Allison Brennan - The Hunt

If that was the case, there was no way the Butcher would give Nick a chance to escape. Unless he found a way out, he was as good as dead.

“No matter what, when you get out of here, run. Don’t do the expected. Try to cover your tracks. Avoid screaming or even breathing too loud. Stay in the trees. If it’s night and you can’t go on, bury yourself under leaves and hide. But as much as you can, run.” He pictured a map of the places the Butcher chased the women. Everything was south of the interstate, west of Gallatin Gateway. “Head northeast as much as possible. Eventually, in a day, maybe two or three, you’ll hit the main road.”

“How do you know?”

“I know his hunting ground.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay with you if I can.”

She didn’t say anything. Maybe she knew how injured he was. Or maybe she thought he wouldn’t be released.

Several moments passed, and Nick thought Ashley had gone to sleep. “He hurt me.”

Her voice was faint. Pleading. Almost childlike.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” He was so sorry. Her abduction was partly his failure. He hadn’t been able to protect the women in his town from the madman who stalked them.

That hurt as much as the pain in his head.

Lying here, on the cold, hard floor, Nick knew they were in a dire situation. The Butcher would be back before anyone could find them. No matter how many people were out searching, they’d never be able to cover enough ground.

He had to think, come up with a plan to save Ashley and himself.

But he feared it was already too late.

Miranda knocked on the door of Professor Austin’s basement office in Traphagen Hall. It hadn’t changed in the fifteen years since she’d taken his class. Rocks were the prominent decorative item in the overstuffed office. Topographical maps of the western United States filled the walls along with faded charts of rock and soil comparisons. The entire room smelled like dirt and paper.

Professor Austin had already been old when Miranda was in his class; he hadn’t changed. His white hair stood straight up, and his beard needed a trim. But his emerald eyes sparkled with recognition when Miranda cleared her throat to catch his attention.

“If it isn’t Miranda Moore!” He stood, not noticing or caring when a stack of papers hit the floor, some sliding under his desk. No wonder he’d lost their midterm essays fifteen years ago.

“Hi, Professor,” she said as he gave her a hard slap on the back and a wide grin.

“It hasn’t been so long that you forgot to call me Glen?”

“Sorry.” On the first day of class, Professor Austin insisted everyone call him by his first name. The problem was, he looked like a professor, and Miranda always felt uncomfortable calling him something as informal as “Glen.” Maybe if his name were Archibald…

“What brings you here so early?”

“The Rebecca Douglas murder.”

The professor’s face clouded. “Poor girl.”

“The investigators found something unusual and I thought you might be able to help.”

“Me?” He sat on the corner of his desk and more papers toppled to the floor. He motioned for Miranda to sit in the single chair.

She removed a large box of books from the seat before sitting. “There’s an unusual soil sample that’s been sent to the FBI lab at Quantico for testing. It’s red. Like brick. The lab technician says it’s clay. I couldn’t think of any place around here that had red clay or soil. I thought maybe you would know of some place.”

“Hmmm.” He looked beyond Miranda, over her shoulder at the wall behind her, lost in thought. “There’s an area over by Three Forks along the Missouri, but I wouldn’t call it brick-colored. Red dirt. Hmmm.” He thought again, then jumped up suddenly, startling Miranda.

He crossed to the crammed bookshelf, pulled out a thick tome, and turned to the back. Nodding and muttering to himself, he flipped through the book and stopped. “Red soil, particularly clay, is an erosional product that is very common in the Middle Paleozoic sandstone formations.”

Miranda felt like she was in school again. “What are the Middle Paleozoic formations?”

He glanced at her and frowned. “You passed my class, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” But the information had promptly left her memory.

He shook his head and sighed. “The Paleozoic formations were created by shallow seas that covered much of the western U.S. from 500 to 250 million years ago, particularly the Four Corners states-Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico-as well as a large slice of Nevada.”

“But what about southwest Montana?”

“Well, like I said, there are fine clays and soils all along the Missouri River. They come in varying colors and textures, but nothing that I would call red. Still.” He frowned. “If I can see it, I might be able to tell you more.”

“Thanks, Professor. Glen.” She stood. “I’ll see if I can have someone bring you a sample, but it’s evidence and I don’t know how much the lab retained.”

“I hope you and Sheriff Thomas catch this guy. He’s been terrifying the women of Bozeman far too long.”

“Thanks.” She left, her heart beating frantically. She pulled out her cell phone and called Quinn.

“Peterson.”

“Quinn, it’s Miranda. I just spoke to Professor Austin about the soil. He said there’s a small area in western Montana that might have it. It’s also found in New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Colorado. Can he take a look? He might be able to give us more information.”

“I’ll call Olivia and see if she can have someone drive it down to the University.”

“Thanks.”

“Is Nick over there?”

“With me? No. I haven’t seen him this morning.”

“We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago at his office, and he’s not here. I tried his house and cell phone and he’s not picking up.”

Miranda frowned. “That’s unlike Nick.”

“Hold on.” Miranda heard Quinn mumbling in the background, then he came back on. “Deputy Booker has been trying to track him down, but no one has heard from him since yesterday evening when he called for his messages.”

“I’ll drive by his house. Maybe he’s sick,” Miranda said. Her stomach did flips. Something was wrong.

“Be careful,” Quinn said. “Booker and I are going to call around and see who talked to him late yesterday. Check in as soon as you get to Nick’s, okay?”

“I will.” She shut her cell phone and crossed the campus to her Jeep.

Fifteen minutes later, Miranda stopped in front of Nick’s small Victorian on a quiet street in downtown Bozeman. His SUV wasn’t in the driveway.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The house felt empty.

Miranda slid out of the car and cautiously approached the house. She didn’t know why she felt so apprehensive: it was the middle of the morning in downtown Bozeman. Down the street, an old man was watering his lawn. Around the corner, she heard young kids playing a game of tag, their shrieks of laughter slicing the air.

But Quinn had sounded concerned. Nick hadn’t checked in this morning.

She walked up the wide front steps and paused on the porch, staring at the bench she and Nick had often sat on, talking, during their years of friendship. It reminded her of what she’d lost after they split up-before they’d been involved, Miranda never thought twice about stopping over for pizza and beer, or just sitting around talking. But after they stopped seeing each other romantically, she’d never felt comfortable just visiting.

She’d always considered Nick her best friend. But during the last year or so they’d had only a working relationship. It saddened her.