One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(87)

“I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly, finally twisting off a lower branch.

“Yeah, well, now I feel like the world’s biggest idiot,” Neil is saying. “Anna’s been waiting five years for me to come to my senses. I sure as hell had better get off this mountain so I can make things right.”

“Then why do you keep volunteering for suicide duty?”

Neil shrugs. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve entered survival-of-the-fittest territory. And I’m already wounded prey. I’ve watched enough wildlife documentaries to know what happens next. Given that . . . if I’m going down, I want my death to matter, to be on my terms, not some asshole’s.”

“That’s the spirit.” I wiggle the next branch farther away from the trunk. Neil drags it the rest of the way out. One more, I think. It’s about all I have left in me. Then we’ll head back.

I have an itch between my shoulder blades, but I can’t decide if that’s survival instinct or basic paranoia.

“What about Miguel?” I ask, selecting the next branch.

“Have to ask him. Was in a long-term relationship that ended last year, but I’ve never heard him talk marriage. Not sure it’s on his radar.”

“And Josh?”

“Josh doesn’t discuss his personal life. Never did before. Certainly isn’t now.”

There’s an edge to Neil’s voice that makes me look at him again. “But?” I prod.

Neil stacks up the cut boughs. “If I had to guess? Josh is gay. And Tim was most likely his first crush. Back in college, the way I’d sometimes catch Josh looking at Tim. Nothing ever happened, and Josh has never said, one way or another. Though I can tell you there’s nothing we would’ve cared less about. But I think that’s the other reason Josh was so caught off guard by Tim’s night of true confessions. Not just that Tim had gone behind his back and slept with his sister. But that Tim had chosen his sister and not . . . well, Josh.”

“Whoa. You think that’s also why Josh started drinking so hard?”

“Don’t know. Josh worked, played, and studied with us. But he never talked to us. Just wasn’t his style. He was closest to Tim anyway.”

“Do you hear anything?” I ask abruptly, crawling back out from under the pine tree. I straighten slowly, swiping at my brow.

“No. What?”

“Shhh . . .” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Listen. What do you hear?”

“Nothing,” Neil murmurs back.

“Exactly. And when in the woods, do you hear total silence?”

Neil’s eyes widen in understanding.

A preternatural hush has fallen all around us. As if every life-form has hunkered down and buttoned up. Keeping out of sight of big bad heading their way.

We don’t have to see him to know.

The hunter has arrived.





CHAPTER 35





Neil and I remain frozen in place beside the pines. The clump of spruce, with their wide-spreading, low-hanging branches, had been an excellent place for concealment. Here, however, we are more exposed as we hold our breaths, listen to our thundering heartbeats.

I do my best to scan the forest around me, looking for signs of human presence. Maybe the shape of a head or the whites of someone’s eyes or the reflective glint off a rifle scope. I come up with nothing, but then, I’m not sure where to look. Down low, up high? I can’t get a bead on the danger, just the overwhelming sense that it is very close.

Neil tugs on my hand. His already wan features have gone a shade paler. He points to the spruce trees. I nod my understanding.

He takes the first tentative step. No crack of gunfire. A second step, then a third. I follow shakily behind him.

He’s still dragging the cut branches. I grab two of them as well, though I’m not sure why.

We hit the thick-needled spruce, duck beneath. Now I’m grateful for the sticky pitch and prickly needles. Evergreens are my new best friends.

We wait again. I count off the seconds in my head, if only to give myself something to do. We still don’t hear anything.

Then, from the distance: a trill, like from a happy bird.

Neil and I exchange desperate glances. It’s too early. We haven’t finished constructing our hideouts. Neil and I aren’t even in the right position. Let alone Scott and Miguel . . .

This is not the plan!

Neil rallies first. He reaches behind himself to twist his unbuckled pack sideways. He draws out a can of bear spray, stares at me resolutely.

I can’t help but think of his words. He’s already the wounded prey. Might as well go out on his terms.

As I watch, he takes a few of our cut branches and twists their ends into the straps on his pack. I don’t completely understand it. His own homemade ghillie suit? But then I notice how it obscures his form, changes his silhouette, making it harder to target the human buried beneath. Works for me. I quickly follow suit.

I have my knife but take out my can of pepper spray as well.



* * *



—

Neil crawls out from beneath the trees. The noise of pine cones crunching and branches dragging sounds incredibly loud in the hushed stillness. We both wince but keep on moving.

The happy-bird trill again. Bob, letting us know the hunter approaches.