Allison Brennan - The Hunt

The day promised to be beautiful.

She rolled over expecting to find Quinn beside her. Instead, she found a note.

Miranda-

I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m meeting Colleen down at Big Sky to do a quick walk-through of the cabin. I should be back by lunchtime, or I’ll call if I’m delayed.

I called the hospital. Nick is the same, which is more or less good news. JoBeth Anderson is awake and alert. Ashley was asking for you. She’s going to be okay, thanks to you.

Stay at the Lodge. I have four deputies assigned there. Until I know what’s up with Delilah Parker, I’d rather play it safe.

I love you.

Q.

P.S. Stay off your leg. If you have to shower, make it quick.

She smiled. Just last week, she would have thought police protection was overkill. But today, she allowed Quinn his paranoia.

Her smile turned into a worried frown. She couldn’t imagine what Delilah Parker was going through right now, finding out her own brother was the Butcher, a rapist. Miranda was certain Quinn’s fears were unfounded; how could a woman participate, even just by remaining silent, in the rape and torture of another woman?

It was sick. Almost as sick as what David Larsen had done.

She slowly maneuvered herself out of bed. Cautiously, she stood. Her injured leg was stiff and sore, but she could walk without crutches if she went slowly. Moving around was the best medicine. In fact, the leg didn’t hurt any worse than the huge bruise on her shoulder from hitting the boulder.

She needed a shower. She’d had one at the hospital, but the water was tepid.

She turned on the water and waited for it to get hot. She wished Quinn were here. She took off her pajamas and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her breasts had been scarred with nineteen slashes, all about an inch long. She had counted them. Over and over. Her nipples had little sensation, her nerves having sustained permanent damage. She closed her eyes, always feeling revolted at the sight of her disfigurement. The scars on her wrists and ankles from being chained and the long one on her inner thigh didn’t disturb her half as much as her damaged breasts.

Then she forced herself to look again, to stare at herself until the mirror clouded with steam and she could no longer see her reflection.

The scars were part of her now. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. Quinn had never been as repelled by them as she was. Angry, yes. She’d seen the flash of anger in his eyes.

Anger didn’t bother her; pity did.

No more of what-might-have-been! She was growing more comfortable in her skin each day. The Butcher was gone; Miranda had to bury her self-pity and anger with him. She had a full life ahead of her, with Quinn.

And he loved her just the way she was.

She stepped into the hot shower and thought about what life would be like married to Quinn. Fun. Challenging. Exciting. Frustrating. She was stubborn; so was he. But making up was half the fun of arguing, right?

It had taken them years to find their way back to each other, and Miranda didn’t want to waste a single minute. As soon as possible, she wanted to get on with their wedding. When Quinn returned to Seattle, she would go with him. Certainly she could find a job in search and rescue in Washington state. Seattle had rivers and waterways and the Cascade Mountains. Miranda had experience in all kinds of terrain.

And for the first time in more than a decade, she thought about having a child.

With Quinn.

She shut off the water and reached for the towel that hung on the hook outside the shower. She didn’t feel it. Odd. She thought for sure she’d put one there. Must have fallen to the floor. Opening the door fully, she stepped out.

And faced a nine-millimeter semiautomatic.

She looked up into the cold, wild eyes of Delilah Parker, who appeared nothing like the society matron Miranda had known.

“Washing my brother’s blood off your hands?”

When there was no answer at Miranda’s, Quinn used the radio to check in with the deputies stationed at the Lodge.

“I’ve had an APB put out on Delilah Parker,” he said. “She should be considered armed and dangerous. There is strong evidence that she assisted her brother David Larsen in abducting his victims.”

“Good God,” he heard one of the deputies say.

“Check in. Name and location.”

“Jorgensen, main entrance outside and perimeter check every twenty.”

“Zachary, main entrance inside and interior check.”

“Ressler, trails, barns, parking-all clear.”

Silence.

Jorgensen spoke. “Walters, check in.”

Silence.

Quinn’s heart rose into his throat. “Ressler, you and Jorgensen get down to Miranda’s cabin, stat! Zachary, check on Richard Parker and his son immediately. Call all guests and employees into the dining hall and keep them there until you get the all clear. I’m calling in reinforcements. ETA is ten minutes.”

He slammed down the radio. “Goddammit!” Why had he left her? He thought she’d be safe. Four cops protecting the Lodge. Few criminals blatantly took out a cop. They waited for a hole, where they couldn’t be seen.

But Walters was down. Delilah Parker had gotten to Miranda.

Quinn accelerated the truck, taking turns fast and dangerous.

He and Miranda had finally found their way back to each other. He wasn’t about to lose her now.

“If you so much as squeak, I’ll kill you. Slowly. And then I will kill your lover.”

Miranda believed Delilah’s threat. She didn’t want to die. Not now, after she’d finally put her demons to rest. She couldn’t bear thinking of Quinn finding her dead body.

Delilah Parker was a sick woman.

Her hands bound behind her back, goosebumps rose on Miranda’s damp skin. She wore a thin cotton robe and nothing else.

Shaking and barefoot, Miranda stumbled down the path, her leg aching. She had no idea where Delilah was taking her, but she wasn’t dead yet. She would find an opportunity to escape.

“Why are you doing this?” Miranda asked.

“Because I want to,” Delilah said like a recalcitrant child. “Now keep moving.”

Keep her talking. Miranda remembered that from her criminal psychology classes.

“Why did you help your brother kidnap women? You’re a woman. Certainly you would have sympathy.”

Delilah shrugged. “It was interesting.”

Interesting ? She thought raping and shooting women in the back was interesting !

“You just handed us over to your brother and walked away? Knowing what he was going to do?”

“Keep your voice down,” Delilah hissed.

Miranda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She pushed on, though she kept her voice low, mindful of the gun in her back.

“How could you do that? Just walk away?”

“I didn’t walk away. I’m not a coward. Not like Davy.”

Miranda stumbled at her words. Delilah prodded her up. “Keep moving.”

“My leg.”

“Who gives a fuck about your leg? Davy’s dead.”

Miranda bit her tongue, tears springing to her eyes. “You knew? You saw ?”

“I wanted to watch. To see what it took to break someone. Davy insisted that if he found the right girl she would want to stay with him forever. I told him he was a fool. I was right.”

How could Delilah ignore the endless screams? She watched her brother rape and torture women and it was interesting ? To see what it took to break a human being? Miranda’s stomach twisted and bile rose to the back of her throat. She forced herself to swallow, the burning sensation making her grimace.

Delilah was as twisted as her brother!