Page 45 of Dark Angel
“Like what?” Rice sipped at his can of soda, apparently oblivious to the extent of trouble he was in.
Beth needed information and ignored Styles’ flash of annoyance when she cleared her throat. “Mr. Rice, how did you communicate with the girls? None of them met you at the hospital. Was it in a game room?”
“You don’t have to answer that question.” Blackwood peered at her over half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Or any questions referring to what the agents refer to as the Pied Piper murders. Anything you say would be an admittance of guilt.”
Rice remained silent.
“We know you involved two girls. We always find the body of a blonde girl, but the other one is always missing. Where are the other girls, Mr. Rice?” Styles leaned back in his chair. “If we can find them, things will go much easier for you.”
Rice remained silent.
Recalling the takedown, Beth smiled to herself. She stood and walked to the bars and leaned casually against the wall. Suddenly everything about Rice fell neatly into place. “Who is Susie? Is she your little blonde-haired fantasy?” She stared at Rice. “They’re all Susie to you, aren’t they? How long do you figure it will take me to find out who she was and when she died? She is dead, isn’t she, Mr. Rice?” She looked at Styles. “Susie was his first. When we find her, we’ll know just how long this monster has been killing.” She turned back to Rice. “My specialty is cybercrime and we’ll get your computer. Just how long do you think it will take me to find out every sordid detail about you?”
“You’re not that good.” Rice grinned at her. “This time you lose.”
It was a little after seven by the time they climbed into the chopper. The single guard sat beside Rice. Beth and Styles sat in the back. The chopper rose high into the air and Beth peered out the window as they headed along the mountain range and then turned east toward Black Rock Falls County. The recently built jail would rival any state pen for size. The need arrived with the increasing number of serial killer murders in the county. As they flew above an incredible pine forest a commotion broke out in the cockpit. Taking advantage of everyone admiring the scenery, Rice had leapt from his seat and had the zip tie securing his cuffed hands around the pilot’s neck.
“Do as I say or I’ll break his neck and we’ll all die.” Rice leaned back making the zip tie between the cuffs cut deep into the pilot’s soft flesh.
The next second, the chopper went into a dive. The guard let out a terrified scream and clung to the seat. Beside her, Styles pushed to his feet and slid across the floor toward the cockpit, grasping the backs of chairs along the way. To her horror the pilot’s arms dropped from the controls as he lost consciousness and the chopper spun out of control. Terrified, Beth gaped in horror as Styles was tossed from side to side in a desperate attempt to reach the controls. Rice must have been screaming, but all Beth could see was his mouth wide open and a horrified expression on his face as he slid to the floor. A moment later, the chopper’s engine stalled and they fell from the sky.
FORTY-SIX
As if the world had been turned on, sound came back in a rush of terror. Dropping like a stone, the ground rushed up toward them. Thrown about as they smashed into the top of the trees, Rice ended up between the seats and remained there unmoving. Unable to breathe, Beth gripped the armrests white-knuckled. The spinning was sickening and with every turn Styles was tossed around. How could he possibly survive? The chopper bounced from one tree to another and then tipped to one side. The spinning rotor blades struck the boughs like a giant weed whacker, sending branches flying in all directions. and then in a screech of tearing metal, the blades spiraled away into the dense forest.
They dropped fast and impact was seconds away. Years of training sent Beth into survival mode and she ducked down, covering her head with her arms. Beside her a tree branch shattered the window, broke off with a loud crack, and filled the cabin, the sharp tip stabbing the seat in front of her. Panic surrounded her. Someone was yelling, their voice unrecognizable over the noise. In a scream of tearing metal, they stopped with a bone-shattering jolt. She lifted her head, seeing the top of the forest against the twilight sky through an open gash. Wedged between two giant trunks, the crumpled chopper whined and creaked and in the next breath it fell at a terrifying speed, tipped nose first, and speared into the ground. A shockwave hit Beth in a jolt of pain and then everything went black.
With no idea how long she’d been out, Beth ran both hands over her aching head looking for injuries. She had a small cut over one eye, but nothing was broken. Blinking as her vision came back online, she stared at the empty seats around her. Rice was gone. Where was Styles? Unclipping her harness, she stared at the broken pieces of zip tie beside the pilot’s seat. Rice had used the broken window to saw through them. Gripping the back of her seat to steady a wave of giddiness, she stared into the dimly lit cabin. Both the pilot and guard hung in their seats smothered in blood. Wrapped around the back of the seats, on what was left of the floor, lay Styles. Beth slid toward the cockpit, carefully avoiding the wreckage, to get to him. Kicking away debris, she dropped to her knees, and felt for a pulse. His flesh was warm and his color good. Under her fingers, his heartbeat was strong and steady. She ran her hands down his arms and legs but found no major injuries. He had a bruise on his forehead and a few superficial cuts on his face. She gave him a little shake. “Styles, wake up.” She tried a few times.
When he didn’t move, she stood to check the others. Both had died in the wreck. She scanned the cabin. It was set on a steep angle and everything had slid toward the cockpit in a pile of debris. The second rule of survival was to check supplies. Her backpack had moved from under her feet and rested beside an open tear in one side of the chopper. She found Styles’ backpack and dragged it back to him, rolled him on his side in the recovery position, and pushed it under his head. She released the first aid kit from its position on the wall, opened it, and removed a survival blanket. She tucked it around Styles. He was out cold, but she didn’t have time to wait for him to recover. She needed to find Rice. He might have been thrown on impact. She had to know if he was dead or alive. If he’d made it, he wasn’t getting away. Night was coming and it would be freezing soon. She didn’t have much time.
She zipped up her jacket and pulled on her gloves. After grabbing her flashlight, she shrugged into her backpack and stared at the darkening forest. She needed to get help and reached for her satellite phone, relieved when it lit up in her hand. After taking the coordinates, she sent a detailed message to Wolfe. She checked her weapon, and her pockets. Finding the chalk Styles had given her in one hand, she smiled. She had a small window of opportunity to search for Rice. If he was still on his feet, she needed to move fast before he vanished into the forest. She had a flashlight, and if Bear had been with them, she’d have the advantage, but it didn’t matter. She’d always been a good tracker.
Taking out her lipstick, she wrote a message on the cabin wall.
Hunting down Rice. Follow the chalk marks. Time is eight-fifteen. I’ve contacted Wolfe with our coordinates.
Beth dropped down from the chopper, hitting the ground and rolling. The damp ground softened her fall and, standing, she searched all around, but it was easy to see where Rice had stumbled into the forest. Apart from a few indistinct footprints, there was a trail of blood. She stood listening for a few moments, but only the sounds of the forest making ready for nightfall surrounded her. She marked the first tree with a giant arrow and using her flashlight headed into the forest. The headache vanished as the predator in her rose to the surface and she broke into a run. Rice was out there, and this time he wasn’t getting away.
FORTY-SEVEN
Cold brushed his cheeks and, head spinning, Styles opened his eyes. The dropping chopper in the front of his mind, he blinked into the darkness and waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the light. From the tree branches all around him, the chopper had fallen, but somehow the trees had cushioned the fall. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood.That can’t be good.
A shaft of moonlight pierced a gaping jagged hole and he looked around to gain his bearings. When caught in a situation like this one, the Army had trained him to remain calm and still. Movement could be perilous and the floor below him was at a steep angle. Something crackled on his shoulder, and he carefully moved one arm and realized someone had covered him in a silver emergency blanket. Under his cheek was rough and he recognized his backpack. “Hello? Beth, are you here? Anyone?”
Only the sound of torn metal creaking in the wind and the hums of the forest answered him. He recalled dropping fast and wrapping his arms and legs around the pilot’s seat and holding on as the chopper slid down between two trees. If someone had covered him, it must be safe to move around. He eased up, slowly gripping the seat, and caught a glimpse of the pilot and guard. They were tangled in the wreckage and obviously dead. The prisoner was nowhere in sight, and for him to be covered, Beth was alive and mobile. The sinking feeling that she had gone after him alone hit him in the pit of his stomach. “Beth, where the heck are you?”
He grabbed up his backpack, pulled out a flashlight, and checked his supplies. Apart from ammunition and the usual supplies, he always packed extra water, energy bars, and a change of clothes. He folded the blanket and stuffed it inside and then, pushing to his feet, moved the flashlight over what was left of the cabin. The chopper had landed nose down and the only way out was a steep climb and then a drop to the forest floor. He took a drink of water and leaned back deciding what to do. His flashlight beam hit the cabin wall, and what he had first assumed was blood was a message. He stared at it for a few seconds, and then checked his watch. He’d been out cold for fifteen minutes since she’d left, which meant she could be a mile away in any direction. Needing to contact her, he checked his phone and cursed. The attached satellite sleeve was cracked and he had no bars. “I guess I follow the chalk marks.”
He pulled on his backpack and dropped from the chopper. Using his flashlight, he soon found the arrow and a trail of black spots he assumed was blood on the forest floor. Which one of them was injured? There hadn’t been any first aid wrappers about the cabin, so he assumed it was Rice. He moved into the forest and scanned ahead. Beth’s chalk lines lit up under the light remarkably clear, and he shook off the headache and took off at a run. The way ahead soon turned into a narrow animal trail that wound its way along the foot of the mountain ranges. Although he concentrated on following Beth, Styles’ mind kept the forest in his peripheral vision. Among the usual sounds of night, the howl of a wolf could be heard close by. The scent of blood coming from the chopper would attract a wide variety of wildlife. It would be the same for Ainsley Rice. Running into the forest at night covered in blood was an advertisement for trouble. Concerned for Beth’s safety, Styles picked up his pace. As a city girl, she would be completely unaware of the dangers and he couldn’t in his wildest dreams figure why on earth she went after Rice alone. She’d taken the time to make sure he was comfortable, so why not wait until he’d regained consciousness so they could go after the prisoner together? Reckless was one thing, but this took it to a whole new level.
He recalled the crazy things that had happened since he met her and wondered what made her tick. He’d been reading up about warrior genes after attending a seminar on behavioral traits. Without doubt, she was an alpha female, and the list of traits filled his mind as he bounded through the forest. One sure sign of alpha-female behavior is that they’re not afraid to take risks, they like to be alone, and they are used to getting their own way. They are persistent and work for the things they want and are usually very dependable. The one important thing that came to mind was that people rarely understood them. He smiled to himself. “Well, that just about sums up Beth Katz.”
He’d never be able to change a genetic trait, so he’d just have to find a way to work around it. Ahead in the distance, he heard shouts. He’d found them.
FORTY-EIGHT
Darkness surrounded Beth and, heart pounding, she scanned the forest, aware of the nocturnal creatures watching her. Rice had made slow going. The drips of blood had increased substantially and now bloody handprints smeared the trunks of the tall pines. The groundcover was splattered with red droplets. At this rate he would be dead before she got there. Ahead, his cries of pain came through the night. Something inside her was glad he was suffering after the torture he’d inflicted on his victims. There was no need to rush now and she slowed to a walk. The howls she had heard earlier appeared to be getting closer. The scent of Rice’s blood must be on the air, and his cries would be attracting a pack of wolves. She swung her flashlight from side to side, the beam occasionally picking up the reflections of small critters’ eyes. They stared for a few seconds and then turned and ran away. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled Styles’ warning about the wildlife in this area.
