by L T Ryan
“I don’t think you get it. There’s no place where things can go. I’m leaving Hawk’s Landing as soon as I figure out who’s responsible for Olivia’s death.”
“You loved it here once. Maybe you could find something or someone to make you feel that way again. I mean—is this place that bad?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?” He leaned over the table, his face a mere foot from hers.
“I keep moving. It’s who I am. I don’t expect you to understand. But I need to rely on me and me alone. I don’t want to be tied to anything or anyone.”
“Is that really how you plan to live the rest of your life?”
Hatch shrugged. The debate had raged on in her mind for years. How long could she continue drifting? It was a question she continually posed to herself. The answer always eluded her.
“Look, let’s have a nice dinner and catch up. I’d love to hear about your time in the military.” He cocked his head and did his best puppy-dog impression. “You may be surprised to find I’m a pretty good listener.”
She returned his efforts with a weak smile. “Next time.”
Hatch stood and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Cole looked hurt.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Why?”
The real reason was she already got what she’d come for. She was leaving with Fabio’s name and, now that she had it, she wanted nothing more than to run him through the police database and do a little fact-finding. In the tennis match against her teenage feelings, the adult in her had won. Wasting two hours on dinner with a man who’d cheated on her when they were younger didn’t seem like the best use of her time. But she held back from unloading and let him off easy.
“Work stuff,” she said. “Something I’ve got to check out. I forgot about it until now.”
“You’re not even a real cop.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “Maybe, but I’m the best chance this town has of finding the killer.”
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. You running around town with the sheriff just seems kind of dangerous to me, that’s all.”
Hatch brushed it off and was already moving toward the door. “We’re all victims in waiting. But don’t worry about me. Danger only exists when you’re not prepared.”
Outside, an icy wind kicked up as she moved across the parking lot. Getting into the Bronco and closing the door, she sat in silence. The wind battered and rocked the vehicle. The old springs croaked. She looked back at the restaurant and could faintly make out Cole, his back still to hers, now sitting alone, draining another glass of wine. Part of her felt foolish for leaving in such a hurry. Then again, Hatch knew where it could potentially lead and the complications it would create if it did.
Things were better this way, she thought as she turned the ignition, bringing the engine to life in a loud roar.
She drove away from Lumpy’s restaurant and began heading back toward the center of town.
About a mile away, she noticed a pair of headlights appear in her rearview mirror. The approaching vehicle was closing the distance fast until it was only a few car lengths away. Hatch could tell from the height of the headlamps it was a large vehicle, maybe a truck or SUV. The road she was on had no streetlights, cloaking the shape in darkness and leaving her to guess.
Cole? She wondered. Had he decided to chase her down and beg her to come back to dinner?
She slowed down in an effort to bring the car behind her into view. The vehicle following slowed as well, but not before her brake lights cast the front end in a red glow, enabling her to make out the truck, and more importantly, the driver in it. Fabio’s long flaxen hair was a dead giveaway for the man. The passenger also had a unique identifier. Bill Chisolm’s bandaged nose was clearly visible through the windshield.
Hatch immediately accelerated. The old Bronco was no match for the newer model Dodge following. Whatever Fabio’s intention, it couldn’t be good.
If it was a fight they wanted, she’d give it to them. But Hatch liked the odds to be in her favor, and she knew just where to go to even the score. She just hoped she’d get there before they overtook her.
23
The boxed end of the Bronco crashed through the gate. A piece was trapped in the undercarriage of the beastly SUV, pulling down a portion of the attached chain link fence, which now whipped wildly behind like a superhero’s cape. Fabio’s truck had nearly spun out on a dark corner a quarter mile back, giving Hatch about a thirty-second lead. And she’d need every second to prepare for whatever was coming her way.
Hatch pitched and swayed as she crested the incline of the hill. The cool air made the patchy spot of grass slick. Throwing the Bronco into park, she jumped out and rounded the smoking engine. While on the move, she withdrew the Glock from the small of her back and took up a stable shooting platform. Her left arm rested on the warm hood. Steam from the radiator spit out from the dented grill.
“What in the hell—”
“Jed. It’s me. Hatch!”
The man, already toting his home defense Mossberg, ran from his front porch down to where Hatch was positioned.
“They’re coming. Chisolm and his boys. I understand this isn’t your fight but—”
Jedediah Russell’s eyes narrowed with an intensity that would’ve made Clint Eastwood blush. “The hell it isn’t!”
She kept her focus on the opening where the gate stood only seconds before. “They’ll be coming any second now.”
He didn’t rack a round. The shotgun was already in battery. “How many?”
“At least two, but probably more like four. These pricks don’t like to fight fair.”
“Ten of those soft ass bastards ain’t gonna be enough for us!”
“Well, we’re about to find out.”
The Dodge’s hemi engine bellowed as the headlights came into view. The truck slowed and didn’t recklessly barrel through and onto the property, as she’d thought they might. It stopped at the property line. Flood lights activated from the beefy truck’s roof, casting anything behind the cone of light into darkness. Good tactic. Maybe these guys weren’t as dumb as she’d thought.
Hatch dipped her head, shielding her eyes from the light in an effort to keep some semblance of night vision. The brim of Jed’s hat was tilted, dipping his face into a shadow and giving the old timer a menacing appearance.
“They’ll be fanning out.” His raspy voice crackled.
Then Hatch saw something of concern, a tactical maneuver which made her realize these men were well-trained. She momentarily regretted bringing the older man into the fight. The Dodge was now creeping along slowly. The only sound was the tires’ slow roll over the uneven incline. The flood lights kept them blind to whatever was coming.
“They’re stacked,” Hatch said. “Using the truck as a mobile shield. Bad news, we’re blind to their movements. Good news, somebody’s in the driver’s seat.”
“Let’s deal with the knowns. I’ll flush them into the open. And then see if we can even the damned playing field.” Without another word, Jed dropped into a prone position. Low crawling over to the tire on the opposite side, he took aim.
The bang ripped through the silence, giving the first jolt of the fight to come. Every battle, big or small, requires a first punch. In this case, it came in the well-placed shot delivered by Russell. Buckshot struck the KC lights atop the cab, taking out ninety-percent of them, disabling the blinding beams.
Hatch’s eyes adjusted in a manner of seconds. The truck stopped in its tracks and the driver, Fabio, exited quickly just as Jed peppered the windshield with his second shot. The door hung open, and in the seconds that followed the shotgun blast, the annoying chime was all that could be heard.
Two deep breath cycles in and out. Hatch controlled her heart rate as she homed in with focused concentration. Hatch wasn’t going to change positions. She planned on letting them come to her. The engine block and wheel she was tucked neatly behind would provide adeq
uate cover for whatever assault was coming their way.
Movement came from the rear of the Dodge, on Hatch’s side. A silhouette of a man was all she could make out. The dark form crouched low, moving out to her left. Taking aim, she centered her front sight post, the glowing green dot of the Trijicon night sight resting on center mass.
Hoping it was Fabio, Hatch pulled the trigger. The explosive muzzle flash caused by the release of superheated gas as the bullet left the barrel threw her into a temporary state of night blindness. She closed her eyes momentarily, while ducking low, knowing that her shot just gave away her position.
An eruption of gunfire broke out from the Dodge. A rhythmic staccato of semi-automatic rounds tore into the metal frame of the Bronco she was tucked behind. Glass shattered, falling like sharp bits of hail around her. The familiar zip and snap filled her ears as one almost found its mark. The proximity of the round was unnerving. A couple inches closer and she’d have been dead.
As quick as the barrage started, it ended, plunging the night back into silence. They were now listening, as she was. Both sides waiting for the cries of the dying, an indication the volley of shots had found their target.
Hatch took a split second to look over at Jed. He was still in the same position. Good, she thought. He’d been able to make it through the first wave. She hoped to bring this skirmish to an end before the next one began. Then, to her horror, she saw it. In the limited light provided by the moon's momentary break from cloud cover, she observed a small dark pool slowly expanding outward from the old man’s right side.
A moaning sound broke the silence. She was surprised the noise didn’t come from Jed. It originated from where she fired her one and only shot. Squinting, she peered into the darkness at what first looked like the twisted branches of a bare, leafless bush, but she knew better. The contorted figure was the man she’d shot. A low gurgling escaped, followed by a high-pitched wheezing sound. One thing was certain, her bullet had found center mass. The unmistakable sound of the man’s collapsed lung left no doubt. He didn’t call out for the others, and nobody broke cover to render aid, further demonstrating the trained discipline of the group.
The dying man released an agonized breath, a blood-choked release like that of a person waking from apnea. The death rattle confirmed what Hatch already knew. The man in the grass was no longer a threat. He was dead. And with that, the odds were evened.
Hatch turned her attention back to Jed, who remained motionless on the ground. She crawled to his position, grabbing his ankle and squeezing tight to check for responsiveness and alert him of her presence before getting closer. His wiry calf tightened, and his foot moved. She let out an audible sigh of relief. He was alive. At least for the moment.
“Jed? How bad?”
He spat into the dirt. As she got closer, Hatch realized the battle-hardened veteran remained steadfast with his eyes sighting down the shotgun’s long barrel. “Hard to tell. Son of a bitch hit me in the shoulder. Right side. Stung like hell. Forgot how much I hate getting shot.”
Hatch edged up closer and began running her right hand along his back, gently searching for the exit wound. Hard to do in the dark. She found it between the scapula and armpit. “Found it. Through and through. I’m going to pack it.”
“I got a rag in my back pocket.”
Hatch fished it out and began stuffing the bandana into the hole. Jed whimpered softly with each push, but he was tough. Stayed steady on his sights while she worked. Meeting max resistance, she stopped. Her hands were slick with the warm blood. She grabbed a handful of dirt to absorb the moisture before wiping it on her pants. “Good to go?”
“There’s plenty of fight left in me. Now, how about we show these boys how we handle business in the 101st?”
“Don’t worry, the cavalry is on the way.” She paused, taking a second to assess the effectiveness of the bandage she’d applied to the wound. The pool around him appeared to have stopped spreading, or at least slowed to an imperceptible level.
“Jed, I need you to put a couple rounds on the driver side of that truck. Send them my way.”
Hatch pushed up into a crouch, duck walking back to the side she’d originally fired from. The first blast from Jed’s gun was like a starter pistol. She was already in full stride at the second shot. The buckshot plinked off the metal frame of the Dodge and popped the front tires.
Hatch moved wide. Ten feet away was the man she’d killed. Close enough, even in the darkness, to see it wasn’t Fabio or Bill Chisolm. The deceased was a person she’d never seen before.
An assault rifle began firing in three-round bursts. It took only a split second to realize the shots weren’t aimed at Hatch. Jed had drawn their fire as she’d intended. The shots gave away their positions and, in the night, the sporadic flashes from their weapons clearly lit their faces up and gave Hatch the point of reference to focus her aim.
Hatch closed the distance, maintaining a stable shooting platform and firing two controlled shots. Fabio never saw the rounds coming. He was knocked sideways by the impact with a second round striking him square in the right side of his head, near the temple. His body collapsed, and with it his flowing locks dropped out of her sight.
Bill Chisolm spun. Shock stretched across his face. Hatch’s front sight post fell in line with the bandage taped over his broken nose. Her trigger pulled to the break point. And then in the split second needed for her to complete the action, the big man did something she hadn’t expected. He dropped his gun and raised his hands.
“Please don’t kill me. It wasn’t my idea. I swear. Arrest me—do whatever—I’ll cooperate. Just don’t kill me!” His voice was pitchy, almost to the point of squealing.
Hatch didn’t speak. She didn’t move. The picture was clearer with each passing second. Her heart rate dropped. She was in total control. And she wanted nothing more than to bring resolution in the form of a single gunshot. Yet she didn’t pull the trigger. The man before her might hold the key to finding out exactly what had happened to her sister.
“You’re in a world of shit. Do you understand that?”
Chisolm nodded his head. His eyes glistened as tears formed.
“If you change your mind about cooperating or hold back in any way—the bullet in this gun will find you. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” The man’s hands were still held high, but she saw the slack in his shoulders.
Sirens echoed nearby, calling out their impending arrival. Hatch had called Savage while being chased and had given him a brief synopsis of her plan.
“Step away from the gun and get down on your knees.”
Blue and red danced in strobe pulses through the high pines of the wooded pass leading to Jed Russell’s property. Hatch brought her weapon down into a low ready, indexing her trigger finger while waiting for Savage and his team to roll in.
The sheriff led the caravan of cars, stopping his big Suburban just short of Hatch’s position. His headlights illuminated her and the downed men lying nearby. Jumping out, he ran to her, assessing the carnage as he approached.
Hatch watched him scan her up and down, evaluating her. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. Part of her hoped he was worried for her safety, not because she was now one of his deputies, but because of some other more personal reasons.
Savage’s head swiveled between the dead man on the ground and Hatch. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Jed’s been shot. He’s up by the Bronco’s driver side front tire. He was hit in the shoulder, but there was a lot more gunfire, and I haven’t been able to check on him. I’ve been busy babysitting this cornfed crybaby.”
Chisolm sniffled loudly, adding merit to her statement.
Savage turned and barked orders at Sinclair and Littleton.
Sinclair handcuffed Chisolm, needing two sets of cuffs to lock the big man’s hands behind his back. She returned after stuffing him in the back of the cruiser.
“Is he crying?” Sinclair asked Hatch in amuse
ment.
“I guess he didn’t like being bested by the same girl twice.” Jed staggered down the hill, using Littleton as a human crutch. “Looks like they underestimated you.”
“No. They underestimated us.” Hatch walked over to the old man and kissed his damp forehead.
“She told you that you were wrong about me.” Jed directed his ire at Savage. “But you didn’t listen. Maybe you will from this point forward. She’s as smart as she is tough.”
Savage bowed his head. “No truer statement’s been said. And I owe you a great debt.”
“You want to do right by me? Then arrest that son of a bitch Chisolm and every other crooked asshole in his employ. Anything less, you’ll still owe me.”
“We’re working on it. You need to get to the hospital. Best if Littleton takes you. You’ll probably bleed out if we wait for the medics to get out here.”
Russell pointed to the blood-soaked bandana sticking out of his shoulder blade and gave a weak smile. “She did a pretty good job keeping that from happening.” Then, turning to Hatch, he said, “You ever need me again, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Careful what you wish for, old timer. I may just collect on that someday.”
“I’m counting on it.” He leaned in close enough so that only Hatch could hear. “You take care of yourself, and remember, sometimes we can’t outrun our ghosts.”
“You want this?” Savage extended Jed’s hat toward the older man.
Russell reached for it. The front and back were adorned with seared holes. Through and through, like his own injury. Lowering his chin to his chest, he dropped it to the ground. “Goodbye, sweet hat.”
Littleton escorted the injured man down to his cruiser. Russell gave Hatch one last smile before taking his seat in the passenger side. They sped out of view, leaving those behind to sort out the scene before them.
“To say this is a mess doesn’t do the word justice.” Savage rubbed at the gray of his temples and then shoved a fist full of licorice into his mouth.
