Page 17 of Silent Prey

Red hair.

His heart missed a beat as he leaned down to tug out the delicate strands. They came free with a little pull, shimmering in the sunlight like threads of fire. He twirled them around his fingers for a moment, breathing in their faint scent. Coconut sunscreen, mingling with the woman's own natural fragrance.

Finally, he was on her trail again.

As he continued his pursuit, Christopher took stock of his surroundings: The path was bathed in dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy of leaves above. A gentle brook chuckled not far off. The further he ventured into the wilderness, the wilder it grew, the undergrowth thick and almost impassable.

He pushed through the brambles and bushes, his eyes trained on the ground for signs of her passing: broken twigs, footprints. The scent of her grew stronger, and then he spotted a shape moving through the trees ahead.

She was moving along at a hurried walk, glancing over her shoulder every few moments—to see if she was being followed, no doubt. Christopher didn’t think he saw her, which was good. That meant he hadn’t entirely lost the element of surprise.

That was when the primal urge, which had been building for a few hours now, overtook him. Obeying his instincts, he shrugged off his backpack, then took off his shoes and set them behind a sage bush. He set his socks behind the bush, too, followed by the rest of his clothing.

Naked, he opened his backpack and pulled out the coyote hide rolled inside, complete with a grinning skull. He touched the long, cylindrical object as well, but he did not take it out. He would fetch it later. For now, he needed his hands free.

With a flourish, he tossed the coyote hide across his back and sighed with contentment. It felt like coming home.

His true self once again, he hid the backpack and hurried along the trail, gaining on the woman with long, loping strides.

Soon he was on all fours like the beast he was—and always had been.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sheila’s stomach was full of lead as she and Finn stepped into the small clearing. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the struggle that had taken place here—the trampled wildflowers told the tale.

“Found her about an hour ago,” said Ira Jones, the park ranger whom Sheila and Finn had consulted earlier about Markus Webb.

Without a word, Jones led them to the body. The young woman was lying on her side in the fetal position, her face hidden. The bruises on her neck, however, were all too obvious. She was dressed in a simple white sundress—now marred with dirt and grass stains—that accented her curves. Above her halo of red hair, a horn lay in the dirt, as if it had been shorn from her head.

“What is that, a sheep horn?” Sheila asked.

“Bighorn sheep,” Jones said, nodding.

“You get a lot of them here on Antelope Island?”

"Not too many," Jones replied. He cast a wary glance at the horn, as if expecting it to stir. "They've been dying off because of lungworm."

Donning a pair of gloves, Sheila began searching the woman’s pockets. She came across a small wallet and pulled it out.

“Kaylee Jensen,” she said, reading the driver’s license. “She’s got a badge in here for Rocky Hope Elementary School.”

"Teacher?" Finn asked, looking down at the lifeless body with a grimace.

Sheila nodded, sliding the license back into the wallet with a sigh. “Third-grade. From Salt Lake City.” She looked up at the park ranger. “Do you know her, Mr. Jones?”

Jones shook his head, his complexion pale against the backdrop of towering beech trees. “Can’t say I do. We get a lot of folks from Salt Lake City visiting the island.”

“How’d you find her?” Finn asked. “This place seems pretty remote.”

Jones, his eyes somber, nodded. “You’re right—probably wouldn’t have found her for days if not for the call she made.”

“Call?” Sheila asked.

“She called her friend, Toby Elwood, just before she got attacked. He’s right over there—you can talk to him yourself.” He jabbed his thumb toward a young man with a lanky build who was sitting on a log at the other side of the clearing, his face ashen. Sheila hadn’t noticed him before.

Sheila and Finn approached him slowly. Finn cleared his throat, and the young man jerked back, his eyes wide. His lips moved, but no sound escaped them. He looked as if he was still trying to process the horror of what had happened to his friend.

"Mr. Elwood?" Finn's voice was soft, infusing a sense of normalcy into the grim situation. "We're here to help. Can you tell us about the call?"

---