A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(17)

“They sent one state trooper after me? One?”

Jane shook her head. “There’s no such thing as one state trooper. He’s just the guy out running point. If he finds a gum wrapper that you leave somewhere, he’ll call it in and there will be a hundred of them, five dogs, and a chopper.”

“Good thing I don’t leave trash around.”

“Your feet leave big footprints, and you have to buy food, and people see you from a distance, even if you don’t see them.”

“So what am I supposed to do about that, Janie?”

“Since you’re smart enough to ask, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you.”

“What?”

“Remember the helicopters that used to come to get you out of tight spots in Afghanistan?”

“Very well.”

“That’s me. That’s what I’m doing here. I’ve come to help you get back home before they catch you. Having a woman with you might help you look a lot less like a fugitive, and it might even make the state police a little hesitant if they see us.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

She looked at him as though she hadn’t thought about having to tell him. She hesitated, then said, “This isn’t just me that you see here. The clan mothers—all eight of them—came to my house one morning and told me to go find you. This is our people coming to take you out of trouble.”

“The clan mothers sent you? I can hardly believe it.”

“Believe it.” She took the single strand of shell beads out of her pocket and dangled it before his face. “They knew we were close when we were kids, so they asked me to do it. Here’s their ote-ko-a.”

He took the wampum string into his hand, looked closely at it, and then handed it back. “So it’s official. You’re working for them.”

“You know who they are,” she said. “What it means is, if I get put down, there will be somebody else—maybe another rescuer, maybe an avenger. But it doesn’t end with me.”

For the first time Jimmy seemed serious, almost chastened. “I really don’t think going back is such a good idea, or I would have stayed there.”

“Your chances are much better if you turn yourself in. I told you there’s already a state policeman out here trying to track us.”

“You know what?” Jimmy said. “I think I see him.”

“Who? The cop?” asked Jane.

“Is he tall, thin like a heron, with khaki pants and a blue jacket?”

Jane was up in a second, kneeling to see where Jimmy was pointing. “Get off the platform, but stay low,” she whispered. “We’ve got to move.”

Jimmy slid off the platform, held on to the edge for a moment, and then dropped to the ground. Jane watched for the trooper. He was trotting along the crest of the hill beyond the creek that separated him from the rock shelter. He was about five hundred yards away, but moving back and forth on a trail to make his way down to level ground. Jane lowered herself off the platform, hung for a second, and then dropped.

Jane and Jimmy slung their packs over their shoulders and began to make their way deeper into the woods. “Do you think he saw us?” Jimmy asked.

“It almost doesn’t matter,” Jane said. “He’s a cop, and he’s obviously done this kind of thing before, and he seems to know this part of the world. He doesn’t need to see you to know where you must be. I’ve been traveling hard for five days. He must have tracked me for a while, then realized where I must be headed, and called for a ride to be here first. Come on, we’ve got to speed things up.”

Jane moved ahead on the trail and worked herself up to a trot, and then to a half-speed run, watching the spaces between the trees for protruding roots or stones that could trip her. She could hear Jimmy behind her by about ten feet, giving her the chance to plot a course, stop to look, or change directions without crashing into her or stepping on her heels. Jane chose surfaces that wouldn’t leave a readable track—stone surfaces, openings in the middle of groves where the leaves had piled up. After a few minutes she found the bed of a small stream that flowed from an unseen spring near the top of the ridge, and led him down by the water so they could run along the pebbly bank, giving them a bit of invisibility.

She could hear Jimmy’s heavier steps as he ran, and she listened to his breathing. He had been a good athlete when they were young. He had probably stopped playing games at some point—they were both in their midthirties now—but he had obviously stayed active. He was more muscular, but other than that, not much heavier than he’d been in high school. His breathing was even and unlabored so far. If they could both keep up the pace for a while, and avoid twisting an ankle, they might make it through the day. That cop back there was a worry, but he thought he was chasing a killer, so he would be second-guessing himself, looking harder and longer at each thicket, each rise in the ground ahead, to be sure it wasn’t an ambush, or at least a hiding place. That would slow him down.

Jane’s biggest worry was that there was no such thing as one cop. If this one had seen them on the rock, if she had led him to Jimmy, then he didn’t need to catch up with them. All he had to do was use his cell phone to call more cops and send them to block the way ahead. As soon as she’d thought about it, she caught herself listening for the throbbing sound of a helicopter’s rotors in the distance.