going. “How many in the car?”

      “Just me.”

      He climbed faster. “Are you hurt?”

      “No. Not really,” she said.

      He doubted that was true. A person could have all kinds of internal injuries and not realize it because of the shock of the accident. “Just hang on,” he said.

      For the past twenty years he’d trained every day and it was paying off now as he pulled himself up from branch to branch. Still, it was taking almost everything he had. By the time he got near the top, he was breathing hard and sweat ran down his back. He looked down. It was too dark to see the ground but he’d been keeping a rough count in his head as he’d moved from branch to branch. He had to be at least sixty feet in the air.

      He untied the sleeves of his coat, unwrapped his flashlight and focused it on the car that was at a thirty-degree angle to his left, still at least fifteen feet above him. The view was impeded by branches that poked up against the car. The driver’s side was toward him but from his vantage, he couldn’t see her.

      “Okay, I’m close,” he yelled. He put his jacket back on so that he didn’t have to hang on to it.

      “Great,” СКАЧАТЬ