The clouds had turned dark and ominous. In the distance, he could see a long row of dense, towering vertical clouds. Cumulonimbus. He was grateful Jonquille wasn’t outside. The thunderclouds were a portent of a lightning storm. The storms could be quite severe in the mountains, and there were warnings on the trails for hikers to beware of lightning strikes.
The wind picked up, so the canopy overhead swayed above him. Once in cover of the thicker vegetation, he moved even faster. Whitney would know the location of the Campo property. His soldiers would avoid all contact with anyone living in the area. If an outsider was seen, even briefly, it would be noted and the news would go out immediately, carried on the local special channels. They didn’t need telephones. They had age-old methods of leaving signs for one another outsiders weren’t aware of. Most of the time outsiders didn’t see them. A team of soldiers would be seen long before they would spot an old-timer or a young boy hunting rabbits or squirrels. The news would go out far and wide.
Whitney would be very aware that his team would be at a disadvantage. He wouldn’t have them come in on any of the trails or roads backpackers might travel on. He would instruct them to avoid the little communities or farms at all costs. He would tell them not to touch any of the locals. Whitney knew Rubin and Diego’s background. Two young boys who hunted down the men who had raped and killed their sister. They would never stand for anyone killing innocents. They would spend the rest of their lives hunting them. If they believed Whitney was responsible, they would turn their attention to hunting him. That was the last thing he wanted. He might want to pit his soldiers against them, but he wouldn’t want an all-out war.
Which way would they come in? They wouldn’t know Rubin had decided to come early. They would know Jonquille had. They might decide to try to acquire her and see if they could get him to try to take her away from them. Since he didn’t know her, that wasn’t the best of ideas. He doubted that they would want to do that. Most likely they weren’t risking coming up the trails yet, so they wouldn’t be on the mountain. Where would they be?
He picked up speed once he was a good distance from the cabin, choosing to follow the stream winding downhill. Both Jonquille and Diego were enhanced with animal DNA, which meant they had excellent hearing. They also had good instincts. Diego knew him. He’d been careful not to give any hints about his intentions, but that didn’t mean Diego wouldn’t guess what was on his mind.
He wasn’t losing either of them. Not Diego or Jonquille. He’d watched over his younger brother for as long as he could remember. Diego, of course, thought he watched over Rubin. Now there was Jonquille. If Rubin had any doubts about her being the right one for him, those kisses had sealed her fate. He wasn’t the kind of man who jumped in with both feet, all in, with women. He was careful. In fact, for the most part, he simply stayed away from them.
Rubin had been all about the catch-and-release program in the beginning, mainly because he wasn’t a man who wanted one-night stands. He was looking for something permanent. The women that came around him seemed to be shallow. They all had agendas of some kind. He wasn’t charming like Diego. He didn’t have that ease of conversation, so the women usually came on to him. It didn’t take long before his radar went off and he realized there was some hidden reason why he’d been singled out. Often, it was to get closer to Diego or one of the Fortunes brothers.
That reason should have bothered him or undermined his confidence in himself, but it hadn’t. Rubin knew his own worth as a man, a soldier and a doctor. He also knew his bank account. He didn’t come across as wealthy because he was quiet, dressed casually when he went out and talked with his slow mountain accent. He’d acquired a great deal of money because he spent very little. There was no need to spend. He banked most everything he made and he was extremely good at investments.
Rubin slowed as he came to the fork the stream had forged. A waterfall spilling over rocks and tumbling over downed tree trunks divided the stream. Going south, the bed was wider and much faster moving, the downhill steeper. The water ran over a bed of rocks. Ferns and brush closely grew along the sides of the creek, interspersed with trees.
The bed to the east was thinner, a little sluggish, overgrown on the sides so that the ferns and foliage, at times, were hiding the sides of the stream. The amount of growth in many places made it difficult to see where the actual creek bed was. That wouldn’t matter, but this was wild country and the stream could be very shallow or unexpectedly deep in places. The eastern slope appeared easier to travel because it wasn’t as steep, but the terrain was far more treacherous once one got into it and off the trails. It was true wilderness. True mountains. Just what the predator in Rubin preferred. He took the eastern route.
He contemplated the war his mind continually struggled with—the reason he found a semblance of peace away from people. It was why he sought the solace of the swamp and the mountains. He was a healer. A psychic surgeon. He was compelled to heal others. It was so ingrained in him he couldn’t stop himself. He was also a predator. He needed to hunt and to kill. That was ingrained in him as well. That was something he didn’t share or talk about.
He knew he’d been born with the ability to push aside his feelings when he needed to. He wouldn’t have been able to hunt his sister’s killers otherwise. He had been the one to calmly get his rifle and tell his mother he was going after the men who had killed his sister—he’d be back when they were dead. He hadn’t asked Diego to come with him. He hadn’t expected Diego to come, although it hadn’t surprised him. Where he went, Diego went as well. They were like-minded. That was the dichotomy—killer and healer. Rubin accepted it, but it was hell to live with, his mind always at war.
Hunting the men who would kill his brother and Jonquille, the men who Whitney had been foolish enough to send after him, gave him a much-needed excuse to let the predator in him loose—the one he held so strictly in check.
A large animal moved off to his left and he hunkered down, crouching low, waiting for it to get a drink. Elk were returning slowly to the area but were rarely seen. He’d put miles between his cabin and where he was, but he was still surprised by the sight of the large animal dipping its head warily into the stream. The animal lifted his head twice and looked around as if sensing a possible hunter, but unable to find the hidden threat.
Rubin inhaled, once more letting his senses flare out to scan the night. There was no sound to alert him. Nothing that would tell him he was being hunted, but like the elk, he was suddenly uneasy. He eased into the deeper foliage and went perfectly still, fading completely into the dark of the shrubs. He was so quiet and stealthy, the elk never looked his way, as wary as the animal was.
Again, Rubin took stock of his surroundings, letting the wind talk to him, bring him information. An owl flew silently overhead. Shrews scurried under leaves and cones in an effort to stay hidden as they fed in the dense foliage, protected by the trees and brush. A family of raccoons chattered back and forth farther downstream, scolding a skunk that didn’t care one way or the other, oblivious to whatever the elk seemed leery about.
It wasn’t raining, but the wind was by turns gusting or still. The clouds were stacked overhead across the night sky, towers rising high. Occasionally Rubin could see flashes of light in the purpleand-black-laced edges, forked tongues like snakes lashing out at the restraining barriers holding the electrical energy in.