looking at her, staring at her, terrifyingly real. This can’t be real. It can’t be. But it was all she could see.
Debbie wanted to shield her face from their tearing claws and jagged teeth. She wanted to protectherself. The animals were coming at her from all directions and she panicked. She struggled in her binds and screamed. The room spun into a dizzy blur, the hard wooden floor leaping up to strike her in the face. She found herself on her side, her cheek pressed against the wood, her body heavy and awkward, folded onto itself.
She heard thunderous footsteps rushing towards her, making the floor rumble. Someone was approaching and she tried to speak but her mouth was squashed against the floor. Her lips moved uselessly, and with one eye straining upwards, she saw that a man was leaning down. Then she was off the floor, pulled right into the air, chair and all, and shoved back into place. The animal faces were again snarling all around her, and now a human face joined them, a man standing over her. She was seeing double, now quadruple, now double again.
And then she recognised him. It was the man who had offered her a drink, only he wasn’t wearing his glasses any more. He had done this to her. He had trapped her. She wanted to scream but what came out of her mouth was a distorted giggle, a hopeless, drug-induced giggle that was as far from joy as terror could be.
CHAPTER 9
Grant Wilson didn’t like horses. He’d even had his leg reset when he was little to prove to his father, also an RCMP officer, just how much he didn’t like horses. The family nag, Daisy, had once thrown him about ten feet in the air and he’d landed in a tree.
But this didn’t matter because, generally speaking, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police spent little time “mounted”. There was the odd occasion—the famous “Musical Ride” when the Queen came to town, for example—but he didn’t have anything to do with that. Nope, they had police cruisers now instead of those tall unpredictable bucking creatures, and in this part of Canada the jurisdiction of the RCMP went well beyond the reach of horses.
Grant was in the woods at the Nahatlatch River looking for clues. It was freezing, and he walked through the woods in his parka and layers of uniform, battling a deep, gnawing chill in his bones—and in his mind.
This was where the girl’s body had been dumped. The spot was still lit up for the Forensic Team. She had been a real mess, just as Mike had said. The animals had got to her, they suggested. The area where she was found had already been gone over with a finetooth comb several times, and now the search was moving wider. And, like a fool, Grant had been roped into helping. He should really have been home with his wife. She needed him. Damn . He pulled his thoughts away from his ailing wife and focused on the job at hand.
They were finishing up the autopsy right now back in the city. She was a young girl, a teenager. That didn’t sit easy with Grant. He thought of his own daughter, and he didn’t like thinking about Cherrie while he was walking through the woods trying to find a murder weapon.
He didn’t like that one bit. Once in a while they had to deal with an ill-fated hunter or two out here. They’d had a couple of bear attacks and a shooting accident as well. But nothing like this. Not that he could recall, anyway. That girl had no reason to be out here alone.
Grant didn’t know if his body could take the chill much longer. It was getting late. They would have to pick it up in the morning. He spun around and headed in Mike’s direction, sweeping the flashlight back and forth in front of himself as he walked. The forest floor was uneven and thick with exposedroots and ground-covering plants. He made his way into one of the clearings and looked around. Corporal Michael Rose was talking with one of the constables. He was using his hands a lot as he spoke. Mike looked up immediately when his friend approached. He
Debbie wanted to shield her face from their tearing claws and jagged teeth. She wanted to protectherself. The animals were coming at her from all directions and she panicked. She struggled in her binds and screamed. The room spun into a dizzy blur, the hard wooden floor leaping up to strike her in the face. She found herself on her side, her cheek pressed against the wood, her body heavy and awkward, folded onto itself.
She heard thunderous footsteps rushing towards her, making the floor rumble. Someone was approaching and she tried to speak but her mouth was squashed against the floor. Her lips moved uselessly, and with one eye straining upwards, she saw that a man was leaning down. Then she was off the floor, pulled right into the air, chair and all, and shoved back into place. The animal faces were again snarling all around her, and now a human face joined them, a man standing over her. She was seeing double, now quadruple, now double again.
And then she recognised him. It was the man who had offered her a drink, only he wasn’t wearing his glasses any more. He had done this to her. He had trapped her. She wanted to scream but what came out of her mouth was a distorted giggle, a hopeless, drug-induced giggle that was as far from joy as terror could be.
CHAPTER 9
Grant Wilson didn’t like horses. He’d even had his leg reset when he was little to prove to his father, also an RCMP officer, just how much he didn’t like horses. The family nag, Daisy, had once thrown him about ten feet in the air and he’d landed in a tree.
But this didn’t matter because, generally speaking, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police spent little time “mounted”. There was the odd occasion—the famous “Musical Ride” when the Queen came to town, for example—but he didn’t have anything to do with that. Nope, they had police cruisers now instead of those tall unpredictable bucking creatures, and in this part of Canada the jurisdiction of the RCMP went well beyond the reach of horses.
Grant was in the woods at the Nahatlatch River looking for clues. It was freezing, and he walked through the woods in his parka and layers of uniform, battling a deep, gnawing chill in his bones—and in his mind.
This was where the girl’s body had been dumped. The spot was still lit up for the Forensic Team. She had been a real mess, just as Mike had said. The animals had got to her, they suggested. The area where she was found had already been gone over with a finetooth comb several times, and now the search was moving wider. And, like a fool, Grant had been roped into helping. He should really have been home with his wife. She needed him. Damn . He pulled his thoughts away from his ailing wife and focused on the job at hand.
They were finishing up the autopsy right now back in the city. She was a young girl, a teenager. That didn’t sit easy with Grant. He thought of his own daughter, and he didn’t like thinking about Cherrie while he was walking through the woods trying to find a murder weapon.
He didn’t like that one bit. Once in a while they had to deal with an ill-fated hunter or two out here. They’d had a couple of bear attacks and a shooting accident as well. But nothing like this. Not that he could recall, anyway. That girl had no reason to be out here alone.
Grant didn’t know if his body could take the chill much longer. It was getting late. They would have to pick it up in the morning. He spun around and headed in Mike’s direction, sweeping the flashlight back and forth in front of himself as he walked. The forest floor was uneven and thick with exposedroots and ground-covering plants. He made his way into one of the clearings and looked around. Corporal Michael Rose was talking with one of the constables. He was using his hands a lot as he spoke. Mike looked up immediately when his friend approached. He
Similar Books
