With a Vengeance

by Annette Dashofy

Zoe and Earl managed to squeeze in.

  When they stepped off at their floor, Earl asked, “Do you think they’ll have police respond to all calls again tonight?”

  “I think Pete hopes to catch this guy before it gets to that.”

  Earl nodded in agreement.

  Curtis had the head of his bed raised when they walked in. The tray in front of him held a mostly untouched plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Wanda stood over him, wearing a stern motherly expression.

  “Are we interrupting something?” Zoe asked.

  Curtis gave them a weak grin. “Yeah, thank God.”

  Wanda only glanced at them before fixing her displeasure back on her son. “You aren’t going to regain your strength if you don’t eat.”

  Curtis pushed the tray away. “I’ll eat if they bring me something edible.”

  She shoved the tray back in front of him. “Eat it anyway.”

  Zoe widened her eyes at Earl. “Maybe we should come back later.”

  “No,” both Wanda and Curtis said at once.

  Curtis picked up his fork. “Please stay.”

  Zoe noticed that he still didn’t use the implement on his food though. “Your mom’s right, you know.”

  Wanda crossed her arms and winked at Zoe.

  “Yeah, yeah.” The patient rolled his eyes.

  The bickering was a good sign. Better than Friday’s drug-induced stupor.

  Curtis studied the plate for a moment. His gaze shifted to his mother and then to Earl and Zoe. He set the fork down and looked up at Wanda. “Mom, why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get something for yourself. You talk about me, but you haven’t been eating either.”

  She patted her girth. “I can afford to miss a few meals. You can’t.”

  “Tell you what. You go eat, and when you’re done, bring something back for me. Something that actually tastes like it’s supposed to. You do that, and I promise I’ll eat.”

  Wanda appeared to consider the deal. Zoe suspected Curtis was simply trying to get rid of her so they could talk.

  “Fine. But you will eat what I bring back, no matter what.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Curtis dragged the two words out like a ten-year-old.

  Wanda scruffed his hair—like that same ten-year-old—and excused herself from the room.

  Earl and Zoe claimed two chairs as Curtis shoved his tray away once again. This time no one argued.

  Earl tipped his head at the empty bed next to him. “What happened to your roomie?”

  “Discharged. For the moment I have the place to myself.”

  Zoe slid her chair closer. “Your mom said you had something important to talk to us about.”

  Curtis played with the button on his side rail, raising the head of the bed a little more. Then lowered the foot of it. “Yeah. Once my mind cleared a little, I started thinking. Mom tried to keep stuff from me, but between what I heard on the news and finally pried out of her, I learned about Bruce Yancy and the other fireman.”

  “Jason Dyer,” Zoe said.

  “Yeah.” Curtis shot a nervous glance toward the door. “I didn’t know Dyer very well. But when I heard Yancy got shot, I remembered something that happened about a month ago. Maybe a little less.”

  Zoe came forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What?”

  “It was a call for a traffic accident out on Oak Grove Road. We didn’t think it was gonna amount to much, except—”

  Approaching footsteps and a rumble of voices in the hall distracted Curtis. Zoe noticed his jaw tighten, as if he sensed what was coming a moment before its arrival.

  Lucy Livingston swept into the room as if surfing a wave of drama. “Good morning, my darling,” she said with an oversized smile before noticing Zoe and Earl. Lucy’s demeanor darkened, which she made no effort to disguise. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  Earl, who’d had his back to the door, jumped to his feet, turning to face her.

  Zoe faked a smile. “Hey, Lucy. Wanda had called me and—”

  “Told them I was awake,” Curtis interrupted, “so they decided to drop in for a visit. Nice surprise, huh?”

  Zoe caught the look Earl shot her and gave a quick nod she hoped only he saw. Curtis clearly didn’t want Lucy to know he’d asked to speak with them.

  The young woman sneered. “Lovely.”

  “I told you not to come back in,” Curtis said. His voice suggested he’d told her a lot more than that.

  “And I told you it was no trouble.”

  “You shouldn’t be driving into the city with all the traffic and construction.”

  “It’s Sunday morning. There’s no traffic. I buzzed right through the tunnels.”

  “There’ll be traffic later. The Pirates are playing at home.”

  “They’re playing in Cincinnati today. I’ll be fine.” Her voice dripped with honey. Poisoned honey. “I intend to spend the entire day with my Curtie Boo.”

  Curtie Boo?

  A self-conscious Curtis looked from Earl to Zoe, his eyes silently pleading for…what? She wasn’t sure if he wanted them to stay or leave. Or throw his ex-fiancée out the window.

  Lucy tossed her purse onto the empty bed and elbowed past Earl, leaning over Curtis to plant a kiss on his lips.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. “Lucy, stop.” This time his tone left no doubt of his intentions.

  Her face flushed, but she didn’t back off. “Am I making you uncomfortable, darling? You shouldn’t be. They’re your friends. And we’re about to be married. Little displays of affection are nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Lucy…” Curtis dragged her name out.

  She crossed her arms. “Yes, Curtie Boo?”

  “Stop it. Just stop it. We are not about to married, and you know it. This fantasy of yours has to stop. Now.”

  Zoe stood slowly, afraid any quick movement might set Lucy off. The girl was unstable. No doubt about it.

  “You are such a kidder.” Lucy grabbed the chair Earl had vacated and dragged it to the head of the bed, knocking the thing against his legs in the process.

  An uncharacteristic flash of anger narrowed ever-patient Earl’s eyes. Zoe feared for a moment he might snatch the chair back. Or snatch the girl by the throat.

  Zoe stepped around the foot of the bed and caught her partner’s arm. “Maybe we should go.”

  “Yeah.” Curtis dragged the word out. “Thanks for dropping in. It was a nice surprise.”

  There was that lie again.

  Lucy lowered the bed’s side rail and settled into Earl’s chair, leaning over to finger Curtis’s hair. He ducked his head away, but she ignored his hard-to-miss body language. She also ignored Zoe and Earl as they headed for the door.

  “Whoever said ‘beauty is only skin deep’ surely had her in mind,” Earl muttered as they waited for the elevator.

  “And what’s with Curtis?” Zoe huffed. “‘Nice surprise.’ He’s the one who insisted we come in.”

  Earl frowned in the direction of the room they’d left. “He doesn’t want her to know.”

  Zoe replayed the last few minutes in her mind. “Is it just me or does he seem scared of her?”

  “Hell, I’m scared of her. She’s psycho.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t leave her in there alone with him.”

  Earl appeared to contemplate trying to remove the girl from Curtis’s bedside and made a sour face. “If you want to try, go ahead. But the nurse’s station is right outside his door.”

  Zoe agreed. “What about that call he was telling us about before she got here? Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”

  “None.”

  The elevator doors dinged open, and they stepped inside.

  “Traffic accident a couple of weeks ago on Oak Gro
ve Road,” Zoe said as much to herself as to Earl. “It shouldn’t be too hard to look up.”

  Pete tramped through a tangle of dried grass and still-green weeds in the game lands west of where the burnt Cavalier had been discovered. The morning’s blue sky was quickly being blotted out by encroaching dark gray clouds. Any evidence out there would likely be decimated by rain, so every available cop had joined the crime scene team to scour the area. According to the crumpled map in Pete’s pocket, one of those double-track trails the bikers and quad riders used was dead ahead.

  As he picked his way up a hillside, his mind meandered back to last night. Damn that Jack Utah.

  Instead of a night with Zoe—alone at Pete’s place—he’d spent the wee hours following up on the man’s story. First he’d swung by Rodeo’s Bar before it closed. The bartender and several self-proclaimed regulars confirmed Utah’s story. He’d been there. A buddy had driven him home. And while the patrons admitted to knowing Snake, none of them believed Sullivan and Utah were more than acquaintances. Nor did they recall having seen Snake recently.

  Utah was still awake—more or less—when Pete arrived at his house, a rundown hovel with an uneven sidewalk leading to a poorly lit concrete stoop and a door with a shredded screen. Utah staggered as he showed Pete into a space he guessed was a living room. He’d heard of a TV show about hoarders, and this guy could have been a headliner on it. Utah squinted at the photo Pete held up and acknowledged he knew Snake from the bar, but they didn’t socialize elsewhere. Utah didn’t know Snake’s last name or where he lived. Claimed he didn’t run with the same crowd. The way he said it, wrinkling his nose and curling his lip, Pete suspected Jack Utah did not approve of Snake’s friends.

  Still, Snake might have known more about Jack Utah than the other way around. Pete scribbled a note linking Snake and the stolen Cavalier.

  The wind in the game lands picked up, hissing through the browned late-summer grass. The terrain swept up an increasingly steep hillside. According to Pete’s map, the trail was at the top of the rise.

  By the time he reached the crest, he was breathing hard. Damn, he was out of shape. Hunting season was a little more than a month away. He’d better get out and do some hiking to build his stamina if he intended to lug his new muzzleloader around the woods.

  As he caught his breath, he surveyed the scenery around him. To his back, the rolling grassland from which he’d come.

  At his feet, the trail he’d been looking for swept in both directions, following the ridge. Ahead of him, the ground leveled out for a hundred yards or so before dropping off again, and all of it was wide-open grassland with the exception of a few saplings too scrawny to obstruct his view.

  To his left, the trail headed west-southwest—toward the parking lot where Nate had rounded up three of the four ATV riders. That view also stretched wide open for at least a quarter of a mile before disappearing into a tree line.

  To Pete’s right, the trail vanished into a stand of trees and underbrush only a few hundred feet away. His head told him to turn away from the woods and start toward the parking lot. But his gut drew him in the other direction.

  He strode east and slightly north, away from the parking lot, away from the location of the burning car, but toward a great place to hide. He glanced down at two dusty paths with a strip of weeds separating them. Neither of the dirt tracks bore the imprint of a tire tread. When was the last rainfall? Friday night.

  No one had been on this trail since the deluge of the night before last erased all previous tread marks. Snake and his buddies had not traveled this trail last night.

  Pete almost turned around. But the woods called to him.

  The musty aroma of leaf mold and damp soil enveloped him as he stepped into the shadows. He paused to let his eyes acclimate. The trail carved a narrow path through the trees. Branches and grapevines arched overhead, creating a tunnel of green with dapples of gold and red.

  Pete again considered reversing direction, but his gut urged him on. Ten feet down the path, a spider web enveloped his face. Sputtering and spitting, he swiped it away, hoping the resident arachnid hadn’t been home. Swearing, he trod onward.

  Ahead, something that didn’t belong caught his attention. He stopped. Squinted. It was hard to make out. He eased closer. Instinct brought his hand to his sidearm.

  A recognizable shape took form in spite of the camouflage fabric. A hunting blind—a big one—perched a few feet off the trail, mostly concealed by the saplings and brambles.

  Pete took one slow sidestep to place a tree between him and the tent-like structure. He released his Glock. If Snake Sullivan—or anyone else—was inside, they had a clear shot at him. The tree behind which he’d taken cover felt like little more than a twig, but it was the best he could do.

  He reached to the mic clipped to his shoulder. “This is Vance Township Unit Thirty. I’ve located a hunting blind in the woods off the ATV trail east-northeast of the parking lot and about a half mile west of the site of last night’s vehicle fire. Unknown occupant. Requesting backup.”

  Immediately, four officers responded, including Nate and Baronick, who were two minutes away.

  With backup en route, and their response loud enough that anyone inside the hunting blind would have been able to hear, Pete raised his Glock. “You! Inside the blind. Throw out your weapons and then come out. I want to see both your hands.”

  The harsh buzz of insects and a few birdsongs were the only reply. A breeze smelling of rain kicked up, fluttering the material.

  Pete held his position. Kept his gun fixed on the blind. And waited. If Snake was in there watching him, the kid had made no move to surrender. He’d already taken two lives and left two more good men in the hospital. Pete wasn’t about to give him a clear shot.

  A distant rumble grew louder. A vehicle approaching from the direction Pete had just come.

  “We’re about to get company,” he yelled. “And things could get sticky for you. Show me your hands and come out now.”

  Still nothing.

  The vehicle grew closer. Or perhaps it was two vehicles. Yeah. Definitely two. The cavalry had arrived.

  His radio hissed to life. “Chief?”

  Pete recognized Baronick’s voice and replied, “Follow the trail into the woods.”

  “Officer Williamson and I are on our way.”

  The engines quieted. Two car doors slammed. The trail wasn’t wide enough for a motor vehicle.

  Still no movement from the hunting blind.

  A minute later, jogging footsteps, muffled by the soft earth, grew close.

  “I’m here,” Pete shouted. He waved to catch their eyes and pointed toward the blind, then motioned for them to spread out. “It may be empty, but let’s not take any chances.”

  “Roger that,” Nate called.

  The Vance Township officer and the county detective moved into position, flanking the hunting blind.

  “Last chance,” Pete yelled again. “Throw out your weapons and step out, showing me your hands.”

  When he received no response, he signaled to the others. Then the three men moved in with guns trained on their target.

  Seventeen

  Pete closed in first, his Glock at the ready. Nate and Baronick approached from the flanks. Brown camouflage fabric with mesh windows concealed the interior until Pete was inches away.

  “It’s empty,” he said.

  Nate holstered his sidearm. “Some hunter probably left it behind once the season was over.”

  “I doubt it.” Pete stashed his Glock too. “It’s in too good of shape. If it’d been sitting here since winter, or even spring turkey, it would show more wear and tear from the elements.”

  Baronick pulled open the flap serving as a door. “I’d say you’re right about that, Pete. Look.”

  He and Nate circled to the opening. Inside, the grass
and weeds had been flattened. A set of tires had left a mashed path in their wake—a path that led toward the trail. Careful not to step on the tracks, the men followed them. Once they hit dirt, the indentations became distinct tread marks.

  Baronick yanked out his phone. “I’ll get the techs in here to photograph and cast these to see if they match Sullivan’s ATV.”

  While the detective made his call, Pete bent over, studying the tracks closer. “There are two sets,” he said to Nate, pointing. “Both from the same tires. He drove in from the east, stashed the quad in the blind, and then drove out, heading back east again.”

  Nate scowled down the wooded path. “East?” He turned the other way. “But I caught up to them west of here.”

  Baronick pocketed his phone. “CSU’s on their way. Did you say he went east?”

  “Yeah.” Pete showed the detective the incoming and outgoing tracks.

  Baronick slapped at the side of his face. “Damned mosquitoes.”

  “Wood flies,” Pete corrected.

  “Whatever.” Baronick scratched the bite. “He came and went here. But Nate caught him…” The detective pointed to the west. “There. He must have circled around to throw us off.”

  Pete didn’t like it. None of it. “Maybe.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think so. This guy stashed his quad here, not expecting us to find the blind, so why head east to go west? Besides, I don’t think Snake Sullivan is capable of this much thought and planning.”

  All three men turned toward the shady trail heading east.

  “Baronick, you wait here for the crime scene techs,” Pete said. “Nate, you’re with me. Let’s follow these tracks and see where they go.”

  Zoe had Earl drop her off at the ambulance garage in spite of his argument about leaving her stranded. She’d argued that at least there she could beg a ride from someone. If he took her “home” to Rose’s, she’d be stuck.

  She needed her truck back.

  C crew had the long weekend shift, and every medic in the building wore their exhaustion, fear, and grief on their faces. After Zoe updated them on Curtis’s medical status—leaving out the part about his crazy girlfriend—most of the crew drifted out of the office, some headed for the bunkroom to catch up on sleep, others to the lounge to watch TV.