Black Hills

companion. “Right, Chuck?”
    Chuck’s eyes were huge, but he nodded. “Right.”
    “If you fall behind, go back. Radio back our new direction,” he ordered Chuck, then headed southwest.
    She’d left clear markings, he thought as he forced himself not to run, not to run and miss one of those markings. She was counting on him. If he hadn’t stopped to play Good Samaritan, he’d have gotten her call, he’d have convinced her to wait until he could go with her. He’d have . . .
    No point, no point. He’d find her.
    He thought of Dory. Good cop, good friend. And the long, syrupy seconds it had taken to draw his weapon.
    He wouldn’t be too late, not this time. Not with Lil.
     
     
     
    SHE LAID A trail to a stream, backtracked. With sundown the air chilled. Despite the sweat of exertion and fear, she was cold. She imagined the warm sweater she’d shed in her office that afternoon as she took the time to remove her boots, her socks.
    Brushing out tracks as she went, she returned to the stream, gritted her teeth as she waded through the icy water. The false trail might fool him, might not. But it was worth a try. She waded downstream ten yards, then ten more before she began to search the banks. Her feet were numb by the time she spotted the tumble of rocks. They’d do.
    She climbed out, put her socks and shoes on again, then picked her way over the rocks until they gave way to soft ground. She ran, cutting away from the water, circling the brush until she was forced to shove through it. Her boots thudded as she propelled herself up a slope.
    She sought the shelter of trees again to rest, to listen.
    The moon rose like a spotlight over the hills. It would help her avoid tripping over roots or rocks in the dark.
    Her mother should be halfway back to the farm by now, she calculated. Help would be coming from that direction, too. She had to believe her mother would make it, and would direct the help toward the high ground she’d chosen for her stand.
    She had to cut east again. She rubbed her chilled arms, ignoring the sting from nicks and scrapes she’d incurred on the run. If her maneuver at the stream bought her any time, she had the distance to make it. She just needed the stamina.
    Gritting her teeth, she pushed to her feet, then cocked her head as she heard a quiet splash.
    Some time, she thought as she turned east. But not as much as she’d hoped.
    He was coming. And he was closing in.
     
     
     
    COOP STOPPED AGAIN. He saw the slash, fresh, on the pine bark. Lil’s sign. But he studied the prints—cougar tracks. The first pointed west, and the second north.
    Nothing to prove it was her cougar, he thought. And clearly, she’d gone west. Following Ethan’s trail, to find her mother. But after, he’d want the hunt. Want the thrill.
    Coop’s head said go west, but his heart . . .
    “Head west. Be slow, go quiet. Follow the slash marks. Radio back, tell them I’m heading north from here.”
    “But why?” Lena demanded. “Where are you going?”
    “I’m following the cat.”
    Wouldn’t she have led Ethan away from her mother? Coop asked himself. His heart thudded every time he thought he’d lost the trail. What made him think he could track a cougar? Mr. Fucking New York. She wouldn’t leave signs now. No handy slash marks or rock piles. She couldn’t leave signs because by now he was hunting her.
    Come after me, she asked him. He could only pray he was.
    Twice he lost the trail, so desperation and terror made his skin clammy. And his belly would clutch each time he found it again.
    Then he saw the bootprints. Lil’s. Even as he crouched, touched a finger to the impression she’d left on the ground, his body shuddered. Alive. Still alive and moving. He saw where others—Ethan’s—crossed hers. He was following, but she was still ahead. And the cat followed both.
    He moved ahead. When he heard the murmur of water on rock, he picked up his pace again. She’d headed toward water, to lose him in the water.
    When he reached the stream, he stood, baffled. Her tracks led into the water, while Ethan’s moved forward, back, circled around again. He closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind and think.
    What would she do?
    False trails, backtracking. He had no skill for that. If she’d gone into the water, she might’ve come out again anywhere. The cat had gone in, that was clear enough. Maybe just to cross, or maybe to follow her. Which way?
    His hands fisted at his sides as he struggled