I track the person’s passage until the steps seem to hit thetrail we’ve been on. Then the crackling of undergrowth stops, replaced by the dull thump of boots on hard ground. I hold my breath until I’m sure they’re going in the other direction. Then I gesture for Storm to stay where she is, and I step onto the path.
I can grumble about the dark, but the half-moon shines enough light for me to see shapes, and I can make out one farther down the path. It’s a person walking in the other direction. By the shoulders-to-hip ratio and the gait, I’d guess male. I note a branch as the figure passes under it so I can estimate height later. For now, I only watch.
“Behind you,” a voice whispers, and I jump, only to hear Dalton’s soft sigh. He’d tried to warn me, but that never really helps in a dark forest.
I whirl back toward the retreating figure, who doesn’t seem to have heard anything. I motion to it. Dalton nods. He already knew.
The question is: Does one of us go after them? We can’t both follow with Storm, but nor can we just let someone walk away.
Do we follow quietly? Or do we confront?
Confronting would be more dangerous but also more efficient. Still, it’s not quite dawn, and we have no way of being sure this person is alone—they definitely weren’t a few minutes ago.
Dalton bends to my ear. “I’m going to swing around. Try to get closer through the forest. Follow with Storm, but stay as far back as you can.”
I nod. It’s the best solution when we can’t see who we’re following or whether they’re armed.
I ease back toward the forest as Dalton sets out. Then I wait in the shadows, until the figure vanishes from view, before I set out.
After a few steps, I pause and remove my boots. Then I take another couple of steps. That’s better. Without boots, my steps make no sound on the hard path. Of course, this also means that I am in stockinged feet, and I’d better hope I don’t need to run. If Dalton sees me, he’ll either be impressed or amused. But it makes me feel better. I can walk in silence if I stick to the middle of the well-groomed trail. Storm isn’t completely quiet, but her padded paws don’t make nearly as much noise as my boots had.
I can’t see the figure ahead. They’ve rounded a corner, and as I approach that, I slow to a near stop and peer around it to see an empty path.
Damn it.
As often as I’ve walked this route, I’m not entirely sure where I am along it. Does the trail bend again just up ahead? Does it branch off?
Or is the person I’m following poised in the forest, having heard someone behind them?
I holster my gun and take out my bear spray instead. I won’t hesitate to use that, and my open jacket means I can easily grab the gun if needed. Then I continue walking. I’ve gone maybe fifty paces when I see the adjoining trail. It’s a faint one, another started by game but now also used by us. That tells me where we are. It does not, however, help me know where my target is. Or where my husband is.
Do I continue on the main trail and presume my target is just too far ahead for me to see? Or do I veer onto this one?
I glance at Storm, but I haven’t given her any command to track. Not that she could, when the path must be laden with scents.
This one is up to me.
I think the path ahead is straight enough that I should havebeen able to see my target if they didn’t veer onto this one. So I make the turn.
As I walk, I listen, but the only sounds are those of the forest waking up. Light streaks the sky. No sun yet, but it’s coming. I take another step. Then I realize I’m walking on softer ground—not the hard-packed trail from before. I pause to put on my boots.
Yesterday, Gretchen hit my bad leg, and while I’ve been trying to ignore it, it’s definitely bruised and swollen, and I can’t get my boot on as easily as I got it off. I need to lean against a tree and tug it on with my leg screaming at me for forcing it up. That pain distracts me for a second too long, and when Storm’s head shoots up, I freeze, laces in hand.
She’s looking into the forest behind me.
I ease away from the tree. There’s enough light for me to see up and down the trail, but not into the forest where Storm is staring.
Could it be Dalton?
As if hearing my thoughts, Storm growls, and I have my answer.
Not Dalton.
I make sure my jacket is open, the gun easily accessible. Then I step to one side, with my gaze laser focused in the direction Storm is looking.
A rustle in the forest followed by silence. I take one slow sideways step. Then I see it. A figure among the trees. A figure that is definitely human, and almost definitely male. He’s at least six inches taller than me. I think he has dark hair, but then the smoothness of his scalp suggests it could be a hood or balaclava.
I can’t make out a face. He’s too far away and too shadowed for that.
