Frostfire
Page 21She’d never attempted to jump a fence with Dancer, but when his muscles bunched under her, she knew they would clear it as easily as they had all the practice poles. He landed like an Olympian, keeping her safe in the cradle of the saddle as his long, strong legs tackled the slope.
Elle had to rein him in as they passed the tree line and made their way into the woods, where Evelyn had strictly forbidden her to ride. The sunlight had already begun to fade, and with no moon to light the way, she’d have to turn back.
“Or we could keep going,” she said, leaning forward to rest her cheek against the roughness of his mane. The sound of her voice made him flick his ears, and he turned his head to eye her. “Would you like that, Dance? Would you ride off with me into the sunset?”
Going back meant more than losing the horse she loved. What little freedom Elle had would be taken from her as well. She’d never go to vet school. She’d finally become the perfect doll for Evelyn to dress and pose as she pleased forever.
It was impossible to run away from home on a horse—Elle knew that—and as they came out of the trees and faced a high, rocky incline, she knew her illicit ride had come to an end. She dismounted, leading Dancer to a patch of grass speckled with dandelions. She bent to pick one that had gone to seed, and as she straightened, she silently made her wish.
I wish my mother would love me for me.
Elle puffed a breath at the dandelion, and watched the fluffy seeds burst away from the stem, spreading out on the breeze as they flew away, taking her wish with them.
Dancer lifted his head and shuffled to the side, snorting and then whinnying as he back-stepped.
“Wait a sec.” Elle tried to grab the dangling reins, but he turned suddenly, knocking her away as he barreled off toward the trees. “Dancer, wait, I mean, whoa—”
The body that hit her was big, heavy, and silent, plowing her into the grass under its weight. Before Elle had a chance to breathe, she saw narrow green eyes, and then a mouth filled with sharp white teeth.
Cougar?
It hissed like a snake, its cool breath blasting her face before it dropped its head and sank its fangs into her throat.
Elle writhed under the deadweight, her scream trapped by the teeth tearing into her throat and the claws digging deep into her shoulders. All she knew was hot, tearing pain that grew so enormous it pushed her into some small corner of her mind where she could only huddle in terror.
The gush of blood from her throat bathed her and the big cat in a wet, warm spray, and as it lifted its muzzle to strike again, Elle felt something besides the agony of her wounds: the cougar’s terrible hunger.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and then her hand inched up and rested against the tawny fur. It felt so soft, this deadly thing, its pelt like polished silk. She didn’t want her life to end, not this soon, but the wounds the cat had inflicted on her were too terrible to survive. Now that she knew the end had come, she felt only regret. If only she had been able to control the wildness inside her, she might never have ended up here, at the mercy of this beautiful, wild thing.
The night came then, as fast as Dancer had taken her, and Elle went gladly on her final ride.
SEARCH FOR RUNAWAY TEEN HEIRESS ENDS
10/01/00
SANTA LUCIA, CA—After a year of searching for sixteen-year-old Lillian Emerson, who vanished from her family’s estate, Santa Lucia Police Chief Ormond Teller has announced that the investigation into her disappearance will be suspended.
“It is with great personal regret that I am calling off the search,” Teller told reporters. “I still believe Lillian is out there somewhere, alive and well, but we have exhausted all of our leads, and our officers are needed on other cases.” When asked where he thought Lillian was, Teller responded, “I can’t say, but wherever that is, I don’t think she wants to be found.”
Like her daughter, Evelyn Emerson has also vanished from the public eye, and has not been seen since the day Lillian ran away. Ms. Emerson is now rumored to be residing in Chicago, where she runs her interior-design empire from Emerson Interiors’ corporate headquarters on Michigan Avenue. Ms. Emerson has refused all interview requests, and Emerson’s attorney, Wallace Bridger, has repeatedly defended his client’s reluctance to talk about her daughter’s disappearance.
“Evelyn has never given up hope that Lillian will come home someday,” Bridger recently told reporters. “Her efforts to find her daughter have been tireless, and will continue until such time as she can confirm that Lillian is alive and well. She has no desire to put her deepest personal pain on display in order to titillate the public.” When asked why Evelyn Emerson has never offered any reward for information regarding her daughter’s whereabouts, as is typical in such cases, Bridger dismissed the question. “This isn’t a murder or an abduction. Lillian ran away from home. It was thoughtless and cruel, but she knows she can come back whenever she wants to.”
Chapter 11
The shadow moving toward Ethan became a man, and in his arms he carried the limp body of a woman. The man wore only ordinary clothes covered with new snow, and although a flannel shirt covered the woman’s torso, all she had on her feet were socks. The man walked down, kicking his way through the drifts and hefting the woman up when he sank.
Ethan trotted out to meet him, inspecting him for wounds but seeing none. What he noticed was the man’s shaved head, the grim set of his jaw, the flat black of his eyes. “You folks all right?”
The man looked down at the unconscious female. “I can’t wake her.”
“She’s probably hypothermic. We need to get her inside and warmed up. We’ve got a doctor in town.” He reached out to take the woman, stopping only when he saw the glitter in the other man’s eyes. “My truck’s right over here.”
The man slogged out of the drift and followed him to the Escalade. Ethan opened the door to the backseat, and reached in to shove over the go-bag he stowed there. He expected the man to lay the woman inside on the seat, but instead he climbed in and held her on his lap. Ethan peeled off his parka and handed it in.
“Put it over her legs,” he told him. After he got in and started the truck, he glanced at the rearview mirror. “What’s your name?”
Ethan noted the slight hesitation, but the man looked like he’d been battered nine ways to Sunday; he was entitled to be suspicious. “Is that lady Mrs. Kimball?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Just curious.” The man was suspicious and territorial as all hell. “You want to tell me what you two are doing out in the middle of a blizzard?”
“Our car broke down. We needed help.”
Ethan could read people like open books, and knew all the small tells that indicated when someone was lying. Walker Kimball wasn’t being dishonest, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Were you traveling with anyone else besides your lady there?” Ethan asked.
“We were,” Kimball said, “but they left us behind.”
Another partial truth. “Anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Kimball?”
“She’s very cold,” he said, his voice tight. “Please drive faster.”
Ethan nodded and stepped on the gas.
Once he pulled up to the curb outside his office, Ethan saw through the window that his father and his deputy were standing inside. “You want me to carry her in?” Before he finished the question, Kimball had already opened the door and climbed out. “I guess not.”
Elroy had opened the door a gap when Kimball reached it and shouldered his way through. He inspected Ethan’s office with a glance before turning to Paul Jemmet. “You are a doctor?”
“Yes.” Ethan’s father lifted the shirt away from the woman’s face and touched her throat, frowning at the bruises under her jaw. “She’s still alive, but we have to get her out of these wet clothes and warm her. Elroy, run over to Annie’s and borrow some space heaters. Ethan, we’ll need towels, blankets, and hot tea.”
Kimball followed Paul into the back room while Elroy trotted for the door.
Elroy frowned, but nodded and darted out. Ethan filled the electric kettle before he took some clean towels and a pair of chenille blankets from the storage closet.
When he joined his father and Kimball in the back, they had already stripped the woman down to her skin. Kimball took the towels from him and began gently chafing her damp limbs as Paul shifted the pad of his stethoscope over her left breast.
“How long were you out in this weather?” his father asked Kimball.
“I don’t know. Half an hour, perhaps.” He draped one towel over her hips and touched her side before straightening and reaching for the blankets.
“Wait on those.” To Ethan, Paul said, “Go check the kettle, son.”
He didn’t appreciate his father sending him from the room like a misbehaving child. “Kimball, come with me. You and I need to talk.”
The big man didn’t even look at him. “I can’t leave her.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes—”
Kimball took the woman’s hand in his, revealing a pair of handcuffs hanging from his wrist. From the red, raw marks on the woman’s arm, it was obvious that she had been cuffed to him.
Ethan folded his arms. “You mind explaining to me why you and your lady are in handcuffs?”
“We were kidnapped.”
He stepped closer. “Sure you were. And I’m … the … ” He halted, his tongue growing thick and useless as he looked down at the woman’s face. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">