Obsession Falls Read Online Free Page A

forest, to take a hatchet and a knife, preferably the Randall knife—which she still owned. At home. If she had that knife … but she didn’t, so she broke branches off the trees, piled them in a sunny spot, and arranged a nest for herself. She slid down, curled up, pulled more branches over herself, and despite the needles, the sap, and the bugs, she went immediately to sleep.
    She woke in the early afternoon. The sun was shining on her face. She itched. Everywhere. And something with creepy legs was crawling down her back.
    She flung the branches aside, did the bug-dance, and shook a beetle out of her shirt.
    She touched her nose. Sunburn. She had a rash on her arms from the pine needles. Still she felt better than she had when she went to sleep. She could think cognitively. She could make plans and know they made sense.
    Okay. She had to get to her car. The Cherokee was parked off the road, hidden by trees, a good mile from where she’d seen the attempted murder. Over this rough terrain, and at night, she couldn’t have walked far from that place where the child … well. She couldn’t think of him right now. Either he was okay or he wasn’t. Now she needed to make sure she was okay.
    So to find her car, all she had to do was to go down.
    Yes, there was a chance Dash had found the car. Or maybe he was waiting for her along the road.
    But she was miles into the mountains. She couldn’t walk back to civilization. She needed a vehicle if she was going to go to the cops and report this murder—or, hopefully, attempted murder.
    She scattered her nest, dumping most of the branches in the creek. No use leaving evidence she’d been here.
    She would follow the creek down to the basin, stick to the trees, use whatever concealment she could find. When she found the car, she would scout around before she approached it, look for signs that another person had been there. Or was there. And if she was satisfied she was alone, she would get in and drive like hell back to Ketchum and the police station.
    No, wait. First she would eat the sandwich and anything else she could find. Then drive like hell.
    “Good plan,” she said aloud, and started down the creek bed. Then she answered herself, “Of course it’s a good plan. You have no choice.”
    Great. Twenty-four hours in the mountains and she was already turning into one of those hermits who held conversations with herself. “It’s okay,” she said. “A couple more hours and you’ll be talking to the police.”

 
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Taylor’s estimate of how long the trip would take was about three hours short. The creek plunged over precipices that she could not follow and had to detour around. She kept coming back to the water, though, knowing it was headed toward the high end of Wildrose Valley. And she was dependent on that source of water. She was starving, yes, but by God, she was hydrated.
    Eventually, during one detour, she lost the creek completely. Then she simply headed down, through underbrush, over rocks, around trees. When she realized she was on a trail, she almost cried for joy. Because a trail would lead her to the basin floor.
    And it did. The trail still wound through the trees, but it flattened out. The walking was easier. She knew the road was here between the two fingers of the mountains. All she had to do was find it, and she could find her car.
    She glanced toward the sun. Sunset was early here, the rays cut off by the peaks. She needed to hurry. And she needed to hide.
    She skulked through the trees until she found the road.
    She hugged herself. Now she knew where she was.
    The relief she felt seemed out of proportion, and made her realize how frightened she had been of a lingering, hopeless death of starvation and cold.
    Her car was south. Keeping the road in sight, she moved through the pines as quickly and as quietly as she could.
    Pretend you’re alone here, her father said, the first woman on the continent, strong, sure, moving like