Blood on Copperhead Trail

Chapter Fourteen


At some point since Laney had last passed this way, someone had beaten a highly visible path through the underbrush just off the trail where she had followed Janelle off into the woods. There were broken twigs, crushed leaves, all indicators that someone had been through on foot without worrying about leaving signs.

The problem was, there were almost too many trails to follow, going off one way or another, and following each of them, she ended up losing the trail altogether.

Where in blazes had Doyle gotten off to? How far would he wander before realizing he was lost? Would he know to stop where he was and wait for people to find him rather than to continue to wander about, getting more and more lost?

Of course he would, she scolded herself. He was a flatlander, not stupid. He’d been a deputy and had, no doubt, participated in his own share of search parties. He’d know the rules to abide by if he found himself lost.

All she had to do was find him.

The sound of movement coming through the underbrush behind her had her whirling around, reaching instinctively for the zipper of her jacket to get to her pistol. Only when she recognized the tall, thin-faced man with sharp blue eyes did she still her movements, relaxing. “Detective Bolen,” she said, dropping her hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Craig Bolen smiled his greeting. “You’re a ways off the trail, aren’t you?”

She started to explain why but stopped when she thought about the position she’d be putting Doyle in, exposing his mistake to one of his top cops. “I was up here earlier with my sister, and I think I dropped a bracelet,” she fabricated.

“And came back up here alone, with what all’s been happening out here?” Bolen looked surprised.

“What are you doing off trail?” she asked.

“The chief told me to take a few days off—since I’m so close to the Adderlys—but I hated missing out on the search party.” Bolen looked haunted. “I can’t putter around the house all day if there’s any way to find Joy Adderly alive.”

Of course, Laney thought. Bolen must be devastated by what had happened to Missy and Joy. He and the Adderlys were close.

“I’m so relieved your sister is okay,” he added with a warm smile.

“Thank you.”

“You want to join me in searching?” he suggested, waving his arm toward the wide-open wilderness around them. “Since we’re both here? We could keep an eye out for your bracelet, too.”

“That’s a great idea,” she agreed quickly, feeling a ripple of relief. She hadn’t exactly been able to relax and focus on the job of searching for Doyle when she’d spent half the time jumping out of her skin every time she heard a strange noise. Craig Bolen was the Bitterwood P.D. chief of detectives. She could hardly have picked a better bodyguard for her search.

And since Bolen knew the Adderlys well, he might even have some insight about where Joy Adderly would go if she’d somehow managed to get away from her captors.

“I guess you heard about Richard Beller,” she said as they started walking east up the incline toward the summit of Copperhead Ridge.

“Richard Beller?” Bolen sounded confused.

“The man who shot Missy and Janelle. A guy in Knoxville found his body in a Dumpster up there. Jannie identified him as the one who shot her and Missy.”

“I was fishing up on Douglas Lake the past couple of days,” he said quickly. “I haven’t watched the news since I left.” His brow furrowed. “She’s sure it’s the same fellow?”

“She identified him from his driver’s license photo.”

“So, the man who killed Missy is dead.” Bolen looked satisfied. “Do her parents know?”

“I’m not sure they’ve been told yet. The police wanted to be sure.”


“If he’s dead, where’s Joy?” Bolen’s eyes met hers, full of challenge. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

“We all hope so,” Laney answered, her gaze snagged by a glitter of sunlight glancing off something lying in the underbrush ahead. She crossed to the spot and saw, with surprise and no small bit of alarm, a set of car keys lying half-hidden in the jumble of leaves, vines and rocks underfoot. Crouching, she picked them up, recognizing the “Visit Gulf Shores” key ring belonging to Doyle.

“Find your bracelet?” Bolen called.

She started to tell him about the keys but stopped, seized by a sudden rush of caution. Were the keys dropped accidentally or as a bread crumb to mark Doyle’s trail into the woods?

She pocketed the keys and turned to look at him. “Yes. Hope we can find Joy just as easily.”

Bolen smiled at her, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to smile back at him. The keys felt heavy in her pocket, a tangible reminder of something she hadn’t let herself think about during her search for Doyle.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Whatever had happened to Doyle, it couldn’t be good.

* * *

“ARE YOU INJURED?” Doyle edged closer to Joy Adderly, taking care not to scare her any further. She trembled like a windblown leaf, her limbs wrapped around herself as if she could roll into a cocoon and shut out the cruel world.

“Joy,” he said when she didn’t respond, “I need to know if you’re hurt.”

She finally lifted her gaze, squinting at the light, even though he took care not to direct the phone flashlight directly at her face. “They’re going to kill me.”

“Believe it or not, it’s a pretty good sign that you’re still alive after all this time.”

“Have they told anyone what they want with me?” She was crying, a soft, helpless bleat that made his heart break. He carefully reached his bound hands toward her, but she scuttled away from his touch.

He dropped his hands in front of him with a sigh. “I’m not sure. But if you’ll help me out a little, maybe I can get us both out of here.”

She slanted a suspicious look at him. “Help you how?”

He held up his hands, which were still bound by duct tape. “I don’t suppose you could help me get this off?”

She stared at him for a long time, as if she suspected a trick. “If you’re a cop, how did they get you?”

“Shot me with a Taser and tied me up while I was still incapacitated.”

He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. But before he became desperate enough to pull up his shirt and show her the Taser marks, she reached for his hands and started tugging the tape from around his wrists.

Her fingers, he saw with horror, were bruised and bloody, the nails torn nubs as if she’d tried to claw her way out of here. Hell, she probably had, he realized. If she’d seen what had happened to her sister and Janelle, she’d be desperate to get away before the same thing happened to her.

Although, the person who brought her here couldn’t have been Richard Beller, the man who’d shot Missy and Janelle. Unless Janelle had been mistaken about Beller....

“Joy, did you see what happened at the trail shelter?”

Her fingers twitched against his wrists. “Yes.” Her voice was guttural, full of inner torment. “That man killed them. He killed them both.”

“I’m really sorry about your sister. I wish I could tell you she’d survived. But there is a small bit of good news. Janelle Hanvey is going to be okay.”

Her gaze whipped up. “No. I saw him shoot her.”

“He did,” Doyle agreed. “But that titanium plate in her head deflected the bullet. She had a concussion but she’s already out of the hospital.”

“The plate in her head.” To Doyle’s consternation, Joy started laughing, the sound manic and out of control. She turned and started beating against the wall of the cave, her laughter ringing off the damp stone.

He used his teeth to tear through the few slivers of tape she hadn’t removed and reached for her, wrapping his arms around her flailing body. She felt tiny in his arms, tiny and frail, and as her laughter turned to sobs, he rocked her like a child, vowing silent vengeance against the men who’d turned her into this broken thing, huddled in a dank, dark cave, waiting for someone to finish killing her.

Hours seemed to go by while he waited for her to calm down, though a glance at his cell phone revealed that only a few minutes had passed. She finally subsided against him, letting him comfort her as she snuffled a few times before falling silent.

“Can you tell me what the man who shot Missy and Janelle looked like?” he asked after a few more minutes.

“He was older. Maybe close to sixty.” As she described Richard Beller in detail, Doyle felt a ripple of relief, although confirmation that the man who’d shot the girls was dead opened up a whole new set of questions.

Like, who had just trussed him up and thrown him in a cave?

“That man is dead,” he told Joy.

“I know. Craig killed him.”

Doyle’s body went still with surprise. “Craig?”

She pushed her way out of his grasp, her body shaking again, but this time with anger rather than fear. “Craig Bolen. My father’s best friend.”

“Craig Bolen, the chief of detectives?”

“He was in the woods. He shot Beller as he was about to kill me. I thought—I thought he was there to save me.”

“But he wasn’t?”

“No.” Joy’s anger was starting to work on her like a stiff drink, settling her nerves and adding a little steel to her spine. She met his gaze without blinking. “He helped Ray bring me here. He thinks I didn’t see him, but I did. I got away once, during the big snowstorm. I got so close to a hiding place—”

“The Vesper cabin?” he guessed, remembering the scream he and Laney had heard.

“How did you know?”

“We heard you. We were holed up there against the storm. But when we looked for you, you weren’t out there.”

“They grabbed me and dragged me back to this cave.”

“Why would Bolen help someone imprison you like this?”

“I think they want something from my father.” A hank of Joy’s tangled hair fell into her face. She pushed it back behind her ear with a quick, angry jab. “Some sort of ransom. I haven’t found out what.”

“But that’s good news, isn’t it?” he pointed out. “It’s why you’re still alive.”

“Craig Bolen has been like an uncle to me. Why would he do this? How could he betray my family this way, especially after what happened to Missy?”

“I don’t know,” Doyle admitted, a new, uneasy line of thought entering his mind. “You have no idea what he’s asking of your father?”

She shook her head. “They haven’t told me anything.”

“What do you know about this person named Ray?”

“He wears a disguise. I thought it might be so when we first met him on the trail the day before the shootings. Now I’m sure of it.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s the one who interacts with me. I think Craig still thinks he can convince my father that I imagined his being there in the woods, so he’s careful to stay clear of the cave. But his voice carries. I know it like I know my own.” Her voice lowered. “I saw him in the woods. I saw him kill that man. I know he’s the one who carried my feet after Ray overpowered me and tied me up.”


“Put a hood over your head?” he asked, still feeling the claustrophobic sensation of the sack over his own face.

“Yes. You, too?”

“Yeah.” He looked back toward the cavern opening. “I guess you’ve had no luck trying to tear down that door out there?”

She lifted baleful eyes toward him and raised her bloodied hands. “No.”

“Does Ray come back here much? Does he come in here?”

“Yes, but he’s always armed.”

“There may be a way to get around that,” Doyle said quietly. “And the sooner, the better.”

Joy gave him a curious look. “What do you have in mind?”

He held out his hand, daring her to take it. She looked at it for a long moment, then let him help her to her feet. He walked her through the narrow opening that led into the larger cavern as he explained in quick, simple terms what he had in mind. She looked skeptical but finally nodded. “I can do that.”

He knew her skepticism was warranted. They were both unarmed. She was hungry and demoralized, and he was still feeling the occasional tingling aftershocks of his encounter with the Taser.

But he had to get out of here, and soon.

Because the second Laney found Satan tied up to the tree by the trail, she’d know Doyle was out there somewhere. She’d probably assume he’d gotten lost, knowing her opinion of his mountain-hiking skills. And she’d look for him. He knew that about her if he knew nothing else in the world.

But she wouldn’t be out there alone. Ray was out there somewhere. And even worse, so was Craig Bolen.

She knew Craig. Probably even trusted him.

She’d have no idea that encountering him in the woods might be the last thing she ever did.

He was going to get out of this damned cave, whatever it took. He’d never been one to worry too much about the future, but there was one thing he knew in this sharply distilled moment of crisis: he wanted his future to include Laney. In his bed, in his home, in his life.

He’d be damned if he’d sit here like a trapped animal while someone tried to stop that from ever happening.

* * *

LANEY AND CRAIG BOLEN had covered almost a square mile, moving through the woods with methodical thoroughness, and other than the keys and a couple of pieces of torn denim that might or might not match the jeans he’d been wearing that morning, they’d come across nothing to suggest Doyle had come this way.

Of course, the keys were evidence enough. But she hadn’t yet told Craig Bolen about finding them. She wasn’t sure why.

Was she making a mistake, trying to protect Doyle this way? What if keeping information from Bolen put Doyle in greater danger?

She was on the verge of speaking up, trying to figure out a reasonable explanation for why she’d kept her find to herself, when Craig came to a halt and turned to look at her. He wiped a film of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket and shot her an apologetic smile.

“I’m getting older than I think,” he admitted, sliding the straps of his backpack off his shoulders. He unzipped the pack, reached inside and pulled a blue-tinted bottle from his backpack. “Let’s take a water break. You need one?”

She pulled a bottle of water from her own pack. “I’m good.” After a couple of long swigs, she replaced the cap and started to tuck the bottle back into her pack when her eyes fell on the photograph she’d slipped inside one of the backpack’s inner pockets to protect it.

With a glance toward Bolen to make sure he wasn’t paying attention, she pulled the photograph from the pack and stepped into a nearby shaft of midday sunlight pouring down through the trees. Shifting the image to get rid of the glare, she took a closer look, not at the image of her sister and herself this time but at the window just beyond the bed. Earlier, when she’d found the photo back at the trail shelter, she’d thought she’d seen something strange in the background, but her sister’s rush into the woods had sidetracked her.

After scanning the image a couple of times, her eyes finally made out a faint reflection in the window. Not of herself and Janelle, as she might have assumed, but the mirror image of a man holding a camera in front of him.

The cameraman had inadvertently taken a photograph of himself.

He was holding the camera about chest high, slightly out in front of him. His face was bent toward the image screen so he could focus the shot the way he wanted, but not so much, she realized with a ripple of shock, that she wasn’t able to make out his features. It was the man in the mustache and bad wig, but he’d taken off the glasses, probably because they kept him from being able to see well through the camera’s viewfinder.

And that one small change in his appearance, the removal of the glasses, brought his features more sharply into focus, even in that window reflection, than the best shot from the security camera had.

Her heart lurched and seemed to stop for a second before it started racing like a thoroughbred. Despite the adrenaline flooding her system, she made herself move slowly, taking time as she slipped the photograph back into her pack and turned to look at Craig Bolen.

He was looking at her now, a bemused smile on his face. But his gaze was sharp and curious. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, trying not to panic. “No. Ready to go again?”

For a breathtaking moment, he seemed reluctant to answer. But finally, he nodded, smiled and waved his arm as if to say, “You first.”

She walked ahead of him, the skin on her back crawling.

It had been Craig Bolen, complete with wig and fake mustache, who’d shot the photo at the hospital.