Chapter Twenty-Five

 

“Follow me down the path. I will walk beside you,

guiding and showing you the way.

I will not leave you standing on the path, watching you.

If you ever feel alone, close your eyes.

You will see six sets of footprints, two belonging to you, four to me.

Then you will know that I have not left you.”

—Wolf Prayer

 

1:40 p.m.

 

Outside Mr. Cartier’s residence, Mayhem pulled curbside in the same spot as before. Sadness and fury warred inside him, dulling the incessant sting of his injuries. Make no mistake, they would pay. But he and Shawnee must be smart. Calculated in their pursuit.

“This is perfect.” In the passenger seat, Shawnee hammered the keyboard. “I’m almost in.”

With no vehicles out in front of the residence, he swung open the driver’s door.

“Where are you goin’?” she said as if she had the right to question his movements. “It’s broad daylight.”

“I’ve noticed how much you enjoy stating the obvious.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped out of the Caddy and leaned in through the opened door. “Keep working. I shan’t be long.”

“Whaddaya gotta pee or somethin’?”

“No, Cat. I do not.” He shut the door and strolled—nice and slow—across the road. A jogger ran toward him, and he tipped his fedora. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous.” She smiled and kept moving, sneakers slapping the asphalt.

Veering into the woods, he quickened his steps to the back of Elwood Cartier’s property. Unfamiliar crows feasted on corn and peanuts—the trophy hunters’ future victims. Every inch of him longed to warn the murder, but they had every right to feed in their domain and defend their territory.

These despicable men paid for a piece of paper that, in their view, entitled them to destroy lives, to obliterate families. Short of a massive slaughter, the best way to stop them remained just beyond his reach. And that crushed him. Never had he faced such a gray area.

Where’s his beloved? Were Rothschild’s filthy hands touching her, beating her, breaking her beautiful spirit?

With no human activity in the yard, he hugged the wood line and crept closer to the house. At the halfway mark, Shawnee sprang from the bushes, hooking his arm, dragging him out of sight.

She scowled. “Someone’s home.”

“Show me, please.”

Flipping open the laptop, she pointed at the screen. “Camera four. See the dude in the kitchen? You’re lucky he wasn’t still looking out the window at the crows.” The laptop snapped shut. “C’mon, we gotta be smart about this.” She grabbed hold of his hand and stormed deeper into the woods, circled wide around the cornfield, and led him out to the street. Releasing him at the opened driver’s door, she ordered, “Get in.”

He’d never seen her so assertive. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She slammed the door and hustled around the back bumper. Once in the passenger seat, she reopened the laptop. “Okay, I’ve got a few things to show you.” She rewound the feed and pushed play. “Note the time.”

Three men loaded the four-wheeler on the back of a black Chevy Silverado.

Vision locked on the screen, he said, “All right. This is when they left the property.”

“Yeah, but wait.” The tape continued to play. “Right… now.”

Curran Rothschild exited the driver’s seat, passing the lead man—the same hunter who pummeled him with birdshot—a fat envelope stuffed with cash.

Eyes agape, he jerked away from the screen. “He hired them.”

“Yep. Good chunk o’ change by the looks of it, too. Who would you hire to come on private property and do something like that?”

He swallowed hard. “Poachers.”

“Poachers? Like the dudes who kill elephants and rhinos?” A quick intake of air sucked through her teeth. “Worthington had huge ivory tusks in his office.”

He raked his fingers down his face. “Misters Worthington, Rothschild, Cartier… they’re all part of a much larger network, one that profits off the destruction of animals.” His gaze roamed out the windshield but couldn’t find a landing point. “Your grandfather’s vision was spot-on. Tomorrow’s hunt is merely the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid. This goes much deeper than a crow hunt.”

She uttered a soft, “Fuck.”

Under the circumstances, the word fit.

“So, whaddawe do?”

He tapped the laptop. “What else did you want to show me?”

“Right.” She advanced the feed to shortly after the abduction. “The truck returns but check out the bed.”

The all-terrain vehicle vanished.

“All right. Dumping the four-wheeler makes sense, considering the bloodshed that occurred inside.”

“Maybe they stashed it to come back later for the guy… you… err…?”

“Killed?” Holding her gaze a moment, he searched for signs of disapproval. When he didn’t find any, he relaxed. “No. They would not return. It’s every man for himself in their world. The wildlife trade funnels billions of dollars to those who perpetuate evil. Losing a poacher or two goes with the territory. It wouldn’t surprise me if they chose not to notify the authorities.”

“Hate to ask this, but…” She gnawed off a cuticle and spat it out the window—a nervous, albeit disgusting habit he ignored for the time being. “If these guys are part of a larger network, where does that leave Spirit Crow?”

“In a very dangerous position. We must find her before Mister Rothschild puts her on the auction block.” All the saliva in his mouth dried to dust. “Did he return to the property?”

“Not that I saw, no. He’s probably at the inn.”

“Perhaps.” Mayhem started the engine and pulled into the road. “However, a smart man would never risk an outsider spotting him with coveted prey. Either he or the organization must own a storage facility nearby.” His hands wrung the steering wheel. “A safe place for Mister Rothschild to store her—all alone and frightened—while he dines and drinks and celebrates his victory.”

On the drive to the Inn at Thorn Hill, his mind constructed several plausible options of how to proceed, but each one ended in defeat. No matter how many ways he moved the pawns into place, someone he loved paid the price. An unacceptable conclusion and a risk too great. Without a clear path forward, innate darkness gobbled him whole.

The ticking clock beat its drum, reverberating through his core.

In the parking lot at Thorn Hill, he killed the engine. “Would you mind if we ate lunch in the suite? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Yeah, sure. I can’t eat right now, anyway.”

“While I can appreciate your lack of appetite—mine is low, as well—let me explain something to you, Cat. The human body—and mind—cannot function at peak performance without sustenance.” He swung his legs out the door, and Shawnee did the same. Over the roof, he said, “She wouldn’t want you to skip meals.”

“I know.” The soles of her boots scuffed across the parking lot. “Bet she was an awesome mom.”

A forced grin. “She still is.”

He and Shawnee strode in silence to the front entrance, through the lobby, and over to the elevators. When the doors parted, one polar white tail feather lay on the floor. Shawnee’s gaze shot to him, and he shuffled her inside. Mouth agape as though she couldn’t trust her eyes, she raised the feather, her lips parting to speak.

“Wait,” he warned.

The doors slid together, the elevator lifting in the shaft.

She shook the tail-feather at him. “This proves he brought her here.”

“Though I wish that were true, the most obvious conclusion is a few feathers loosened in the struggle and one clung to his clothing.”

“Oh.” Her hand raked back her hair. “Be ruthless when you get him alone. He deserves a slow, agonizing death. And I wanna be there.”

Envisioning the scene raised the corners of his lips.

“I’m dead serious.”

“I am aware of that.” In search of reluctance, he held her gaze. “Your grandfather would say violence is never the answer.”

Head down, her fingers stroked the feather. “What would you say?”

“Sometimes, violence is a necessary evil.”

Even Jacy Lee said to stop Mr. Rothschild any way he saw fit. He understood the natural order, war, and battling for the greater good. And yet, he was reluctant to share these gray areas with his granddaughter, preferring that she formed her own opinions in her own time. Mayhem respected his decision, though a nudge in the right direction might be helpful.

“I agree.” Her acceptance jarred him from his thoughts. “These scumbags won’t stop. They’re making too much dough.”

“Very true. Their kind puts profit above… Well, everything the Natural World offers. Disgraceful practice.”

The elevator stopped on the third floor, and he held the door from closing on Shawnee as she strode into the hall. On high alert for Mr. Rothschild, he quickened his steps. Straight ahead, the housekeeper backed out of the Mount Washington Suite.

He dropped a crisp fifty on her cart. “Thank you, Gloria.” A quick tip of the fedora. “We appreciate all your hard work.”

She pocketed the bill. “Thank you, sir.”

Once Gloria entered the suite next door, he held open the door for Shawnee.

“Are you always this generous?”

“What you put out in the world you get back threefold.” He engaged the lock and ushered her into the living room. “Surely, your grandfather taught you this truth.”

“He did, but I thought he meant positive vibes and stuff.”

“Au contraire. Everything you do, every move you make, every thought that crosses your mind influences the world around you, and your energy, your life force, your soul. Would you rather make a positive impact or a negative one?”

Without hesitation, she said, “Positive.”

“Then you shall.”

“Easy as that?”

“Hardly.” He chuckled inside. “We are human, after all. However, if we begin with a positive mindset, it’ll saturate our acts and intentions for the day. Hence why your grandfather urges you to accompany us for morning prayer. Admire the sunrise, appreciate its beauty, celebrate the life it gives. Conversely, if we slap the snooze button, dreading to rise and welcome the day, we begin with a negative mindset, and that negativity travels with us throughout the day, affecting our acts and intentions. With a little forethought and planning, we can live as God, the Great Spirit, your higher power—whichever name best fits your faith—intended.”

For a long while, she stayed silent, mulling over the advice. “Makes sense, actually.”

“I’m glad.” A genuine smile raised his spirits. “Shall I order for us before we get started? This time of day, they have a limited menu.”

“That’s cool. You nailed the Belgian waffle, so get me whatever.” She hopped into the upholstered chair with the laptop. “I’ll make a list of local storage facilities.”

On the hotel phone, he dialed the number for room service. While it rang, he covered the mouthpiece. “Hold off on that, please.”

“But you said they’re using a storage facility. Don’t we need a list?”

The desk clerk answered the call.

“Nice to hear your voice again, Chad.” No need to mention a name or suite number. The screen at the front desk provided the information. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks. What can I do for you, Mister Daniels?”

“I realize the restaurant doesn’t open until four-thirty. However, if it’s not too much trouble, could I order an assortment of finger sandwiches and fruit so we can dine in the suite?”

“Absolutely. I’ll throw something special together for you and your wife and bring it right up.”

“Thank you so much, Chad. Much appreciated.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

After disconnecting the call, he moseyed over to the loveseat, sat across from Shawnee, and crossed his legs. “When I mentioned a storage facility earlier, I didn’t mean to imply commercial storage, which allows far too many witnesses. Keep in mind, these men work within a clandestine operation.”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha. Then where do we start?”

“We begin with the network vulnerabilities present in all hotels that offer free Wi-Fi.”

“Excellent idea.” An evil little glimmer shone in her eyes. “If I create an evil twin, the next time Rothschild logs into the Wi-Fi, it’ll reroute him to our network, not theirs, giving us full control of his device. From there, we can go anywhere.”

Now she’s on the right track. “Precisely.”