Asher knelt to study the hoof prints in the dirt. They appeared to be fresh, and they were about the same size and depth of the prints his bay was leaving. He was on the right track. He just hoped he reached Stan before Stan reached Leslie.
He was about to mount his horse again when a whinny sounded through the trees. Close by, maybe twenty, thirty yards. And since he didn’t hear the sound of the horse’s hooves, it must be stopped. Easing his gun out of his shoulder holster, he held it down at his side, leaving his bay to munch on the grass beneath the trees as he crept through the woods.
A few moments later, he heard another sound. A whimper. His hand tightened around his pistol and he sped up, as quiet as possible but as quickly as he could. There, up ahead, through a break in the trees, he saw what he’d been looking for. Leslie. She was alive, thank God. Naked, she was standing on a five-or six-foot-long piece of log, cowering back against an oak tree, her head bent down with her hair covering her face. But he didn’t need to see her face to know it was her. The height, weight, dark curly hair, the mahogany color of her skin...everything matched the missing girl’s description.
Asher peered through some bushes, looking for Stan or his horse. His arms prickled with goose bumps as he continued to wait. Everything about the situation—that whinny, Leslie whimpering against a tree in a small clearing—screamed setup. It was a trap. But where was Stan?
Another whimper had him looking at Leslie again. Even from a good twenty feet away he could tell that she was shivering, the air up in the mountains a good fifteen, maybe twenty, degrees cooler than in the valley. He scanned the surrounding area again. He desperately wanted to run into the clearing and help her. But if he got ambushed and killed, that wouldn’t do her any good. She’d still be Stan’s prisoner.
Where the heck are you? Where are you hiding, you lowlife?
And then he saw it. A rope, mostly hidden by leaves and small branches, trailing along the ground in the middle of the clearing. One end snaked into the trees on the far left side. The other went directly to the piece of wood Leslie was standing on. It was tied around it.
He jerked his head up, looking above the girl. Sure enough, a second brown rope that almost completely blended in with the bark of the oak tree ran around from the back of the tree down behind Leslie. Asher realized immediately what was happening. Stan had tied that rope to a branch in the back of the tree, the other end around Leslie’s neck. Sure enough, the sound of another whinny had the girl lifting her head revealing the hangman’s noose around her neck.
Stan had led him there to watch him kill his victim.
A wicked laugh sounded from the shadow of the trees, making Asher’s gut lurch with dread.
“Show yourself, Stan. Or are you a coward?”
“I’m no coward, Investigator,” he yelled from the shadows. “But I’m not stupid either. You’ll let me go to try to save the girl.” He laughed. “If you can.”
The rope attached to the log grew taut, as if someone was pulling on it. “Yah! Go, go, you stupid nag,” Stan yelled to his horse.
Asher swore and sprinted through the bushes and into the clearing, running full-out toward Leslie. The sound of horse’s hooves echoed through the trees. Leslie’s eyes widened with pleading and fear as he ran toward her, her skin turning ashen.
The rope snapped against the ground.
The log jerked forward.
Leslie screamed as her feet slipped out from beneath her.
FAITH COULD BARELY breathe with all the testosterone surrounding her. Didn’t the TBI hire any women these days? In spite of Frost’s agents pushing in on her from all sides, she refused to give up her front-row position at the hood of Frost’s rental car. Chief Russo had spread a map on top of it and everyone was crowded around as he and Frost gridded out the search area for the nearby foothills. While no one had heard yet from Asher, Lance had texted Faith an update not long ago that he was on Asher’s trail and hoping to team up with him soon in the search for Leslie and her abductor.
The roadblocks that Russo had set near the Parkses’ residence were in the process of being moved closer to the stables. Frost discussed the possibility of getting a chopper into the air with infrared capabilities, and whether they could get it in position before dark.
Faith cleared her throat. When that didn’t get their attention, she rapped her knuckles on the hood. “Director, Chief, we—Asher and I—discussed a chopper earlier and he was worried it could spook the horses. I understand your men who volunteered to search on horseback are skilled in riding. But a spooked horse is still dangerous, especially if our missing woman is on it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, especially Leslie Parks.”
One of the special agents frowned at her. “Look, lady—”
Grayson shoved his way in beside her, frowning at the agent. “That’s Ms. Lancaster to you. She’s a highly decorated, former police detective, who, as a civilian investigator, has solved half a dozen cold cases that various Tennessee law enforcement agencies, including the TBI, couldn’t.”
It was hard not to smile as the man’s face turned red, but Faith managed it, somehow.
Effectively dismissing the agent, Grayson turned his back on him and addressed Russo and Frost. “If Asher thought it was too dangerous to bring in a helicopter, I trust his instincts. As to the search, your people and mine are anxious to saddle up and follow Detectives Whitfield and Cabrera’s trail, but you’ve blocked access to the tack room. We’re losing daylight, and we potentially have an innocent victim up in those mountains, as well as my men, who may need backup. Instead of waiting any longer for the medical examiner to arrive and remove the bodies, why not have your crime scene techs get the equipment that we need out of that room right now?”
Frost’s brows drew together. “We can’t risk messing up the crime scene. A defense attorney could argue it’s contaminated and have any evidence we collect thrown out. We wait for the ME.”
Faith rapped her knuckles on the hood again. “You won’t even have a perpetrator to bring to court if he gets away while everyone’s standing around planning. There’s no telling what he could be doing to his captive. We don’t even know if Asher and Lance have found her, or the perpetrator. They need our help. We need to get moving.”
Grayson gave her a subtle nod of approval and turned his intimidating stare on his friend, Chief Russo.
Russo gave him a pained look. “Okay, okay. We’ll nix the chopper idea, for now at least. And we’ll stop waiting for the ME. We’ve already photographed the room. The bodies are at the far end. My techs, and only my techs, will pull out whatever equipment is needed. The fewer people in the crime scene, the better. Contamination is a real concern.”
Grayson motioned to Ivy Shaw, one of the UB investigators who’d driven out because of her experience with horses. She nodded and ran toward the building’s side entrance, waving for the rest of the half dozen agents and UB investigators who’d volunteered to search via horseback to follow her.
Frost obviously wasn’t happy with Russo’s decision, but it was the chief’s jurisdiction. So he didn’t argue. “I’ll finish mapping out search grids for those who will follow on foot. Ms. Lancaster has the GPS information. Someone borrow her phone or load up her app, whatever it takes so that both search teams can use the coordinates to find Whitfield and Cabrera.”
The sound of a vehicle’s tires crunching on the gravel road announced the arrival of the long-awaited medical examiner’s van. It pulled up to the main entrance to the stables a good thirty feet away.
Russo plowed through the crowd around the car to reach the ME. Faith stepped back, rounding the hood of the vehicle to follow them into the building.
A hand firmly grasped her arm, stopping her. Grayson. She glanced up in question.
He let go and shook his head. “I know you’ve been frustrated at the wait, but everything’s in motion now. Give the ME and techs the space they need to get the equipment out and protect the evidence at the same time. We’ll be saddled up and off on the hunt soon.”
“‘We’? Are you planning to go along? You ride?”
He gave her one of his rare smiles. “I’ll let the younger guys handle this one. But, yes, I ride every now and then. Willow and I both do. We really need to get you over your fear of horses. You’re missing out on a lot of fun.”
She stared at him, her face growing hot. “Who told you?”
“You did. By your reactions when giving me the update about what happened earlier. You glossed it over, saying Lance arrived and wanted to head after Asher instead of you. But I know that if you were comfortable riding you’d have been right beside Asher instead of following later.”
Her face burned even more, realizing that he knew she’d been a coward.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Stop feeling guilty for not going with him. It made far better sense for a skilled horseman like Lance to tackle the job. You’d have been a liability.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
He squeezed her shoulder and let go. “Just keeping it real, Faith.”
She reluctantly smiled then critically eyed the rag-tag deputies and TBI agents who’d said they could ride. None of them inspired the confidence that her fellow teammates did, or her former army ranger boss. But at least they knew the difference between a lunge line and reins—not that she’d ever make that mistake again. “They need to hurry up.”
“It won’t take long to reach him. Your GPS app will guide them, and they won’t have to go slowly like I’m sure Asher had to initially while searching for a trail to follow. How far away is he now?”
She checked her phone and frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. What’s he...he’s turned around. He’s coming back toward us, fast.”
Grayson bent over her shoulder to look at the screen. “At that speed, it won’t take long for him to get here.” He looked up at the foothills. “Contact Lance. See if he knows what’s going on. If he doesn’t, risk contacting Asher. He’s obviously not trying to be quiet or careful anymore. It’s not like we’ll give away his position by making his phone buzz.”
Her fingers practically flew across the screen as she sent Lance a text. Daphne would have been proud of her newfound fast texting abilities. Apparently, stress improved her typing skills.
When Lance didn’t text her back, she speed-dialed his number. She tried Asher, as well, with the same results. “Neither of them is texting or picking up. I don’t like this. Something’s definitely wrong. Asher is pushing his horse too fast, taking risks in the rough terrain.”
She checked the GPS again, her stomach sinking. “Asher’s riding recklessly fast. Do you think Fake Stan could be chasing him?”
Grayson shook his head no. “Asher wouldn’t run from a fight. Maybe the trail went cold and he’s hurrying back to get a search party together before dark.”
She studied the trees at the top of the ridge. She didn’t doubt Asher’s bravery. He wouldn’t run from a fight, unless it was the only option left. Maybe he was hurt and had no choice. His gun could have jammed. Or Fake Stan could have ambushed him and—
“He’s fine, Faith. They both are. Stop worrying. That’s an order.”
She clenched her fists in frustration. “You can’t make someone quit worrying by ordering them to stop.”
The clatter of hooves had both of them turning to see the search party finally emerging from the barn. Seven horses were saddled and being led outside. As they mounted, one of them lifted his phone and called out to her. “Ready for those coordinates, Ms. Lancaster.”
She hurried over and gave him the information. “But you might want to wait. Looks like Asher is on his way back. He should be here any minute.”
Flashing lights had her turning again to see an ambulance pull up beside the van. She whirled back toward Grayson. “Did you call for an ambulance?” She ran to his side. “You heard from Asher, didn’t you, but didn’t tell me? He’s hurt. I knew it. He—”
“Faith, no. I haven’t heard from Asher. Russo asked for the ambulance earlier in case we find Leslie, as a precaution. Are you this worried about Lance too? Or is it just Asher?”
She blinked. “Both of them, of course. They’re...they’re my teammates. And friends. Why would you even ask?”
“No reason.” But his amused tone said otherwise.
Russo shouted from the stable doorway for Grayson.
“Better see what he wants.” He jogged toward the chief.
Faith watched him go as she pondered his question. Are you this worried about Lance too? In all honesty, no, she wasn’t. But that didn’t mean anything, not really. She cared about both of them. They were her coworkers, her friends. She didn’t want either of them hurt. Was Asher special to her? Yes. Of course. They were close, best friends. But that was only natural since they worked together much more often than they did with anyone else. Their team leader, Ryland, tended to assign both of them to the same cases when an investigation required more than one investigator. It was because they complemented each other’s skill sets. Together, they got results quicker than apart. It didn’t mean there was something more to their...relationship. Not the way Grayson’s tone had implied.
She shook her head. He was acting as if she had a crush on Asher, or maybe he had one on her. That idea had her chuckling. Asher often flirted with her. Grayson must have taken it wrong. It was Asher’s way of teasing her.
Wasn’t it? Had Grayson seen more to the flirting, like maybe that it was...real?
No, no. She wasn’t going down that path. She was tired and concerned for both men. That’s all it was. She was way overthinking this because her emotions were raw. Period.
She clenched her hands at her sides as the search party trotted across the weed-filled pasture toward the foothills. They must have decided not to wait for Asher. She just hoped they weren’t really needed, that he would be here soon, and that he was okay.
And Lance, of course. She hoped he was okay too.
A big red horse emerged from the trees at the top of the nearest ridge.
“Asher,” Faith breathed, relief making her smile for a moment, until she realized how recklessly he was urging his horse down the rock-strewn incline. From her vantage point, it looked like the horse would tumble off a ledge with every hop-skip step it took.
Behind him, Lance followed on the big brown horse, his gun out as he kept turning and looking at the trees behind them. Faith looked up at the trees, unable to see anything in the gloom beneath the thick forest canopy. Were they being pursued as she’d feared?
The two men met up with the search party halfway across the pasture. Asher turned slightly to say something to Lance. That’s when Faith caught the gleam of the late afternoon sunlight on Asher’s golden, naked skin. She’d seen his shirt and thought he was wearing it. Now, she realized he wasn’t. It was draped around a petite woman sitting on his lap, her head pressed against his chest.
Faith’s breath caught in her throat. Was that Leslie Parks, so still and unmoving against him? Why would she need Asher’s shirt? The obvious answer was that Leslie didn’t have any clothes of her own, which had Faith wishing she could kill Fake Stan right now, assuming Asher hadn’t already.
When his horse shifted slightly, she got a better look at the shirt. Her stomach churned with dread and fear.
Grayson came up beside her and rested his hands on top of the fence. “He found her. Son of a... He really did it. You both did. You found her.”
“She hasn’t moved, not once. Her eyes are closed too. And the shirt she’s wearing, it’s—”
“Covered with dark splotches.” His voice was tight with worry as he straightened. Neither said the word both of them were thinking, the word that thickened the air with tension.
Blood.
The shirt was covered with blood.
Please let her be alive. Please, God. Let her live.
A moment later, Ivy and the group of men on horseback raced toward the hill, heading in the direction that Asher and Lance had just come from.
Asher clutched Leslie against him and urged his horse forward again, probably using his legs to guide it the way Faith had seen Lance do earlier. Lance rode up to Asher’s side and motioned to Leslie. Whatever he was saying made Asher’s mouth tighten in a hard line, but he didn’t say anything.
His own face a study in anger and concern, Lance urged his horse forward, reaching the open gate ahead of Asher. He glanced at Grayson before stopping by Faith.
“Get the EMTs, Faith. Hurry.”
The urgency in his tone had her running to the ambulance, even though she wondered why he didn’t ride his horse over there and alert them himself. Once the EMTs had their gurney out with the wheels down, and had placed their boxes of supplies on top to follow her, she turned to see where Leslie and the others were. They were only about fifteen feet away.
“Be careful of her neck,” Asher warned.
Lance had dismounted and stood beside Asher’s horse, helping him lower Leslie into the waiting arms of the EMTs as they rushed over. As soon as they put her on the gurney, her eyes fluttered open and she moaned.
“She’s alive,” Faith whispered, smiling in relief.
Lance said something to the EMTs. Asher shook his head, looking angry. The EMTs both nodded at him before rushing toward the ambulance with Leslie.
Faith ran to the horses to congratulate Asher and Lance, and ask about Fake Stan. But her mouth went dry and logical thought was no longer possible as she finally got a good look at Asher up close, astride the big horse. Half-naked, incredibly buff Asher. Where had all those rippling muscles come from? Had they been there all along and she’d never noticed? She couldn’t help admiring his equally well-defined biceps. Had she ever seen his biceps before? When would she have had the chance? He was always wearing long-sleeved dress shirts and suits.
Her greedy gaze drank in the small spattering of hair on his chest and the long dark line of it going down his flat belly to disappear beneath his pants. Goodness gracious. Asher was hot!
She swallowed and forced her gaze up, fully expecting him to have noticed her practically drooling over his body. No doubt he’d tease her mercilessly over that. But he wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were half closed, his face alarmingly pale. And Lance and Grayson were holding on to his upper arms on either side of the horse, as if they were afraid he was about to fall.
Her stomach dropped. She’d been so intent on ogling him that she hadn’t realized that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She stepped closer to his horse, stopping just shy of its head and those huge square teeth.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Asher?”
“Let’s pull him down on this side,” Lance said to Grayson, ignoring her question. “Careful.”
Fear seared Faith’s lungs as they pulled him sideways out of the saddle.
He staggered then crumpled to the ground in a slow-controlled fall, with Lance and Grayson helping him. But instead of laying him down, they held him up in a sitting position.
“I’ve got him,” Grayson said. “Tell one of those EMTs to get back here, now, in spite of Asher insisting they look after Leslie first.”
Lance jumped up and ran to the ambulance.
Faith dropped to her knees in front of Asher. “What’s wrong? Asher, look at me.” His eyes were closed now. He seemed to be concentrating on just...breathing. “Grayson?” Her voice broke as she scooted to Asher’s side and started to slide her arm around his shoulders.
“Faith,” Grayson warned. “Don’t touch his back.”
She froze then leaned over to see behind him. The haft of a large knife protruded from beneath his left shoulder blade.
She sucked in a startled breath. “Asher. Oh, no.” Her hands shook as she gently cupped his face. “Whatever happened, it will be okay.” A single tear slid down her face as she kissed his forehead. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the ambulance. “Hurry, Lance!”
When she looked back, Asher’s eyes were open and staring into hers. They were glazed with pain, his breaths shallow and labored. But in spite of his obvious pain, his mouth quirked up in that smile she knew so well.
“We found her, Faith. We found Leslie. Alive.” His voice was gritty, barely audible. “He told her he killed Jasmine, that he was going to kill her too.” Asher drew a ragged breath, turning even more pale as he struggled to speak.
“Don’t try to talk, Asher,” she pleaded.
“Had to...” Asher rasped. “Had to grab her, hold her up. The noose would have snapped her neck.” He choked and dragged in an obviously painful breath.
Faith stared in horror, the word noose sickening her. But her curiosity would have to wait.
“That’s when he threw the knife.”
“Stop talking, Ash. Just breathe. In, out, in, out.” Her hands shook as she stroked his short dark hair back from his forehead.
His smile widened. “You called me Ash.”
“Did I? My sister’s bad habits are rubbing off on me. It won’t happen again.”
His answering laugh turned into a cough. Frothy, bright-red blood dotted the corners of his mouth.
Her gaze shot to Grayson. His answering look was dark with concern. He grasped Asher’s upper arm tighter with both hands, carefully supporting him. “Faith, call 9-1-1. Get a medevac chopper out here. Yesterday.”