Page 15 of Danger In The Backcountry
“Oh, I’m going to do so much more than touch you, Arlette.” His pulse in his wrist pounded steadily beneath her fingertips. As though he was exactly where he wanted to be without a care in the world. “You see, I’ve been waiting a long time to get your attention. For you to just look at me like you look at that damn bear you follow around all over this park or that piece of crap husband whose jersey you insist on wearing to bed.”
Her stomach rolled. How did he… No. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t know about that jersey. He couldn’t know what she slept in. She took precautions while in the van, always covering the windows before she changed. Making sure the doors were locked and the alarm was armed before climbing into bed. Unless…
“Since the moment I saw you for the first time in person in the visitor’s center all those months ago, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else. What your hair feels like between my fingers, how you might taste, what it will feel like to make you mine from the inside out.” A twin shiver seemed to shoot across his shoulders, and the killer withdrew his hand from her chest. He cocked his head to one side, the predator closing in on his prey. “Do you remember that day? You were on a tour of the facilities with that intern of yours, and I knew right then you belonged to me. That I would do anything to have you for myself. And I’m going to start with getting rid of that husband of yours.”
“What?” Her heart stopped. Coming to Zion was supposed to be a new start. A life of her own, separate from her parents’ influence and perpetual disappointment and the ache digging through her chest with the divorce. She was supposed to heal here. To find out who she was on her own and figure out the next step in her life, but she hadn’t escaped anything, had she? The hurt had followed.
“Shouldn’t be long now.” Her abductor shoved to stand, towering over her like some kind of reaper. He flexed his hands into fists, the leather groaning under the pressure. Reaching down, he extracted a dark pack she hadn’t noticed stashed into the shadowed inlets of the tree and dropped it at his feet. He crouched to unwind a length of rope from inside. “I wouldn’t normally leave my kills alone, but I couldn’t risk losing you in the process. Once he’s bled out, it’ll be easier to get him in thetree. Until then, I can’t have you running off before I’m finished. Then you’ll see how serious I am about us being together.”
“It was you.” Her breath shuddered free from her chest. Images of the hiker she’d happened upon yesterday morning—of the flesh and the wounds and the blood—seared across her mind. Only this time, Rome’s face took the place of the victim’s. And everything inside of her went numb. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Too disconnected. Too distant. Her safe place away from having to feel much of anything at all. “All those hikers? It was you?”
“They were just practice.” The killer grabbed for one of her ankles and wrenched her forward. “But Ranger Foster? He’ll be my masterpiece.”
Her back hit the ground in front of him, but she didn’t really feel it until the coarse rope scratched at her exposed skin. Putting her squarely back in her body.
And then Lettie struck.
Chapter Fourteen
Was he dead?
Or maybe Rome was just wishing he was. Hard to tell.
His fingers had gone numb minutes—or was it hours?—ago. Dirt caked beneath his fingernails as he tried to stay focused on the rock a couple feet away from his face. The killer had taken Lettie that direction. He didn’t have any sort of plan for when he reached it. Only that he had to get to it. A goal to keep him moving, keep fighting, to make him feel as though he was doing something. Focused.
He’d stopped shaking, but tendrils of blood still seeped from the wound and soaked through both layers of his clothing. Hell. The pain hadn’t bothered him in a couple minutes. Was this what shock felt like? He’d survived any number of wounds in the wilderness, most too shallow to need anything more than some gauze and antiseptic, but this one… Yeah. He wasn’t going to walk away from this if he didn’t get his head on straight. He was losing blood by the second, and there was no way to tell where the tipping point into unconsciousness stood until it was too late.
The rock now only a foot away from his outstretched hand provided a marker. Every shove of his toes into the forest floor got him that much closer to Lettie. His fingers brushed the smoothed but rough surface of the gray stone sticking half up through the ground, but Rome didn’t allow himself to enjoy the relief of making it this far. He wasn’t going to make it without putting a stop to the bleeding. No matter how muchdetermination he summoned, no matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t do a damn bit of good for her in this shape.
The straps of his pack bit into his shoulders. And it was going to hurt like hell to get his injured arm free. He extracted the opposite arm from the pack first, but he couldn’t reach the zipper at this angle. Sucking in a series of deep breaths, Rome forced himself to hold his breath. Psyching himself up for what came next. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver the strap over the arrow still imbedded in his shoulder, but he didn’t have any other choice.
He had to remove it and do whatever it took to ensure he didn’t bleed out in the process.
Dragging himself to his knees, Rome focused on that rock and the woman who’d disappeared beyond it. For her. To get to her. Because every second her abductor had her was another second she might not come back to him. Air hissed between his teeth as he wrapped his free hand around the arrow’s shaft and bit down on his back molars.
One. Two. Rome didn’t give himself until the count of three, ripping the field point free with everything he had. Muscle, skin and tissue tore upon extraction. The sharpened ends did their job to cause as much damage as possible, but he’d managed to pull the damn thing free.
Darkness consumed his vision. His scream pushed past the tree canopy and echoed off the surrounding cliffs. Birds and insects quieted at the sound. Oxygen fled his lungs, and he slumped forward until his forehead hit the ground. Out of breath, teetering into unconsciousness, he tried to breathe through the burn of pain, but it never seemed to end. His jaw ached under the pressure of trying to give his brain something else to focus on. It was no use. Tears leaked from his eyes. This was it. There was no going back.
A fresh wave of blood pumped through the wound, dripping onto the leaves and red dirt beneath him. He had to get a hold of himself. Grabbing for the strap over his injured shoulder, he worked his dead arm free, keeping his movements small and controlled as much as possible. Then the other. With his pack free, he grabbed for the zipper and unpacked his first aid kit from inside. He popped the lid, reaching for a set of packaged latex gloves and ripped the packaging free. It took longer than it should have to work the gloves over his swollen knuckles, having to stop to breathe through another wave of dizziness, but soon he was able to apply direct pressure over the hole in his shoulder with clean gauze under his drenched clothing.
Minutes ticked by as the bleeding lessened a little at a time. He had to change out the dressing three times before he got it under control. The arrow hadn’t gone all the way through his shoulder. And a damn good thing, too, as he wouldn’t have been able to reach it himself. Sitting back on his haunches, Rome blinked against the sunlight coming through the tree canopy. Exchanging the last piece of bloody gauze for antibacterial cleanser and a fresh dressing, he secured the bandage in place.
The killer wouldn’t just leave him out here. He wanted to make a statement as he had with those other hikers. Wanted to prove he was the better hunter. To claim Lettie for himself. Which meant their attacker was coming back for him, whether to string him up in a tree or tear him apart with that bear claw he’d somehow gotten off Sam, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Rome wouldn’t give him the satisfaction to do any of it. He’d survived on his own in the wilderness for two years before social services had any idea his uncle had passed. He’d practically been raised to live outdoors, and nothing—not even a damn serial killer—would bring him down before he got to Lettie.
The past six months lost their hold on his anger as he faced off with the path the killer had taken, Lettie slung over hisshoulder like a fresh kill. Now, a new anger had taken its place, one that wouldn’t be satisfied until his wife was back in his arms. The missed vacations and holidays, the uneaten leftovers in the fridge and the empty side of her bed, the hours he’d spent trying to be good enough for her to notice, to want—none of it mattered anymore. Lettie. She mattered. Not out of obligation or guilt but because that hollowness in his chest was coming back. Aching more so than the wound in his shoulder. It hadn’t hurt as much with her nearby.
His growl resonated through the clearing as Rome got to his feet. He swayed to one side, but the world stayed where it was supposed to. Progress. He didn’t bother cleaning up the mess of bloody gauze and packaging from the first aid kit. The scent of blood would draw predators, but he couldn’t waste a single second. Lettie was out there. Alone, probably scared. And he couldn’t leave her. Not like this.
He ground his teeth against the pain in his useless shoulder. His arm hung by his side as he collected his rifle from where the killer had tackled him. The scope sat at an odd angle from the impact, but there was a chance he could still utilize it. The clearing had quieted all over again, from his movements or something much worse, he didn’t know. He had to get going. Had to catch up to Lettie.
That emptiness in his chest was only getting worse the longer it took for him to find her. She’d been right here within reach, and he’d lost her all over again. Put her in danger. Not just of holding her back as he had over the past decade, but into the arms of a killer. He wasn’t giving up this time. He might just be an orphan hunter with nothing and no one to fall back on, but Rome was her best chance at survival. His breath sawed through his chest as he forced himself to pick up the pace, following the path the killer had taken.
The guy was good, watched his footsteps, avoided softer patches of dirt, but Rome could pick out the broken leaves, the snapped twigs, the bent branches. Tracks zigzagged every now and then. The killer had planned to let Rome to bleed out in that clearing before coming back to string him up like the others, but a good hunter always came prepared. And Rome was the better hunter. Lettie’s life depended on it. No matter how much negative history they had together, he’d find her. Because there’d been good times, too. They were a little harder to remember, but they were there. Buried under layers of neglect and time. But he held onto them now, used each and every single one to fuel his next steps.
His ribs ached with his inhales, his breaths crystalizing in front of his mouth the deeper he jogged into the wilderness. Adrenaline had abandoned him in a puddle along with the blood he’d lost, but he’d survived worse. Starvation in those two years there hadn’t been anyone else. Grief at the loss of his uncle, at the contribution Rome had made to his death. Learning his parents had dumped him on his uncle’s property and disappeared without looking back. Realizing his marriage had been one-sided for far too long. The wound in his arm would heal. The rest of it that would follow him to the grave, but for now, it was only pain. Temporary.
And Lettie would know what to do. He had to believe that, had to believe that some of the lessons he’d drilled into her during their hikes and visits to Montana would stick. She was strong. She’d fight back.
