Cole sprinted up the hillside. Adrienne’s laptop felt bulky against his chest, and he worried that it would slow him down, but he didn’t dare leave it where Carmen might find it. This piece of evidence proved that Adrienne had been at Dark Horse Stable on the day she died.
If only I can get out of here and get it to Mattie.
He crossed the fifty yards of open space and reached the tree line in seconds. Pine, spruce, and large boulders gave him enough shelter to slow down and think. He ducked in behind a ponderosa, turning back to look at the barn. No one was following.
He patted his shirt pocket. I left my cell phone in the truck! It felt like a nightmare. Juan said that Carmen killed Adrienne. And she seemed willing to kill again. He’d seen her sight down a crossbow at him before Juan shoved him out the door. The disturbing image was burned into his memory.
Had Juan stopped her? He remembered the man’s scream. No, he’d taken the bolt meant for Cole. Carmen was still out there.
The open space between him and the barn remained still and lifeless. A hawk wheeled overhead and screeched a haunting call. Could he circle back to his truck?
Suddenly, the Doberman pinscher tore around the edge of the barn, dragging Carmen on the end of his leash. She carried the crossbow and a quiver of bolts on her back. She directed the dog straight to the hay room door. The Doberman swept the area with his nose as he went.
Good Lord! She’s using the dog to track me.
Cole gave up all hope of reaching his truck. Maybe he could sneak around Carmen and beat her to his vehicle, but there was no way could he outrun that dog. He snatched the laptop from inside his coverall, scooped aside pine needles, and buried the computer at the base of the tree, making sure it was well hidden by the needles.
Turning away from the barn, he dashed upslope, running as fast as he could, dodging through the trees. The more distance between them the better, but still, he knew he couldn’t outrun Bruno. He hoped Carmen would keep him on the leash—anything to slow him down.
Even so, he had to think of something else—something besides running.
Finding a game trail allowed him to increase his speed, and he did a quick mental assessment of his assets. The only thing he had with him that he could use as a weapon was the Leatherman he always carried in his coverall pocket.
He heard the deadly clunk of the crossbow before he felt the searing pain in his arm. The bolt flew past and thudded into a tree. Blood trickled from his left upper arm. He grabbed at the wound where the steel tip had grazed him, trying to stop the blood from leaving a trail on the ground.
Topping a rise and going down the other side for cover, he jerked a bandanna from his back pocket. He wrapped it around his arm, using his teeth to help tie it snug. He kept running and almost stepped on a dead coyote, a wicked crossbow bolt lodged in its side, surrounded by darkened, bloody fur. The stench of decomposition stifled his breath.
She’s been using the animals for target practice. And it looks like she’s a damn good shot!
Grabbing the bolt, he ripped it from the half-rotten carcass, the razor-sharp broadhead tip coming with it. He’d gained a weapon, for whatever it was worth. He tucked it into a loop on his pants leg.
He searched his surroundings, looking for a good place to get off the game trail. He needed more rocky terrain. There, near a large boulder, he found what he was looking for: shale and flat stones leading into some scrub. He leaped from stone to stone. He grabbed onto prickly rose branches to pull himself up and into the shrubs, the barbs drawing blood that blossomed bright red on his palms.
The Doberman’s sharp, staccato bark wafted upslope on a chill breeze. Cole realized he was downwind from the dog. Thank God Mattie had told him about wind interference. How could he use it?
Being downwind was a lucky break. At least the breeze wouldn’t carry his scent back to the dog. Cole needed to head across the slope. He paused, thinking of the coyote carcass. Maybe he could use the heavy scent of decomp to distort his trail and slow down the dog.
Leaping back along the stones, he retraced his steps to the dead animal. He picked it up by the shoulders, dragging it along as he backed toward the shale. He rubbed the carcass over his own steps while struggling to keep the decaying flesh intact. When he reached the stones, he arranged the carcass to look as natural as possible, as if it had died in place. After rubbing scent from his hands along the soles of his boots, he crossed over the shale and sprinted through timber.
Spotting a limber pine, he pulled his Leatherman out of his pocket and opened a blade. Taking mere seconds, he sliced a heavily needled bough and stuffed it down the back of his bib overall to block his shirt from sight. Closing the blade on his Leatherman, he continued to run, stuffing the tool into his pocket.
His breath was starting to recover from his mad dash uphill, but he knew he needed to head back upslope gradually to use the wind factor to his advantage. Branches scratched his arms as he sped through the trees. He angled his direction uphill, his feet pounding the rocky surface. Knowing his endurance wouldn’t allow him to run uphill forever, he started to think about what kind of terrain would be best to take a stand. He would need the element of surprise to set up an ambush.
The Doberman barked, the sound coming from much more near than Cole expected. His attempt to sully his trail with the coyote’s strong scent might have slowed the dog, but it didn’t throw him off the trail. He tried to run faster, but his legs were getting tired.
He came upon a shallow stream. This can mask my scent. Running full tilt, he leaped into the frigid water. Its icy fingers snatched at his ankles and snaked into his boots, taking away what little breath he had left. Gasping, he jogged upstream, bending to scoop a handful of mud that he smeared on the front of his shirt and as far as he could reach in the back. Another palmful covered the bright blue color he’d been worried about. He smeared it on his face as well.
The Doberman continued to bark, and it sounded like he was closing in. Slogging through the cold water, Cole realized he was almost spent. He needed an area of limited access with protection at his back. Maybe a cave? Too dangerous. He needed a back door for escape.
Scanning the forest in quick snatches, he took his eye off his footing for a split second. His foot slipped off a smooth, wet stone in the streambed, and his boot lodged between two rocks. Pain shot through his ankle. Shit!
Cursing himself, he pulled his boot from where it was wedged and hobbled onward. Frigid water swirled up to his calves, numbing the pain. One moment of inattention could be the difference between life and death. Now he’d be forced to find a place to hole up.
Digging deep, Cole trudged uphill. He came upon another dead and decaying animal with a bolt in its ribcage, this time a deer. A crash behind him made him whirl. He prepared for the worst but spotted a buck coming through the trees. The large deer charged past and continued uphill.
He’s running from the dog, too.
Breath heaving, Cole stopped, deciding this was a good place to leave the water. As he went up the bank, he yanked the limber pine bough out of the back of his coverall and used it to wipe away his footprints. He rubbed the branch against the deer to load it with the scent of decomposition and repeated his action. After swiping his boots over the carcass a few times, he limped across slope, finding easier footing and hoping to catch his breath.
If he could ditch the dog, he might have a chance. He doubted Carmen could track him herself, but who knew? If only he could stay alive until darkness fell, maybe he could hike out to the road overnight. But first he needed to stabilize his ankle.
Pushing himself, he limped upslope at the fastest pace he could manage.
How fit was Carmen Santiago? Could she follow him up this severe grade at the pace he’d set? Was the Doberman still on a leash, or had she turned him loose to chase Cole through the forest?
The Doberman barked again, this time from a little farther away. Buoyed by hope that the buck had distracted the dog, Cole decided to keep pushing uphill. After a while, he spotted what he’d been searching for—a rocky cliff face that led up to a ridge. It looked like something he could scale, and it would afford a vantage point. The boulders would provide shelter from both front and back, and it would be steep enough to at least slow down the dog. He would climb close enough to the top to provide a back door getaway if he needed it.
Grabbing onto a handhold, he started to climb, gritting his teeth against the pain.