Alone in the Wild(79)

“Nancy?” I say. “I know you’re trying to help, and I know Lane would never hurt you, but I have a gun, and my dog is trained to attack. Any wrong move, however unintentional, could get both of you hurt. Just step back, and let us handle this. Lane isn’t armed. He’s not going to hurt himself. He’s listening to us. I just need you to—”

Lane lunges, and there’s nothing I can do about it except bark at him to get back, get the hell away from Nancy. He grabs Nancy and yanks her to him, and Tomas lunges toward them, but Lane already has his arm around Nancy’s neck, a hunting knife in his hand.

“Why?!” Lane screams at his uncle, spittle flying.

Tomas falls back with the force of that scream, the venom in it. Even Dalton startles. Storm growls, hackles rising.

“Why do you care?” Lane screams at Tomas.

“Do you mean why do I care about you?” Tomas says. “You’re my nephew, my brother’s child, you’re a son—”

“I mean her.” Lane shakes Nancy. “Why do you care what I do to her? You knew what she was doing.”

“I…” Tomas swallows, and when he says, “I’m not sure what you mean,” it’s obviously a lie.

“That wild woman. Your wife was … was…” He can’t finish, his face choked with rage. “She betrayed you with a woman.”

Nancy’s gaze shunts to her husband, but Tomas straightens, voice calm as he says, “That would be between my wife and myself, Lane. Yes, I knew, and I’ve done nothing about it, which means it is none of your concern.”

“She betrayed you.”

“I don’t see it like that.”

Lane snarls, “My father always said you were a fool. He told me about her.” He shakes Nancy again. “How you married her even after she was found with another girl. You were a fool then, and you’re a fool now, but you’re still my uncle. You were good to me. Better than my father ever was. You were good to her, too, and we don’t deserve it, but at least I appreciate it. I care about you. I won’t stand by and watch you be humiliated by your wife.”

Tomas goes still, drawing in ragged breaths. “Lane, let her go. Please. If you really do care about me, you will let her go. I love you. I’ll help you, no matter what you might have done.”

“What I might have done?” Lane’s face contorts in a sneer. “You know what I did. I did what you couldn’t.”

“Lane?” I say. “Stop right there. Whatever you are about to say, consider it before you do. Let Nancy go, and we can talk.”

I’m not giving him a free pass. Once he speaks those words, though, he tumbles over a precipice. Admit to one murder, and it’ll seem easy to commit a second.

“I don’t want to stop,” Lane says. “Why should I? I’m not ashamed of what I did. I—”

“Lane?” I say. “That’s enough. Let Nancy go—”

“Yes, I killed that woman. Shot her and left her to die. She deserved it, and so does this filthy excuse of a—”

Dalton grabs Lane’s knife arm. He’d been sneaking up from behind, Lane so intent on his confession that he never realized Dalton was with us. Now Dalton yanks Lane’s arm back, the knife dropping. I run for the weapon. Tomas runs for Nancy and pulls her from the scuffle.

Dalton wrestles with Lane. I can’t do more than stand back, my gun aimed. I could threaten to shoot Lane, but he’s in such a frenzy, I doubt he’d hear. I could hardly follow through either, with Dalton lost in that blur of blows.

Dalton goes down, his knee buckling under a savage kick. Lane wheels and runs, and I lunge after him, but I’m too slow—my bad leg will never let me keep up with a fit young man. I see Storm. Lane is running across the clearing, past where Storm’s huge black form blends into the night. Her gaze swings on me, a question in it.

I instinctively raise my hand for her to hold her stay. Then I remember my thoughts from earlier. Storm is a working dog, and I need to use her.

“Go!” I say, pairing the command with a wave that releases her.

She’s off like a shot. She isn’t built for speed, though, and she has to give chase, the two of us running after Lane, oblivious to whatever is happening behind us. Storm closes her gap, as I fall behind, my bobbing flashlight beam allowing me only glimpses of them ahead.

Storm catches up, and she’s right behind him, and I think she’ll have no idea what to do next. Which proves, I suppose, that I really am a fretful parent, worrying about what I haven’t prepared my “child” for. My “child” is a dog. A predator. No one needed to show her what to do when Cherise posed a threat to me. And no one needs to tell her what to do when she catches up to Lane. One powerful lunge, and she’s on him, knocking him facedown in the snow.

It’s the next part that confuses her, as it did with Cherise. She’s been taught not to hurt people. Even in play, she can never snap or snarl or growl, even grab an arm with the intention of clamping down. She’s too well trained here, those teachings overcoming instinct. She takes Lane down and then just stands on him, and looks back at me, but I’m fifty feet away. Lane flips over, shoving at her even as I shout a warning.

Lane scrambles up, and Storm knocks him down again. He slams a fist into her chest, and a snarl of rage behind us tells me Dalton is coming. Yet he’s too far back, and so am I, and Storm’s trying to figure out what to do, butting at Lane while he hits her.