The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1)

by Nya Rawlyns

  At least they’d done him the courtesy of turning a blind eye, even if they disapproved. Maybe that’s why Josh insisted him taking on Petilune hadn’t raised eyebrows—despite the Goggles kid running his mouth off—because they knew.

  That still didn’t mean he had a snowball’s chance in hell of assuming guardianship. His living space, the hours required to keep the store going, him being a bachelor... none of that screamed responsible parental unit. And if he was honest with himself, did he really have what it took to handle a teenage girl who likely needed more professional help than he could offer, no matter how good his intentions?

  Ahead of him, Josh tapped his brakes, slowing. The speaker squawked. “I think I know where they’re going.”

  Marcus shook his head, trying to unclog the disjointed thoughts racing around. Josh had drifted to a halt. The interior light winked, then turned off. He approached, the limp more evident than earlier. Marcus rolled the window down and leaned out.

  A little breathless, Josh said, “Remember me saying about hiding in plain sight?” Marcus nodded, realization dawning, as Josh continued. “There’s only a couple places Petilune had access to. Her house and...”

  Marcus yelped, “Oh fuck, no. The store! You think it’s there?”

  “It’s the only thing making any sense to me. You have stuff stacked all over the warehouse. How easy would it be to hide a stash of pills, a few keys of H?”

  Marcus groaned, “Too damn easy. Especially if she brought it in a bit at a time.”

  He recalled the girl had a backpack. All the kids did. It was part of the uniform. The damn things were ubiquitous. Lunches, books, gym shorts, cell phones. Anything and everything fit in there. And Petilune’s backpack was always stuffed full. He’d never looked inside. Why would he?

  Marcus felt like an idiot. All this time, the girl had been squirrelling it away, probably in some of the bins he had scattered around the edges. Stuff he only sold now and then. Tools. Outdated inventory he was too cheap to just throw out or give away.

  “God damn it, Josh. I could have avoided all this if only...”

  “Don’t beat yourself, Marcus. It might not have made a difference one way or the other. Our problem now is figuring out what the hell Kit is up to. He’s got to realize he has a fucking parade behind him. What I want to know is why he orchestrated all this. What’s the end game here?”

  “Petilune.”

  “Talk to me, Marcus. You know the girl. And you seem to have a handle on Giniw. What’s he going to do?”

  “It’s a trade. Petilune’s safety in exchange for the drugs.”

  “Then that kinda blows a hole in our theory that Kit’s in deep with the drug dealers, doesn’t it?” It also blew a hole in their assumption Petilune was with Kit. Keeping safe.

  Marcus felt his sanity slipping away. All he wanted was to find the girl and get her under lock and key. At that point he didn’t give a damn about Kit Giniw or the Goggles brothers or the rest of them. Let the cops deal with it. Or not.

  Josh gripped his arm and squeezed, hard. “Is that fire service road that runs behind the store passable?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I need to get to the store without being spotted. I’m guessing I won’t be the only one.”

  Marcus jerked his arm away and barked, “There’s no “I,” Foxglove. You and me, together. That’s the deal, remember?”

  “Marcus, listen to me. I need for you to call Calhoun, tell him what we think is going down, get him and a fucking SWAT team out here. Then I want you to make yourself invisible and watch for anyone leaving. Follow them as best you can but don’t engage.”

  “What’re you going to be doing?”

  Josh backed away from the truck and muttered, “Serving and protecting.” He limped back to his vehicle but paused before climbing into the cab. Marcus could have sworn Josh mouthed love you, but his mind was so agitated he couldn’t be sure what he saw.

  He reached for his cell phone and made the call.

  ****

  Marcus’ notion of passable needed work. Craters the size of bunkers, interspersed with deadfall, made driving a challenge, especially without headlights. It had taken a leap of faith to make the turnoff onto the service road. The highway curved up ahead, so he couldn’t be sure the van and the SUV following behind it actually turned into the store’s parking lot. If he was wrong, then he’d just blown it big time.

  There was a secondary loop behind the store. Delivery trucks often used it to make the tight turnaround in order to back up to the loading dock. Pine trees and brush lined the perimeter, enough so the additional graveled lane wasn’t obvious in the dark.

  Pulling off into an alcove, Josh parked and eased out of the truck. He opened the rear door and made quick work of sliding his shoulder holster into place and arranging his weapons and spare clips in the fishing vest he’d grabbed. Tossing his hat on the front seat left him feeling naked and exposed.

  Taking a deep breath, Josh dug deep, searching for all the crap that drove him over the edge, flipped his world inside out and upside down, and buried him so far inside his skull that all he was got lost to the darkness of a single point in time and space.

  Trust the training, Foxglove. Accept it. Embrace it.

  When you ran out of choices, sometimes letting go was the only way to survive. He unslung the rifle and moved quietly along the rocky footing, keeping to the edges of the lane. Lights illuminated the loading dock, casting shadows across the gunmetal gray of the gravel.

  Glancing left, he spied two beat-up ATVs, one a utility four-wheeler with enough cargo capacity to haul out whatever they’d come for. Josh guessed those belonged to the Goggles brothers. He wondered if the younger kid, Joey, was still incapacitated. Not that it mattered. Being armed to the teeth usually levelled the playing field.

  Not being able to crouch down, let alone kneel, put Josh at a serious disadvantage. He was forced to stutter-step from one tree to another, hoping no one saw the movement. Heavy limbed pines did not make for good sight lines. And it dissuaded him from chancing the dash across a wide open area to check if the keys to the ATVs were still in their ignitions. The brothers weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but they’d been running a profitable, high risk business for some time. Most likely they’d made some contingency plans, ones that precluded letting a casual passerby make off with their wheels.

  When he finally found a spot where he could see most of the building, he parked himself against the trunk and wished for night vision glasses to sweep the area. Marcus’ van had been backed up toward the dock, but at an odd angle. The rear doors were open. It looked empty, but Kit’s hog wasn’t in his field of view.

  Surprised no one was in sight, Josh took a minute to assess the situation. If Marcus was right, if Kit intended to barter the drugs in exchange for them leaving Petilune alone, then it was a really bad move on his part. Drug dealers weren’t known for keeping their word.

  He knew in his bones, down to his very core, that Kit Giniw was more than an interchangeable cog in the local drug trade. He’d been sent to the area for a reason. Whether it was as scout to ease the way for the white guys, or as motivation for the Goggles brothers to step up their game, or even for reasons known only to Kit, he really had no clue. The ties seemed to point toward him infiltrating the network already in place. There were so many ways for Kit to insinuate himself into what the Goggles had going that it nearly made him sick because none of it bode well for Petilune’s future.

  What if he’d deliberately misled the girl into thinking he liked her, that he’d be her champion? What if it was all an act and he didn’t give a shit... using her like he used everyone else?

  But then why come to him, why warn him to keep an eye out for the girl? And why steal her from the school if not to protect her?

  Or... was there a possibility he was holding the child hostage in return for getting his hands on the product? That might account for the Goggles teens being there, though they�
��d given little indication they gave a shit one way or the other, allowing Janice to offer her only daughter to Marcus in return for enough loose change to keep herself numb.

  The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Marcus had sent a text: ETA 45.

  He muttered, “Damn it,” and clamped his mouth shut as a crunching sound drew his attention to the right side of the store. Two men were on stealth approach, one short and wiry, the other tall and beefy. The short one eased farther away from the store and melted into the foliage. The tree limbs deadened sound to his left, but there were no prizes for guessing at least one more was circling around the other side of the building.

  If they held to habit, the driver would stay with the vehicle as insurance and lookout for anyone entering the lot from the highway. Josh hadn’t bothered to give much thought to the mystery driver. Whoever he was, he was good... getting Dee and his buddies away clean and fast, first at the church picnic, then at the high school. That was a skill set that required some training and chutzpah. And a really good knowledge of the area.

  That begged the question: where were Petilune’s brothers? Inside with Kit looking for the stash, or outside lurking in the trees, waiting for an opportunity?

  Aside from a stack of feed buckets against the wall, the loading dock was empty, the overhead doors shut. It was too quiet.

  Dee walked into a sliver of light and motioned toward the van. Confused, Josh risked being seen and moved to a spot where he got a better look at whatever was playing out. He recognized the man he’d let sail over a car hood when he’d waded in to get to Will Barnes. With a sinking gut he also recognized the small bundle hog-tied and being dragged across the gravel.

  God help me. Petilune. What the hell?

  The man propped the girl against his hip. She wavered enough Josh feared they’d drugged her. His shoulders tensed as the acrid scent of gasoline wafted toward him.

  Dee spoke, the sound echoing hollowly against the metal doors. “Here’s your pet, eagle boy, like I promised. All in one piece. Mostly.” The man gripping Petilune snickered. “Now it’s your turn, Giniw.”

  A red haze settled over Josh’s eyes; his ears buzzed with the screech of metal. Tongue tangling with his teeth released a gush of thick iron and copper heat to coat his lips and throat. He sighted down the barrel, shoulders shaking.

  Take the shot, take it.

  Dee moved away, putting some space between Petilune and her captor. A glint jogged Josh’s memory, staying his hand. Petilune whimpered, then abruptly gagged and went silent.

  The metal overhead doors screeched and rolled upwards, distracting all of them momentarily. When they’d opened fully, Kit stood in the doorway, palms up. He waved to a pile of packing crates.

  “It’s all there, Dee. Now let her go.”

  Where are the brothers, where, where, where?

  Air thick with fumes, Josh clamped a hand over his mouth. The crunch of gravel to his right had him ducking behind a tree. Jackie sauntered out of the shadows, hefted a gas can and nodded toward Dee.

  Dee barked, “You and Joey, load that shit in the van and make it quick. And be sure it’s all there.” His voice oozed disdain. “We don’t want Golden Eagle’s minders to think we ain’t got integrity.” With his revolver, he motioned for Kit to move out of the way.

  Grimly, Kit complied. Never once taking his eyes off Petilune, he growled, “You got what you came for, asshole. Let her go.”

  Dee nodded and said something to the man holding Petilune. The girl dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Kit jumped off the dock and carried her limp body to the steps. After carefully removing her bindings, he cradled her tenderly in his arms. When he looked up at Dee, the hate in the boy’s eyes was enough to scare the crap out of Josh.

  Dee nodded with satisfaction as Jackie Goggles shut the van doors with a loud clunk. He said to Kit, “Inside and take your pet with you.”

  Kit set Petilune on the steps and stalked toward Dee, shouting, “Fuck you, man. You’ll never get away with this.”

  “Looks like I already have, loser.”

  “I’ll come for you, Wiinuk!. There’s no place you can hide from me.”

  The sweet tang of burning wood assaulted Josh’s nostrils. He spun, lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted on Dee as the big man took aim at Kit. Trust the training. Squeezing off a round, Josh watched Dee’s shoulder jerk, his arm bucking at he spun from the impact. Twisting to find his next target, Josh gasped as Kit folded into a heap on the ground.

  Someone screamed. Then his leg exploded in agony as he tumbled toward the hard ground. A second blow to his kidneys bent him in half. The phone vibrated in his pocket next to his heart.

  Marcus. It was Marcus.

  Please don’t, don’t come, don’t...

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Engulfed

  His cell phone buzzed. It was Det. Calhoun. “Talk to me, Marcus. What’s going on?”

  Not bothering to hide his panic, Marcus bellowed, “I don’t fucking know! Josh went around back, the others are at the store. He told me to wait, see if somebody leaves. See where they go.”

  He slapped the steering wheel hard. The sound reverberated, a jarring reminder of how helpless he was, parked on the highway, staying out of trouble. Doing what he was told while Josh was there, planning who the hell knew what. And putting himself in danger.

  Minutes, then hours, and finally days ticked off inside his head. Calhoun kept up a chatter, keeping him informed. They’d had to call people in. Laramie PD wasn’t exactly flush with personnel which meant adding Cheyenne PD to their rescue unit. Men and women hustled to get to a staging area, suit up, and get instructions. They’d add emergency vehicles, just in case.

  Wars came hot, fast—unexpected—but battles needed planning. There’d been little warning for this. Marcus understood all that. It didn’t help.

  The hill jutting against the narrow berm on the south side of the highway shut off his view of all but the entrance to the parking lot. He’d see someone leaving, turning right or left, but other than that he was deaf, dumb and blind.

  Words squawked. He ignored them. Calhoun and his people were scrambling. Meeting an impossible deadline. There in forty-five. Marcus suspected that would be far too late. He debated taking the turnoff onto the fire service road, following Josh around back. If nothing else, he’d at least see what was happening. At that point he cared less where the assholes got to than needing to know that Josh wasn’t lying dead in a pool of blood.

  And Petilune. God, what if the girl was there too?

  Calhoun asked a question, repeated it. “Marcus! Do you know this Three Bar Guest Ranch?’

  “What? Yeah. It’s new. Why?”

  “Manager reported a break-in. One of the cabins. Said it looked like a bomb had gone off in there.” Oh sweet Jesus. Calhoun’s voice jerked, fading in and out. Marcus guessed he was mobile, but not driving. Maybe reading from a file. The detective confirmed it, explaining, “There was a report of vandalism a few weeks ago. Kid kind of crap.”

  Marcus laughed, dry and hoarse. It wasn’t funny. “Not kids. Josh and me think Kit’s been crashing there all this time.”

  Calhoun swore steadily. Marcus repeated it, echoed it, hated it. It had all happened right under their noses. Centurion’s version of Armageddon. His friends, neighbors all put at risk. For what?

  Strangers had come, blindsiding them, hitting on their futures. Shattering innocence. Leaving a trail of violence and mayhem. How did that happen? How did somebody like Kit, or the dealers, just waltz right in and nail them all where they lived?

  Bam. One salvo and it had been a done deal.

  How?

  Calhoun growled through the speaker, “We’ll find out, Marcus. Just hang in there. We’re on our way.”

  Marcus shuddered, unaware he’d been speaking out loud. He disconnected from Calhoun and texted Josh: Coming in.

  The road behind him was clear. He scanned the entrance to his store, did a quick
calculation, decided against it—too many imponderables. The engine roared to life. He turned the wheel hard and popped the clutch, sending the truck fishtailing across the road diagonally, aiming for the blank spot in the treeline. He was used to the vehicle—its quirks, the rattles and gasps, how it wheezed under a load, the crash like a parade of metal trash can lids clanging together when he hit a bump. He’d be going in like a brass band at a football game.

  Gearing back, he tapped the brakes and slowed, using night sight to find his way. Once past the sharp bend ahead, he’d pull over where it opened up enough to park. Then he’d walk the rest of the way. Josh would kill him if he barged in, maybe ruined whatever he’d planned. Worst yet, alerted Dee and his henchmen they had company before Josh was willing to spring his surprise.

  It was all guesswork. It kept him thinking positive, that Josh had it all under control. He’d just be backup, cleanup, coming in after his man had taken them all down. Keep thinking that, Colton, and you’ll end up dead, too.

  Killing the engine, he grabbed the Browning and loaded up his pockets with shells. The shoulder holster wasn’t a good fit, digging into the soft flesh at his waist. He’d told Josh he knew how to adjust it. He didn’t. Now it irritated him.

  Irritation was distracting. He couldn’t afford it. Neither could Josh. Marcus slipped it off and tucked the 9 mil in the small of his back, praying he wouldn’t embarrass himself by shooting a hole through his ass.

  Josh wouldn’t approve...

  He checked the time. Thirty minutes, probably more, especially if part of the team was coming from Cheyenne. That was a long haul from there to Laramie, then the additional mileage to Centurion. The total mileage eluded him...

  We’re on our way.

  The time bomb ticking away in his head pumped adrenalin, enough he barely registered passing Josh’s truck, legs pumping, muscles screaming. Skidding to a stop, Marcus bent over, his lungs damn near collapsed from the effort. He sucked air, tried orienting himself but heard nothing except a whine and the blood pumping through his veins.