Agent’s Mountain Rescue Page 5

  Trees rushed past her as she ran one way and then another. Behind her, she heard the sound of running feet.

  There was a sharp pop, followed by a boom. The tree next to her exploded as the bullet struck the trunk. She ducked. It wasn’t enough. A splinter caught her in the cheek. She needed to lose her pursuers, but how? She threw the ax, watching the blade tumble end over end. It landed on the ground with a thump. Sprinting in the opposite direction, she hoped that her pursuers would follow the sound, giving her a moment to slip away.

  “Where’d she go?” a man asked. From her hiding place behind a tree, the pursuers were nothing more than forms and figures. She longed to change her stance and see their faces, but didn’t dare move.

  “She left the ax,” said a woman. “What should we do with it, Martinez?”

  Damn. Maybe Darcy shouldn’t have gotten rid of her single weapon. If they found her now, how would she ever be able to fight back?

  “You have a tarp in your bag? Let’s wrap it up. Eventually, it’ll be turned over as evidence.”

  There was the sound of a bag unzipping and the crinkle of folded plastic. Darcy assumed it was the tarp. The woman continued. “Okay. I’m good.”

  “How’s the knee?” asked another man.

  “My knee hurts like hell, but I think it’s just a bad bruise.” His admission meant that he was the one with the crewcut. Crewcut added, “Clearly, Darcy had more survival training than we originally thought.”

  “That still doesn’t tell us where she went,” said the woman.

  “Let’s split up,” said the other guy. Darcy was fast picking up the different intonation of the voices. “We can cover more ground. Stay in contact if you see or hear anything. Otherwise, maintain radio silence.”

  His words trailed off and Darcy imagined that his gaze had been drawn toward her. Again, she screwed her eyes shut and pressed her back into the tree’s trunk. She held her breath and waited. There was nothing. Slowly, she peeled open her eyes and watched as the man disappeared behind a copse of trees.

  Darcy remained crouched down until her legs went numb. After a while, she had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew that she needed to get out of the woods. Too bad she didn’t know where to go, much less what to do next.

  She heard a twig snapping in two, and Darcy’s senses became keen and sharp. She dropped low and searched the woods. There, to her left, was movement. A person? Definitely. Scuttling along the base of trees, she moved from one trunk to the next.

  Had she lost them?

  Darcy drew in a deep breath. The man was close. He had his back to her. Certainly, he wouldn’t be so vulnerable if he knew that she was nearby. The kill wouldn’t be easy, yet she could already feel his hot blood washing over her hands. Her pulse grew, pounding in her skull. Darcy eased forward an inch, and then two.

  Was that what she wanted? To kill again? Hadn’t she sworn off taking another life?

  She paused and yet the urge to kill pushed her forward.

  “Do it,” said the Darkness.

  “No,” she whispered. “I won’t. Not anymore.”

  “Do it.” The Darkness was seductive, a siren’s song she could not ignore. “Do it. He deserves to die.”

  But, did he?

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  The Darkness was silent for a moment.

  The man stepped away, his silhouette disappearing. Then he was gone. Darcy slumped down. She’d done it. She’d resisted the urge. As if a physical burden had been lifted, Darcy felt clean. For the first time in years, she was free.

  A weak sun offered little light and no warmth. Folding her arms across her chest, Darcy shivered until her teeth began to rattle. She was ready to reenter the world and refashion her life. All she needed was to call the contact back. Damn. She didn’t have the phone, which meant she had to return to the bunker—the place where all of Darcy’s nightmares became real.

  Chapter 5

  Julia McCloud pulled the walkie-talkie from her pack. She knew that there was something the team had missed. Setting the channel, she pressed the talk button. “Martinez,” she said. “Are you there?”

  His voice followed a burst of static. “You got something?”

  “If we don’t look through that bunker, we’re neglecting a big opportunity.”

  “Agreed,” said Martinez. “You want me to meet you there?”

  The thought of coming face-to-face with Darcy Owens—or who knows who else—made her a little sick, but they couldn’t afford to cut the search for Darcy by two people. “No,” she said. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything interesting.”

  After stowing her walkie-talkie, Julia retraced her steps to the bunker. Her backpack now weighed down by the tarp-wrapped ax, she kept her sidearm drawn and her vigilance high. Within minutes, the open trapdoor came into view.

  A metal ladder and wooden floor were visible from where she stood. Holding her Glock .23 out and ready, she stepped on the first rung. The temperature dropped and the coppery stench of blood rose up from the hole. It gave Julia the distinct feeling that she was climbing into a meat locker.

  Her stomach threatened to revolt, and she turned her face to the sun. Taking one more breath of sweet, clean air, Julia lowered herself all the way down to the floor.

  As she had noticed from the ground, the floor was made up of wooden planks. What she hadn’t seen was a bloodstain, black in the gloom. Julia assumed that the victim from the clearing had been killed in this room. But what other clues were there?

  A single shelf, affixed to the wall, was covered with debris—papers, tools, tins of food, a plate, a cup and a fork. Inexplicably, there was a fine clock, ticking slowly. A round, black wood-burning stove sat in the corner. An exhaust pipe snaked up the wall and disappeared into the earthen ceiling. Was it just bad luck that the heat signatures from the fire hadn’t been picked up during an aerial search of the area? Or had the dense forest somehow helped conceal it?

  There was little else in the room. A table. A bed.

  Had this bunker belonged to the dead man? It made sense, yet who had the man been in life? She sidestepped the bloodstain and approached the stove, where a pile of ashes remained.

  Her gaze stopped. Now there was a clue that might mean something. She’d found a flip phone—an older model, sure—but if it belonged to Darcy, it was certainly important. She set her gun on the shelf, and her backpack on the floor next to the ladder, the ax handle sticking out. After picking up the phone, she lifted the faceplate. The screen was an incandescent green. Seven numbers appeared on the display.

  Slipping her personal phone from her pants pocket, she turned on the flash before snapping several pictures.

  The air had changed, becoming heavy and oppressive—like the sky minutes before the violent explosion of a thunderstorm.

  Shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, Julia pivoted slowly. Framed with white light, Darcy Owens stood at the top of the ladder. Julia’s mouth went dry; her heart began to race. She inhaled slowly, focusing all her attention on her adversary. It had been a little more than two weeks since Julia had last seen Darcy, yet looking at the other woman’s appearance, a decade could have passed. She held no weapon, but that didn’t matter—her kill count proved what a cunning adversary she was. And Julia knew she couldn’t take her eyes off her for a second.

  Her blond hair hung limply around her shoulders. Her skin was waxy. Sweat stained the front of her loose shirt. She’d lost ten pounds—maybe fifteen.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Darcy said, her words a whisper. Not bothering to turn around, she kept her gaze locked with Julia’s as she descended the ladder.

  Holding her eyes steady, Julia dropped her hand to her holster and found nothing but air. Her stomach dropped to her feet. Where was her gun? Then she remembered, and she flicked a quick glance at the shelf. The steel barrel of
her Glock glinted in the weak light. Julia muttered a curse as she slowly lifted her hands, palms out, and feigned surrender. Yet, Julia could never let her guard down—if she did, then she’d never make it out of this tomb alive.

  “You don’t look so good,” Julia said, trying to draw the other woman into a conversation. “We can get you medical care. Why don’t you tell me what happened to you?”

  “Who is we?” Darcy asked, ignoring her question. Her eyes flicked to the ax handle, sticking out of Julia’s backpack, then back to the agent.

  “My...friends,” said Julia, trying to think on her feet. But she knew Darcy wouldn’t buy it.

  She was right.

  Darcy looked at her carefully, then nodded in recognition. “You look familiar. I saw you at the Pleasant Pines Inn, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” said Julia. She’d helped investigate the apparent suicide of a cook at the inn, who’d initially been suspected of all the killings. In the end, it turned out he’d just been another of Darcy’s victims. “If you come with me—”

  Darcy interrupted, “I’m not giving up.” She gripped the handle now.

  Julia slid one foot forward, then the other, closing the distance to the gun by a fraction of an inch. “Tell me about the guy in the glade.”

  “Billy,” said Darcy, with a snort.

  “How’d you end up here?”

  “He found me after I got away from Wyatt.” Darcy paused and touched her shoulder—the same place where she’d been shot. “Billy found me in the woods and brought me here. He nursed me back to health.”

  “No offense,” said Julia. “You don’t look healthy.”

  Darcy didn’t respond.

  Julia decided to try again. “But you killed him, even though he saved your life.”

  “He was garbage,” said Darcy. Her cheeks flamed red. A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. “He had to die, and don’t ask me to feel bad about it, because I don’t.”

  “Let me help you. You need proper food and medical care. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  One. Two. Three. Julia focused on the Glock and lunged forward. Her fingertips brushed the gun’s grip at the same moment Darcy dragged the ax from the bag...but before she could squeeze the trigger, her palm filled with pain as the ax’s blade struck her hand. The gun slipped away, clattering uselessly to the floor. Hot blood poured from gaping sockets where fingers used to be.

  Darcy swung the ax around. The blade caught Julia in the gut. Her stomach erupted with blazing pain, and her knees no longer held her upright. She tumbled to the floor, a hand splayed across her wound.

  As if she was underwater, Darcy Owens’s face hovered above Julia’s. “I wish you hadn’t gone for your gun,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

  “I—I...” The pain was all-consuming. It was a blaze that engulfed her body, mind and soul. “I...” she stuttered. But there was really nothing to say.

  Julia felt rough hands on her back and knew that Darcy had stripped away her backpack. She wondered how the hell she’d warn the others. Then her world went black.

  * * *

  The waiting room at the hospital in Cheyenne consisted of seven chairs, upholstered in maroon or teal cloth. A table, covered with a faux wood laminate, sat in the middle of the floor. Overhead, fluorescent lights glowed and hummed. Liam leaned against the wall and traced the outline of a linoleum tile with the toe of his boot. He checked his watch. It was quarter past three in the afternoon. What a hellish first day on the job. He knew that they were more than a little lucky that the helicopter, along with a CSI team, had been called to the scene. If it weren’t for the chopper arriving only minutes after Liam and Martinez found Julia, she’d be dead.

  To make matters worse, the SUV driven by Martinez had gone missing, turning up thirty miles away at a truck stop.

  It meant only one thing: Darcy Owens was at large and could be almost anywhere in the world by now.

  Martinez sat in a chair, holding his head with his hands. It was hard to not feel bad for the guy. Was it guilt because he’d given the okay for Julia to search the bunker alone? In reality, it might not have mattered what he said. Julia had made a choice and things hadn’t worked out well. Certainly, Martinez knew he wasn’t to blame.

  Having been picked up by the helicopter, and then delivered to the trauma center, Liam and Martinez were stranded at the hospital in Cheyenne. While airborne, they’d contacted the rest of the team from RMJ. Someone was on the way from Pleasant Pines.

  The door to the waiting room opened. Marcus Jones crossed the threshold. He was accompanied by a woman in her fifties, with streaks of gray lightening her dark hair.

  Jones quickly introduced Liam to the woman. She was Katarina, RMJ’s IT and communications expert.

  “Any news on Julia?” Marcus asked.

  “She’s still in surgery,” said Liam. “No word yet.”

  “What happened out there?”

  Luis gave a succinct rundown of events, starting with finding the body and the trail to the bunker. The chase through the woods after Darcy. He ended with the fact that Julia had returned to the bunker and when she couldn’t be raised on the walkie-talkie, the two men went to investigate.

  “Liam found Julia first. She had a deep wound to her gut. He was patching her up, trying to slow the blood flow as best he could when I got there,” said Martinez. His voice sounded hollow. Then again, he hadn’t bothered to lift his head when he answered. Maybe his words were echoing off the floor.

  For a moment, Liam felt a pang of envy—a quick punch to the chest. What would it be like to have a friend, a colleague, a partner, who touched his soul so deeply, that their pain brought about a personal anguish?

  Like a forgotten dream, Holly Jacobs’s face floated through his mind.

  “Anything else?” Jones asked.

  Like posing the question again would somehow change the answer. “We found her gun, but not her backpack,” Liam said.

  It was the missing backpack, and extra keys that were inside, that had enabled Darcy to steal the SUV.

  “That’s it?” Jones asked.

  “Yeah,” said Martinez, his tone sullen. “That’s it.”

  Liam went back to tracing the tile. His toe stopped moving a split second before the flash of memory came back. “No,” he said. “It’s not it.”

  All eyes turned to Liam. He reached into a side pocket, low on his leg. “I found this.” He held up the slim cell phone. “It was on the floor near Julia’s gun. With everything it took getting her out of that bunker, well, it slipped my mind.” Liam had messed up big-time. He stopped talking. “No excuses, just my apologies. I’ll get in touch with the Feds and turn this over—”

  “Don’t you dare,” said Jones, interrupting Liam. “Not yet at least.”

  Liam’s surprise at the ignored protocol must’ve registered on his face, because Marcus continued, “We need to see what’s on that phone first. Katarina, can you get past her password?”

  “Not a problem,” she said.

  Rising to her feet, Katarina held out her hand. Liam handed her the phone and waited as she tapped on the screen.

  “It looks like there are several text messages between Julia and Luis from yesterday.”

  Martinez lifted his head. “There was a game last night. We were watching and texting.”

  “One phone call,” said Katarina. “She called her parents and talked for an hour.”

  “She always calls them on Sunday night,” Martinez added.

  “Nothing else,” said Katarina, looking at Luis a little funny.

  “Well, she had her phone out for a reason,” said Jones. “Photos?”

  She searched the app quickly. “Julia took several pictures of a flip phone.”

  Liam peered over Katarina’s shoulder. The photos were stacked three across, with one row atop
the next. “It’s hard to tell because the background’s so dark.” He squinted at the pictures. “Actually, it looks like she took these in the bunker. She must have found something on this. Is there something on the phone’s screen?”

  Katarina tapped open the picture and expanded the aspect, then played with the filters to lighten the image. “I can do a better job clarifying the other images if I upload this to the system, but this should be clear enough to get the number from this one.”

  A photo was filled with a set of seven numbers, along with a time stamp. Three minutes and fifty-two seconds.

  “You think this phone belonged to Darcy? You think she called this number and talked to someone for almost four minutes?” Marcus asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Liam removed his own phone. After turning on the speaker feature, he dialed the number.

  It rang once, then someone answered. “White Wind Resort and Spa. This is Nathan. How may I help you?”

  “Sorry,” said Liam. “Wrong number.” He ended the call and looked around the room.

  Luis spoke next. “I’m obviously missing something. What is the White Wind Resort and Spa?”

  “It’s one of the most exclusive resorts in the state. Rooms that go for three grand a night. Steak dinners that cost more than my car payment,” said Liam.

  “How do you know all of that?” Martinez asked.

  Liam gave a one-shoulder shrug. “My grandparents lived near the resort. I visited them a lot when I was a kid. I remember when the White Wind was being built.” He didn’t add that many of his relatives had been displaced when the families’ property became prime real estate.

  “We’ll have to turn over the phone to the Feds and see what they can turn up.” Marcus sighed.

  “What do we do now?” In most search and rescue operations, the missing person wanted to be found. And, well, Liam had done his job and located Darcy Owens. It’s just that the wily killer had gotten away.

  “While we wait for news about Julia, I’ll contact the FBI and turn over the pictures on the phone,” said Jones. “Then, this evening when we get back to Pleasant Pines, we’ll meet with the DA. Our role in the case will have to be reevaluated.”