Allison Brennan: The Hunt

Quinn said the first thing that came to his mind, but it felt right. He motioned to the other men to take either side and stay out of sight. He nodded to Jorgensen, who turned and headed back to the Lodge. Plan B was a last resort.

Quinn feared it was their only option.

Delilah Parker was all about control and image. Quinn remembered what Nick told him about her need to be the hostess, how you never turned down a drink or meal from Mrs. Parker.

He needed to appeal to that side of her.

Not the side that watched her brother rape nearly two dozen women.

“Delilah? Can you come out so we can talk?”

“No! He’s doing it wrong!”

Delilah was angry and Miranda glanced from her to Quinn nearly a football field away.

Delilah had been hiding behind a hollowed-out, rotting tree. Her goal was to shoot Quinn when he came for Miranda. So Miranda could watch him die.

But Quinn wasn’t playing her game, and now Delilah was angry. She pounded the ground and pouted.

Quinn’s voice came over the speaker. “Delilah, this is between you and me now. No one else. You tell me what you want, and I’ll figure out how we can get it for you. Okay?”

“No!” Delilah jumped up and strode over to Miranda, the tip of the gun touching her head. Miranda couldn’t stop shaking. She’d seen Dick Walters’s body. Delilah would kill her, too.

And she would kill Quinn if she had an opportunity.

“Put the gun down so we can talk,” Quinn said. He was walking around the short side of the meadow. Seeming to be moving farther away, but Miranda knew what he was doing. Trying to get closer. Trying to distract Delilah from everything else going on. Miranda saw only one cop among the trees. There had to be more.

“No, no, no!” Delilah kicked the ground. “Don’t you see?” she shouted. “Don’t you get it? She has to die. But it doesn’t mean anything unless she sees you die, too. She killed Davy. She needs to suffer for taking him. Don’t you see that?”

“Delilah, I understand what you’re going through,” Quinn said. “Grief is a powerful emotion.”

“You know nothing about grief.”

“Try me.”

“No. You’re buying time. What are you doing? Getting a SWAT team to run in here and shoot me? Well, I’ll tell you, your girlfriend’ll die too.”

Delilah’s hand was steady, but she sweated profusely. Her eyes kept darting back and forth, like a rodent’s. Miranda waited for an opportunity to do something, but she had no idea what. She watched Quinn for a signal, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on Delilah.

He moved closer.

“Delilah, you don’t mean that. You made some wrong choices, but you didn’t kill any of those girls, right?”

“Who cares? No one cared when I told them what my mother did to Davy. They didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you, Delilah.”

“I’m not stupid, Special Agent Peterson,” she shouted. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to break down in remorse and say I’m sorry. Well I’m not sorry. The only thing I’m sorry about is I didn’t let Davy kill this bitch-” she kicked Miranda in the side “-when she got away.”

Miranda started to close her eyes, ready for the pain of a bullet, when she saw Quinn motion with his hand. It was sign language. They were required to learn it at the Academy.

Get low.

From the opposite side of the field, a voice shouted, “Mom! Don’t!”

Delilah turned and the gun moved away from Miranda’s head. Miranda leaned down as far as she could.

“Ryan? You would betray me too?” Delilah turned the gun toward her son.

Then the noise.

Whap! Whap whap whap whap whap!

Delilah’s body was thrown backward into the tree as the bullets hit her. She fell into Miranda’s lap, her eyes looking right into Miranda’s.

“Peace,” she gurgled.

Her body jerked and she died. Miranda stared at Delilah Parker’s dead body.

Quinn knelt at her side and pushed Delilah’s body off her, then pulled out the gag. He untied her as he tried to hold her at the same time.

Quinn got her hands undone. She grabbed on to him, holding him tightly to her, silent tears running down her face. He picked her up, carrying her farther into the trees, away from death.

He kissed her, held her close. “I’m sorry we had to bring in Ryan, but-I only did it as a last resort.”

“I know.”

“Now, Miranda, it’s really over.”

Two weeks later.

The first day of June boasted clear blue skies and unseasonably warm weather. Miranda’s dress was a simple crepe-backless with spaghetti straps, a draped bodice, and gently flared floor-length skirt. Elegant and classic without seeming out of place for the informal affair. She was pleased she’d made the effort to pin up her mass of curls and actually put on more make-up than a touch of mascara. The look of appreciation and pride on Quinn’s face was obvious. She felt like a giddy teenager beaming over her first love.

Quinn was her first love. First and last.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. A real, genuine smile. She suspected she bounced when she walked, a definite change for her. But when your world suddenly opened up and the weight of fear lifted from your heart, you simply felt lighter all around.

A knock on her cabin door disrupted her moment of solitude. Quinn had left before she dressed-yeah, she knew the groom and bride weren’t supposed to see each other, but that was a stupid rule she was only too happy to break.

“Come in,” she called from her bedroom. “Couldn’t stay away for even ten minutes?”

“Try ten years.”

Miranda dropped her makeup brush and rushed from the bedroom.

“Rowan!” She hugged her friend tightly to her. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Along with Olivia, Rowan Smith had been her roommate at the FBI Academy ten years ago. She left the Bureau when she sold her first crime novel. Rowan had recently survived her own living nightmare when a brutal killer re-created her fictional murders and sent her sick mementos of his crimes.

Now that the ordeal was behind her, she looked as happy as Miranda felt.

“Quinn called,” Rowan said, her eyes twinkling. “Did you think I’d miss you and that stubborn fool finally tying the knot?”

“I knew it would happen.” Olivia stepped into view. Miranda reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I thought you’d gone back to Virginia.”

“I did. I just returned to Montana last night.” She smiled. “You look happy.”

“I am.” She glanced around. “Rowan, did you bring the guy Quinn told me about? John?”

“He’s talking with Quinn and your dad up at the Lodge. We were sent to change and fetch you.” Rowan looked at peace, like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Miranda knew exactly how she felt. Yet Rowan walked like she was still in pain, and eased herself into a chair, her face deliberately blank.

“What’s wrong? Quinn said you were fine.”

Rowan waved off her concern. “I am fine,” she said. “It’s just been a long day and my body isn’t rebounding as fast as it did in the past. When that bank robber shot me eight years ago, it only took me two weeks to feel like myself.” She laughed. “I’m getting old.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Liv said, crossing her arms. “I’m five years older than you.”

“And you look five years younger,” Rowan countered.

Miranda noticed two garment bags from a Bozeman dress shop and wrinkled her nose. She loved her simple white wedding dress, but had no intention of wearing anything other than jeans after the reception. “What are those?”