Page 86 of Tracking Wolfe

“What are you not saying, Trace?”

“Jake Mason returned from the trail this afternoon. His sister confirms he was alone. He hasn’t reported Wolfe missing, to my knowledge. I know for a fact Wolfe didn’t return to the campground where he’s been staying. I have a bad feeling.”

“I’ll have Clay run it with the local authorities just in case. And I’ll stay by the phone until I hear the all clear. Anything you need, just call.”

“Thanks, Amy. Appreciate it.”

As I kept an eye out for the little wooden stake that indicated the turnoff to the trailhead, I sent out a silent plea to the universe.

Keep him safe. Help me find him.

As I bumped down the gravel access road, I suddenly wondered if every minute I’d spent learning about search and rescue had led me to this moment.

Please let him be okay.

21

WOLFE

When I opened my eyes, it was dusk, and my head throbbed sluggishly. Rain had soaked everything. My jacket, my pants, my boots. Something hard dug into my back, and there was a heavy weight on my chest.

I tried to sit up and felt wrenching pain in my shoulder as my arm refused to cooperate.

I sucked in a breath as everything that had happened came crashing back, and panic made my pulse race.

Don’t panic. Breathe and focus. Assess. Strategize.

Trace’s words were a lifeline from another time.

My arms were trapped behind me, but the right one had a little give. I forced my stiff, cold fingers to move.

Rough, damp tree bark. Smooth braided nylon knots familiar to me after years of rock climbing.

I wiggled my hips experimentally and felt a tree root attempt to impale me from behind. The weight on my chest moved with me, and I realized it was my daypack.

“What the fuck?” My voice sounded slurred and wrong, like my tongue was taking up too much space in my head.

I was tied to the base of a tree like some kind of damsel in an old-timey movie.

Jake had tied me to a tree, which meant now I was his prisoner. He’d escalated from drugging me to holding me hostage. What would he do next?

I tried to stop panicking and listen, concentrating on my breathing. Nothing. No sounds and no trace of him. I was alone.

Thank fuck.

Correction: I was alone, drenched, drugged, frozen, and tied to a fucking tree by a deranged asshole I’d trusted who could return at any moment.

Was Jake pissed that I’d passed out? Had he gone to get the recording equipment, or was he somewhere else? Would he come back twice as angry and ready to hurt me further?

No fucking way.

I blew out a breath and focused on the problem. I clenched and unclenched my fingers a few times for maximum circulation, then felt around the rope again. My shoulders screamed from the movement, and I cursed my backpack straps for hindering my reach. Eventually, I figured out the knotted area of the rope behind me.

Jake didn’t know me, so he didn’t realize I’d grown up with a self-defense instructor who’d shared survival techniques like bedtime stories, just in case some crazed Jude Marian fan tried to kidnap one of us. He’d probably assumed I’d be too paralyzed by my own fear to escape.

I laughed a little hysterically. A fair enough assumption, honestly. After all, I’d gone through nearly thirty years afraid.

Was it just yesterday that Trace had asked what was the worst thing that could happen if Wolfe Marian tried for a music career? All the things I’d listed for him had loomed so large and terrifying then. The comparisons. The weight of everyone else’s opinions and emotions. My own fears.