"Either you think I'm a complete idiot or you're hoping I'm too worried to think straight. This is my wife we're talking about, Finn. She'd never hang up without giving you a meeting place, complete with a description, the nearest entrance and optimal parking. Hell, the fact she didn't offer to send MapQuest directions to your cell phone already told me she's worse off than she's letting on."
Finn had resumed walking, scanning faces. "We got disconnected."
"What?" Damon strode up beside him.
"I was having trouble hearing her, then we were disconnected. I thought I heard a woman in the background. Maybe Adams. I couldn't make out what she said."
A passing boy turned to stare up at Finn. "Who's that man talking -?"
His mother shushed him, then tugged him closer, arm going around him as she cast a nervous glance at Finn, stopping well short of making eye contact. At a place like this, people talking to themselves wouldn't be that uncommon. Still, he should be more careful or he'd find himself explaining the situation to security.
"Did she call back?" Damon asked.
Finn shook his head.
"Did you call her?"
He nodded.
"And?" Damon prompted.
"Her phone's turned off."
"When's the last time you tried?"
Finn motioned for Damon to keep looking as he took out his cell. This time, he didn't get the message that the customer was "unavailable." It just rang and rang.
"So?" Damon said when Finn hung up.
"Nothing."
Damon nodded, presuming that meant the phone was still turned off. Finn started to pocket it.
"Shouldn't you keep that out?" Damon said. "You can use it when you're talking to me instead of scaring the kiddies."
Finn wasn't comfortable with the subterfuge – which explained why he kept forgetting to do it – but it had to be better than talking to himself in public.
Still scouring the crowds, they passed a row of games.
"Hey," Damon said. "Ring toss. I remember Bobby…"
He let the sentence fade.
The cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID.
"It's her," he said.
He retreated into a quieter spot between two booths, then answered. For a moment, he heard only the noise of the fair through the phone, a tinny stereo to the commotion around him.
"Hello?" she said, her voice tentative, as if he'd called her.
"Robyn?"
"Yes. You called?"
"It's Detective Findlay. I'm at the fair. Where are you?"
A longer pause now. Damon had climbed onto a game booth and was scanning the crowd.
"Robyn?" Finn said.
"Sorry, I…" Another pause. Then, "He's here, Detective. I'm – "a sharp breath. "I – I'm just so scared. I thought I was safe, calling you, and then he was right there, coming for me, so I had to hang up and run, and then I tried phoning back but my phone wasn't working and – "
"Slow down, Robyn."
Hearing that, Damon glanced over.
"He's here, Detective. He's here, somewhere, and I can't see him and I – "
"Slow down, Robyn. Who's there? Who's following you?"
Damon jumped off the counter, the alarm in his eyes tempered by confusion.
"I-I need to get out of here, Detective. I can't stay. He'll find me and then he'll kill me. I know he will. Just like he killed that poor cop and – "
"Robyn, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down."
Damon stepped close enough to listen in.
Finn continued, "The man who's following you. He's the one who shot Officer Kendall?"
"Right. And the other one, Portia's bodyguard. I went to his house – "
"Judd Archer."
"Right."
"Are you sure it's the same man?"
"Of course I'm sure. He was right there. On that street and at Judd's house. He's tall with dark hair and a scar under his eye. I'm not sure if it's the left or right eye. Left, I think. He's wearing a green jacket. He's here somewhere, at the fair. I can't stay. I have to get out of here. Will you find him for me? Stop him?"
"I'll do my best."
The line went dead.
"That – " Damon began.
" – wasn't Robyn. I know."
ROBYN
Robyn turned to run from the man. She knew it was futile – he was close enough to grab her. But he didn't. She was so surprised that she stumbled, twisting to look back at him.
He stood there. Smiling. "Ten. Nine. Eight."
Robyn ran.
The forest couldn't be that big. The path had to lead to the other side. Unless it just looped around to where it started…
"Ready or not…"
Robyn dove into the brush. She hit the ground, skidding through the undergrowth, shoulder flaring, a branch scraping her cheek a mere inch from her eye. She scrambled in deeper, every move making the brush crackle and snap like gunfire.
She dropped, turned toward the path and stretched out on her stomach. The vegetation sprang back up, cradling her. Flat on the ground, she watched the man's pale face bobbing along the path. It stopped directly parallel to where she lay.
He turned and crossed his arms. His sigh wafted through the quiet forest. "Oh, come on. If you're going to play, you have to do better than that. I can smell you. I can see in the dark. What the hell did Marsten teach you about werewolves?"
Robyn choked back a laugh. Did he really say werewolves? He was going to have to do better than that if he wanted to scare her.
He couldn't see her. He'd just approximated where the noise had come from.
"Are you going to make me come in there after you, blondie?"
Like to see you try, Mr. Werewolf.
He took a step into the forest. Then another, and another, sauntering along as easily as if he was still on the path, ducking branches she couldn't even see, heading straight for her.
Her shirt.
She'd tried to buy one as dark as possible, but it had white stripes. Against the darkness, she must stand out like a zebra on a dimly lit plain.
She tensed, but held still, hoping she was wrong, that he was still guessing -
He stopped four feet away, his face turning to hers, teeth flashing against the night.
She leapt to her feet and barreled through the undergrowth, glancing over her shoulder to see him still sauntering, unhindered by the brush, not even bothering to run.
She was veering to circle back to the path when she caught the flash of reflective tape on a tree and ran for it. The path. Thank God. She rammed through the last patch of brush. Vines grabbed her feet, but she yanked free and hit the path at a run.
Just find the end. This wasn't the Amazon jungle.
Footsteps pounded on the path behind her. Now he was running.
Just keep going. Keep -
Robyn tripped over a root and sprawled face-first to the dirt, hands flying out, her skinned palms and injured shoulder screaming.
Ignore it. Get up and -
A hand grabbed her foot and yanked. Her face slammed into the dirt. With a bone-wrenching jerk, he flipped her onto her back.
"Not bad, blondie. Not bad at all. Wanna have another go? I figure we have – " He checked his watch. "At least ten minutes before the cavalry arrives. Marsten's good at following a scent, but he'll hate sniffing the ground to do it. Grass stains are a bitch to get out of Armani. Or so I hear."
He was casual and relaxed, still smiling. Sweat dripped into Robyn's eyes. He wasn't even breathing heavy. Just a pleasant jog through the woods. She couldn't escape him, no more than she could Adele.
Ah, but you did escape Adele, Bobby. Look around. She's long gone.
Sure, that was because she was still back at the fair, sipping a soda while her thug partner beat the crap out of Robyn.
She hadn't escaped. She'd run straight into a trap.
"Well, are you getting up? I'm going to give you another chance."
"Sure, like Lucy gives Charlie Brown another chance to kick the football."
He threw back his head, laughing. "Sharp one, aren't you? I'm glad to see you still have some spunk. Now let's see you use it. Of course, I don't plan to let you get away, but you don't really have much choice, do you? How about I give you to the count of twenty this time?"