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"Jolliffe," Winsloe said. "Good. Tucker will be pleased. Lead on, then. Ryman, stay behind her."
We headed into the woods.
"Are you sure this is the way?" Winsloe asked ten minutes later.
It wasn't. I'd branched away from Armen's true path ten yards back. Winsloe shone his flashlight on my face. I swallowed a quick assertion and made a show of sniffing the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him, gauging his credulity, and decided to test the water before making a potentially fatal leap.
"I thought it was," I said slowly. "The trail seemed to turn this way."
"Undergrowth looks pretty dense," Winsloe said.
Did it? It appeared passable to me, but maybe I was looking as a wolf, not a panicked human running for his life, captive in tow. I hunkered down and inhaled close to the ground. Behind me, Ryman snickered.
"You're right," I said. "They didn't come this way. I must have been picking up their scent on the breeze. Better retrace our steps."
"Maybe you should stay on all fours," Ryman said. "Keep your nose to the trail." He smirked.
"That's okay, Elena," Winsloe said. "Take it slow. Don't feel pressured."
Me? Feel pressured? Why on earth would I feel pressured? Just because I was being asked to hunt down a fellow captive, with a loaded pistol at my back and a psychotic megalomaniac calling the shots?
"Maybe I am a little nervous," I said. "Sorry."
Winsloe beamed a magnanimous smile. "That's okay. Just take it easy."
Sure, boss. No problem. I inhaled, backtracked to the real trail, and started again. About fifty yards farther along, Armen's trail veered east. I decided to keep heading south. I didn't get three steps.
"You sure that's the right way?" Winsloe called from behind me.
I froze.
"Seems to me they went east," he said. "There's some bent branches here."
I turned to look at the bushes surrounding the wide gap Armen had gone through. Not a single twig was broken. There was no way Winsloe could tell Armen had turned here. Unless he already knew. The warning tingle I'd felt since we'd begun this expedition surged to an Arctic chill. Winsloe knew exactly where Armen had fled to, probably had him tracked and captured before he even came to the infirmary. He was testing me--my abilities and my honesty. Had I already failed?
Quelling the urge to stammer excuses, I looked from the bushes to the path I'd chosen, pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to look exhausted, which wasn't much of a stretch. I crouched and sniffed the ground, crept over and smelled the bushes, then stood and sampled the air. With a sigh, I rubbed the back of my neck.
"Well?" Winsloe said.
"I'm smelling a trail both ways. Give me a sec."
I rolled my shoulders and took a deep breath of chilly night air. Then I got down on all fours, ignoring Ryman's snickers, and followed both potential paths for several yards.
"That one," I said, pointing at the real trail as I got to my feet. "He took a few steps the other way, then backed up and turned down that gap between the bushes."
Plausible, and impossible to refute unless you had a werewolf's nose. Winsloe nodded. It worked for him. Good.
As I followed the trail, I wondered how Winsloe planned to end this charade. They'd obviously recaptured Armen already. Would we bump into the troop of guards holding him? Or would the trail loop back to the compound? What was the point? To amuse himself by making me perform like a circus dog? Humiliate me while testing my trustworthiness? Was he hoping I'd screw up or make a run for it, giving him an excuse to hunt me? I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he wanted a loyal two-legged hound, that was exactly what he'd get.
I didn't try to trick him again. What was the use, if he already had Armen? We trekked another half-mile into the forest. The scent grew stronger, until I could pick it up in the wind.
"They're close," I said.
"Good," Winsloe said. "Slow down then and--"
Ahead, a clump of bushes exploded with crackles and curses. Two figures flew out of the shrubbery, Armen atop a guard, hands grappling against the man's throat. Winsloe raced forward, yanking a gun from under his jacket. Ryman fired a warning shot. Armen froze. Winsloe launched himself at Armen and knocked him off Jolliffe.
Anger flared in my gut, white hot. I clenched my fists to keep from acting on it. I wanted to screa
