Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,26

the cold glass. They pulled away from the hostel and moved down the hill, curving the forest path and heading back in the direction of the main highway.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The cold forest seemed to fold in on itself around him as Diedrich moved through the trees. The twenty-year-old had lost the rest of his search party. The orange fabric of his safety jacket was displayed vibrantly against his black coat. He had stopped to relieve himself among the trees and returned only to find he’d headed in the wrong direction. In the distance, he could hear the sound of the group he traveled with. He had the whistle around his neck, and his sleek eyeglasses were in his hand as he rubbed the thin glaze of fog from them.

Embarrassing to be the leader of one of the groups, then get lost. His friends Michael and Juergen would tease him for hours once he returned. But that required he first find the rest of them. He shouldn’t have gone so far for privacy. He thought it would’ve been an easy enough thing to find his way back… but the woods were expansive.

“Hello?” he called.

In the distance, he thought he heard a pause, then voices.

“Hello?!” he called again.

He glimpsed a flash of orange through the trees far above, over a ridge. He remembered walking down a hill, moving behind the copse for privacy. He felt a slight bolster of relief and began moving up the hill now, but then came to a pause.

A small dirt road meandered up the hill as well, cutting through a grove of thin saplings, as if they’d been planted recently.

He frowned at the road, spotting tire tracks. Was he heading the right way?

He could still hear the voices of the search party, and in the distance, he even heard a whistle. The sound of barking. The others had found something.

Diedrich felt a flash of excitement. Maybe it was their group. He hoped they’d found it. Found what, though? He still wasn’t quite sure what they were looking for. The instructions had been vague. Weapons, anything out of the ordinary. Blood.

He shivered at this last one.

He didn’t remember this road, and certainly didn’t remember the tire tracks. Diedrich sniffed. He hated cars. The vehicles had polluted the planet for years now without anyone doing anything about it. Sometimes, when he had to, he would hitch rides with his friends, but mostly he liked to bike around.

Still, if there was a road, that meant there were people nearby. Besides, the sounds of the voices seemed to be coming from this way… through the trees.

“Juergen!” he called. “Michael!”

No responses now. The voices had faded again. Now, he was certain he was heading the wrong way.

He traveled hesitantly up the road, then paused at a switchback, beneath some of the small, recently planted trees. He was about to turn back when he spotted something. A short distance along the switchback, along the road, hidden behind the trees, he spotted a blue van with its hood up.

Diedrich frowned. At least he’d found the source of the tire tracks. The van looked older, which meant it was a gas guzzler. Great.

He was in the middle of turning back again when he saw someone fumbling around in the front of the car, moving beneath the hood.

The person was muttering to themselves, and shivering. They weren’t wearing a jacket.

Diedrich’s frown deepened. In this weather, without a jacket, frostbite could set on in minutes. It was far too cold to be broken down on the side of the road in the woods.

He glanced at the whistle dangling from his chest, and the orange vest. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to track the voices through the trees. But then, as the man beneath the hood yelped, bumping his head against the overhanging hood and emitting a cry of pain, Diedrich moved back up the road, following the switchback and disappearing amidst the trees. He moved closer to the blue van, hesitant.

“Guten tag?” he said.

The fellow by the car turned sharply, surprise written across his face. He had to be in his late fifties, with silver hair and a receding hairline. His eyes were wrinkled from smile lines, and something about his face seemed warm, kind. Diedrich felt a sudden surge of relief.

There was no telling what kind of weirdos one might find in a forest. He approached the stalled vehicle and the kind-looking stranger.

“Hello,” Diedrich said. “Are you all right?”

He glanced past the gray-haired man through the