High Meadow, page 15
Weird. Why would tracks like that start or end in the middle of nowhere?
But then I remember Sully picked up similar tracks with the drone. I wonder if these could be from the same trail.
Curious, I cross the clearing, keeping a close eye on the ridge. I’m feeling a little exposed and breathe a sigh of relief when I’m under the cover of trees again. Here the path turns steep, leading me almost straight up. Luckily that’s no problem for Sugar, she’s tackled worse.
When we reach the ridge, I dismount and take a look around. I have a good view of the clearing below. A very good view. I can easily make out the spot where I was standing earlier, looking up here.
I pull out my phone and check the coordinates. I’m not that far from the most eastern point of Alex’s property, which means I’m also not that far from where James found that trip wire.
My eyes scan the ground, looking for tracks or footprints, but it’s hard to see when most of the ground is rock and gravel. I’m about to give up and get back on my horse when the light reflects off something metallic. I crouch down and brush aside some weeds to uncover a rifle shell.
Bingo.
When I reach to pick it up, I hear the crunch of a footstep behind me.
Eighteen
Alex
* * *
That’s weird.
I’d expected to see a second trailer parked next to Jonas’s rig, but instead there’s an unfamiliar silver SUV sitting in front of the house.
Maybe Sam’s gone and left already, but then why didn’t Lucy call me back to tell me? I could’ve stayed with Jonas. It’s annoying. I’d really been looking forward to the ride with him. For a moment I consider trying to catch up with him, but by now he has at least a half-hour lead.
By the time I bring Sarge to a halt outside the barn and dismount, I’m actually getting a little pissed off until I catch sight of the SUV again, and a sense of unease starts creeping in. Whose car is that?
I lead Sarge into his stall and quickly remove his saddle and bridle. I’ll have to put him out after I see what’s going on. I throw his bridle over my shoulder, hook my arms under his saddle, and walk toward the small tack room next to the barn doors.
Sliding the saddle onto the rack, I sense movement near me but before I can turn around two arms wrap tightly around me from behind.
I’m pretty sure I screamed as I struggle to get free. My arms are trapped uselessly against my body so I use my legs, trying to do as much damage as I can kicking back. A deep grunt tells me I made contact, but then I hear a deep chuckle by my ear and freeze.
I recognize it. The sound of it as familiar to me as my own reflection.
“Jesus, Mom. You’re more dangerous than some of the insurgents we encounter.”
The arms release me and I whip around, tears already blurring my vision and I furiously wipe at them. I need to see it’s really him.
My God, my baby.
So handsome and grown-up, he looks like an adult version of the boy I saw off what feels like ages ago. Six months, two weeks, and three days ago, to be exact. An eternity when you know your child is on the other side of the world, facing all kinds of danger you have no way of protecting them against.
“Jackson.”
His name slips out on a sob as I fling myself back in his arms.
“Missed you, Momma,” he mumbles, his face pressed into the crook of my neck.
“Missed you more.”
A loud sniff has me lift my head to find Lucy standing in the doorway, her eyes suspiciously shiny.
“You knew?”
The question is more of an accusation but she quickly shakes her head.
“Trust me, I was just as surprised when I found him on our doorstep.”
“Luce cried,” Jackson contributes, straightening up as he throws her a grin.
“Did not,” she fires back defiantly, sticking her chin up stubbornly. “I never cry.”
“Bullshit.” My son tries—and fails—to cover his comment with a cough, but Lucy hears and narrows her eyes at him.
“I was going to make you stuffed French toast for breakfast tomorrow, but you can forget about that now.”
“Awww, Luce. Don’t be that way.” He walks over and pulls her reluctant body into a hug.
My boy, the charmer. That much at least hasn’t changed.
I can’t say the same for his body, which has somehow filled out from the long-limbed, scrawny kid I shipped off. He’s not wearing his uniform but a pair of jeans and a navy sweatshirt that looks molded around wide shoulders and muscular arms.
Neither has the almost sibling-like banter between my friend and my son. They can bicker like sister and brother but underneath they absolutely adore each other.
He looks so much like his father now.
Blinking off a second wave of tears, I grab Jackson’s arm and slip mine through.
“Help me set Sarge out and you can tell me how you got here.”
“I’ll take care of Sarge,” Lucy says. “You guys head inside and let the dogs out for me. There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen.”
“How did you get here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? We spoke only a few days ago. How long are you home for?” I start firing off questions as soon as we start walking toward the house, my arm firmly hooked in his and my eyes fixed on his face.
“In a rental car and I wanted to surprise you,” he answers, grinning down on me.
“Wiseass,” I accuse him, noting he didn’t answer the last question. “I thought you’d be gone for nine months at least.”
“That’s what they told us at the onset, but things change all the time.”
The dogs are going nuts inside when they hear us coming up the porch steps and I quickly open the door.
“I see you’ve expanded the rescue,” he comments, bending down to give Chief a little attention while I endure Scout’s excited welcome.
“They came with Hope, our latest equestrian rescue.”
“She the one chumming up with Daisy out there?”
“That’s her. She was in bad shape. The dogs too,” I share. “They’ve gotten attached to us.”
He straightens up and grins at me.
“More like you two got attached to them.”
Touché.
The dogs—having gotten their fill of attention—bound off toward the barn.
“Whose trailer is that?” Jackson asks as I step through the door.
I’m not sure why the question feels so loaded, or maybe it’s just the way I hear it.
“Jonas Harvey. He’s a neighbor,” I hurry to explain as I lead the way to the kitchen. “He was helping me check the property line.”
Guilt immediately overwhelms me. Although, whether it’s for passing Jonas off as just a neighbor, or hiding my involvement with him from my son, I’m not sure. Maybe both. I’m just not sure how Jackson would react if he found out I was developing feelings for someone other than his father.
I pour us coffee and hand him a mug. Some of my thoughts must’ve shown on my face because Jackson looks at me from under his eyebrows.
“A neighbor?”
“Uh-huh.” I step around him and take a seat at the kitchen table. “Come sit. You never answered me how long you’ll be home.”
“Two weeks.”
He pulls out the chair across from me and sits down.
“Only two weeks?”
I’m not sure what I was thinking. Maybe I’d hoped he’d be home for good? Decided military life wasn’t for him after all?
“And then what? Back to Iraq?”
He shakes his head, his eyes intently watching me.
“Fort Bragg.”
That’s North Carolina. Not next door, but at least on US soil and not all the way in the Middle East.
“What will you be doing there?”
His eyes drop down to the mug in his hands.
Uh oh. Why do I get the feeling I won’t like what he has to say?
“Some more training.”
I almost grin. His father used to be a master at feeding me information he didn’t want to share piecemeal. The apple does not fall far.
“Training for what?”
“A special unit.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s like pulling teeth.
“What kind of special unit?”
Then his eyes come up.
“You’re not gonna like it.”
Well, if that isn’t reassuring.
“Jackson…” I threaten.
“Special Ops. I’ve trained my ass off these past months.”
I glance at his new wider shoulders and muscled chest, and swallow hard.
So that’s why.
“Look, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” he hurries to add. “I’d be based stateside.”
“But you could be gone in a flash, and I wouldn’t know where you are or how long you’ll be gone,” I counter, a lump forming in my throat.
He hears it and leans over the table, grabbing my hand.
“I probably won’t even make it through training. Few do.”
Bless him for trying, but I know my kid. If he sets his mind to something he’ll make it happen.
Pride battles with the stark fear.
“But you will,” I tell him, my voice thick with emotion.
The front door slams open and the dogs barge in, followed by Lucy.
“Is Jonas in here?”
I twist around in my seat.
“Jonas? No, he’s still on the trail, why?”
“Because his horse is out there by his trailer.”
“Hold up! Where are you going?”
Jackson catches up with me halfway down the porch steps.
“I’m gonna look for him.”
As Lucy had said, Sugar is standing next to the trailer, the saddle still on her back and the reins dragging on the ground. To top it off, Jonas’s rifle was still sticking from the saddle holster.
Jonas is nowhere in sight.
I walk up to the horse, putting a hand on her butt as I circle her. Reaching down, I pick up the reins so she can’t take off, but as I straighten, I notice blood running down her front leg from a cut low on her shoulder. More like a groove.
“She’s cut.”
“What? Let me see.”
Jackson pushes me out of the way and bends down to see better.
“That doesn’t look like a cut, Mom. It looks like a bullet graze.”
I look at my son dubiously. “How would you know?”
He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes speak volumes and for a moment my heart squeezes hard. For innocence lost. For the things my child has witnessed in these short past six months that have him recognize the graze of a bullet.
What if Jonas was shot as well? He obviously never had a chance to grab his rifle. What if he’s out there somewhere—hurt?
I won’t allow my mind to go any further than that as I quickly tie Sugar’s reins to the trailer and march toward the barn.
“Fuck. Mom, stop!”
“Where is she off to?” I hear Lucy ask behind me as the dogs run past me.
I ignore them both, but when I step out of the tack room a minute later carrying Sarge’s tack, both Jackson and Lucy are blocking my way.
“Listen to me,” Jackson pleads, holding his hands out in front of him. “You can’t go off half-cocked without knowing what you’re walking into.”
“Well, I can’t leave him out there,” I protest, trying to push past him.
“Let me call High Meadow. If anyone is equipped to find him it’s those guys,” Lucy suggests.
“Call them, but don’t expect me to wait around for them. It’ll take them valuable time to get here. Time Jonas may not have.”
“What’s High Meadow?” my son wants to know.
I leave Lucy to explain while I grab the opportunity to rush to the back meadow and whistle for Sarge.
There’s no way I’m gonna sit around and wait when I could be out there doing something.
I’m just about to mount Sarge when Jackson comes running up, carrying tack with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap as I swing my leg in the saddle.
“If I can’t stop you, I’m coming with you.
“Jackson—”
“Mom, no,” he says, firmly tossing his gear to the ground.
When he slips inside the gate, he still has the rifle over his shoulder. It looks like the one from Jonas’s holster. Ellie—who just tried to sneak out behind Sarge—is easily caught.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself with that thing,” I try in a last-ditch effort to deter him.
But my son snorts as he quickly saddles Lucy’s mount.
“Hardly. I can do more damage with this rifle at five hundred yards than you can with your peashooter in a crowded room.”
I open my mouth to protest, then snap it shut again when I realize I have no hope of winning this argument.
The box of plaques in the spare bedroom for first place in the Quigley Buffalo Rifle Match since he turned eighteen is proof of that.
Dammit.
Nineteen
Jonas
* * *
Dirt.
I smell damp earth.
My head feels like it’s going to explode and I’m not sure where I am, but I recognize the scent of dirt and decaying vegetation.
I’m lying on it. Curled on my side with an arm wedged underneath me, on hard soil. My entire body hurts like I’ve been hit by a truck. I try to move my hands, only to discover them tied behind my back. The movement has whatever they used cut into my wrists.
Wire?
Shit. This isn’t good.
Then I try moving my legs. The top leg, my right side, seems okay, but when I try to wiggle my left foot, I’m rewarded with a searing hot pain.
Fuck.
I try to remember what happened. Last thing I recall I was on top of the ridge looking down at the clearing below. Everything after that is a blank.
I carefully crank an eye open, bracing for light, but there is none. It’s dark. Is it nighttime? Where the hell am I?
“You did what?”
The sound of a raised voice comes from above, startling me. I jerk my head up only to drop it right back to the ground. It hits hard. Not just dirt, but rock underneath. My head feels like it’s stuck in a vise and someone just stabbed an icepick in my skull.
I swallow a groan and carefully turn my head. Then I open my other eye too. I squint, looking up at a small circle of night sky too far above me. I’m in a hole. Quite literally.
A cave?
Fragments of a conversation filter down. Two voices.
I strain to hear what is being said but it’s hard with one ear pressed to the ground. My six-pack may no longer be evident but I still have decent core strength and manage to sit up, leaning my back against the solid rock wall. It takes a few seconds for the nauseating pain in my head and my ankle—as well as the ringing in my ears—to recede.
“…would’ve found the compound.”
“You didn’t figure the guy would be missed? What the hell were you thinking? First you shoot at that woman–”
“She saw me! She would’ve—”
“Your job—your only job—was to keep an eye out. You may as well have set off a fucking flare to point the damn pigs our way, Terry.”
I have no doubt this Terry is Terrence Adams, one of the escaped terrorists. Holy fuck. The pissed-off guy must be Wright.
“I’ll kill him. Toss him off a cliff. Make it look like he had an accident and they won’t have to look for him.”
I straighten my back. To do that they’d have to get me out of this hole and I like my chances a lot better up there than down here.
“That might’ve worked if you hadn’t shot the damn horse, fucking moron,” Wright points out.
Sugar. My heart sinks, she was a fine horse. Steady and loyal.
“And then you missed!” he continues.
“I didn’t miss.”
“Dead horses don’t run off. Jesus fucking Christ, after the incident with that woman you’ll be lucky if the general doesn’t shoot you on the spot. He wasn’t supposed to be back until next week with supplies, but what do you wanna bet he’s gonna be up here as soon as he finds out about this last stunt? We were supposed to lay low.”
The general?
They have someone on the outside. Jesus.
“So what do we do with him?” Adams asks.
Suddenly there’s a sound of dirt falling down. I narrowly manage to let my body slump back to the floor and turn my face in the dirt before the beam of a flashlight shines down.
“He’s still out but breathing.” Wright’s voice is clear now, bouncing off the hard surface of the walls. “We’ll keep him alive, let the general decide. You better hope he has some use for him.”
I wait until darkness returns and I no longer hear anything. Then I slowly lift my head, letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light. With the few glimpses I got of my surroundings in the beam of the flashlight locked in my mind, it doesn’t take long to figure out my makeshift cell.
It’s no more than a hole in the ground, at the bottom maybe six-and-a-half feet in diameter. Most of the rock is covered with a layer of damp dirt and leaves, I’d barely have enough room to stretch out in. Unfortunately the cave is at least double that deep. If I stood up and reached my arms above my head, my fingertips would still be about four feet shy of the edge. The opening at the top is narrower, the walls leaning in the farther up you get.
All of those are moot points, though, since my hands are tied and my left ankle is fucked up.
I can’t do anything about my ankle, but I can try and work on loosening my bindings.
Hopefully when daylight breaks, I can better assess my options.
Alex
* * *
“Are you sure he came this way?”
I turn in the saddle to look at Jackson.
“Positive. He wanted to check out…”
Shit. I haven’t had a chance to fill Jackson in on recent events. I’d kept both the shooting incident and the escaped prisoners to myself in our chats. No need to have him worried about me when he should be worried about himself.
