Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,48

the designated line of search patterns. We went a little bit further, and that’s when I think we accidentally walked onto private property near the Ravenna Gorge. He seemed to think we were backpackers. He just got furious, I don’t even know. We tried to explain, but he was angry. My German is not the best. The others I was with were too frightened to try to say anything.”

“Having a gun waved at you can do that,” said Adele. “Thank you for your time.”

“He did shoot in the air,” said the fellow, quickly. “Like he didn’t shoot at us, but he did shoot in the air. I think he was trying to scare us.”

John gave Adele a long, significant look. They thanked the searchers once more, then together, they turned, moving along the trail.

“Had breakfast yet?” said Adele.

“I’m fine,” said John. “Think we should check it out?”

“Yeah. Nothing better to do. Is that what you’re wearing?” She glanced at John, who had two sweaters on instead of a jacket. He’d pulled a similar fashion statement back in the Alps.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. If the guy starts shooting again, though, make sure to get to cover, fast.”

***

“East quadrant, that’s what the guy said, right?”

Adele wasn’t bothering to speak quietly now. They’d been moving through the woods for nearly an hour, with nothing to show for it. They hadn’t stumbled upon a house or cabin, but every few hundred feet, they did find signs.

John’s footsteps crunched next to her, and his head was tilted back. He still adopted the posture of someone on the verge of action. Poised for an hour—Adele could barely fathom the concentration that required.

“Look, another one,” John said, tilting his eyebrows.

Adele followed his gaze, and her eyes landed on a metal sign nailed into a tree trunk.

“Says the same as the others,” she said. “No trespassing. And see that one over there?” She nodded toward the second, higher sign. “Private property”

John winced. “Well, maybe this is why the fellow thought they were backpackers. Everything in German. He should post some in French too.”

“Why?”

John shrugged. “A lot of international people come through these ways, yeah? They might not be able to read the signs. They probably wander onto this fellow’s property, giving him a conniption in the meantime.”

Adele nodded, strolling along next to her partner. Her hands dangled at her side. Vaguely, she thought of her father, wondering if he was still sleeping or if he had an itch to get back out there again. He’d been acting strange for weeks now. Was he still mad at her about Christmas? Was it something else? She could never really tell with him.

Troubled, as she strolled along, she also thought about the notebook he’d given her. Maybe it had something to do with that. Her lead had turned up cold. Someone had been switching notes. It still didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t the postman. He was dead. According to the serial killer Adele had caught back in France, her mother’s murderer was still alive.

“All right,” said John, “if this is private property, where the hell is this guy?”

As he spoke, his voice interceding with the rustling trees, Adele thought she heard movement. She frowned, spotting something slipping through the underbrush not far off.

She began to turn slowly, but then felt hands against her back, shoving hard.

“Get down!” John shouted.

A second later, she heard a blast of gunfire. A tree a few paces above Adele exploded with splinters. There was another bark of gunfire, and another tree, just a bit higher, lost a branch.

“DGSI!” Johnson shouted.

“Interpol!” Adele cried.

There was a hesitation, but then more gunfire. More splinters and dust. John growled, low from where he’d tackled Adele, knocking them behind a slow dip in the terrain.

He pointed at her, then made a gesture with his hands she couldn’t understand. He rolled his eyes and then mimed it out, pointing at her again, and then with a finger making a small semicircle, suggesting she should move around.

She frowned at him and shook her head. He pointed at her more insistently where they both lay low in the leaves. Adele could smell the mold, the moss. Her nose filled with the odor of dirt.

John was already moving to the right, still crouched low, his own weapon in his hand. He fired a couple of times in the air.

There was return fire. More splinters above. They were out of sight for now, behind the incline of terrain, but if the hunter