CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wednesday, June 21
1:19 p.m.
Maggie saw true fear on Vic’s face, even across the distance, and moved before her brain registered what she was going to do. She threw herself sideways, sharp pain sprouting deep roots in her back as she did. She tried to roll but didn’t make it, the motion stopped halfway because of something long and straight sprouting from her back.
Arrow, her mind helpfully supplied. You’ve been shot.
She fought down the light-headedness that tried to take hold and pushed herself up. Vic went to his knees beside her, but she shoved him back. “The unsub. Get him. I’ll call for help.”
“But—”
“Go.”
For a moment she thought he wouldn’t, but he finally gave a jerky nod. “Do not try to stand or move.” And then he was gone, sprinting across the ground toward the trees faster than any man had right to.
That bastard shot her.
She gritted her teeth and started crawling to her pack. Even if Vic managed to catch the unsub, he’d have to drag him back here so they could cuff him. Normal laws being broken usually ended with the arresting park ranger marching the perpetrator out of the park on foot. That wasn’t an option in this case.
And you’re trying to distract yourself from the fact that it really fucking hurts to breathe.
A wave of dizziness rolled over her, and she shuddered before powering through it. They needed backup, and they needed it now. Unfortunately now didn’t mean the same thing it did when ambulances and cars had easy access to the location. “Be a park ranger, I thought. It’ll be a nice change of pace, I thought. No one will be shooting me, I thought.” She let loose a slightly hysterical laugh. “Nice thought.”
It took two tries to get her radio out of the pack, and her back felt distinctly wet by the time she succeeded. She raised her head to look at the trees, but there was nothing to see. Either the unsub had given Vic the slip or . . .
“No. We are not going there.” Vic could take care of himself. He had damn well better take care of himself. She lifted the radio and then frowned. Did they even have a code for being shot with an arrow? Oh my God, I’m getting loopy. “Ava?”
Static was her only response. She rested her forehead on the ground and closed her eyes for the count of three. “Ava.”
“Maggie?”
The mountains must be screwing up the connection. She forced her eyes open. “I’ve been shot. Bench Lake, east side.” Not that there was much of an area to get lost on the tiny lake. Another hysterical laugh bubbled up, but she choked it off before it could pass her lips. “Unsub. Vic in pursuit.”
“Shit, fuck, goddamn it. Don’t you dare die, Maggie. You hear me?”
She smiled and belatedly realized Ava couldn’t see her. “Can’t die. I owe you a drink.”
“You’re going to owe me a whole lot more than that when I get you out of this shit alive. Do not move. The medical chopper is on its way . . . now.”
“That’s good . . .” Black swept over her before she realized she was in danger of passing out. Crap.
Wednesday, June 21
1:25 p.m.
Vic slid to a stop, breathing far too hard for the short distance he’d run. Elevation. Sure. That was it. He definitely wasn’t having trouble keeping up because he’d left thirty in the rearview years ago, and panic was taking more of a toll than the sprint had. Liar.
He looked around, but the unsub had disappeared into the trees as if the bastard had never been there to begin with. He could keep charging forward, but if the hunter circled back . . .
Maggie was helpless.
He didn’t hesitate. He just turned and sprinted back the way he’d come, finding a second wind that was driven solely by terror. If something happened to her while he was off chasing shadows in the trees, he’d never forgive himself.
He didn’t see her when he burst from the edge of the forest, and panic made the entire afternoon go hazy. The arrow gave her position away, a small vertical shaft that shouldn’t be able to stop someone as full of life as Maggie. Vic rushed to her side, his stomach dropping at the sight of her back bathed in red, showing through her lightweight jacket.
He wasn’t a medic.
He’d never needed the training beyond basic first aid.
What the fuck was he thinking not getting that training?
He knew enough not to try to yank the arrow out, but beyond that, he was at a loss. Did he put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding? Or would that move the arrow and potentially hurt her more?
He yanked his pack closer and brought out his satellite phone. There must have been a God in heaven smiling down at him, because it had service. He dialed from memory, put it on speaker, and set it carefully down where he wouldn’t screw with it.
“Caroline Washburne.”
He shouldn’t be calling Britton’s ex, but she was the only doctor he knew—even if it was distantly. “Caroline, it’s Vic.”
“What’s happened? Is Britton okay?”
“He’s fine.” He didn’t comment on the concern in her voice. He didn’t have the necessary capacity to deal with it when Maggie was unconscious in front of him. “I have a woman here who has been injured. We’re in a national park and she’s called for medical assistance, but I don’t know when it will be here, and she’s unconscious.”
Instantly, Caroline was all business. “Tell me.”
“Arrow from a compound bow. Not exactly close range, but it’s embedded . . .” He did some quick math. “A good two inches into her back.”
“The location—be as precise as you can.”
“Roughly the middle of the back—just to the right of the spine.” He did a quick estimate. “T4 or maybe T5. Right between her shoulder blades.”
“Okay, that’s not bad. Or not as bad as it could be.” Caroline took a deep breath. “Do not pull it out. Don’t move her too much until the medical team gets there. If you can use a shirt or, better yet, bandages to slow the bleeding, that’s ideal, but don’t mess with that arrow, do you hear me?”
“I hear you.” He was already grabbing his clean shirt from the pack and ripping it in half.
“You said you’re in a park?”
“Glacier.”
“Shit, Vic. Okay, keep it as clean as possible. They’re going to pump her full of antibiotics as soon as she gets to the hospital, but that doesn’t mean you need to be dragging her through the mud or any of that nonsense. Do not use any nearby water unless it’s been filtered. Some of those creeks are chock-full of bacteria that will not do nice things to an open wound.”
“Okay.” He carefully pressed the shirt to either side of Maggie’s wound. It wasn’t easy with the slick fabric of her jacket, but he was afraid to move her too much. More fabric to soak up the blood. “Should she be bleeding like this?”
“Is it still pumping hard? Like it looks like it’s severed something important?”
“I don’t fucking know, Caroline. She’s covered in blood.”
There was no give in her tone. “Deep breath, Vic. I don’t care if she’s the love of your life, you will remain calm or you’re going to distract the medics when they get there. Is the shirt you just put against the wound soaked?”
He checked. “Not all the way through.”
“Good. That’s good. Just keep her still, and keep the pressure on that wound, and do not remove or jostle the arrow.”
“You said that already.”
She huffed out a breath. “It’s worth repeating. Those things tend to be designed to do more damage on the way out than they do on the way in. You could shred her if you try to do it yourself, and then you’d really have some bleeding on your hands.”
Vic’s vision grayed out for an alarming moment before he got himself under control. “Not helping, Caroline.”
“Tell me what the hell is going on that you have a woman with an arrow wound in the middle of a national park.”
“Is it really relevant?”
“Won’t know until you tell me.”
And so he laid it out for her. The bare basics of the case, the hikers they were out here trying to find, how he’d turned around and seen the unsub level that goddamn bow at Maggie’s back. Somewhere around the part where he started back for her, he realized what Caroline had done. “You’re distracting me.”
“Yes. I am.” She didn’t sound the least bit repentant.
The sound of helicopter blades was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. “The chopper’s here. I’ve got to go.”
“I know telling you to stay safe is a waste of breath, but at least give it a shot for me, okay?” She hesitated. “And tell Britton I said hi.”
Before he could say anything in response, she hung up. Which was just as well, because the helicopter set down, the noise making it impossible to hold a conversation. It landed just far enough away that he was able to shield Maggie from the worst of the wind kicked up by the blades. By the time he looked up, a park ranger was sprinting across the distance between them.
It took Vic precious seconds to recognize the man sprinting toward them as that asshole Brent from earlier today. Brent went to his knees on the other side of Maggie. “You didn’t take out the arrow. Good.” He checked Vic’s makeshift bandage and then took her pulse. “Okay, Maggie, hang on.”
“Can you—”
“We’ll talk later. Right now I’m going to go get a stretcher, and you’re going to help me get her onto it and strapped down so she won’t hurt herself.” He shot a dirty look at the arrow. “That thing is potentially going to be a problem, but if we can get out of here without cutting it off, that would be best.”
After that, it went quickly. Brent got Maggie strapped down with a strength that was surprising considering his small frame, and Vic helped him carry the stretcher to the helicopter. And then they were off, flying over the park for what felt like the millionth time. It wasn’t. It wasn’t the same as before, not with Maggie hurt and the unsub still free.
Call him crazy, but it hadn’t been personal before. There’d been no doubt in his mind that the unsub was a killer who deserved to be brought to justice—preferably before he killed anyone else—but it was just a case.
It didn’t feel like a case now.
Wednesday, June 21
3:39 p.m.
Tucker met him at the hospital. Vic had ridden in the ambulance with Maggie, but the EMTs rushed her into the hospital as soon as they arrived, leaving him without updates or so much as a thread of hope. He’d trusted Caroline when she said Maggie would likely be fine, but Caroline wasn’t here.
Tucker took in the blood still coating Vic’s hands, and his blue eyes went wide. “Bathroom. Now.” He didn’t wait for a response, grabbing Vic’s arm and dragging him into the nearest bathroom.
Vic could have broken the hold easily. But his partner didn’t have that look in his eye because of a little blood. Tucker might not have a problem with Maggie, but she didn’t mean anything special to him—not like she did to Vic. He wasn’t going to get torn up over a near-stranger being shot.
Vic washed his hands while Tucker checked each of the stalls to ensure no one was going to be eavesdropping. He watched his partner in the mirror, it finally dawning on him that it wasn’t him that was causing this reaction. “What’s got you all worked up?”
“I’m being followed. I wasn’t sure at first—this damn town is so small that you’re bound to run into the same people just going about your business—but the same guy keeps popping up in my rearview and lurking on the streets in his beaten-up old Dodge whenever I leave the local Fed offices.”
Vic’s stomach lurched. What were the odds? “The same guy? Is the Dodge a faded blue with the passenger door rusted out?”
“How did you know?”
“That’s the Conlon twins’ dad’s truck.”
But Tucker was already shaking his head. “This guy isn’t Mark Conlon. He’s about twenty years too young, though he had a hat pulled down low so I couldn’t get a good look at his face.” His jaw clenched. “I’m trying not to make waves because I’m pretty sure the locals will close ranks the second I do, and all he has to do is claim that he’s not following me and I don’t have a damn case even if I was willing to push the issue—which I’m not. But it’s eerie as fuck.”
Vic headed out of the bathroom and strode to the nurses’ station. The woman in charge was in her midfifties, her long dark hair liberally streaked with silver, and her inky eyes telegraphing that she didn’t have time for whatever shit he was about to bring to her attention. He ignored the silent warning. “I came in with a woman who was shot with an arrow. Is there any way to get an update?”
“The doctors don’t exactly phone down in the middle of surgery to give me a play-by-play.” She sat back, frowning at his badge. “Fed?”
“Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“You’re here for those missing hikers—and the ones who aren’t missing anymore.”
He wasn’t sure if that would work for him or against him. Most people didn’t care one way or another if the FBI showed up—not beyond a distant curiosity. Cops were different, but he wasn’t talking to a cop. So he kept his tone low and respectful. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Jennifer Haglund is my cousin.” She made a face. “Was my cousin. We’re all connected to one degree or another in this part of the world. You find whoever did this.”
“I’ll do my best.” He’d given up promising things he couldn’t guarantee years ago, but he wanted to promise this.
Because the line had blurred for him in that helicopter. He wasn’t going to stop until the unsub was brought in or dead, and Vic knew which one of those options he’d prefer.
“Good.” The nurse nodded. “Here’s a little professional advice—go take a shower and change. She’s not going to want to see you looking like that.” She waved at his entire body. “Give me your number, and I’ll call you as soon as she’s able to have visitors.”
As much as a superstitious part of him was convinced if he walked out of this hospital, Maggie would die, the nurse was right. He wasn’t doing anything useful in the waiting room, and looking like he was now, he was liable to scare someone who came in. Washing his hands had taken care of some of the blood, but it still stained the front of his jeans and shirt.
He looked like a psychopath.
She must have seen his hesitation, because some of her sympathy fell away. “I don’t feel like dealing with the hysterical on top of the injured. Consider it a favor to me. Now, write down your number and go clean yourself up.”
Vic took a slow breath and released it. “Yeah, okay.” He scrawled his number on the Post-it she provided and turned for the door.
Tucker beat him there. “I think that asshole is here.”
Confronting the would-be stalker presented a number of problems, which was why Tucker hadn’t done it yet, but Vic wasn’t in the mood to play games. He stopped just outside the door and searched the parking lot. It wasn’t hard. The hospital was built in a campus style, rather than housing every department in one building, so the various parking lots were on the small side, all interconnected with a set of narrow roads.
The pickup wasn’t exactly covert, either. The blue was the same shade as thousands of other trucks on the road, but the rusted-out door set it apart. He judged the distance between them, working to keep the tension out of his body so he wouldn’t telegraph his intentions. “You up for a round of questioning?”
“Jesus, Vic, are you sure?”
He wasn’t about to admit how close to going off the rails he was. He kept thinking of Maggie—too pale, her blood staining both of them, that goddamn arrow in her back. It was possible that the guy following Tucker was just one of Mark Conlon’s paranoid friends who had borrowed his truck. But Vic wasn’t in the mood to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
Not with Maggie hurt.
“We’ll keep it legal.” Barely. “Pursuing a lead.”
For once, Tucker let his charismatic mask fall away. “You keep whatever is riding you locked up. If this guy is connected, we can’t afford to blow the case because you have your panties in a wad.”
“Fine.”
The redhead waited another few seconds before he nodded. “It just so happens that the idiot parked one row down from my rental. Walk with me.”
Vic kept his gaze on Tucker, though he watched the pickup out of the corner of his eye. “He take off when you get close before?”
“I haven’t tried, but he doesn’t bolt the second he sees me looking.” Tucker rolled his eyes. “This guy could use some tips on effective stalking.”
Or maybe he wasn’t following Tucker for the reason they were both assuming. Only one way to find out. “A discussion for another day.”
“For sure.”
They turned as one and rushed the truck. The guy in the driver’s seat jerked, frantically going for the ignition, but Vic yanked open the door and snatched the keys out of his hand. “Now, I think it’s time we had a . . .” He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things. He knew that face. He had stared at it and four others more times than he cared to count when he flipped through the file he’d compiled for this case. “Ethan Conlon? What the fuck are you doing here?”