I touched the butt of the gun holstered under my jacket. If a bear lumbered out, I’d happily send it off with a warning shot. The forest remained quiet, though, so I kept the gun holstered and stayed alert.
The thing about predators up here? None of them are really a match for a human and a dog. And they know it. They’ll watch you pass and breathe a sigh of relief when you do. They will not attempt to follow.
Yet as we continued along, Scout kept glancing into the forest; whatever was in there was tracking us. That could only mean one thing: this predator walked on two legs.
Jack might be in full protective mode, but he’d never stalk me. The chance it was a stranger was almost as low. Random assault and random murder, like stranger rape, are practically unheard of out here. We have our crime problems but they don’t include guys lurking in the forest.
It had to be Quinn. He wanted to talk to me, and he’d been to the lodge twice before for that. He wouldn’t stalk me, but he might follow me, gauging my mood.
To be safe, I waited until I reached an open portion of the road, near a house I knew was occupied year-round. Then I tugged the water bottle from my waistband and took a long drink from it. When a twig crackled underfoot, Scout stiffened and growled, her gaze swinging to the forest. No one hailed me. Meaning it wasn’t Quinn.
I snapped on Scout’s lead as I tracked the noises in the woods. A twig crackle here, a dead-leaf scuffle there; my stalker was moving to the edge of the forest. I turned my gaze enough that I could see the forest but still seemed focused on the dog.
Finally, a figure appeared, dark against the sunlit trees. I turned and the figure seemed ready to duck back into the forest, but it was obvious he’d been spotted, so he stepped out.
“Hullo there,” he called.
“Morning.”
I sized him up. Late thirties. Average height. Stocky. Hard to tell if it was muscle or fat, given his bulky windbreaker, but he had the bulldog face and rolling, confident gait of a man in good physical condition. Also? He had a gun. I could see the butt taking form against the fabric of his jacket.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I’m, uh . . .” A sheepish look. “I’m kinda hoping you can direct me back to my cabin. I got myself turned around in there.”
Scout growled as the man approached.
“Ignore her,” I said, patting her head. “She’s not keen on strangers, but the worst she’ll do is knock me over trying to hide between my legs.”
He chuckled. “Beautiful dog.”
“Thanks.” I flashed him a friendly, small-town-girl smile. “Let’s see about getting you back to where you’re staying. Are you renting a cottage?”
“Yep. Over near town. Came out with the kids to see the fall colors. I’m out seeing them and they’re sleeping in.”
I laughed. “Typical.”
He was less than five feet away now. Sizing me up. My gun was well hidden, and his gaze passed over it without hesitation.
“Actually,” he said. “I’ve got another problem. I was out with our dog and he took off. Chasing a rabbit or something. If I go back without him, the kids will flip. They’re always telling me to keep him on a leash.”
“That’s a good idea out here.”
“I know.” A deep sigh. “I hate to ask, but maybe if my dog saw yours, he’d come back. I wasn’t far from here when he took off.” He turned and pointed into the forest. “It was right over there.”
Seriously? He expected me to follow him into the woods? Apparently, my small-town act made me look dumber than I thought.
I flashed another bright smile. “That’s a great idea. My girl here loves making friends. I’m sure she’ll find him in no time.”
As we started into the woods, Scout growled louder.
“She smells your dog,” I said. “That’s what’s making her nervous.”
“Well, hopefully, she’ll see him soon.”
“Oh, I’m sure she will. Just lead the way.”
CHAPTER 18
The guy led me ever deeper into the forest, stumbling on the unfamiliar terrain. A city boy.
As we walked, he kept saying, “I last saw him just over here.” Then, “Wait, over there.” And, “Just a little farther now.”
“What does he look like?” I asked.
“He’s brown.”
“Big? Small?”
“In between.” The guy turned. “Why don’t you take your dog off-lead? She might find mine that way.”
“I don’t do that in the forest. Much too dangerous.” I paused. “But why don’t I go ahead? I know the lay of the land better than you do.”
He struggled not to smile. “That’s an excellent idea.”
“Great! Come on, girl. Let’s find us a missing puppy.”
I passed the guy and got ten paces before I heard the whir of his jacket being unzipped. I turned so quickly he jumped.
“Oooh,” I said. “You might want to leave that zipped up. The deer ticks are bad this time of year, and we’ve had a few cases of Lyme disease.”
He looked at my undone jacket.
“I’m wearing spray.”
“So am I.”
There is no such thing as anti-tick spray, but I grinned and said, “Carry on, then.”
I turned back and tugged out my gun. I waited for the telltale whisper of him starting to unholster his weapon then wheeled.
He stared at the Glock pointing at his chest.
When his hand moved under his jacket, I barked, “Stop!” but he kept drawing his weapon. As soon as I saw the butt, I fired.
The shot hit him in the right shoulder and he staggered back, releasing his grip on the gun. I lunged, dropping Scout’s lead as I grabbed his right arm and twisted it. I threw him down. I kicked his gun aside.
“On your stomach!” I said. “Hands behind your back!”
“You shot me,” he said, gasping in pain. “You fucking—”
“On your stomach!”
I rammed my foot into the small of his back, knocking him into position. Scout jumped on his back, growling. I ordered her off, which she did, seemingly with reluctance.
“Hands behind your back!” I said.
“What are you? A fucking cop?”
I grabbed his right arm and pinned it against his back. He yowled but stopped struggling. I patted him down. There was a switchblade in his pocket. I pulled that out. Then I found a zip tie in his jacket pocket.
“You bring your own handcuffs?” I said. “Now that is convenient.”
He resisted having his hands cuffed behind his back, but a slam to his injured shoulder stopped that. I got the zip tie on his wrists and then used Scout’s leash to bind his legs. Once he was secured, I did another pat-down search, making sure I hadn’t missed any weapons. Finally I removed his wallet.
He had a New York State driver’s license. A decent fake. He had a credit card in the same name—Douglas Leeds—but the cash-stuffed wallet told me he preferred to pay that way.
“Why were you following me?” I asked.
Silence.
I did another pat down, as thorough as possible now. When something crinkled in his windbreaker, I realized he had an extra pocket sewn in the liner. Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
I pulled the paper out and opened it. It was a computer printout with two photos on it. One was a slightly blurry photo of me in disguise at the bar in Newport. The other was an equally crappy photo of me leading a group of rock climbers near the lodge—likely something he found online. Below that was my name, address, date of birth, and information about the lodge.
“Are we going to talk about this?” I said, shoving the paper down beside his face.