Murder Game
Page 2

“Do you need us to send more supplies? I’ll get one of our pilots to make the drop.”
“I’ll make a list and give it to you tomorrow. I need sleep now. I was up all night.”
“Take care, Tansy,” her mother said, her voice back to normal, once again upbeat and happy, as if by using her bubbliest tone, she could bolster Tansy. “If you don’t come back soon, your father and I will be on your doorstep.”
Don snorted and Tansy burst out laughing. “Okay, Mom. Just another few weeks and I’ll be home.” She made kissing noises and signed off, feeling very lucky and grateful that Don and Sharon were her parents.
She had always felt loved by them, even though she was so different. She’d always been different. As a baby she detested touching objects. Even dinnerware and utensils were enough to set her off, crying and rocking, so distressed that her parents would take turns comforting her, walking her up and down, singing to her. School had been a nightmare for her, and in the end, they had hired private tutors—which had broken her mother’s heart.
Tansy sighed. She had so wanted to be that girl her mother could share her life with. The proms, the late night gossip sessions, the wonderful fairy tale wedding—her mother would never have that, and Tansy wanted it for her, just as her mother wanted that life for Tansy.
Finally, after months in a hospital, she’d realized she couldn’t be that girl—would never be that girl. She’d accepted herself for who she really was, flaws and all, and she’d managed to make a new life for herself. She was content, even happy, here in the wilderness.
Tansy powered off the radio and started down the trail leading to the natural pool. The hike to the basin was long and winding, but she was very familiar with it and could go fairly fast in spite of the roughness of the terrain. The rock formation was part of the reason she’d chosen this area as her base camp. The falls were beautiful, flowing down a series of smooth rocks to a natural pool below. The swimming hole was lined with rock, so it stayed clean, and it was surrounded with flat granite, so she had plenty of room to sun herself. The basin was the perfect place to spend a lazy afternoon after being up all night working.
Tansy liked to sleep in the morning, bathe in the pool, and then catch a couple of hours of sun in the afternoon before returning to her camp and preparing for another evening’s shoot. As a rule, mountain lions had a large territory, the females often covered fifty square miles, but the female was staying close to her small cave, and Tansy was absolutely certain that she was about to give birth any day. She didn’t want to miss her opportunity, or let the female get away from her. She’d heard of cougars changing dens at the last moment, and she needed to be watching the pregnant cat closely.
Tansy stretched out, trying to get comfortable on the smooth granite surface. Ordinarily, after a long night without sleep, she dropped right off in the afternoon sun. She tried to tell herself she was excited over her pictures, the months of work finally paying off. The truth was, since the moment that helicopter had flown overhead, she’d had a vague feeling of uneasiness, as if a storm were gathering off in the distance and heading her way. The premonition persisted and was so strong, she lifted her head to search the sky for a sign of ominous, dark clouds.
A lazy hawk floated in the cloudless sky, catching a thermal and riding it just for fun. Tansy laid her head against her arm and rubbed her cheek back and forth in a soothing gesture. It was crazy, but she felt as if she were being hunted. The area was secluded, restricted without a permit, well posted, impassable except on foot or, in winter, with snowshoes. The helicopter had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
“Let it go,” she whispered aloud.
She closed her eyes tiredly, searching for the inner contentment she always found after a great shoot. No one else could have gotten those pictures. Well, very few. She had a way with animals, as her mother had said. If she willed something in her head, oftentimes she could get the animal to cooperate, even the most feral. She had it all: the perfect job, the wild terrain, and the peace the mountains always managed to give her. This was the life she chose, loved. More, this was the life she needed. No human contact whatsoever. At last she’d found a place she could be happy.
Tansy smiled in contentment. She was very tired and needed sleep. She only had a few hours left in the afternoon. Nights on the mountain were always iffy. Let it all go and just sleep. When she woke, she could swim in the pool and then stretch out and dry off in the hot afternoon sun before making her way back to camp to prepare for this night’s shoot.
“Are you going hunting, sir?”
Kadan Montague glanced up at the crew chief, sliding his .45 smoothly into the holster at his hip and locking it down. “Something like that.” He shouldered his pack and slipped his knife securely into the scabbard before glancing at his coordinates. “This is it.”
The crew chief, recognizing his VIP didn’t want to talk, made certain the rope was secure and moved to the side to allow his passenger to step up to the open door. Kadan caught the rope with both gloved hands and waited for the pilot’s okay. The craft steadied and he went down, fast-roping, settling to earth with a slight impact and stepping clear to give the away signal. His descent had taken seconds, and the helicopter swung away, shifting toward the south, flying fast for base. It would set down at the ranger station and wait, no matter how long, for a radio signal to pick him up in the lower meadow as soon as he had the cargo ready.
Kadan took a deep, long breath of mountain air and looked slowly around him, feeling at home. Dawn was breaking over the mountain, spilling light along the ridges, turning shrubbery, leaves, and granite to gold. Pine, fir, and dogwood stretched as far as the eye could see, and huge, towering cliffs of granite jutted up toward the sky. For the first time in a long while, he relaxed. No one was trying to kill him. He might be in for a long hike, but he could enjoy his surroundings.
He moved with complete confidence, with the steady gait of a man used to being out in the wilderness and covering a large territory fast. He was at home in any environment, having trained with the military Special Forces as well as with the GhostWalker teams. Arctic, desert, mountain, and water training had given his body the fitness to hike the rigorous terrain. He enjoyed physical activity, and although he was tired from going through several time zones and being without sleep for several days, he was wholly focused on his mission.
He traveled in the direction in which he estimated he would be most likely to find Tansy Meadows’s campsite. The area had several possibilities, but she had specific needs for a long-term stay, and that narrowed her options significantly. If she was anywhere in the zone he had targeted, he would run across her tracks. An hour into his hike, he found several trails leading upward into the higher, less dense forest and more toward the craggy granite, a good place for mountain lions. He worked his way steadily to the granite, where there was more brush and fewer trees.
Kadan paused on the narrow, faint ribbon of a deer trail to take a long, slow drink of his water. He had the coordinates of the range she traveled in, taking amazing photographs for National Geographic, and he was certain the information he had was accurate. Tansy Meadows, psychic extraordinaire and elite tracker. The girl who could track serial killers with her mind. Some said she was difficult to work with, others that she was “freaky” but got the job done, and every single report he’d read on her said she was the real thing. Of course, now the law enforcement agencies claimed she’d lost her talent in a climbing accident, when she’d fallen and hit her head. He didn’t believe it for a moment, but if he was wrong, he was wasting time he didn’t have on a bad roll of the dice.
He had a few questions marks in his mind about Meadows. There were no photographs of her, not a single one, and she worked for numerous law enforcement agencies. He’d tried National Geographic, but they didn’t have a picture either. Who had that kind of power? No civilian could manage to wipe out law enforcement records—unless there was never a photograph in the first place. There were plenty of articles in newspapers, and her name was in numerous FBI and police reports across the country, and then there were her hospital records. No photograph existed there either, which meant that little Miss Tansy Meadows had to be red flagged. Kadan had high security clearance and the general even higher, yet from what they could tell, no photograph of her existed. Period.
She’d been adopted at the age of five by Don and Sharon Meadows, a wealthy couple who’d made a name for themselves in the research, design, and assembly of aircraft, specifically attack helicopters. Don and Sharon Meadows were major players in politics and frequently received government contracts for military research and design. The couple was well connected politically, but did that mean they had the clout to keep their daughter’s photograph from appearing anywhere in the news? It was possible, but doubtful. It would take far more power and influence, and for what possible gain?
The first time Kadan had heard rumors of a teenager who could track serial killers was when he’d trained at Quantico. Controversy had raged over whether there was such a thing as psychic ability, and if one had it, whether it could really be channeled to track a killer. He had never entered into the discussions, because he knew absolutely that psychic ability existed, but to harness it and be able to use it were difficult things. The police Tansy had worked with swore by her, but no one mentioned her training, which had seemed odd to him.
He continued upward, his gut telling him he was on the right path. There were no tracks yet, nothing to indicate the presence of another human being, but he was certain he was heading in the right direction. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, yet he knew he would find her. Every instinct he had told him she was somewhere close. And he would bet his last dollar that she was lying her ass off claiming she’d lost her psychic abilities. If she had worked over and over with the police tracking serial killers successfully, he doubted if a climbing accident had suddenly snuffed out her talent as she claimed when she came out of the hospital, refusing to even meet with police or FBI agents again.
His gaze scanned the ground as he moved at a steady pace along the narrow trail. The path was no more than a worn deer trail, zigzagging up and down the slope, but he spotted two places where the grass was crushed and several leaves appeared bruised. Something had moved through the brush recently. He stooped to examine the ground and saw a faint track. It was nearly four inches wide and the two front toes were not lined up, with one toe farther forward, almost pointing, and four toes all together. There were no claw marks, and the top part of the heel pad had two distinct curvatures while the bottom had three separate lobes. There was no question in his mind the track belonged to a cougar. He’d found the cat; now he just needed to find the woman.
The rangers had assured him the mountain lions were up here somewhere, and that meant that Tansy Meadows would be also. His mission was to find her and bring her back to aid him in clearing the GhostWalker name. She had the reputation with the FBI of being the real deal, and the general needed Kadan to do damage control as soon as possible, and to do that, Kadan needed Tansy Meadows. He had never failed in a mission yet, and this one was too important.
He continued hiking, using the winding ribbon of a trail. Occasionally he could see a partial track in the damp soil, and once he found a few tufts of fur in some brush where the cat had been rubbing. He decided she must be female; her tracks weren’t deep enough to indicate much weight, and he hadn’t come across any of the signs indicating a male’s territory. This was one of the few times he had gone into the mountains without someone trying to kill him, and he found he enjoyed the peaceful solitude in spite of the urgency of his mission.
He took a couple of steps and then he saw it. His heart jumped in spite of his training, breath hitching in his lungs. The print of a small hiking boot was outlined in the dust of the trail and superimposed right over the top of it was the mountain lions print. All along the cat had been stalking the woman—and he was certain it was a woman by the size of the shoe—probably walking parallel to her trail for some distance before dropping in behind her.