She’s not all there. I probably should mirandize her, but any decent lawyer would have it thrown out. Off the record, I supposeI could find out why she murdered her lover and who, if anyone, helped her.
Squatting on my heels, I catch her still unfocused gaze. “Listen. The FBI will be here any minute. You might want to get your story straight. Why kill your boyfriend?”
“You’re going to frame me? That's it, isn't it?” She thrashes so hard, her zip ties bite her flesh.
I hate seeing more blood—but I need answers. Oozing calm, I lower my voice. “Your ex showed up unannounced. He attacked you. Sounds like self-defense to me.”
“No. You murdered him. Ever hear of forensics? You’re the one who should be worried, asshole.” She spits, like a fucking camel.
Damn. I almost felt bad for her. Almost. By killing Brett Johnson, she dug her own grave as well.
Sighing, I call Hunt. “Hey, bro, eighty-six the search. I found her. She’s fine, physically. Mentally, not so much. The woman is delusional—thinks I’ve been hunting her.”
Scott chuckles. “S’truth. Youhavebeen tracking her for days.”
Listening intently, my prisoner’s eyes widen. “Oh, Lordy. It wasn’t you in the woods.”
Finally. A flicker of clarity.
As I let out a long breath, about to cut her loose, she screeches, “It was him. Hey you, on the phone. How’s your head? Sorry, not sorry about the rock.”
Hunt laughs, calling out over the static, “Put me on speaker. Let me talk to her.”
“Go for it, dude.” Placing the SAT phone closer to her ear, I let the experienced Fed do his thing.
“Ms. Gainsborough? This is Special Agent Scott Hunter. I assure you, the man with you is the county sheriff. I'm here because your family is concerned about your safety. We’re going to find you all the help you need.”
“Sure thing,Hunter.Might want a better alias, that’s all I’m saying.”
The two of them go at it until my brother-in-law, normally patient as hell, finally gives up. “Call me when she’s rational.”
“Copy that.” After I hang up, I put mycollapsible bottleto her lips.
As if I’m poisoning her, she clamps them shut, jerking her head away. “Mmm-mmm.”
“You're dehydrated. And it would be helpful if you told me what you took.”
She answers with dead silence.
Great. Not knowing how best to treat her, I pitch the tent. As she shivers, I build a fire. Like me, my dog senses her need and curls up, lending her warmth. After an hour or so, her shudders stop.
Just as I’m about to relax, it’s panic city.
Eyes wild, the runaway bolts upright. “Someone, please, help me!”
Careful to keep my distance, I sit cross-legged. “If you do have a stalker, you’re going to lead him straight to us.”
“Stop trying to confuse me. You’re him. Or working with him. Hunt? You think I wouldn’t catch the connection?” Her voice cracks. “Why did you kill Brett? What did he ever do to you?”
“How about you calm down and we walk out of here at daybreak?”
“So you can finish the job? Not happening.”
Tired of arguing, I stand up and flash my wallet in front of her face. “Read my damn ID.”
Then, I scroll through images on my phone. “This is my sister. Her husband is Scott, my FBI friend. This is their wedding. My niece. Me. Is any of this getting through to you?”
Brows furrowed, face caked with dirt, the brunette studies the screen. “Why are you doing this? Why do you care if I believe you?”
