The Hunted Page 4

  “Extenuating circumstances, Captain. I went along with her because, to begin with, it wasn’t a hunting expedition.”

  When he fell silent, the captain said, “Then what was it?”

  “Search and rescue,” he replied. He faced Rachel with an expectant expression as if prodding her telepathically to come clean.

  They had nothing to lose by being honest. She said, “My brother went missing. I tracked his cell phone to the woods outside of Peterborough. He’d spoken to me two hours before that. I didn’t expect to find a body or grendels.”

  “You went to the woods. What else did you expect to find?”

  “He hadn’t been out there long—he couldn’t have been out there long. And he studies grendels for a living. He’s not stupid. No way would he have gone without protection.”

  “Did you find a weapon on him?”

  “No.”

  The captain leaned forward in her chair and pressed her hands flat on the desk. “What do you make of that?” she asked, her voice muted, gentle.

  “I don’t understand it.”

  Captain Pattenden turned to Hound Dog. “What do you make of it, Ainsworth?”

  “I can’t explain it. What we saw with Jeff Needham, his behaviour, the condition of his body, none of it makes sense. The grendels’ bodies look wrong, too.”

  “How so?”

  With a glance at Hound Dog, Rachel said, “Jeff’s body was in one piece. They’d killed him, or so it appears, took a bite from his thigh, and then left him.” She described examining the bodies and what concerned her about the findings.

  Pattenden folded her hands on the desk. “I’ll expect a detailed written report. I’ll advise the coroner’s office, and it’ll be up to them to contact Health Canada and the Centers for Disease Control’s office up here.”

  The CDC was US-based but had offices in Canada since the two countries had a vested interest in partnering on health issues. A communicable disease on the loose in Canada would impact the US, eventually.

  “Thanks, Cap,” Rachel said. “If you hear anything about what the ME finds, will you let me know? Especially regarding my brother.” She hoped adding that last bit would compel Pattenden to more readily keep her in the loop.

  “Whatever I can, Needham. Now, let’s talk about protocol and why you don’t cowboy in my unit.”

  ***

  Even though the lecture from Pattenden seemed to last forever, in reality, it took only another five minutes of their time. Pattenden released them with instructions to go home and stay there, an order Rachel fully intended to follow. Hound Dog, on the other hand, had other plans. No sooner had they settled into Rachel’s vehicle than he suggested they go for a bite to eat.

  She slanted him a look. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “My brother died.” Her breath hitched on an inhale. “I have to tell my father. My relatives. Friends …” She fell silent, everything she had to do filling her mind.

  He put a hand on her arm. “I know. That’s why we should go out for dinner. Put it off a little. Strategize it. I can help you with that.”

  “I have to tell my dad. He can’t find out from the media. After what happened at the labs, they’ll be all over it.” She frowned. Her brother had planned on visiting her. Something had sidetracked him and led him to the woods. Perhaps something related to the protests he instigated. She shivered, suddenly chilly.

  “What are you thinking?” Dog dropped his hand from her arm.

  “The whole thing is shady. It stinks.” She shook her head. “Even so, I have to tell my dad.”

  “Then let’s go back to your place. We’ll order pizza, and you make your calls while we wait for the food.”

  “I want to be alone.” She tried not to sound harsh and doubted she pulled it off.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.” He punched the dashboard lightly with his fist. “You gonna make me say it, Frosty? Fine. What if whoever lured your brother to the woods comes after you next?”

  She laughed. “Why would anyone do that? If someone murdered Jeff, it had to do with his work on the grendels or his protests about the grendels. Those have nothing to do with me.”

  “Unless it had to do with your dad’s company.”

  She tilted her head, considering. “I doubt it. I have no involvement with his company or with anything Jeff did. I’m not on anyone’s radar.” She started the car. “I want to go home. I’ll drop you at your place first. Thanks for coming along.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way. But for the record, watch your back. You already think something’s hinky here. I agree. This shit stinks. What if you know something you don’t know you know?”

  “That’s convoluted even for you.” She smiled. Dog loved his spy novels. Obviously, he’d been reading too many and they’d clouded his judgement. “I’ll be fine.” She pulled the vehicle onto the highway and headed for his home.

  When they arrived in his driveway, he suggested she come in and they order food. Not sure whether to feel touched or irritated, Rachel declined. She had to call her father. Maybe he’d regret not helping when she’d asked him to that morning, which now seemed so long ago.

  “I have to go home. Alone,” she added quickly before he suggested following her in his car.

  “Fine.” He put his hand on the door handle as if to open the door but stopped short of tugging on it. “If you need anything, call me. All right?” He faced her, looked her in the eyes. “I mean it. I know we’ve had our issues, but we’re a team. We support each other.”

  “Thanks.” She refrained from mentioning the night he’d dumped spiders into her bed while she slept. They’d never talked about it again. He’d never apologized to her for the prank, but then, she’d never apologized to him for setting fire ants loose in his bedding. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

  Two years later, she supposed part of the problem she had with him stemmed from that awful stunt. He saw it as a joke. She saw it as borderline misconduct and possible sexual harassment since she’d been sleeping naked at the time. That he didn’t get it infuriated her and didn’t allow her to forgive him for it.

  Add to it the times he seemed to resent her or displayed envy or bitterness for her accomplishments, and they had too much bad blood between them. How could she ever consider him as a friend or turn to him in her time of emotional need? They maintained a professional relationship, and it would remain so. She refused to allow a guy like that into her personal space.

  She’d only asked him to help her with this search and rescue because of his skills. His experience. His knowledge. She could trust him as a protector. That was all.

  “Thanks,” she said into the drawn-out silence. “See you in two weeks.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer. Just when she thought she’d have to open the door herself and push him out, he swung the door open and sprang from the car.

  She watched him head into his house and sat there long after he’d shut the front door.

  ***

  She noted the Mercedes parked in visitors’ parking the moment she pulled into the street leading to her section of the townhouse complex. Out of habit, Rachel scanned the cars in the lot. She’d never spotted anything suspicious but always checked anyway. This car didn’t put her radar on high alert, but something about it made her take notice. Perhaps it was just that an unfamiliar car sat here during a time when most people were at work.

  After parking her car in the garage, she grabbed her duffel bag and went inside, closing and locking the door behind her. Immediately, she sensed an anomaly. She set the bag down quietly, slipped her keys into her jacket pocket, and removed the gun from the holster above her right ankle.

  Her footsteps stealthy, gun cocked and ready, she made her way from the front hallway to the living room.

  When she saw who sat on her sofa, she set the gun on an end table and opened her arms wide.

  “Get over here and give me a hug. Damn,
Peter, I could’ve shot you.”

  Peter, her old friend and the man who’d saved her life and Jeff’s life from the grendels twelve long years ago, rose and approached her. He looked great despite his prematurely grey hair. His hair was white rather than grey and gave him an ethereal aura. His fashion sense had improved since she’d last seen him. The charcoal-grey suit he wore looked expensive, not that she could identify a designer suit. It fit him well, making her appreciate the solid lines of his slender yet muscular physique.

  “Rachel, so wonderful to see you.” He grabbed her in a bear hug, squeezing the breath out of her.

  “You broke into my house. Why’d you break into my house?” she huffed out when she could speak.

  “I didn’t. Jeff gave me his key.”

  Immediately, Rachel’s back stiffened, and she extricated herself from his arms. “What do you mean? When did you see Jeff?”

  “This morning. I bailed him out of jail.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What’s wrong?” Peter asked. “Rachel? You okay?”

  The blood drained from Rachel’s face. A low moan escaped her, causing Peter to grip her upper arms to steady her.

  Jeff was with Peter? Peter sidetracked Jeff?

  “Oh, God.” She shrugged off his hands and snatched her weapon from the end table. Feet planted hip-distance apart, she pointed the weapon at him. “You son of a bitch. You lured Jeff out to the woods. Get on the floor. Legs spread. Now.”

  Peter’s face went white. “What are you doing? What are you talking about?”

  “Get down,” she shrieked. “I won’t ask you again.”

  “You’ll shoot me?” But, slowly, he kneeled and then lay face down on the floor.

  Rachel snatched her phone from the holster at her waist and called Hound Dog.

  “Hey, Frosty, changed your mind about dinner?” His tone aimed for jovial, but it sounded forced. His voice held an undercurrent of concern.

  “I’ve got the person who killed Jeff. Found him in my house when I got home.”

  From the floor, Peter shouted “What? No, Rachel, listen to me!” From the phone, Hound Dog yelled, “Jesus! Did you call the police?”

  “Shut up, Peter. You’ll speak when I tell you to speak.” To Hound Dog, she said, “No cops. Not yet. But I need you as backup. Can you come over? I want you to search his car while I question him.”

  Without hesitation, Hound Dog said, “I’m there. Be careful. Don’t let him get the drop on you.”

  “As if,” she replied and disconnected the call.

  Gun trained on Peter, she backed into the kitchen—thank God for open-concept layouts—and retrieved zip ties from a drawer. She returned to the living area and ordered Peter to put his hands behind his back. When he did, she kneeled, one knee on his back, set her gun on the floor out of his reach, and zip-tied his wrists. That done, she snatched up her gun, hauled him to his feet, and shoved him onto the couch.

  “Rachel, what is this? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll ask the questions.”

  He looked genuinely confused, and it bothered her, but she refused to trust him. That might have been Jeff’s downfall. He would’ve trusted Peter even though neither she nor Jeff had seen him in years—not since he’d rescued the two from Storm Lake Marina twelve years before.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Peter huffed, his face red from exertion. “Why are you doing this? What do you mean ‘killed Jeff’? I just saw Jeff.”

  “What are you doing here? Why are you in my house?”

  “Jeff sent me here. After I bailed him out,” he replied.

  “That doesn’t explain why he gave you a key. Why’d he send you here?”

  “I wanted to meet with you both and tracked Jeff to the jail. He was simple to find—I caught the arrest on the news. We talked, I bailed him out, and he sent me here.”

  “You came into my house.”

  “You weren’t home.” He raised his chin, and his voice dripped with defiance.

  “Why’d he give you his key? Why didn’t he come with you?” She frowned. “And why the hell did it take you so long to get here? You left him at least two hours before you arrived here. I waited here for him at least that long.”

  He eased back into the sofa, getting more comfortable. Clearly, he didn’t believe she’d shoot him or have him arrested.

  “He said he needed to do a few things before he came over. He wouldn’t let me tag along with him. I’m working on a story and wanted to follow a lead anyway. On my way here, I detoured to talk to someone I’ve been trying to interview for a long time. So, where’s Jeff? What you say can’t be right. I saw him not five hours ago.”

  “Dead. I wasn’t home when you got here because I traced Jeff to the forest. Then I found him dead and had to bring his body out. Why the hell did he go there?” she shouted, unable to control the rage. Her hands shaking, she levelled the gun on him. “The truth.”

  Peter’s face drained of blood again. “I wouldn’t hurt your brother. It’s me, remember? We survived the grendels together.”

  “That was years ago.”

  The doorbell’s ring interrupted them.

  She sucked in a breath and steadied her hands. “Get up. We’ll answer the door together. It’s probably Dog, but I’m taking you with me.”

  When he rose, awkwardly, from the couch, she waved him into the hall and followed him to the door. Through narrow windows on either side of the door, she glimpsed Hound Dog standing on her front stoop.

  “Stand back,” she ordered, and Peter backed up against the wall.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to ask for your help.”

  “We’ll see.” One hand holding the gun on him, she used the other to open the door. “Come in, Dog. Join the conversation.”

  Hound Dog stepped into the hallway and gave Peter the once-over. “Who’s this guy?”

  “An old friend.” She spat the words out as if they tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “What happened? Did he hurt Jeff?”

  “I didn’t,” Peter cut in. “I swear I didn’t. Please. Believe me. I wouldn’t hurt either of you, Rachel. You’re the only ones who can help me.”

  She didn’t respond to that. Instead, she said, “I assume the Mercedes in visitors’ parking belongs to you?”

  When he muttered “yes,” she asked him where she could find his car keys. He directed her to his pants’ pocket. She used her free hand to retrieve them, and Hound Dog snatched them up with a giant fist and headed for the door.

  Her gaze steady on Peter, Rachel said, “Search his car, Dog.” With a wave of the gun, she motioned Peter back into the living room. “We won’t call the police. Yet. We’ll hear your story first, check your car. If I don’t like what we find, my friends on the force will investigate whatever you’re up to. And if you’re responsible for Jeff’s death, they’ll make sure you pay for it. Sit on the couch.”

  Peter did as told and Rachel sat across from him on the edge of the recliner, watching him with blazing eyes. “What happened when you saw Jeff?”

  “After I saw his arrest on the news, I wanted to talk to him. I’d heard you were a protector and hired your services as a guide. I need a guide.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. “I’ll explain later. First, let’s talk about Jeff. I went to the jail, and he agreed to see me. He seemed happy I was there.”

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen him since … back then?”

  “Yes. We’d kept in touch over social media—you know how it is—but we haven’t seen each other in twelve years. It felt good to see him even under bad circumstances. He’s really grown up …”

  His voice broke, and the faraway look in his eyes brought tears to hers. Rachel lowered her gun, doubt creeping in. Peter wouldn’t have hurt Jeff. They’d been through too much together. They were friends—distant friends but friends nevertheless.

  “What happened next?”

  “Jeff said he’d
been arrested for crashing his car through the gates at Needham Scientific Research Facility. I already knew that, of course, because that’s how I tracked him to the jail. He wanted to talk about it, I guess. He said your father’s company conducts unethical research. I assume he referred to the GMO research they do. He didn’t go into detail. He begged me to put up his bail and promised me if I did that then he’d get me into the facility.”

  “Why do you want to do that?”

  Peter leaned forward. “Did you know I’m a journalist?”

  “Yes. I saw it on your social media pages. Are you investigating genetic research? My father’s company gives tours to reporters. They have nothing to hide. You don’t need Jeff to get you in.” She paused a moment and said, “If you want a way in, Jeff isn’t—wouldn’t have been—it. As you can imagine, my father doesn’t feel warm and fuzzy toward him these days.”

  “We wouldn’t have been going in through the front doors.”

  Surprised he’d admit that, she said, “Then what? What did he promise you, exactly?”

  “A way into the lab. To prove to the world they’re doing illegal experiments using unethical means.”

  “Specifically, what?”

  “He didn’t go into it.”

  “Why were you even discussing it? What’s your story? Why are you pursuing this?”

  “I wasn’t, at first. The grendel research your brother does interests me, his take on how to domesticate them interests me, and your role as a protector who hunts them down interests me. I wanted to commission you to take me on your next hunt.”

  She rose and went to the kitchen. A pair of scissors hung from a hook above the stove and below the microwave exhaust fan range hood. She returned to the living room, set her gun down on the end table once more, and went to Peter.

  “Give me your wrists.”

  When he shifted so his back faced her, she snipped the zip tie and set it and the scissors next to her gun.

  “You believe me?”

  “I’m starting to. Tell me more. How did you leave Jeff? Why did he end up in the woods—dead?” She still hadn’t told her father. The police would’ve notified him by now, surely, but she needed to contact him.