His face was fixed into a grimace, and not just because of the pain. He kept thinking and trying not to think about what Forester might be doing. Was someone being killed in the bunker? Were they breathing their last breath right that minute? It was gut-wrenching to crouch there doing nothing with such questions swirling in his head. But what else could he do, unless he was willing to risk letting Forester slip through his fingers? What he was going to do when Forester emerged from the bunker was another question he didn’t have a satisfactory answer to. If he tackled Forester and found nothing incriminating, the result would ultimately be the same as if he’d called in Garrett. He needed to get a look inside the bunker without Forester’s knowledge. But how? he wondered. Perhaps I can distract him somehow and sneak inside. It would be risky but what other— Jim broke off from his line of thought as the wolfhound emerged from the trees at the far side of the clearing with a rabbit clamped between its jaws.
