Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(11)

The problem was that prior to being hypnotized, Pine had known all about Tor for a long time. Anyone who studied serial murders would know the name of Daniel James Tor. He made the likes of Ted Bundy seem inefficient and inept. She had studied his career, the arc of his active periods, the backgrounds of his victims.

Thus, the obvious questions had to be asked: Did she pull Tor out of her subconscious because he really did come through that window on the night of June 7, 1989? Or did he fall out of her mind because she wanted him to? Because he had been in the area during that time? Would the man lead to closure for her, whether he actually did it or not?

Pine’s father was long dead: He had swallowed a round of double-aught buckshot after drinking and drugging in a craphole motel in Louisiana for a week, ending his life on his daughters’ birthday. Pine did not consider that to be a coincidence. Her father had perhaps been trying to show her he felt guilty for what had happened. Instead, he ensured that every one of her birthdays would share the memory of her father’s having blown his head off.

Her mother was still alive. Pine knew where she was, but the two had grown apart. Adulthood had not drawn daughter closer to mother; if anything, it had increased the distance, maybe rivaling that of the Grand Canyon’s massive width.

Perhaps it was even wider, because, as Pine had found, the mind could really accomplish anything, particularly when it was playing games with you. It could make you see things that weren’t there, or not see things that were staring you right in the face.

So was it Tor, or had the hypnosis been a complete bust?

The truth was, she didn’t know.

She closed her eyes again, but they almost immediately fluttered open. It wasn’t because she couldn’t sleep. It was because there was someone moving outside.

It took Pine twenty seconds to pull on her clothes and shoes and place her backup Beretta in the ankle holster and grip the Glock 23 in her right hand.

And then she did what she always did.

Atlee Pine charged straight toward the unknown.





Chapter

5



I?N THE WIDE-OPEN SPACES of northern Arizona, with little competition from ambient light, the sky was littered with stars.

Yet in the depths of the Grand Canyon, while the sky was clearly visible, the stars seemed to have lost a bit of their luster when their light had to travel all the way down to the floor of the canyon. And that was when you realized how steep the walls were. They seemed to absorb every bit of light before it could get to the bottom.

Pine crouched in the darkness and performed a 360-degree sight line, pivoting on her heels as she did so.

No one was out that she could see. The darkness was not broken by someone sneaking a smoke, which was illegal in the canyon due to fire danger. There was no light from a phone. Depending on one’s phone carrier, you either had spotty reception or none at all. There was no Wi-Fi. The Ranch had a pay phone that accepted credit cards. That was it in the technology department. Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter addicts would have to wait until they returned rimside to indulge their habit.

Her gaze kept arching out farther and farther, taking in more darkened ground.

There it was again.

Stealth. Not casual. She had experienced both and instinctively knew what separated one from the other.

She made her way forward in a half crouch, one hand firmly on her Glock.

In her other hand was a Maglite. Its beam would catch on a scorpion here and there, outlining the venomous creatures in a burst of startling white.

Then came the whinny of a mule. There were two mule corrals down here, a commercial one for Phantom Ranch and one farther away that was used by the Park Service. But that corral was on the other side of Bright Angel Creek and near the banks of the Colorado. This whinny had to come from the nearer one, Pine knew.

So maybe whoever was out there was looking to take out another mule and dispose of it, and maybe add more alphabet letters to its hide. Was it the AWOL Benjamin Priest in some fit of insanity against large animals?

She made her way quickly and as quietly as possible to the corral.

Pine continued to shine the light over the ground as she walked along. There were six species of rattlesnakes down here, and they all came out at night. She wasn’t all that worried about stepping on a rattler. They could feel the vibrations of her feet against the dirt and would move away.

The corral was a hundred feet ahead. The steps she had been hearing had stopped.

A moment later she heard another whinny followed by a snort.

And then on her left, she saw movement. The man came out of the darkness and showed himself to Pine.

It was Sam Kettler. He put a finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of the mule corral. Pine nodded.

Kettler skittered over to her.

“Someone’s down there,” Pine said.

“I know. I’ve been following both of you, I guess.”

“See who it was?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s go find out. You armed?”

Kettler patted his holster. “Hope I won’t need it. I didn’t join the Park Service to shoot people. Had enough of that in the Army.”

They moved forward together, with the least noise possible.

Pine noted approvingly how Kettler moved, his silhouette kept to a minimum, each step carefully chosen. He seemed to glide, not walk, over the uneven ground.

The corral was now in her sight line.