Page 13 of Cry Wolf

Slipping out of the vehicle, she ran, hopping over tent-peg lines and dodging in back of trailers and fifth-wheels. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. She came to an abrupt halt as she spied a patrol car.

She ducked behind some bushes near the dirt road. What could she do? There was no way to outrun them. And as soon as people started waking up, the chance of being spotted grew exponentially higher.

The patrol car stopped.

The officer climbed from his vehicle.

Had he seen her? She positioned herself so she could watch what he was doing while she remained hidden.

He stood in the road and held out his hand for a truck leaving the campground to stop. It towed a flatbed trailer hauling an all-terrain vehicle, much like the one she and Matthew used to own. It even had RZR in bold white letters on the side.

In the truck sat a middle-aged couple with bandannas covering their heads and piercings in their ears and lips. Their leather vests made them seem more the type to drive motorcycles.

The officer greeted them and motioned for the driver to roll down his window. As soon as the man did, the deputy said, “I’m looking for an old truck, looks pretty beat up.”

“That’s most of the trucks in Montana.” The guy smiled, then spit chew in the paper cup he held.

“Good point.” The policeman gave a little chuckle and tilted his hat back. “It’s a late sixties red Ford with a rusty tailgate.”

The scruffy driver rolled his shoulders and looked at his wife. She shook her head. “Sorry, we haven’t seen that one.”

The officer pulled out his cell, showing them something. “Have you seen this woman?”

Both the husband and wife squinted and stared, then simultaneously gave him bewildered shrugs. The husband added, “Can’t say that we have.”

“Mind if I take a look at your rig?” The officer glanced back at the RZR.

“Sure. We’ve got nothing to hide.”

The deputy checked in the truck bed first, moving a few things, but then went on to the trailer. He opened the driver’s door to the RZR, then the back one. Once satisfied, he returned to the truck.

“Where are you folks heading?”

“Hoping to find a good trail that will take us to the top of Bear Tooth Mountain.”

“You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.” The officer leaned close to the truck. “Make sure to stay on the trails and don’t cross onto private property. Ranchers around here tend to shoot first and ask questions later, especially at joyriders like yourselves. If you see this woman anywhere”—he held his cell again—“please call 911. She’s armed and dangerous.” He gave them a curt nod. “Have a nice day.”

The couple in the truck looked a little dumbfounded.

Dania could hardly believe it herself. He was talking about her like she was on the most-wanted list. But after last night and that marshal being killed and the other badly wounded, shewouldbe on that list even though she hadn’t killed anyone.

The deputy got back in his patrol car and slowly drove away, turning a corner and finally disappearing from view. He probably planned to check each and every campsite.

The truck hauling the RZR waited for another pickup to pull through the dirt-road intersection.

This was Dania’s chance. She darted from the bushes and hopped as lightly as she could onto the flatbed trailer. She would hide inside the RZR. Chances were good that no one would see her. She’d be safe there unless they came to a roadblock and another search.

She opened the front passenger door and stopped short. There wasn’t enough room for her to hide on the floor. She moved to the rear and got in, sandwiching herself between the front and back seats. As the trailer started moving, she recalled the last time Matthew had taken her out in their RZR.

As the all-terrain vehicle had crawled up the mountain, she’d told him about a homeless woman who had been brought into the ER the day before. She had been severely dehydrated and needed an IV. Most of the nurses on the shift hurried away, not wanting to be given the assignment of caring for the smelly woman who needed a bath. Dania had gazed into her hopeless eyes and known she had to do what she could.

After she’d finished telling Matthew about her day, he had told her about a client being bullied by a large corporation. They’d wanted the guy’s ranch in order to develop it. They planned to build lavish second homes for the rich and famous, a golf course, and even put in a landing strip for clients to fly straight to their mountain hideaways. Matthew couldn’t tell her who the rancher was because of client privilege, but he’d been worried about the guy. Matthew had loved fighting for the underdog.

Cramped on the floor of the RZR, Dania’s lower back ached, and her feet were becoming numb. She turned a little, which seemed to help. The truck pulled onto the main highway and sped up.

As soon as she could, she needed to do something about her appearance. She could dye her hair and cut it. Her father used to tell her that her hair reminded him of her mother’s. He hoped she’d always wear it long. But she had to disguise herself, and if cutting her hair would throw off the cops, she’d do it.

Memory caught her again, this time of Matthew burying his face in her hair, saying he loved how silky it felt and how it smelled of honeysuckle blossoms.