Free Hostage by Kay Hooper

that matter.” She shrugged. “There’s a series of old logging roads and mining roads all through these mountains, and most cabins built up here are within a fairly short walk to one of them. We have to bring up supplies, after all, and hiking with a propane tank or fuel for a generator isn’t exactly smart, never mind awkward and exhausting. My Jeep is parked at the end of one of the logging roads only about fifty yards from here.”
    Luther frowned. “Do the forestry people know about the roads?”
    “Of course.” Her tone was patient.
    “Then why couldn’t they follow one to Jacoby?”
    “You have to know where you’re going in these mountains, or the roads just take you in circles. Assuming Jacoby was smart enough to leave the main roads miles before he got near any town, let alone ours, and then used a few tricks to throw off trackers following him from Virginia, I imagine any search parties sent after him would probably have been about two mountains north of here and wouldn’t have a clue in which direction to aim their teams. There was no way in hell they were going to find him using a traditional search. Which, I gather, is why you’re here.”
    “You think one man on foot is better than teams of forestry people and other trained searchers with dogs?”
    “Well, they didn’t find him, did they? You did.”
    “And you,” Luther said.
    She looked faintly surprised. “I was here before Jacoby. It was when I went down to town for supplies last week that I heard all the talk.”
    “About Jacoby?”
    “About the renter in the Scotts’ cabin. He didn’t get his supplies from town—this town, anyway. That was seen as a bit odd, considering how far we are from another town. And the cabin was rented a while back, in cash, by a man who said a friend would be using it.”
    “This man have a name?”
    “I heard it was Jones. Probably not his real name. That cabin is usually empty by now and stays that way all winter, so the rental income would have been welcome, and nobody would have wanted to screw up a cash deal with too many questions.”
    “So nobody in town knew Jacoby was up here?”
    “Other than the run-in with hunters being a topic, I have no idea what anybody else knew. I doubt anyone down there knows his name. He hasn’t exactly been visible enough to identify.” Her shoulders lifted and fell slightly. “Like I said, people around here mind their own business. Talk is one thing, action something else. Mind you, if he started causing a real . . . ruckus . . . I imagine someone would get pissed off about it. The sheriff would stir himself and take a trip up here to make inquiries.”
    “Not a good idea,” Luther muttered.
    “Yeah, I’m thinking he’ll need to be warned.”
    “He should already know something. I mean, know that a federal fugitive could be in the area. There would at least have been a BOLO for Jacoby, probably all up and down the Appalachians. By name and description, photos and fingerprints. Standard procedure. He was in federal custody, and nobody considered him just a petty thief. No sign he was armed or particularly dangerous at the time of his escape, but they want him badly, so there would have been a certain . . . urgency . . . to the requests to be on the lookout. The sheriff wouldn’t be curious about who rented that cabin if all anyone knows is that he’s a stranger?”
    “Despite the wilderness of these mountains, there are several cabins scattered over the slopes in this general area that tend to be rented on and off through the winter. Most are cash deals, and unless the renters go down to town on a regular basis, nobody generally knows or cares who’s up here. Like I said, as long as there’s no serious trouble, I doubt the sheriff would suspect a fugitive being in his jurisdiction.”
    “The hunters being run off wouldn’t have bothered him?”
    “Run off posted land, like I said. They didn’t file a complaint. Formally, at least. Just