And then he felt something solid.

His heart slammed against his chest as he bent down at the waist to see what it was, using his hands to ascertain a shape. He was touching a foot—still warm, but that was to be expected since it was sweltering inside. The foot was attached to a leg. He followed the leg upward and found it attached to a body. The nude body of a woman whose arms were tied to the bedposts. He bent over as far as he could, as close as he could, but smoke and smudge blurred the features. He could, however, smell the blood.

As he stood up, he felt his head go light, his balance begin to sway. He took a few moments to find his consciousness and professionalism, and when he did, he leaned over the body and pressed his fingers into the soft spots of her neck.

He felt for a pulse, and snapped into action when he found one—medic mode.

Stop the bleeding, treat ’em for shock, get ’em to a chopper.

Except this wasn’t Nam: this was L.A. in the twenty-first century.

They’ve got professionals for this, Decker.

He untied the bound wrists, picked up the mike, and called for an ambulance.

36

Hiding under the cloak of darkness, in a tangle of fauna, he was out there. Maybe he was nervous, reeking with the sweat of prey, or maybe he was smirking as he thought about the police spinning their wheels, traipsing over his chartered territory, playing a game of gingerbread man. Decker wasn’t optimistic about success even as helicopter beams swept over the dense terrain, even as the cops with their handy-dandy flashlights scoured through bush and brush. There were just too many empty pockets in the hillside.

Still, Decker had to put on a show, otherwise Holt would be a definite lost cause. Maybe the display of manpower would prevent him from running full tilt. In the morning, with the help of sunlight and a fresh crew, perhaps someone would pull the sucker out from under his rock.

He told his people two rules.

Rule one: Don’t get shot.

Rule two: Don’t shoot—even if shot at.

Because probability dictated that friendly rather than hostile fire would be the greater enemy. After he doled out the assignments, the positions, and the individual search grids, he rechecked his own equipment. Finding everything in working order, he decided to survey the territory on his own—a foolhardy as well as foolish resolution. Not more than an hour ago, he had insisted that his people forage the mountains in pairs, admonishing them to stick closely to one another, because backup was the elixir of survival. Furthermore, Decker hadn’t had to use his own endurance skills in over thirty years. But the voice of vengeance whispered its plaints: four human beings cut down by bullets, plus a girl beaten unconscious into a casserole of body parts.