“Yes, Professor.” Lauren hesitated. “Are you sure Agent Taylor’s in the forest? What if she abandoned her 4x4 and someone gave her a lift out of the vicinity?”

“It’s entirely possible, but I have a hunch she’s here somewhere.”

“Alrighty,” Lauren said and disconnected.

Flying over the water, Gilmont adjusted his binoculars to the dirt road where a partially hidden 4x4 had parked. He zoomed in on the vehicle. No park insignias. Interesting. Not many braved the elements in this weather. He took in the rocky ridge some distance up the forested hillside from the river.

This densely wooded section of parkland didn’t allow much visibility through the trees. Other than the granite ridge, the forest was split by numerous waterways. Prickles of anticipation broke out across Gilmont’s skin. If someone had been hunting him, this section of park would provide a perfect cover.

“Follow that river for a good bit.” Gilmont spoke to the pilot through his com.

“Aye, sir.” Drew swung the gyrocopter about, looping toward Errochty Water, which bordered the Tay Forest Park’s northernmost section.

“Go lower.”

Drew lowered the gyrocopter another twenty-five feet until they fairly skimmed the treetops. Using his thermal viewer, Gilmont scanned the forest for an upright image. Nothing but four-legged lifeforms materialized.

Lauren rang back. “Professor, a couple dropped two hillwalkers on the dirt track not far from Calvine. A woman and a boy.”

“Two hillwalkers?” Gilmont asked, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He’d been certain Agent Taylor was here.

“Yes.”

“It can’t be her.”

“I don’t know where the boy came from, but the woman answered to Agent Taylor’s description. She had red hair tucked in a beanie and was quite tall—a real stunner.”

That had to be Agent Taylor, but then what was she doing with a boy? Was it one of her freakish starts to throw him off the scent? No matter. His gut was right. Agent Taylor had entered this section of the parkland.

“Lauren, send Callie, Richardson, and Joe over here.” Gilmont rattled off the GPS coordinates, then hung up.

“Drew, branch over to the next waterway. Fly low; I can’t see anything from this height through the canopy.”

“Aye,” Drew answered through the headset and dropped them close to the river’s surface.

They followed the tributary for several miles, the water the color of mist. Gilmont rubbed the moisture off his helmet visor and lifted his binoculars to a long, rocky ridge. He tapped his foot, inwardly fuming. This hunt was proving difficult. The wind gusted from the rear, spinning the rotors faster.

He sniffed the air, and his pulse raced. “I smell a campfire,” Gilmont said into his com set. “Turn around.”

Chapter 33