He wanted to put a harness onher. “Let him go, HT.”
She gave him a look, then keyed her walkie. “Base, suspect heading southeast. Male, mid-thirties. Has a wound on his left cheek, bloodstains on sleeve. Detain.”
“Copy, Team Three,” Deke’s voice cut through static.
Harley turned to follow him, but Jericho stepped in front of her. “No.”
“He might know something!”
He shook his head. “He’s armed. We’re not. C’mon, stay on course.”
She drew in a breath, met his eyes. “He might have taken them!”
“So, we find them. We deal with himlater.”
She stared after the man, back at Jericho. “Fine.”
Jericho nodded, crouched to Orlando. “Find.”
Orlando’s bell jangled as he circled, nose to the ground. Bloodtainted the winter air—a copper tang that made Jericho’s neck prickle.
Please,Orlando. Find the scent.
The dog spun, then took off, almost on the man’s trail.
Jericho scampered after his dog.Shoot—shoot—not that way!
“Team Three to Air One, do you have visual on the man?” This from Harley, behind him.
“Air One. No visual. Trees block the sight line.” Dodge’s words emerged clipped, almost frustrated.
Jericho crashed through the trees, the boughs hitting him as he chased his dog. “Orlando!”
He found him, circling, panting, whining.
Jericho pulled up, chest heaving. Sweat froze on his temples as he scanned the shadowed snow. Boot prints carved through the white—the man had abandoned stealth for speed.
Except, why had Orlando stopped—
“Jericho.”
He looked over at Harley, just a few feet away.
“Look.”
He stalked over to where she pointed at a white birch. “This looks like old blood.”
The blizzard hadn’t touched it.
“Could belong to the hunter.”
“Or Gregg,” Harley said. She glanced at Orlando. “Find.”
He wanted to tell her that she had just broken so many SAR rules, but apparently Orlando didn’t know that.
The dog ignored the hunter’s fresh trail, nose locked on the blood-marked scent and took off through the woods.
“Base. We found a blood trail,” Harley said as she ran behind Jericho.
