Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [37]
“The car took off.”
“I missed the whole thing, myself, but the way I hear it, the driver might not have realized what happened. Just one of those freak things.”
“I run over a mouse, I know it. Anyone else around when Bruni got hit?”
“Lots of people.”
“Anyone stand out?”
“No. Not really.” The doorman nodded down the street. “You know Myrtle Smith?”
“We just met. Who is she?”
“Old warhorse reporter. You’re not from here, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“Myrtle’s down on her luck these days. I heard she hasn’t worked in a couple months, but she’s got money in the bank, so no worries.” The doorman squinted at Grit, then said quietly, “And no one’s been shooting at her lately. Thank you for your service.”
Grit didn’t ask how he knew. “It’s my privilege to serve.”
“It’s tough, losing a leg in the line of duty.”
Not everyone could tell he wore a prosthesis, even after just seven months. “How do you know I didn’t just get hit by a bus?”
“I know.”
Grit had a feeling the doorman was a bit of a prick himself.
“He does know,” Moose said. “He was in Vietnam. He lost friends in the Central Highlands.”
“Enough, Moose.”
The doorman frowned. “Beg your pardon?”
Grit didn’t answer and headed up to the corner. Old Myrtle was nowhere in sight. He felt the humidity even in the chilly air. He decided he didn’t like November in Washington. It’d be worse in Vermont. He hoped Elijah figured things out before he’d have to get up there to help him.
Moose sighed next to him. “It can snow in Vermont in November.”
Yes, it could.
Grit had never liked snow.
Ten
Elijah dipped onto a narrow, seldom-used spur off the falls trail and picked up his pace, not because he’d caught a glimpse of Jo below him—although he had—but because he’d spotted Devin up by a hemlock, about thirty yards away.
Jo wouldn’t catch up unless Elijah wanted her to or he fell flat on his face on the steep, rocky trail, which was possible given his mood. He didn’t know if she’d seen him, if A.J. had ratted him out or if some Secret Service instinct had kicked in, but she seemed to have a fair idea of where he was.
Maybe she’d spotted Devin, too.
Hiking straight up to the summit of Cameron Mountain and back down again could be done in a day. The main trails were well marked and well maintained. But leave them, either for a less popular trail or to go off-trail altogether, and even experienced hikers could end up lost in the miles of woods, cliffs, hollows, streams and steep, unforgiving terrain. In his first days back home, Elijah had fetched a pair of lost honeymooners from Boston off the mountain. They were in one of the few spots with cell phone service and were able to call the lodge for help.
He’d tried calling Devin’s cell phone but didn’t get an answer.
Elijah adjusted his daypack, which he kept in his truck at all times, and hoofed it up a near-vertical incline of rock. At the top, the trail leveled off for about three feet then switchbacked on up the mountain.
Devin was directly above him, climbing over a spruce tree that wind or an ice storm had dropped across the trail. The densely wooded hillside was littered with fallen trees.
“Hold up, Devin,” Elijah said calmly. “I want to talk to you.”
He stood up, gripping a thick walking stick, breathing hard. “Leave me alone, okay? Just go back and stack some more wood.”
“Wood’s stacked. What are you doing up here?”
Devin ignored him, wiped his brow with his sleeve and continued on his way.
Seeing how the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, Elijah left the trail and pushed uphill through dead leaves, pine needles and rocks, emerging on the other side of the fallen spruce.
Devin faltered for a half beat, looking uncertain, then pivoted and kept going.
“You’re wearing the wrong clothes,” Elijah said. “You’re not carrying a pack. That means you have no water. You’re asking for dehydration and hypothermia.”
Devin glanced back, sullen, his ball cap low over his eyes. “Did my sister sic you on me?”
“I’m here on my own, but if she’d asked