Free The Hunt by Allison Brennan Page B

fallen. “Look at this terrain,” she said, her voice becoming excited in spite of the company.
    Quinn looked over her shoulder and she tried not to breathe in his still-familiar, all-too-masculine scent. “This spot? This is a mountain.”
    “Yes, but here,” she pointed, “is a clearing. This area was logged years ago, but they planted new growth. Maybe eight, ten years. These trees will still be relatively small. Because this trail goes to this clearing, I think she came from there. But she twisted around and around, not running straight. Too scared. Not thinking rationally.” She shook her head, tried to rid her mind of Rebecca’s fear. “But we can cut through here and get to the clearing in less than thirty minutes.”
    “No,” Quinn said, shaking his head. “We stay on the path Rebecca took. We’re looking for evidence.”
    She clenched her hands in frustration and turned to face him. “We can return along the path she took, but I just know she ran through the clearing. That’s how he kept her in sight. With the rain and poor visibility, he couldn’t risk giving her too much lead time. And the ground would have hampered Rebecca more than him because she was weak, barefoot.”
    Miranda’s excitement grew as everything suddenly became clear to her. “She didn’t run long. She couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have risked it, not when it was getting dark and the rain was heavy. Which means the cabin is nearby. It has to be!”
    Quinn stared at her for a long moment. Would he disagree with her? She couldn’t believe it. She knew this land like the back of her hand, understood how the Butcher thought. How he lived for the hunt more than the rape. Yet he’d never given any of them a lot of lead time. Two minutes. He’d told her and Sharon two minutes and then they were fair game.
    She was about to demand that Quinn come up with a better plan, relying on her experience and training to argue her point, when he said, “All right.”
    Before he could change his mind, she smiled and said, “Follow me.” She stepped off the narrow trail and cut through thicker trees and growth.
    Quinn’s training told him Miranda was probably right. It was a good call and confirmed that—as least as far as the search was concerned—Miranda would be more help than hindrance.
    The air was cooler, more humid, and darker in the middle of the forest. The dank smell from the recent storm made Quinn think of life and death, as if the forest had been reborn in the wash of the rain.
    If they found the cabin Rebecca was kept in, they might find evidence to lead them to the Butcher. He’d been too elusive for years, no pattern to the abductions, except that he hit during spring. April. May. June.
    Twelve years ago they hadn’t recognized a pattern. When Miranda and Sharon were abducted, the time of year didn’t seem to hold any significance. But when Quinn’s partner Colleen Thorne investigated the Denver sisters’ abduction three years ago, the spring pattern seemed obvious. Every known Butcher victim had disappeared in the spring.
    They’d consulted with Hans Vigo, the FBI’s key profiler, who said either the season held special significance to the killer or something in his job or personal life prevented him from killing the rest of the year.
    Or, it could simply be convenience.
Montana
’s hunting season was predominantly during the fall months. Accidental discovery would be less likely in the spring, when legitimate hunters weren’t out searching for game.
    But the key to the psychology of this particular serial killer, Vigo said, was that he needed total control. When Quinn questioned why he gave up the control to give the women lead time to escape, Vigo reminded him that the women had no control. They were naked, injured, weak from minimal food and water, and the two-minute lead time was a ruse. He could easily catch up to them, staying back just far enough so they thought they could get away, and when he tired of the