Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) by Claire Stibbe Page B
Authors: Claire Stibbe
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to crawl back out.
He heard footfalls beating up the slope. There was no way he could move, not with Ramsey standing a few feet away, eyes darting back and forth like a school of fish. He must have sensed something, heard something. If Adam let out that big breath he was holding, Ramsey would hear that too.
“I’m the falcon, you’re the prey,” the harsh voice crooned. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come between us now would you?”
Ramsey’s head turned first to the right and then to the left. “If you don’t come out soon, you’ll smell gunshot. You’re upwind of it. And it’ll blow right in your face.”
Adam refrained from letting out a whimper of pain. He knew Ramsey couldn’t see him. It was just a lame trick.
“You want to go home, right. Or maybe you’ve changed your mind. Me, I’d bet my ass on it.”
Of course Adam wanted to go home, but thinking about it didn’t bother him as much as the pain that shot up and down his shins and the spiny bed beneath his elbows.
Just as the wind wheezed its way between the trees and a steel-gray cloud covered the moon, he let out that breath. It went dark then and there was an ashen hue in the shadows as if he had suddenly found himself in a winter wonderland. He had to move, he couldn’t feel his leg.
A second gust brushed the ground, whipping shards of bark and pine needles, and filling the air with a thin brown dust. Adam saw his chance. He inched forward on his elbows and it was then he heard the scrape of leather on wood and a loud pop as his foot slipped free.
Ramsey crouched.
Adam froze.
He imagined eyes that stared bone deep, gazing over his right shoulder to the trees beyond. Then they twitched to the left, stayed there for a time before sweeping again to the right.
Adam’s dad had once told him how Shadow Wolf officers could see in the dark, not with infra-red lenses, but with their own eyes. They could even sniff out a black beetle in a storm drain. They were that smart.
“I hope you have a Bowie on you, little scout! Because you’re sure going to need it.”
Adam almost jumped at the sound of that voice. What use is a knife against a gun? he thought, avoiding eye contact in case Ramsey felt it and came tumbling in beneath that tree. The voice had an odd pitch to it similar to the one his dad used when they played hide-and-go-seek. The one where he had no idea where Adam was.
“Must be frightening to be lost out in the wilderness with a cold-blooded killer. But killers can be kind, little scout. They can be cruel. Which one am I?”
Adam could taste pine dust in the back of his throat and if he didn’t find water soon, he’d be coughing his guts up before long. There was nothing to do but watch those roving eyes, just enough to take in every grain of detail in their periphery.
“I know what your nickname is. Night Eyes. That’s what they call you.”
Adam almost jumped when he heard the name, stared at the ground on which Ramsey crouched, saw the bluish tinge on each stem of grass. And then something dawned on him.
Ramsey could make out a shape against a gunmetal sky and a silver-gray moon. But he couldn’t see anything against the darkness of the tree trunk. He couldn’t see anything among the leaves. He couldn’t see Adam at all.
TEN
It was four fifty-three when Malin switched off the headlights as they coasted along the latter end of Forest Road. Colonies of aspens bordered the track, pale as Grecian pillars and coated with warty bumps. Her eyes seemed to flick this way and that, looking for a place to park.
“There,” Temeke said, spotting a small clearing about fifteen feet from a house nestled between a gravel driveway and a row of pines. His belly was complaining again and as far as he recalled, a can of refried beans was the last meal he’d had.
3265 was the last house on the right, sitting on ten acres of prime land. The front looked out on an open mesa of boulder and brush, and the back faced a
He heard footfalls beating up the slope. There was no way he could move, not with Ramsey standing a few feet away, eyes darting back and forth like a school of fish. He must have sensed something, heard something. If Adam let out that big breath he was holding, Ramsey would hear that too.
“I’m the falcon, you’re the prey,” the harsh voice crooned. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come between us now would you?”
Ramsey’s head turned first to the right and then to the left. “If you don’t come out soon, you’ll smell gunshot. You’re upwind of it. And it’ll blow right in your face.”
Adam refrained from letting out a whimper of pain. He knew Ramsey couldn’t see him. It was just a lame trick.
“You want to go home, right. Or maybe you’ve changed your mind. Me, I’d bet my ass on it.”
Of course Adam wanted to go home, but thinking about it didn’t bother him as much as the pain that shot up and down his shins and the spiny bed beneath his elbows.
Just as the wind wheezed its way between the trees and a steel-gray cloud covered the moon, he let out that breath. It went dark then and there was an ashen hue in the shadows as if he had suddenly found himself in a winter wonderland. He had to move, he couldn’t feel his leg.
A second gust brushed the ground, whipping shards of bark and pine needles, and filling the air with a thin brown dust. Adam saw his chance. He inched forward on his elbows and it was then he heard the scrape of leather on wood and a loud pop as his foot slipped free.
Ramsey crouched.
Adam froze.
He imagined eyes that stared bone deep, gazing over his right shoulder to the trees beyond. Then they twitched to the left, stayed there for a time before sweeping again to the right.
Adam’s dad had once told him how Shadow Wolf officers could see in the dark, not with infra-red lenses, but with their own eyes. They could even sniff out a black beetle in a storm drain. They were that smart.
“I hope you have a Bowie on you, little scout! Because you’re sure going to need it.”
Adam almost jumped at the sound of that voice. What use is a knife against a gun? he thought, avoiding eye contact in case Ramsey felt it and came tumbling in beneath that tree. The voice had an odd pitch to it similar to the one his dad used when they played hide-and-go-seek. The one where he had no idea where Adam was.
“Must be frightening to be lost out in the wilderness with a cold-blooded killer. But killers can be kind, little scout. They can be cruel. Which one am I?”
Adam could taste pine dust in the back of his throat and if he didn’t find water soon, he’d be coughing his guts up before long. There was nothing to do but watch those roving eyes, just enough to take in every grain of detail in their periphery.
“I know what your nickname is. Night Eyes. That’s what they call you.”
Adam almost jumped when he heard the name, stared at the ground on which Ramsey crouched, saw the bluish tinge on each stem of grass. And then something dawned on him.
Ramsey could make out a shape against a gunmetal sky and a silver-gray moon. But he couldn’t see anything against the darkness of the tree trunk. He couldn’t see anything among the leaves. He couldn’t see Adam at all.
TEN
It was four fifty-three when Malin switched off the headlights as they coasted along the latter end of Forest Road. Colonies of aspens bordered the track, pale as Grecian pillars and coated with warty bumps. Her eyes seemed to flick this way and that, looking for a place to park.
“There,” Temeke said, spotting a small clearing about fifteen feet from a house nestled between a gravel driveway and a row of pines. His belly was complaining again and as far as he recalled, a can of refried beans was the last meal he’d had.
3265 was the last house on the right, sitting on ten acres of prime land. The front looked out on an open mesa of boulder and brush, and the back faced a
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