Ian’s gaze sharpened. “But how?”
“Katie. That’s how. Another guy had his gray matter smeared all over the truck. I’m telling you, some crazy shit went down out there.”
“So, Ricardo is dead along with at least two other guys. If I killed Ricardo, then that means Katie got to the others. And if that’s the case, where the fuck is she now?”
Braden gestured toward the bag. “You track, I’ll drive.”
Ian fumbled with the equipment while Braden drove deeper into the woods searching for an outlet that didn’t lead right back to the road littered with dead bodies.
Braden glanced over to see Ian’s expression darken and his jaw tighten.
“What’s eating you, man?”
Ian gave a quick negative shake of his head as he opened the small unit and powered it up. Then he dragged a hand though his hair and turned to Braden, consternation and loathing in his eyes.
“I don’t regret taking Ricardo apart, Braden, but what if it had been someone else? What if it had been you? Or Katie.”
“It wasn’t,” Braden said simply. And really, what else could he say? He didn’t have the answers, and he wasn’t going to spout some bullshit about how Ian would never hurt him, because shit, what the jag did was completely independent of Ian.
Ian sighed.
“Are you hurt from the crash?” Braden asked.
Ian shook his head. “Sore, but I don’t know if it’s from the wreck or the shift. You?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Head hurts like a bitch but then I’ve had a headache since the day I laid eyes on Katie Buchanan.”
“I hope to hell I got to Ricardo before he hurt her,” Ian said softly.
“You got a bead on her yet?”
Ian glanced back down at the handheld unit then frowned. “Yeah. Close.” He looked up and out the window. “Maybe a mile. She’s not moving.”
Braden cursed. “Steer me. Where am I going?”
“We need to head due east.”
Braden slammed on the brakes and surveyed the landscape. No way they were going to make it in the truck. Hell. With a sigh he opened the door and got out.
He grabbed two rifles and tossed one over the hood at Ian. Ian was moving slow, but if turtles had guns no one would bitch about their speed.
They took off into the woods, moving in the direction of the tracking device. According to Ian, she hadn’t budged since he’d locked on to her location, which couldn’t be good given her propensity for running like a scalded cat.
Two hundred yards in, Ian pulled up sharply and turned in a circle, his gaze raking over the area.
“Here,” he said. “It says she’s here.”
Braden shook his head. “She ditched the device, man. We’re flying blind now.”
“Maybe not,” Ian muttered as he squatted down and touched his finger to a leaf. He pulled it back up and held it out to Braden.
Blood. Fresh blood. Shit.
Ian stood, shoved the locator in his pocket and hauled his gun up. Head down, he followed the blood trail further into the woods. Braden took off after him, his gut tight as he noticed just how much blood was spattered on the ground.
Chapter Eighteen
The longer it took to follow Katie’s blood trail, or what he assumed was her blood, the edgier Ian got. From what Braden said, the road, even as out of the way as it was, was littered with dead bodies, which meant getting to the airport in Chama was going to be a bitch. As soon as the cops closed in, going anywhere would be damn near impossible.
Was Katie all right or would they find her dead? And worse, who had caused the injuries that bled so heavily? Dread closed in, suffocating and hot despite the chill in the air. She knew what he was now. Getting her to go anywhere with him and Braden was going to be impossible.
“There, Ian.” Braden pointed to an area on the ground a few feet in front of where they stood.
Ian followed the direction of Braden’s hand and saw a larger amount of blood, and ahead the ground and dirt looked like something had been dragged over it.
“She went down here.” Braden looked up, following the line into a heavy growth area.
Ian burst past him, his focus on the brush that was slightly disturbed. Someone or something had gone in there. He tossed his gun at Braden and crawled on hands and knees into the thick tangle.
Brambles slapped him in the face and caught at his clothing, but the blood was heavier here. She’d been here and had been moving much slower.
He parted a particularly thick tangle and stopped cold. A small, bare foot lay in the dirt. He followed it up to a jeans-covered leg. The denim was dirty, tattered and covered in blood.
With angry slashing motions, he shoved aside the branches until he stared down at Katie’s pale face. She lay on her side, an assault rifle tucked close to her chest, the other hand cupping her blood-smeared abdomen.
He fumbled at her neck, tilting her until he could press his fingers into her supple flesh. Her pulse beat reassuringly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’ve got her,” he called back.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Braden bit out.
Ian picked up the gun and gently pried it from her grip. She never stirred which worried him. She’d run hard, and that combined with the blood loss couldn’t be good.
After calling back a quick warning, he tossed the gun at Braden and then returned his attention to Katie. Rolling her carefully so he could get a look at her injuries, he pushed aside her torn shirt to see a four-inch gash starting at her side and snaking just underneath her breast.
Son of a bitch had cut her.
The blood had slowed to a trickle, but when he hoisted her into his arms, it seeped faster. Backtracking the way he’d come was a bitch when he couldn’t use his arms to clear the path. He finally shouted for Braden to get the hell in and help him out.
Between the two of them, they finally managed to free themselves from the tangle, and Ian stood unsteadily with Katie in his arms.
“I’ll take her. You get the guns,” Braden said as he reached for her.
Ian gripped her tighter and shook his head. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Braden regarded him skeptically but then shrugged, bent down and collected the rifles and started out ahead of Ian. They moved at a fast clip, and though Ian was tiring, he forged ahead, determined to get back to the truck so they could get the hell to the airport.
When they got to where the SUV was parked, Ian headed for the backseat.
“Put the seat down and you drive,” he instructed Braden. “I need to see how bad she’s hurt, and we can’t afford to waste any more time.”
Braden quickly collapsed the backseat and then climbed up front. Ian laid Katie down and got in after her.
“It’s going to be bumpy getting out,” Braden warned.
Ian nodded and positioned himself so Katie wouldn’t roll to the floor.
After examining the filthy wound, he decided it wasn’t as bad as it looked. It needed stitches. Several. She’d lost a lot of blood but it was nothing that would kill her.
Her face had taken another beating. Her lip was split and swollen, and a dark bruise shadowed her cheek. He was thankful the jaguar attacked Ricardo and not Katie. He only wished he’d been cognizant of making the kill. He would have relished every second.
In an odd gesture of tenderness, he trailed a finger softly over her cheek and to the bloodied cut at her lip. And then, realizing that he was wasting valuable time, he cursed and yanked his hand away.
He reached for one of the bags in the back and hoped he still had enough shit to get the cut cleaned and bandaged. He paused when he found one of the syringes with the sedative.
Her remaining unconscious until they got on the plane served several purposes. She wouldn’t cause further trouble, and she’d also not feel anything when he cleaned the wound.