Some things, a person just doesn’t forget.
It came at various points, sometimes letting her get nearly a full night’s rest before showing up, others arriving just moments after she laid down. Never did it play out exactly the same way, choosing different places in the sequence to begin, highlighting different aspects that may have escaped Erika for even the slightest instant.
The only thing that ever remained constant was the fact that after it arrived, her night was over, the ability - or even thought - of sleep just too difficult to consider.
The first couple of times it had occurred Erika had made the mistake of rising from her bed, going to the kitchen for tea or even moving into the living room and turning on the television. Whatever brief reprieve such activities had given her mind had proven not to be worth the effort though, the inquisition her mother would inevitably level on her far outweighing it.
The other thing that usually caused Erika to wake, the thing that had pierced through the darkened veil of slumber on this particular night, was the pain. A mirrored image of whatever battle her psyche was fighting, the myriad aches and pains of her body were still just as raw.
This particular morning it was her knee, the severely sprained MCL not quite recovered, still susceptible to the slightest bump as she moved about in her sleep. Far more painful than the fractured wrist or countless cuts and bruises she had endured, it had woken her just as many times as the dream in the preceding weeks, a ratio she hoped would have started to recede with time but was fast resigning herself to the possibility it might never do so.
With such resignation also came the idea that she might not even want it to, the pain just one more reminder of what had happened, one more way to feel connected to all that was and might never be again.
By the time the first light of day broke into her consciousness, the agonizing ache of her leg was long past. In its wake Erika had remained staring up at the ceiling, counting off the minutes in her head, preparing for the day ahead.
Not one part of her wanted to do what was just over an hour away, though she knew there was simply no way of getting out of it. Her mother would not condone it and the guilt she would unleash would far outpace anything that could occur in the coffee shop across town.
Besides, Erika had promised her Uncle Ern she would go, and if there was one rule that every person in Big Bear knew to abide by, it was not to upset Ern.
As predictable as the appearance of the morning light outside her window, exactly four minutes later a gentle scratching sound came at the door. A moment after the old brass knob rotated a half turn and the aging hinges let out a low moan, the sound preceding the appearance of her mother’s head popping in.
“Erika? You up, honey?”
Lying flat on her back, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling above, Erika made no attempt to look over. “Yeah, Ma, I’m up.”
The response was just four words, but instantly the older woman grasped the resignation in the tone, the underlying meaning present. Another sound of metal straining against metal could be heard as she pushed the door open a little further, a floorboard creaking beneath her weight as she stepped into the room.
“Dream or knee?”
Without being invited in, she shuffled across the bare floor, her slippers sliding over the polished surface, and perched herself on the edge of the bed, her weight shifting the entire thing a few inches to the side.
For a moment Erika considered not answering, or even better making up a lie, telling her mother that in truth she was just feeling good and had sprung up before the sun, anxious to get across town, to try something new.
Just as fast she dismissed the notion, knowing her mother would see right through it, would not appreciate the effort Erika had put into lying to her.
“Knee.”
A long sigh was the immediate response, Erika able to picture the expression on her mother’s face, before hearing, “Well, that’s better than the alternative. At least we know that will heal.”
This time Erika chose to remain silent, instead shifting her focus to the side.
For as long as she could remember, everybody in town had told her what a striking resemblance she bore to her mother, a fact she couldn’t rightly refute, no matter how many times she had wanted to over the years. Even now as she was just past 30 and her mother was into her mid-50s, the similarities were jarring.
If someone did not know Robin Wernick, they would think she was in her early-40s at most. Blessed with white blonde hair, the thick locks looked exactly as they always had, nature protecting her from the steady march of graying that befell so many.
Descendant from Viking stock, she had wide cheekbones and clear blue eyes, a heart-shaped face tapering into a thin mouth. Standing a few inches below 6’ in height, her entire form was wrapped in a padded flannel nightgown, appearing to give her much more bulk than Erika knew really existed.
“How’s everything else feeling?” Robin asked.
Again rolling her attention toward the ceiling, seeing the random pattern of light grow stronger as the sun forced its way above the horizon, Erika ran through the list of injuries in her mind.
Just two days before the cast had come off her fractured wrist, and while she was still adjusting to life without the added weight, she was immeasurably glad to be free of it.
Most of the cuts she’d sustained were now healed, a few still remaining as ugly streaks of gnarled pink tissue, some having already begun to fade.
“Fine,” Erika said. “I think I just banged my knees together when I rolled over.”
“Hmm,” Robin replied, in one sound letting Erika know she accepted the answer, even if she didn’t quite believe it. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude this morning, I was just coming in to check and make sure you were up.”
“I know,” Erika replied. “And I am.”
Sliding a hand up onto Erika’s shoulder, Robin squeezed it tight, the older woman’s grip having not receded a bit with age. “Most days I would be happy to let you rest, but you don’t want to be late. Big day today.”
How big of a day it was Erika wasn’t so sure, but again she knew better than to argue with her mother.
As the sister of Big Ern, she would bear the brunt of any transgressions Erika committed.
“I know, Ma. I won’t be late.”
Giving another squeeze, Robin said, “Besides, I think this might be good for you. Get you out of the house, let you talk to some folks, get your mind on something else for a while.”
In one sentence, her mother had managed to nail every reason why Erika didn’t want to go. No part of her wanted to leave the sanctity of the house, wanted people around town casting glances her way or asking awkward questions she wasn’t yet ready to face.
Didn’t know if she even had the answers to, if it came down to it.
Per usual, though, there was no way she could actually say any of that.
“I know, Ma. I won’t be late.”
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Sneak Peek #2
Wild Fire, Hawk Tate Thrillers Book 6
Prologue
Eight years.
Eight years have passed since I last looked at the man sitting across from me. Since I peered into those dark brown eyes, malevolence burning so strong they appear almost black.
The time since has certainly brought about some changes. The hair that was uniformly dark and shorn down close has grown out a bit, revealing the gray now threaded along either temple. The front edge of it has receded a half-inch up his forehead.
The face that was full and youthful in his late thirties has now grown lean and angular, the throes of middle age and whatever horrors he’d been subjected to since our last encounter both readily apparent.
But the eyes, the hatred they possess, the way they settle into a glare as he stared across me, that much was unchanged.
As were the feelings that bubbled up within me as I met his gaze, staring directly back at him
.
“Tate,” he muttered, his expression revealing the word to taste like acid on his tongue. “The Hawk. The one that got away.”
Seated upright in his high-backed leather chair, his entire upper body listed heavily to the side, contorted by his left arm reaching across his torso. Pressed tight into the soft flesh above his hip, he was fighting a losing battle to stem the flow of blood steadily working outward against his white linen suit.
In just the few minutes I’ve been standing here, already the underlying stain has grown beyond the reach of his fingers. A couple more, and it will begin to sap his energy, his systems flagging, going into preservation mode.
I have no intention of letting it get that far.
Doing so would be a fate much, much kinder than this man deserves.
“El jefe,” I replied, letting him hear the derision in my voice, both for him and the title he so ardently insisted on being called.
In my previous life, I spent more than half a decade chasing men just like this. People that gave themselves some unfounded moniker and then tried like hell to convince everyone around them that they deserved it.
That because someone referred to them in a certain way, it had to be true.
“So you remember me?”
Of course, I remembered him. I remembered the day his file first crossed our desk and the months we spent tracking and researching him. The sleepless nights running surveillance, and the evening we finally put an end to it all.
All memories from a different life. Things that I wished I hadn’t been a part of, could banish from my mind forever.
Things that I had thought of incessantly for the last week, since the moment they were forced back on me, crashing down on me like a wave.
“Yes,” I replied, the front tip of my weapon never wavering, extended straight out from my shoulder, hanging above the desk separating us. Shifting my hips to the side, I turned and slowly circled around to the side of it, my footfalls landing heavy against the hardwood floor beneath me. “I remember.”
Using his heel, the man spun his chair to match my movement, both of us remaining square, our focus never once wavering.
“So then you also remember the offer I made to your friend that night,” he said.
The question was rhetorical. We both knew it, my only response being the echo of boot heels as I marched out the last couple of steps, clearing any barrier that might have separated us.
“He chose the wrong answer. The question now is, will you?”
Chapter One
Normally, such a trip would require that Junior Ruiz be put into full walking restraints. His hands and feet would both be linked together by standard handcuffs, neither able to be separated by more than a foot at any given time.
Constricting him even further would be a chain wrapped around his waist, keeping his hands pinned by his hips before extending down and connecting to the short tether between his ankles.
The human equivalent of hobbles on a horse, ensuring that his total range of motion was no more than a few inches.
Trying to throw a punch would be foolhardy, telegraphing his intentions, bringing about unwanted attention from the guards flanking him. Running would be completely out of the question, brisk shuffling being the best he could hope for.
These were far from normal conditions, though.
And it wasn’t like he was going far.
Bound only by a pair of manacles around either wrist, Ruiz walked between a pair of guards. Both the size of smallish NFL offensive linemen, they kept one hand attached to either elbow, their gazes aimed outward, scanning the area.
With each step their breathing seemed to grow louder, accentuating the sounds of their belts straining beneath the combined weight of their tools tugging downward and their enormous girth pressing outward.
One black and the other white, Ruiz knew both of them by sight the instant they had appeared in front of his cell. Saying nothing, warned not to draw any more attention than necessary, they had arrived and given a simple tap against the bars before stepping back.
Expecting their arrival, Ruiz had done what was expected without objection, rising and thrusting his hands through the slit in the front of his cage.
Their fourth such appearance in the last two weeks, Ruiz’s cellmate – a small, squirrely kid with buzzed red hair and a nervous tic named Burris – had barely looked up from the magazine he was flipping through.
Glancing to either in turn, he had gone back to the outdated issue of Car Trader, pretending to be interested in the going rate on a rebuilt engine for a 1985 Camaro.
Exactly as Ruiz had told him to.
Popping the door open just long enough to slide through, they had locked it back immediately in his wake. Moving faster than he would have thought possible a week before, they made a point of making very little noise, settling into their respective positions and leading him.
Positions they still maintained now ten minutes later as the marched on deep within the underbelly of United States Prison Lompoc. Far removed from the traditional meeting rooms up on the main level, gone were any windows or cameras. Also missing were the traditional tile floors and bright lighting that was meant to put on a display for visitors, the world a sea of gray.
Nothing but concrete block and steel bars, everything left bare.
Forced to give his best guess, Ruiz would speculate they were two or three floors below ground. The air temperature was cooler, the smell of mildew in the air.
Not that he minded in the slightest.
Especially if the information he had been summoned to hear went anywhere near how he was expecting it to.
Down here, deep within the confines of the facility, Ruiz abandoned his usual gait. He didn’t bother rolling his shoulders inward, had no need to keep his gaze aimed toward the ground before him.
Walking on with shoulders square, he stared straight ahead, almost daring one of the yard punks to appear before him.
Moving in complete silence, the trio walked on for more than two hundred yards. To either side, doors of various colors and textures filed past, their contents a mystery Ruiz didn’t have the slightest interest in trying to decipher.
Not once did the crew slow their pace, going on to the same destination as the previous three meetings before the white guard on the right squeezed his elbow. Just strong enough to get his attention, Ruiz slowed his pace accordingly as the man peeled to the side.
Pulling up in front of a plain slate gray door, he raised his balled fist, thumping twice on the door. The echo of it traversed the length of the hall, joining the faint hiss of the exposed pipework above before receding to nothing.
All of it nothing more than theater, the kind of thing the bastards Ruiz had first been called to meet with weeks before insisted on performing.
The sort of thing that was fast growing old, no matter how enticing the carrot they were here to dangle might have appeared.
In the wake of the knock, the guard stood with features screwed up, his body turned to the side. Head aimed downward, he flicked a gaze to Ruiz and the second guard, all three waiting in silence.
Until, finally, a single voice called out from the opposite side, ordering them to enter.
Wild Fire , Hawk Tate book 6 will be available Summer 2019
Thank You For Reading!
Aloha all!
Thank you all so, so much again for reading. I know each of these letters begins the same way, and I never want it to become rote routine, but I truly do appreciate you taking the time to read my work.
Nowhere does that gratitude more show up than with this particular series, as Reed & Billie have become some of my favorite characters to work with. An unabashed lifetime dog owner/lover, for so long I had wanted to find a way to incorporate a canine companion in a meaningful way, beyond the usual scope of simply having them be occasional accompaniment.
This partnership has allowed me to do that. I hope you enjoyed reading about them as much as I’ve enjoyed wr
iting them, and with many more ideas already sketched out, hopefully we’ll both get to continue moving forward.
Also not to be taken as mere patterned behavior, there is one small favor I would hope to ask from you. If you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it, and do take all feedback very seriously. So many of you have been wonderful about sharing thoughts, and I truly do appreciate it.
Also, I greatly enjoy interacting with readers, so if you would prefer email, feel free to reach out to [email protected].
Finally, in closing, for anybody that might have found their way to my work for the first time, please accept as a token of appreciation for your reading and reviews a free download of my novel 21 Hours, available HERE.
Best,
Dustin
Free Book
As thank you for reading, please enjoy a FREE copy of my first bestseller – and still one of my personal favorites – 21 Hours!
Dustin’s Books
Works Written by Dustin Stevens:
Reed & Billie Novels:
The Boat Man
The Good Son
The Kid
The Partnership
Justice
The Scorekeeper
The Bear
Hawk Tate Novels:
Cold Fire
Cover Fire
Fire and Ice
Hellfire
Home Fire
Wild Fire
(Coming Summer 2019)
Zoo Crew Novels:
The Zoo Crew
Dead Peasants
Tracer
The Glue Guy
Moonblink
The Shuffle
(Coming Soon)
Standalone Thrillers:
The Bear Page 34
