Page 66 of Philly
The man who emerged from the shadows of the scattered trees moved with the ease of an athlete but not the grace of a runner. His feet hit the ground hard with each choppy stride he took, reminding her of a crab. Maybe not the most appropriate thought given the fact that Joe had been shot,andshe was pursuing a man across the desert when she had no legal authority to do more, but there it was.
The scent of desert sage whirled around her as she passed a thicket of the scrub brush. As lovely as the scent was, it reminded her that she was in unfamiliar territory. If the man kept to theroad, she’d have a chance of taking him. If he turned to the canyons, though, she’d be as lost as a kid in a mirror maze.
Forty feet behind him, her long legs ate at the distance. Habit had her wanting to call out, “Stop, FBI,” but she swallowed the impulse. A pang of remorse teased her mind for the tool she no longer had in her toolbox when it came to catching criminals. But there was also something freeing in not having to follow so many rules. She had no intention of going vigilante, but if she didn’t identify herself or she used unusual methods to capture the man, it wouldn’t matter. Not to any potential arrest or conviction.
She didn’t slow her pace as the man approached the point of decision, toward the resort or away from it. In her heart of hearts, she knew what he’d pick. There were no cars on the road, no one waiting to pick him up.
He turned left. Toward the canyons.
She grimaced at the thought of chasing him through the desert. On the bright side, it was too cold for snakes. At least she didn’t have to worry about takingthatkind of wrong step.
He disappeared between two towering sandstone monoliths, and she slowed her pace. If he chose to wait inside, she’d be a sitting duck the moment she stepped into the opening. Not a role she had any interest in playing.
The distant sound of a siren drifted to her in the wind. She had no idea how far the hospital was, but fingers crossed, Joe would be on his way soon.
Dropping her pace to a walk, she hugged the rock wall, making her way toward the canyon. They hadn’t hiked this particular one, but there’d been a map of the area in the reception and as she inched closer to the opening, she plucked her memory for any details.
Not one of the major or wide ones, more like a large crevice than a true canyon, it snaked south and east for several miles.
She paused at the edge of the sandstone mountain that rose sharply from the ground. Tilting her ear toward the opening, she listened for any signs of her quarry as she returned her mental energy to the puzzle of where he might be headed.
A breeze on the cold side of cool pressed her thin shirt against her sweat-dampened body, reminding her that getting lost in the canyons would be more than inconvenient. She didn’t think it was cold enough for hypothermia to set in, but she didn’t want to test that theory.
The crunch of sand and gravel traveled down the canyon, bouncing off the sides in an eerie echo. The man was moving away. Which meant he wouldn’t be waiting to get the drop on her.
Decision made, she peeked around the corner. Seeing no sign of her target, she eased into the space. As the sirens grew louder, she scanned what little she could see. Cast in shadows by the two mountains, entering the snakelike canyon felt like walking into a room that only had a tiny night-light tucked behind a sofa. Darker than dim but light enough to see outlines of shapes in her peripheral vision.
The temperature dropped as she made her way deeper into the narrow canyon. In some spots, if she held her arms out, she’d touch both sides.
With her gun in one hand, she set the other along the sandstone, using it to guide her path. At least the glorified crevice curved and turned, giving her some semblance of cover.
A thump, followed by a grunt and the sound of a rock skidding across the dry ground, stopped her. The man, still on the move, had tripped. But where was he going?
Again, her mind went to the map she’d viewed but not studied. She recalled seeing several side canyons, narrow offshoots from the already narrow primary one. Many went nowhere, either ending in centuries-old rockslides that blockedthe way or narrowing to the point where the two sides met to form a single mountain again.
But not all. Her shoulders drew back. One of the canyons ended at a river. One of the deeper bodies of water, not a shallow creek. A river that ran west and, if she recalled correctly, passed close to the road that eventually wrapped around the north edge of the resort, where the shooter could have been dropped off.
All doubts about his professional status vanished. They were dealing with a man who had a partner and planned ahead. Someone who ensured he had more than one escape route—either back north from where he’d come or south by way of the river, then back to the road.
Someone paid to do the job and do it right.
Her thoughts touched on Joe, but she didn’t let them linger on the question of whether he’d survived. The sirens had stopped, and all she could do was hope they’d made it in time.
She slipped around the outcropping she’d stopped behind and continued east. With her eyes adjusting to the darkness, what had been little more than dark, looming shapes gained detail. Picking up her pace, she stepped over rocks half buried in the ground and navigated the uneven terrain.
Another grunt and stumble had her turning right at the next offshoot canyon. She couldn’t recall the details of the map well enough to remember if it led to the river, but since the man she hunted had turned that way, she followed.
Then drew to a stop.
This crevice was much narrower and straighter than the one she’d left. With few places to take cover, she could feel the breeze from the river she spied a hundred yards ahead of her. And see the man she sought.
A night owl screeched through the canyon, the beat of its wings echoing in the night. She ducked, startled at the sound, and shards of sandstone exploded from behind her. Ignoringthe sharp sting of the debris hitting the back of her neck, she flattened her body behind a small outcropping.
A beat passed, and she peeked around the corner. Another shot hit the sandstone beside her face. She jerked away, but more debris found its mark, and she stifled her reaction as tiny shards bit into her cheek and forehead.
“Having fun?” she called out.
A beat passed. “Not really, no. I hate the desert. Too fucking dry. Bad for the skin and all,” came the reply. She couldn’t tell his age from his voice, but he didn’t sound either old or young. Based on the way he moved, she’d put him in his thirties or forties.
