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“He’s too busy playing the Lone Ranger. You’d better step on it.”
She did.
Santana read the tracks all too well. At the shed where Billy Hicks’s truck was parked there were suddenly two sets of prints, the smaller ones he assumed to be female, possibly Regan’s, and now a larger set. Most likely belonging to Billy Hicks himself. The killer was hunting her down.
Relentlessly.
Santana felt a deep jab of guilt. He’d known Billy all of his life, should have recognized that he was cold. Brutal. Merciless.
So, go get him.
Find Regan.
CHOSEN TO DIE
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Two weapons were lying behind the seat of the truck. A rifle and a pistol.
He grabbed them both.
Taking off at a dead run, feeling that he was already too late, he followed the tracks. His soul was heavy with dread.
What if she was already gone?
What if he reached her just to find her mercilessly lashed to a tree, her body frozen and blue? Don’t think about it. Just find her! His cell phone jangled and he nearly dropped the damned thing as he tried, and failed, to answer it while wearing gloves. Still jogging, he recognized Alvarez’s number and yanked off one glove, only to miss the call.
He kept running, the same long-distance pace he used in the military, his eyes moving from the trail to the area ahead as he hit the REDIAL button. She answered after two rings. “Alvarez.” Before he could ID himself, she said, “I got your message.”
Thank God!
“We know about Hicks.”
“I’m near his cabin now. The house is empty. But his truck was parked in a shed on the property, to the south of the house, beneath a rise. From the tracks at the vehicle, I can tell that two people are heading due north through the trees. My guess is Pescoli escaped, and he’s tracking her down. I’m following.”
“This is a police matter, Santana. I can’t authorize you to—”
“Just get the hell out here. Fast! And send helicopters over the ridge, just south of Mesa Rock!”
Before she could respond he gave her a quick rundown of what he knew, finishing with, “Get the 438
Lisa Jackson
damned dogs, snowmobiles, and choppers out here. I’m heading north.” He clicked off and increased his pace.
He slid a bit, then saw where the tracks separated, where she’d apparently fallen down the steep incline, sliding and twisting in the snow. The hunter had bigger feet, and he skirted the edge of the dropoff. He followed the hunter’s trail at a dead run. Tree branches slapped his face, snow dropping onto his shoulders and hair, but he sped through the forest with the agility learned from years of tracking game. Running faster, he plowed across the clearing at its base, darting after the prints that looked fresher, no longer covered in snow.
He was getting close!
Into the woods he sprinted, still heading north, spying a hawk as it soared upward.
Where were they heading?
What the hell was at Cougar Basin besides the lake?
They’re heading to her death. He’s forcing her to the tree where he’ll kill her.
Jaw rock hard, holding tight to both guns, Santana ran steadily through the wintry forest, closer to whatever hideous scenario the psycho had planned. He didn’t know how much ground he had to cover, but whatever the expanse, it was too damned much!
