Spirit of a Hunter Read online

  “The Colonel wants his grandson,” Sabriel said. “And what the Colonel wants, the Colonel goes after.”

  Nora rubbed at the tightness in her throat with one ice-cold hand. “He wants to control Scotty.” Her gaze speared Sabriel’s jungle-green eyes. “I can’t let that happen.”

  In the depth of his steady gaze, she found reassurance. For the first time in her life, someone was seeing her, and not flinching at what he saw there. He knew. He understood. The Colonel had almost broken him, too. But he’d survived, and that gave her hope. Heat returned to her cold limbs, and she wanted to linger there in the calming balm of his sight.

  “We’ll find your son.”

  She took his promise to heart.

  SPIRIT OF A HUNTER

  SYLVIE KURTZ

  In memory of Charlotte L. Bégin.

  Her spirit of adventure will always be an inspiration.

  A special thanks to Bill and Lorrie Thomson, and Chuck Kurtz. For planning hikes in the White Mountains, then making sure I survived.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Sabriel Mercer—The Seeker knows how far Thomas Camden’s reach extends.

  Nora Picard Camden—The ex-deejay was once full of life, but to protect her son, she had to give up her independence. To get him back, she’s willing to go to hell.

  Thomas Prescott Camden III (The Colonel)—He’s determined to control everyone in his world. He wants his grandson to carry on his legacy and is willing to kill whoever gets in his way.

  Thomas Prescott Camden IV (Tommy)—His father’s manipulation twisted his mind, and he’s determined to save his son from a similar fate.

  Thomas Prescott Camden V (Scotty)—He worships his father and would follow him anywhere, but his asthma could stop his flight short.

  Melvyn Boggs—The experiment that corrupted Tommy’s mind enhanced Boggs. No mission is too stressful. No task is too arduous. No environment is too harsh. Boggs follows orders without question.

  Dane Hutt and Rod Costlow—Thomas’s hired muscle.

  Anna Camden Mercer—She was so determined to get away from her father’s suffocating home that she drove herself to extremes.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  Sabriel Mercer guarded the church’s arched doorway, nodding curtly at each arriving guest, wishing he were anywhere but there. He rolled his shoulder against the starched stiffness of the rented tux and tugged at the noose-tight shirt collar with a finger. Only for a fellow Seeker would he endure such torture.

  Church bells pealed, echoing with joy in Wintergreen’s Currier-and-Ives town square. Indian summer spiked the air with warmth on this first weekend of October. With their explosion of gold and red, even the trees got in to the celebration.

  A perfect day. His hands itched to plane the maple planks he’d joined for the kitchen cabinets of the cabin he was building. Instead, there he was holding a basket with a big cranberry bow. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this public emasculation.

  “Cell phone.” Sabriel shoved the basket at Hale Harper, straggling in late, as usual. Rumor was Harper was Falconer’s cousin, which would explain the slack Falconer cut him.

  “It’s off.” Harper held the device up so Sabriel could verify his claim.

  “Orders from the boss. Hand it over.”

  Harper glowered, his dark brows and eyes pinching much like Falconer’s did when he wasn’t pleased. “Falconer?”

  “Liv.”

  Without another word Harper dropped his cell phone with the dozen already in the basket and made his way into the nave. There was no point arguing with Liv. Even the newest Seeker understood that Sebastian Falconer’s wife always got her way.

  Standing in the refuge of the vestibule, Sabriel scanned the crowd seated in the wooden pews. Most were strangers, people from the bride and groom’s hometown in Massachusetts. With no desire to join the crush, he melded deeper into the shadows.

  The organ overhead in the loft stopped its nasal whine midbar, then burst into “The Wedding March.” The notes plucked at memories he’d thought he’d reconciled. But was there ever a way to explain a senseless death?

  His jaw knotted. Eyes ahead.

  On the arm of her former WITSEC inspector, Abrielle Holbrook glided down the aisle. She glowed in champagne silk. Sabriel knuckled the tender spot at his breastbone, grinding down until the serrated pain dulled. His wife had done that, too—chosen an off-white dress because she’d wanted to shine on her wedding day. She’d said that pure white made her look dead.

  If only he’d known…. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on Reed and Abbie’s moment of happiness.

  Grayson Reed looked as if he’d swallowed the sun as his bride made her way up the crimson carpet.

  Noah Kingsley, Seekers, Inc.’s computer wiz, stood at Reed’s side, red suspenders visible under the black tux that fit his compact body as if it had been made for him—and probably had.

  Falconer and Liv, wrapped arm in arm, beamed at the bride.

  The newly engaged Dominic Skyralov held hands, fingers twined with Luci Taylor. His other arm looped around her son’s shoulders. There was a settled air about the blond cowboy that had been missing before he’d found Luci and Brendan. The corner of Sabriel’s mouth twitched. Watching Skyralov play Mr. Mom when Luci started at the police academy next month was going to be a kick.

  Sabriel squeezed his nape and the portrait of joy before him turned into mist. Had he ever been that happy? He couldn’t remember. He’d thought so once. But his few months with Anna were nothing more than a dream, eclipsed by the nightmare that had followed. He’d barely survived the Colonel’s revenge. But he’d kept Anna’s secret.

  A phone warbled a tinny melody. His? He frowned down at the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Other than the Seekers gathered in this church, only his mother and Tommy had this number.

  And neither would dial it unless he was their last recourse.

  * * *

  LAST NIGHT.

  Tommy Camden had many faults, but the one quality he had in spades was patience.

  In the cold of night, he squatted by the Camden estate’s iron-and-stone fence, watching, waiting. He’d zapped the CCTV with a program to loop already filmed footage. His father had always underestimated him. Lack of military motivation didn’t equal lack of brains.

  Caesar and Brutus, the German shepherd guards, were chowing down on Benadryl-laced hunks of moose. Tommy had spent months priming them to override their training to be fed only by their handler—whose own free lunch had proved soporific. When he woke up, he wouldn’t tell. Not if he wanted to keep his job. Tommy smirked. And where else was there to work in this butt-end-of-nowhere town except for the Camdens?

  The balls of his feet were going numb and Tommy willed one more set of lights to blink out.

  Nora had protected their son for the past ten years, but if the conversation Tommy had overheard on his last visitation with Scotty was already in motion, then Nora would soon be caged in a loony bin, drugged to the gills, so far off the map that Scotty wouldn’t even appear in the margins. Then nothing would stand between the Colonel’s cruel hand and Scotty.

  Scotty was too good, too sweet to be broken. He should have a chance to make choices. He should get to laugh and play and be an ordinary kid.

  Nora would un
derstand. She always had—even when Tommy had betrayed her. She knew what the Colonel was capable of doing. She’d see that Tommy had to save their son from this circle of hell.

  At precisely eleven, the Colonel’s bedroom light snapped off, and Tommy leaked out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d held prisoner. Only the security spots lit the perimeter of the I-shaped English country estate. For all his unbending rhetoric on tradition and heritage, the Colonel had all but gutted the interior of the house after Grandpop’s death eleven years ago. He’d modernized the gray stone house, with its slate roof and steeply pitched gables, to an inch of its original design—and destroyed everything that had comforted.

  What would Grandpop think of what the Colonel had done to his grand old home? Or to his business?

  Tommy shook his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Only getting Scotty out before it was too late mattered.

  Brutus groaned and stretched by the gate. Tommy petted the tan-and-black rump. “Sorry, boy, but I couldn’t let you or your brother alert the Colonel. You’ll both live to snarl another day.”

  Tommy stealed along the stone wall, a shadow among shadows, to the back of the mansion. He fished out a Maglite from his camouflage pants and signaled Scotty. The two quick flashes answering him told him Scotty was awake and ready—a gamble Tommy had hated to take.

  Makes you just like the old man. Lie and cheat as long as it gets you what you want. Tommy shrugged away the guilt. Not the same thing. Not the same thing at all. The Colonel broke. I’m trying to fix.

  Tommy had shown Scotty how to disarm the alarm system. Would he remember? Tommy had Scotty prepare an “adventure kit.” Had he put everything in? Tommy had sworn the boy to secrecy—even from his mother. Had Scotty been able to keep their secret adventure from Nora? So many uncertainties. But Tommy had seen no other way around the Colonel’s protective fortress.

  He wished he could have taken Scotty during a visitation instead—cleaner, less dangerous. But two hours lead wasn’t enough. Tomorrow being Saturday, he’d get at least eight, possibly ten. Long enough—if Nora understood the note.

  The door to the back entry inched open. Pulse keeping jagged time, Tommy hoped that the Colonel’s Glenlivet nightcap had put him under. Scotty’s blond head poked through the door, and he looked left and right as if he were about to cross a street, then searched along the fence, into the darkness.

  Tommy’s gaze flickered to the bedroom windows. All black. His thumb hesitated on the Maglite’s switch. Last chance, Tommy. No going back if you give him the all-clear.

  With a guttural explosion of breath, Tommy signaled Scotty. Under the spots, Scotty’s smile ate up his face. Red backpack flopping on his back, Scotty zipped across the manicured lawn. “Dad!”

  “Shh!”

  Scotty slapped a hand across his mouth and kept running. He’d lucked into Nora’s good brain and her laughing brown eyes, but had inherited Tommy’s unruly blond curls and his lust for the outdoors.

  Pride-swelled tears bruised Tommy’s chest. God, he loved that boy. But love wasn’t enough. He’d let him down so many times. With a flex of fingers, he tightened both hands into fists and rose to parade-review straightness. No more. He would do for Scotty what he couldn’t do for himself: he’d set him free.

  When Scotty reached the fence, Tommy lifted him, backpack and all—he was so light!—to the top of the stone wall, then changed his grip and helped him over the iron spikes.

  As he checked his son over, as he looked into that innocent face, a chicken bone of breath lodged in Tommy’s throat. What if he couldn’t do this? What if he failed Scotty again? What if all he managed to do was lead his son into a deeper hell?

  “Dad?”

  Tommy forced a smile. “Hey, champ, are you ready for our big adventure?”

  Brown eyes bright with anticipation, Scotty patted his backpack. “I got everything, just like you said.”

  Well, what’s it going to be, Ranger? Action—or another excuse?

  Rangers lead the way.

  Tommy folded Scotty’s small hand in his. Time to set a proper example for his son. Be a man, Tommy. He did an about-face on his past and focused on his mission. “Let’s roll.”

  * * *

  THIS MORNING.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.” Nora Camden pushed open Scotty’s bedroom door and peeked in, anticipating her son’s protesting grumbles. He wasn’t a morning person.

  Scotty had the covers up over his head, still hard asleep. He’d had a rough couple of days, and he’d desperately needed a decent night’s sleep. She hated to wake him up, but the Colonel didn’t have much patience with her interference or Scotty’s asthma. He accused her of coddling the boy and making Scotty weak. As if a child could will himself well. As if a mother could watch her son suffer without doing everything she could to help him.

  “It’s almost nine.” Nora added a lilt to her voice, hoping to lure Scotty out of hiding. “I talked the cook into letting me make some of your favorite blueberry pancakes. They’re waiting for you in the kitchen. Come on. Up and at ‘em.”

  No movement from the bed. “Scotty?” Had his asthma flared up again? How could she not have heard? Heart knocking, she rushed across the golden oak floorboards. “Did you have a bad night, sweetie? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  She reached down to shake her son awake. Her hands sank into the lump on the bed and a gasp sucked all of the room’s air into her lungs. She whipped off the denim comforter and found a fleece blanket vaguely shaped like a body. “This isn’t funny, Scotty.”

  She dropped to her knees and skimmed a glance under the bed. “I know you don’t want to go to James Enger’s party, but that’s no reason to hide from me.”

  Another of the Colonel’s attempts to get Scotty to fit in to the proper social circles. She snorted. As if offering up his grandson as prey to a bully would win anyone anything. Unfortunately, Nora had to weigh her battles and, on this one, she’d retreated.

  She dusted off the knees of her black wool slacks—Camden women are always proper, Nora—and tilted her head at the closet door standing ajar. Scotty liked to hide there to read forbidden comic books with a flashlight. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her amusement at his act of civil disobedience. “You don’t have to stay long. I promise. We’ll go late and, as soon as you’ve had cake, you can call, and I’ll pick you right up.”

  She jerked open the closet door. Empty. Frowning, hands on hips, she whirled toward the center of the room. “Come on, Scotty. It’s time to come out.”

  Where would he have gone? It wasn’t as if he could leave the grounds. Not with the dogs and the alarm system ready to betray any attempt at escape. Even in this 13,000-square-foot house, there weren’t that many places to hide from the Colonel’s all-seeing eyes.

  Maybe he’d sneaked into the family room for some cartoons. He’d better hope the Colonel didn’t catch him or he’d have to endure another lecture on mass media’s corrupting influence.

  Nora’s lips quivered into a smile. On the other hand, maybe that had been Scotty’s plan all along. A lecture would make them even later for James’s party, and Scotty really hated James Enger. The Colonel didn’t give the boy enough credit for smarts. She turned and headed out of the room.

  That’s when she spotted the note on Scotty’s desk.

  Nora—

  Don’t worry. Scotty’s safe. We’re going on an adventure—taking the Band on the Run on Route 66 to Deep Water and into Graceland.

  Talking Heads: 77.

  Love, Tommy.

  After his name, he’d doodled a smiling stick moose with giant antlers.

  “Oh, Tommy, what have you done?” Why had he taken Scotty when he had visitation this afternoon? Was he off his meds?

  She closed her eyes and squeezed the note tight. If she told the Colonel, he’d find Scotty, but Tommy would lose his visitations, and those visitations were what kept her ex-husband sane. And she didn’t want Scotty to grow up not knowing
his father. A child needed to know both his parents loved him. A child needed his family.

  Her knees lost their locking ability and she sank onto the desk chair. Tommy was trying to tell her something with this note, but what? She ironed the piece of paper on the desk with the side of her fist until it was perfectly flat again. In spite of everything, Tommy adored their son. He wouldn’t hurt Scotty. But if Tommy was off his bipolar disorder meds, he could be unpredictable. A pick of ice stabbed her heart. Would he be able to take care of Scotty then? What if Scotty had another asthma attack?

  She bolted to Scotty’s night table and rifled through the drawer. Scotty’s inhaler was missing, but the disc of Advair was still there. She splayed a hand across her chest. “How could you do this, Tommy?”

  Don’t panic. Not yet. Scotty had his inhaler. He was due for a new one soon, but this one should last a couple of days. And he would be okay without the other meds for a day. Swallowing hard, she clenched the purple disc. He had to. Please, please, don’t let him have another big attack.

  “How could you? How could you? How could you?” Gritting her teeth, she searched Scotty’s room for what was missing. His red backpack. His yellow fleece jacket. His camouflage pants. His hiking boots. Tiny bits of armor that would have to protect her son in whatever shortsighted foolishness Tommy had led him into. She batted at the runaway tears.

  Tommy had put her in a sticky spot. But maybe she could rescue both father and son from the Colonel’s sure punishment. She had to stall. Buy them time.

  And find them both. The sooner, the better.

  Back at the desk, she rubbed at the writing on the note as if it were a magic lamp. Tommy had given her the map. All she had to do was figure out the key to his insanity.

  Scotty’s okay. He’s with his father who loves him. Everything will be okay.

  She hung on to that thought and let it pulse a backbeat as she tried to decipher Tommy’s code.

  “Band on the Run” by Wings. She plunked her elbows on the desk and raked her hands through her hair. Think! What does it mean? Did he want her to focus on the title or were the lyrics part of the key? Was he running with someone else? Why was he running in the first place?