Close To Danger (Westen #4)(77)

Unlike some deer blinds set up in the center of a harvested cornfield so hunters could catch the deer on the edge of the woods foraging for food, whoever had built this old shack had done so in the forest. It looked out into the tall stalks of the harvested fields. A view of the river lay on the opposite side. Probably to catch the deer on their way for a drink. The window openings were covered in plexiglass with a dark mesh screen on the outside to prevent anyone seeing inside.

Stopping a few yards from the structure, he handed the go-bag off to Chloe, motioning for her to stand close to a tree and stay put. A blood trail came from the field to the opening on the nearest side. Holstering his weapon inside his coat, he approached the structure, softly humming Hallelujah by Leonard Cohan. The same song he’d sung to the frightened, injured pup all those years ago.

Whimpering sounded from inside.

At the door opening, he got down on his knees, his hands palm upwards. They might be friends, but he’d be a fool not to respect he was nearing a wounded wild animal. “It’s me, W?den.”

In the far corner near the back opening, a large grey and white mass moved. Another whimper sounded, but his friend managed to wag his tail.

“Come on in, Chloe,” Wes called. “Just no sudden movements. Okay?”

“Got it,” she said, stepping up behind him. “How bad is he hurt?”

“Don’t know yet.” Wes took the bag from her, searched through it until he found his flashlight. He turned it towards W?den. “Easy boy, I just want to look.”

A large dark red spot covered his right hind leg, half-way between the hip and knee.

“Looks like he got hit in the hind leg.” He fished around in the bag for one of the bottles of water.

“Is it broken?” Chloe asked, stepping further into the shack.

“Don’t know. First thing we need to do is stop any bleeding.” He pointed to two extra-large sealed plastic bins in the corner opposite from where W?den lay. “Hand me a rag out of the black plastic tub.”

Chloe opened the bin, pulled out a package of white cloths and handed him one. “Is this what you want?”

“Thanks.” Taking the cloth, he soaked it with water, crooned softly to the wolf-dog and dabbed at the edges of his wound. When no fresh blood oozed out, he decided to leave it alone for now, hoping the clot forming on top would prevent any infection. “Can you get me some gauze now?”

“There’s medical supplies of every kind. What were you doing, preparing for Armageddon?” she asked, looking through the bin. She took one out two packets, one of four-by-four gauze pads and one of a roll of thin gauze.

He shrugged as he wrapped W?den’s wound with the gauze to make a pressure bandage. “The bottom one has food, canned and boxed, along with bottled water. After I got W?den out of here the first time he was injured, I decided to shore this place up and stock it for emergencies. Just in case I ever have to use it as a refuge from the agency.”

Her eyes grew a little wider. “They would come after you? To kill you?”

“If they believed I was a threat. Maybe.” He grabbed the binoculars hanging on the peg near the window and scanned the forest in the direction they’d come. “This is personal, though.”

“Personal? For you or me?” she asked.

He lowered the field glasses and fixed his gaze on her, hating that in trying to protect her from some pervert in her life, he’d put her at risk as a target for a threat from his past. “I’m pretty sure whoever the shooter is, they want me dead.”



*



It was too quiet.

Standing outside the cabin, she didn’t hear anything. No movement. No one crying in pain. Not even breathing. Silent as a tomb.

Slowly, with her weapon focusing in front of her, she made her way inside. The only tracks leading away from the porch were that huge dog’s she’d shot earlier, so they didn’t somehow sneak out this way. Footprints in the snow on the porch where Strong had exited earlier. They had to be inside.

With her back to the door, she held her gun up with one hand, took a deep breath and tried the doorknob. It turned easily and giving it a little push, she opened it enough to see inside the kitchen area.

No one.

She eased the door open further, taking in the huge living area. Scanning from one side to the other, her gun an extension of her body, she moved through the area, checking out the bathroom and the one bedroom.

Still no one.

Then she spied the closet door.

Inhaling, she stood to the side of the door, grasping the knob in her free hand, her rifle in the other. With one quick motion, she jerked open the door and jumped into the doorway.

Empty.

“AGHHHH!” She stomped inside, looking behind everything hanging there. Throwing clothes and blankets and shoes onto the floor, she let out her frustrated rage. Bent over, inhaling and exhaling as control finally settled over her, she cleared her mind.

Dammit. How did they get out?

She’d covered the main entrance and the two big windows. There were no other doors. No windows ajar.

Think, girl. A hunter always has the advantage over their prey.

Dad had preached that to her and Isaac over and over.

Strong and his woman weren’t in the house. She could waste time figuring out how they’d escaped, or she could find out where they were headed. Once more in hunter mode she headed for the main door.