The Hunt

pounded a fist on the coffee table hard enough to cause several knickknacks to jump.

Quinn zeroed in on an important point. “Judge, you gave him a cabin?”

“Thirty minutes south of here. Almost to Yellowstone.”

“I need to see it. Now. Can you take me there?”

“Absolutely. Anything to help.”

Quinn’s cell phone rang. “Peterson,” he said.

“He… anda.”

“Miranda? You’re breaking up.” Then the phone went dead.

“It’s the house,” Parker said. “You can go outside and get reception.”

“Where’s your wife now?”

“She left after Sam Harris came by. She was very upset by this whole thing with Davy.”

“Sam Harris was here?”

Quinn listened to what Harris had told Parker. “I’m sorry, Judge, but I need to bring her in. Either she has information we need about where her brother is, or we need to protect her. I can’t let her walk the streets. Not until I have her brother in custody.”

He stepped out of the house and dialed dispatch to issue a detain order for Delilah Parker and find out if Sam Harris had called in. He hadn’t. Dammit. He told the dispatcher to tell all on-duty cops that Harris was oficially removed from the Butcher investigation and wanted for obstructing justice. Quinn couldn’t allow Harris to further screw up their search for Larson.

Richard Parker followed him out. “Ready?” Quinn asked the judge.

“I’ll take you there.” They climbed into the police-issue SUV that Deputy Jorgensen drove. Parker gave him directions.

“Tell me exactly where. I’m going to call in a team to meet us.” Quinn needed everyone he could get.

Ten minutes later he’d finished his calls, including one to his boss to fill him in on the status. When he slammed shut his cell phone, his voice mail beeped. He dialed in and listened.

“Turn around,” he told Parker, his voice strained.

“What? Why?”

“We’re going back to your house. The fastest you can get us there, Jorgensen.

“Your son saw David Larsen there less than an hour ago.”

CHAPTER 30

Davy Larsen watched from an upstairs window as Miranda Moore and a cop walked around the outside of the house. Then they left.

But they didn’t go back down the drive. Instead, they headed toward the meadow.

Ryan, his own flesh and blood, had ratted him out.

How could the kid do that? Hadn’t he loved him like a big brother? Ryan had the perfect life, the life Davy never had. But that was okay. It wasn’t like Davy was jealous or anything. No.

Why did he go to her? To tell Miranda where to find him?

No good. He couldn’t let them get his girl. Ashley was his, and he wasn’t done with her yet.

The Bitch was leaving, and that was fine with him. He didn’t need her.

She’d never understood. She’d stood there and watched, excited and agitated, never interfering with him when he had the stage. But she gloated and made cryptic comments.

“Do you feel better now, Davy?” she’d say afterward, as if talking to a child.

He wanted to shoot the smug look off her face, that self-satisfied grin. As if she knew something he didn’t. She’d stolen even this from him, his women. When she watched, she claimed part of them, as if she were the director and he were a mere puppet.

Well, he intended to cut the strings of the puppeteer. He had finally agreed to meet her in Missoula tonight, and they’d drive from there to wherever. He’d had to agree. If he’d told her what he was going to do, she wouldn’t have left him.

No, tonight was the hunt. Tonight he would be free. He would take his prize and then just keep going. He could live for months off the land this summer. He’d walk all the way to California if he had to.

She would never find him. He would be free at last.

And his hunts, his women, would finally be his own.

He left the house quietly and went the long way to the meadow. He had another path to get down to his girl.

First things first. Follow Miranda Moore. He would take great pleasure in slitting her throat. He had wanted to kill her when she had first escaped, but The Bitch said no. Like she was pleased one got away. She had laughed at him, taunted him, and he longed to take her neck into his hands and break it, like the neck of a chicken. Crack. Toss her by the side of the road and let the cougars chomp on her, the bugs crawl in and out of her mouth. It would serve her right.

But of course he didn’t. Not then. He’d always believed that without her, he would be nothing. Without her, he would have perished years ago. She’d saved him more times than he could count. He’d been grateful. He’d loved her.

He hated her now. And this hate trampled all over any love he’d ever had for her.

He started down the slope toward the gulch below, planning his kills. First, Miranda Moore and the cops. Then, his girl.

And then, his fucking sister.

Two gunshots echoed from the canyon below. His girl. They were stealing his girl.

The bitch would pay!

He trekked faster down the mountain. The hunt was on.

“We can’t wait for Quinn,” Miranda told Booker.

They’d gone directly to the south meadow in her Jeep. When she didn’t see Quinn, they drove up to the house.

No one answered.

She tried Quinn again, got voice mail again. Damn him, didn’t he have call waiting?

Miranda took a deep breath. The mountains wreaked havoc with cell phones. She had call waiting and half the time calls went directly to voice mail because the towers got mixed signals. It didn’t help that the weather was turning; the bright, sunny morning had disappeared, leaving a gray pallor over the entire mountain. The serious storm was supposed to hold out for late tonight. She hoped it would.

Quinn would be here soon. She knew he would. But could she wait? Between the weather and their not knowing the whereabouts of David Larsen, Ashley’s fate was in question.

Miranda sensed she was close. She had to try. If Ashley died today down in the canyon locals called Boulder Gulch, and Miranda had waited to search, she’d never forgive herself.

Besides, Lance Booker was with her. He was a good cop, strong too. It was two against one. And Larsen didn’t know the police were on to him. The element of surprise would be an added benefit.

“Ashley’s down there. I know it,” she told him. “If he feels the pressure of the police on him, he could kill her and disappear. Right now. We have to get to her first. We can’t wait for Quinn or my team.” She’d called everyone off their searches and told them to meet at this location and proceed with caution.

“You’re right,” Booker relented.

She slowly let out her breath. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if Booker hadn’t agreed to go down to Boulder Gulch with her. But if they were going to track Larsen’s steps, they needed to do it while it was still light.

She pulled out her topo map and folded it so she had Boulder Gulch and the surrounding area clearly visible. She pocketed it, looked along the ridge of the slope. She saw the disturbance in the leaves and dirt from where