Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

This was the best one ever.

“Thank You, God,” she whispered, speaking aloud for the first time in hours.

Now she knew to keep walking the way she had been going. It was south, and that would take her to the river. If only Clancy hadn’t been chasing her again when she came to the Katy Trail. But, as Aunt Renee always said, “if only” is for dummies. One was never to say “if only,” but she was supposed to say, “next time.”

The next time Doriann was running from a psycho drugged killer, she would pay more attention to the direction she ran, and she would stay as close as possible to the road, or the trail, and not get lost in the endless woods.

She had just come to a dry creek bed, determined to push through these woods as fast as possible and get to the river before it was too dark to see, when she heard a noise behind her.

Footsteps. Again.

But she wouldn’t panic and lose her way again. Instead, she studied the high cliff bank on the other side of the creek. She’d been here already this afternoon. She recognized the dark hole that was an entrance to a tiny cave.

Clancy would expect her to go south-if his drug-cooked brain was working. He didn’t know about the little hidden crevices in the rocky cliffs along this part of the river valley-she hoped. And better than hiding in a tree, she could hide in one of the little crevices. Some of them were actually tubes, with two openings, so if he did come looking for her, she could crawl out on the other side.

She turned and looked over her shoulder, but saw no shadows move in the darkening woods. Had she really heard a footstep, or had it been a squirrel jumping from tree to tree? Or a raccoon or possum looking for dinner?

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t try to make it to the river now. Instead, she crossed the dry creek bed while she could still see well enough to use the large, flat rocks to cross on tiptoe. Silently.

When no one came after her, she stepped into one of the cavelike shadows and crawled inside.

Later tonight, when she’d had some rest, if the moon was bright enough, she would climb back down to the creek bed and follow it to the river.

If she didn’t freeze to death first.

Jama felt suddenly pumped. This was the real thing. They were going to do this-plunge into the woods and look for Doriann. Tonight could be the night she’d be able to put her defense training, her target practice, her tracking-everything-to good use.

The stress with Ruth Lawrence rolled off Jama’s shoulders like rain rolling off her warm, lined jacket. Why worry about the small stuff? Life was at stake here. There were more important matters at hand.

“Is anybody else invited to the hunting party?” she asked Tyrell.

“Just us, I hope.” His full, deep voice sounded calm. “At least until we’ve exhausted all opportunities to follow whatever tracks we find.”

“By then, the FBI will be there,” Jama said. “It seems to me that we could use more help, not that the FBI would take my advice.”

Tyrell looked at her askance. “Who else did you plan to invite to the hunting party?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Everybody in River Dance, perhaps? Comb the woods?”

“Not in this case. If the townsfolk messed up a valuable lead, it would not be helpful.”

“Sure, hold them off until we’ve done all the tracking we can, but there’s safety in numbers.”

“Not going to happen. Daniel and the guys on watch at the ranch all volunteered to come with me. I had to nearly wrestle them to make them stay at the ranch. Right now, the fewer people trampling the evidence, the better. You and I are taking a huge risk right now.”

“That’s what I told Renee, but would she listen?”

“I doubt it.”

“She’s all gung ho about this. Thinks we can round up the bad guys and safely rescue Doriann before the Feds even arrive.”

“And now she has you thinking it,” Tyrell said.

“You bet. Renee should be a motivational speaker.”

“She doesn’t understand the seriousness of the Feds,” Tyrell said. “When they’re after two of their top-ten wanted-which may turn out to be three-they’re not going to take kindly to any interference.”

“Which is what I implied to Renee before she browbeat me into submission.”

“It’s her way.”

His earlier words finally registered. “Three kidnappers?”

“I’ve been on my cell a lot this afternoon. It seems the two suspects stopped for gasoline halfway between KC and Columbia, and the cashier remembered some things.” He slowed for a fox squirrel that danced in the middle of the road before choosing a direction to dart for escape. “The female suspect sighted today doesn’t match the description of the woman who was implicated with the man earlier.”

“Women change their appearance all the time,” Jama said. “If she knew she was wanted by the FBI, she could have done a lot to change her looks.”

“True. No one seems to know what happened to the other female.”

“What was the description of the female today?”

“Skinny, rough-looking woman with stringy blond hair.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Jama said dryly.

“I think Renee said the first woman was described as petite, with short black hair. A woman could get a stringy blond wig, but she can’t easily change her height.”

Jama thought about that for a minute as she studied the curving, hilly road that disappeared into the deepening forest shadows. She slid her window down, sniffed the air, stiff with cold and wood smoke.

“But the descriptions can be subject to interpretation, depending on who’s doing the describing,” she said.

He glanced over at Jama and gave her one of those deep, thoughtful looks that had always made her melt. “I’ve always loved your logical mind.”

She melted more than expected.

Reminding herself that shared danger made for heightened emotions, and forbidden fruit always seemed sweeter, she avoided that deep, bottomless gaze. She slowed her suddenly erratic breathing and studied the shadowed indentations of the winding countryside.

“Almost there,” she said.

She could see from the corner of her eye when he returned his complete attention to the road.

“We haven’t even begun the trip.” His voice was soft, quiet and filtered down over her like the warmth of a sauna.

“What?”

He signaled and turned into the grassy drive that led to the creek where River Dance high-school classes had held their bonfires and parties since the inception of the town. “We have a lot of talking to do, and a lot of time to do it tonight.”

“We have to focus on the job at hand,” she said.

“Of course we do, but to work well together, good communication is vital.”

“Silence is vital to keep from giving away our location, Tyrell.”

She heard his chuckle as he parked, and it irritated her.

“I don’t see anything humorous about tonight,” she said.

He opened the door, and she caught sight of his face in the overhead light. She saw the evidence of hours of agonizing worry, of hard work and struggle in the vineyard trying to save the future of the ranch.

She regretted snapping at him. Why was she so prickly? She understood Tyrell’s heart. As he had done earlier today, as he had always done during tense situations, he took the edge off his own tension, and attempted to lighten the mood for those around him, with humor, with redirection, even when his own heart wasn’t in it. Even when his heart was breaking.

It was a sharp reminder about why she loved him so, about why this was so hard. If only…

Her foster sister Renee loved to read. One day, when Renee was hiking the perimeter of the Mercer Ranch, she had stumbled upon an old dumping ground, which included the shell of an old car. In that car she had discovered a treasure of well-preserved Reader’s Digest magazines dating back dozens of years.