of mind and to reconnect with my son. The divorce has been—”
“Holy crap, Mom! Do you have to tell the whole world?” Knocking his plate to the ground, Frank bolted to his tent.
Nora started to apologize. Tears welled in her eyes.
Annie said, “It’s okay, Nora. I think we all see why this trip’s important to you.”
“The kid needs to build his confidence again,” Sam offered. “He’ll get a chance tomorrow during the bushwhack.”
His whiskey-gold gaze homed in on Annie. “That leaves you.”
She wanted to hear more about the so-called bushwhack, but decided knowing might interfere with a good night’s sleep. Something she sorely needed.
“I’m a journalist in Portland and no outdoorswoman. My friend Emma and I were going to do this trip together. But Emma... died.” Murmurs of sympathy before she continued. “She would’ve wanted me to come, and I needed to get away. So here I am.”
“Seems like everyone has reasons for getting away from it all.” Sam stirred the fire and tossed in another log. “I wouldn’t think covering automobile crashes and Portland City Hall scandals would be that tough on a reporter.”
He was probing again. Nice try. “I was... involved in a challenging story that gave me sleepless nights. No biggie.”
A thoughtful expression pursed Nora’s mouth. “You write for the Messenger ?”
Annie’s stomach knotted. She nodded. She so did not want to get into this.
“You the reporter who broke the story on the Hunter?”
Annie pressed clasped hands to her stomach. “I cover a lot of different news.”
“What hunter?” Carl asked.
“The Hunter, the murderer.” Ray leaned forward to eye Annie eagerly. “I read about it in this morning’s paper.”
“ That Hunter?” Sam asked. “You’re the reporter who put the murders together?”
“I don’t—”
Carl stood and waved his arms. “If there’s some damned crazed killer on the loose, what are we doing here?” He glared at Sam. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“Take it easy, man.” Sam held up his hands. “That killer’s not within fifty miles of here.”
“More like a hundred miles.” Ray’s head bobbed up and down with excitement.
“Just what the hell did this so-called Hunter do?” Carl wasn’t tall, but the waning fire backlighting his stout form made him an imposing figure.
“Carl.”
Sam’s soothing voice seemed to defuse the man’s anxiety. As if only then realizing his intimidating stance, the contractor relaxed his shoulders. He sat. “Sorry, y’all. Reckon I’m used to being the boss.”
Sam saw reluctance in Annie’s down-turned mouth. So that’s the reason she avoided the fine points of why she left town. Delving into the details of those murders would give anyone nightmares. “I see discussing it is hard on you. Why don’t we move on?”
“No, it’s all right, Sam.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll explain if everyone will agree not to bombard me with questions the rest of the trip.”
Sam waited for everyone to nod. “Go ahead, then.”
She lowered her hands to her lap, but kept her fingers laced as if locking in emotion. “During the past three years, an unknown assailant has murdered young women in New Hampshire and Maine. As of today’s newspaper, there are five. I uncovered the connection among them and broke the story, but the police already suspected a link.”
“Why is he called the Hunter?” Ray asked. “I didn’t see that in this morning’s story.”
“That’s the horror of it.”
Her haunted gaze chilled Sam. This wasn’t the way this ice-breaker was supposed to go. Restless, he rose and added a log to the fire. The killer wasn’t just a story to her. He’d bet his cleats on it.
“Have you ever read a story by Richard Connor called ‘The Most Dangerous Game’?” Annie continued.
“My seventh grade students read it,” Nora said. “A man falls off a ship and swims to an island. The owner, a general, is tired
“Holy crap, Mom! Do you have to tell the whole world?” Knocking his plate to the ground, Frank bolted to his tent.
Nora started to apologize. Tears welled in her eyes.
Annie said, “It’s okay, Nora. I think we all see why this trip’s important to you.”
“The kid needs to build his confidence again,” Sam offered. “He’ll get a chance tomorrow during the bushwhack.”
His whiskey-gold gaze homed in on Annie. “That leaves you.”
She wanted to hear more about the so-called bushwhack, but decided knowing might interfere with a good night’s sleep. Something she sorely needed.
“I’m a journalist in Portland and no outdoorswoman. My friend Emma and I were going to do this trip together. But Emma... died.” Murmurs of sympathy before she continued. “She would’ve wanted me to come, and I needed to get away. So here I am.”
“Seems like everyone has reasons for getting away from it all.” Sam stirred the fire and tossed in another log. “I wouldn’t think covering automobile crashes and Portland City Hall scandals would be that tough on a reporter.”
He was probing again. Nice try. “I was... involved in a challenging story that gave me sleepless nights. No biggie.”
A thoughtful expression pursed Nora’s mouth. “You write for the Messenger ?”
Annie’s stomach knotted. She nodded. She so did not want to get into this.
“You the reporter who broke the story on the Hunter?”
Annie pressed clasped hands to her stomach. “I cover a lot of different news.”
“What hunter?” Carl asked.
“The Hunter, the murderer.” Ray leaned forward to eye Annie eagerly. “I read about it in this morning’s paper.”
“ That Hunter?” Sam asked. “You’re the reporter who put the murders together?”
“I don’t—”
Carl stood and waved his arms. “If there’s some damned crazed killer on the loose, what are we doing here?” He glared at Sam. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“Take it easy, man.” Sam held up his hands. “That killer’s not within fifty miles of here.”
“More like a hundred miles.” Ray’s head bobbed up and down with excitement.
“Just what the hell did this so-called Hunter do?” Carl wasn’t tall, but the waning fire backlighting his stout form made him an imposing figure.
“Carl.”
Sam’s soothing voice seemed to defuse the man’s anxiety. As if only then realizing his intimidating stance, the contractor relaxed his shoulders. He sat. “Sorry, y’all. Reckon I’m used to being the boss.”
Sam saw reluctance in Annie’s down-turned mouth. So that’s the reason she avoided the fine points of why she left town. Delving into the details of those murders would give anyone nightmares. “I see discussing it is hard on you. Why don’t we move on?”
“No, it’s all right, Sam.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll explain if everyone will agree not to bombard me with questions the rest of the trip.”
Sam waited for everyone to nod. “Go ahead, then.”
She lowered her hands to her lap, but kept her fingers laced as if locking in emotion. “During the past three years, an unknown assailant has murdered young women in New Hampshire and Maine. As of today’s newspaper, there are five. I uncovered the connection among them and broke the story, but the police already suspected a link.”
“Why is he called the Hunter?” Ray asked. “I didn’t see that in this morning’s story.”
“That’s the horror of it.”
Her haunted gaze chilled Sam. This wasn’t the way this ice-breaker was supposed to go. Restless, he rose and added a log to the fire. The killer wasn’t just a story to her. He’d bet his cleats on it.
“Have you ever read a story by Richard Connor called ‘The Most Dangerous Game’?” Annie continued.
“My seventh grade students read it,” Nora said. “A man falls off a ship and swims to an island. The owner, a general, is tired
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