turning slowly.
“This is going to slow me down,” she said. “And if I fall in the lake, I’ll drown for sure.”
“Rachel, shut up.” He handed her the rifle as he passed her and started toward the trees at the rear of the house.
They stood at the edge of the woods, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. Something had moved, off to their right, and immediately they turned off the flashlight. Jon moved a step closer to her, his hand on his holster.
He started in the direction of the sound, stepping carefully, motioning her to follow. It was slow, going forward in measured degrees, testing the ground, listening.
They heard no other sound. Still they moved deeper into the woods. The trees were blocking the moonlight and the darkness was like a cushion.
“Jon.” Rachel’s whisper surprised him, and he turned, almost colliding with her and having to hold on to her to keep from losing his balance.
“What?”
“I can smell something.” They were still standing close, his hands on her arms.
“What?” His voice sounded hoarse.
“I’m sure I smell blood.”
A short distance off they found an area where the brush had been trampled, and blood splattered all over. The thick metallic smell of blood was overpowering.
Jon knelt by a drying pool of red. He collected a sample, careful not to disturb the scene.
“Do you think . . .” Rachel looked at him questioningly.
“Cruz? I don’t know. It could be animal blood. There are no clear footprints anywhere around.” He stood, surveying the site. “Whatever did this . . .”
Rachel shivered.
“Come on,” he said, “I’m going to take you home.”
She was silent on the way back to the house, staring out the window. He reached to take her hand.
They pulled up in front of the house and he turned off the engine, getting out to open the door for her. She stepped down, standing in front of him, and began to remove the jacket.
“I don’t want,” she said, “to have to tell her.” She looked up at him, the pain strong in her eyes.
“He may be out there somewhere.” He accepted the jacket from her and tossed it onto the front seat.
“But where?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. If . . . if he came upon a bear and disturbed it, he might have had to run and hide.”
“For this long?”
“He might have been injured.”
“In which case he’s out there, helpless.” She paused. “What do you really think?”
Jon frowned. “I think . . . Randy Cruz is dead, and that he was killed out there in that clearing.”
Rachel stepped closer to him, putting her arms around his waist and leaning against him. A tremor ran through her body and he closed his arms around her.
They stood that way for a long time.
Driving back toward the main road, he could smell the scent of her on the jacket and he breathed deeply.
SEVENTEEN
Joyce Callan walked quietly into the laboratory, two cups of coffee in her hands.
“Nathan?” He was peering into a microscope.
“Yes?” He looked up and smiled.
She handed him a cup and sat on one of the tall stools. “Susan’s gone home.” She sipped at the coffee. “She told me the strangest thing.”
“Strange-how?”
“The patients seem to be running temperatures according to some sort of mathematical formula.”
“What?”
She laughed at the look on his face. “That’s what I thought at first, but then she showed me the charts. During the day shift, each one of the patients showed a point four degree temperature elevation. And, on her shift, all of the temps went up another point two degrees.”
“That is strange,” Nathan agreed.
“I can hardly wait to take the next vitals.”
“I’d be very interested to see if the trend continues.” He finished his coffee and placed the cup on the counter before standing and facing her, holding his arms out. “Come here.”
She complied, her heart racing.
He kissed her soundly. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that.”
“I stayed up
“This is going to slow me down,” she said. “And if I fall in the lake, I’ll drown for sure.”
“Rachel, shut up.” He handed her the rifle as he passed her and started toward the trees at the rear of the house.
They stood at the edge of the woods, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. Something had moved, off to their right, and immediately they turned off the flashlight. Jon moved a step closer to her, his hand on his holster.
He started in the direction of the sound, stepping carefully, motioning her to follow. It was slow, going forward in measured degrees, testing the ground, listening.
They heard no other sound. Still they moved deeper into the woods. The trees were blocking the moonlight and the darkness was like a cushion.
“Jon.” Rachel’s whisper surprised him, and he turned, almost colliding with her and having to hold on to her to keep from losing his balance.
“What?”
“I can smell something.” They were still standing close, his hands on her arms.
“What?” His voice sounded hoarse.
“I’m sure I smell blood.”
A short distance off they found an area where the brush had been trampled, and blood splattered all over. The thick metallic smell of blood was overpowering.
Jon knelt by a drying pool of red. He collected a sample, careful not to disturb the scene.
“Do you think . . .” Rachel looked at him questioningly.
“Cruz? I don’t know. It could be animal blood. There are no clear footprints anywhere around.” He stood, surveying the site. “Whatever did this . . .”
Rachel shivered.
“Come on,” he said, “I’m going to take you home.”
She was silent on the way back to the house, staring out the window. He reached to take her hand.
They pulled up in front of the house and he turned off the engine, getting out to open the door for her. She stepped down, standing in front of him, and began to remove the jacket.
“I don’t want,” she said, “to have to tell her.” She looked up at him, the pain strong in her eyes.
“He may be out there somewhere.” He accepted the jacket from her and tossed it onto the front seat.
“But where?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. If . . . if he came upon a bear and disturbed it, he might have had to run and hide.”
“For this long?”
“He might have been injured.”
“In which case he’s out there, helpless.” She paused. “What do you really think?”
Jon frowned. “I think . . . Randy Cruz is dead, and that he was killed out there in that clearing.”
Rachel stepped closer to him, putting her arms around his waist and leaning against him. A tremor ran through her body and he closed his arms around her.
They stood that way for a long time.
Driving back toward the main road, he could smell the scent of her on the jacket and he breathed deeply.
SEVENTEEN
Joyce Callan walked quietly into the laboratory, two cups of coffee in her hands.
“Nathan?” He was peering into a microscope.
“Yes?” He looked up and smiled.
She handed him a cup and sat on one of the tall stools. “Susan’s gone home.” She sipped at the coffee. “She told me the strangest thing.”
“Strange-how?”
“The patients seem to be running temperatures according to some sort of mathematical formula.”
“What?”
She laughed at the look on his face. “That’s what I thought at first, but then she showed me the charts. During the day shift, each one of the patients showed a point four degree temperature elevation. And, on her shift, all of the temps went up another point two degrees.”
“That is strange,” Nathan agreed.
“I can hardly wait to take the next vitals.”
“I’d be very interested to see if the trend continues.” He finished his coffee and placed the cup on the counter before standing and facing her, holding his arms out. “Come here.”
She complied, her heart racing.
He kissed her soundly. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that.”
“I stayed up
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