Spirit of a Hunter by Sylvie Kurtz Page B

him,too. But he’d survived, and that gave her hope. Heat returned to her cold limbs, and she wanted to linger there in the calming balm of his sight.
    Sabriel broke the odd connection pulsing between them and studied the woods until the Hummer was out of range. “We’ll find your son.”
    She took his promise to heart.
    He cranked over the engine and continued his mapless track through the woods.
    “I can’t guarantee your safety out on the trail,” he said.
    “Safety means nothing to me as long as Scotty’s out there.”
    A few minutes later, without so much as a touch of the brakes, Sabriel shot out onto a two-lane road. At least it was asphalt and relatively smooth. Her tentacle grip on the dashboard loosened.
    Sabriel whipped on the headlights, shifted gears and sped up. He was heading north. Relief fluxed through her muscles. She didn’t want to fight him, but she would if it meant saving Scotty.
    The day faded to night, leaving behind a black so deep the headlights barely cut through its thickness. Sabriel’s profile slashed a jagged silhouette in the dim glow of the instrument panel. High cheekbones. A nose like an Indian brave’s in a Beverly Doolittle print. Square chin. The yellow cast of the light burnished his skin to dark copper. A good face. A strong face. One that wouldn’t crumple under the Colonel’s will.
    Afraid Sabriel would change his mind and turn theJeep south again, Nora sat flagpole straight, hands folded in her lap, gaze on the road.
    The silence between them grew until it was as dense as the darkness around them.
    Her fingers itched to crank the radio full blast, tune in to a rock station, blow the roof right off the Jeep. She needed drums. Big, banging drums. Lots of drums. Entrain—“Rise Up,” “River Run,” “Mo Drums.” Loud enough to drown out the beat of her doubts driving her crazy.
    She was at his mercy, just as she’d been at the Colonel’s and at her mother’s. And look where that had landed her. A wuss afraid of her own shadow, begging for just another chance.
    I’ll be good, Mommy, please, I promise. Just don’t leave
.
    I’ll accept your terms, Colonel. Please, just don’t take my baby away from me
.
    I won’t complain. I promise, Sabriel. Please, just help me find my son
.
    * * *
    “T ELL ME ABOUT Tommy,” Sabriel said.
    Though he appeared to study the road, Nora was acutely aware that he was watching her. For signs of a meltdown?
Won’t happen
. Not until she found Scotty. “Like what?”
    “His mental state.”
    Tommy with his mischievous smile, his eclectic playlists and his unabashed shows of affection. At eighteen, starving as she’d been for attention, she’d fallen for hiseasy charm. So fast. Too fast. She’d never suspected that pharmaceuticals were holding him together. Not until it was too late. Regret rolled around her heavy heart.
    “He seemed to be doing so well. He’d finally found a psychiatrist that got him.” She snorted. “One that wouldn’t report back to the Colonel.”
    “What about his meds?”
    “What about them?” A certain protectiveness where Tommy was concerned brought up caution.
    “You said you thought he was off his meds.”
    She’d forgotten the desperation of her pleas. “I thought he was keeping up.” She picked at the pale pink polish on her thumbnail. Had she missed the signs? The few minutes of conversation they shared when Tommy picked up Scotty weren’t enough to pass judgment. Not with the Colonel standing guard more often than not, listening to their exchange.
    But in the past few months, Tommy had turned back to the man she’d fallen in love with eleven years ago. Sweet, funny, loving. But that was the danger point, wasn’t it? When the patient thought he was well enough to do without the meds. She shrugged and shook her head. “Taking Scotty like this, though…I don’t know.”
    “Do you know the name of his psychiatrist?”
    “You won’t get anything from him. Patient-doctor