Page 15 of Silent Prey

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. She was just kind of secretive that way—always keeping things close to the chest. Quiet type, like she had a whole world going on inside her head she didn't much care to share."

"Did you ever see her with anyone else?" Finn asked.

Webb squinted at him, blinking against the glare of the sun. "No. She was always alone when I saw her. Now, why are you asking me all these questions? Do you seriously think I killed her?"

“Do you remember where you were the day Amanda was killed?” Sheila asked, sidestepping Webb’s questions.

Webb hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I...I don't remember. It was weeks ago. I was probably out hunting, or at my cabin." He gestured vaguely toward the shack Finn had entered.

"Can anyone verify that?" Finn asked.

Webb's gaze flicked between them. "No," he said finally, a hard edge to his voice. "I live alone. Does that make me a murderer?”

Finn and Webb stared at one another, neither backing down.

Sheila placed a calming hand on Finn's shoulder. "Nobody's accusing you of murder," she said to Webb.

"Well, it sure feels like it," Webb grumbled. "I've said all I need to say. So if you two would please go on your way…"

"Right after we get our weapons," Finn said. "If that's not too much trouble." There was a note of defiance in his voice.

"Be my guest," Webb said, smiling dangerously. "Just don't make any sudden moves—I spook easy."

Sheila and Finn retrieved their weapons and holstered them. Then, with a nod to Webb, they turned and walked back through the thick underbrush toward their car. They didn’t speak until the cabin was out of sight.

“That went well,” Sheila said dryly.

Finn chuckled, but his eyes were serious. “You handled yourself well back there,” he said. "Didn't panic, didn't rush your questions."

Sheila frowned at him. “I know I haven’t been doing this as long as you have, but I’m no rookie. You’ve got to stop babying me.”

Finn raised his hands in self-defense, and they went on in silence for several moments.

“So what do you think?” Finn asked. “Webb didn't exactly have much of an alibi. Now that he knows he's under suspicion, he might run."

The thought had already crossed Sheila's mind. "So we circulate his picture among the park staff, from the rangers on down to the people collecting fees. That way, if he leaves, we'll know about it. It is an island, after all.”

As they walked away, however, her mind wasn’t on Webb’s lack of an alibi but rather something he’d said about Amanda. He’d described her as ‘secretive.’

If that was true, what secrets might she have been hiding? And did they have something to do with her death?

CHAPTER SEVEN

As Christopher Townsend came over the ridge and surveyed the hills below him, he had the uncomfortable and not-entirely-familiar feeling that he might very well be lost.

Well, not lost himself—he knew this island as well as his tongue knew the geography of his mouth. But his quarry seemed to have slipped away—a fact that filled him with both embarrassment and anger.

After all, how could a city girl like the redhead he was following have escaped him in this wilderness he knew so well?

He scowled and shifted his backpack, then brushed a bead of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He scanned the undulating landscape thoughtfully, letting his gaze wander over the scrub and dry grass that covered the hills almost as far as he could see. Her scent was faint on the breeze but still there, a tantalizing combination of coconuts—likely sunscreen—and a faint muskiness that reminded him of wildflowers. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stilled himself completely, focusing on nothing but that scent.

She was nearby, somewhere in this wilderness. She had filled her backpack with items from her cooler, undoubtedly planning a picnic among the hills, where the world could melt away and nature was her only companion. A romantic notion, he thought.

Foolish, but romantic.

Christopher opened his eyes again, taking in his surroundings once more. Somewhere within this wide expanse of dry, summer-burnt grassland and scattered scrub trees, his prey was hidden. He squinted into the distance, shielding his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun.

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