by Jeff Carson
Not only that, but Barker hadn’t been appointed by Wolf, but rather by Sheriff MacLean as a favor to Barker’s father, a man who lived south of Williams Pass and owned one of the biggest cattle ranches in Colorado—by far the biggest in Sluice–Byron. Upon his appointment, MacLean had immediately promoted Barker to sergeant, presumably for the same reason.
Barker was the type of deputy Wolf despised: a ladder climber with aspirations of sitting in Sheriff MacLean’s office chair one day, stepping on any and everyone who was in his chosen path.
Which made the hesitation in Barker’s actions today even more puzzling. Normally, Barker showed over-the-top aggression during these types of scenarios, trying to outshine everyone—promotions, medals, and commendations first and foremost on his mind.
Wolf had never detected fear in the man, but Barker’s actions, if not motivated by crippling fear, had made no sense.
Once again, the door opened and cold air came in.
“Here you go.” The firefighter handed Wolf his clothing and an empty Gatorade bottle.
“Thanks. Hey, what’s your name?”
“Grenning, sir.”
“Thanks, Grenning.”
Grenning nodded and shut the door, then went to Barker and Tim Dunlop and joined in the conversation, like a freshman sidling up to the seniors in the high-school halls.
He, too, snuck a glance toward Wolf and shook his head.
Chapter 2
“Hot damn,” MacLean said, looking at Wolf and Barker with a wide smile and bouncing eyebrows. “You two just clicked us up a few notches. That’s what I call a newsworthy moment. One of the good kinds.”
Wolf crossed his left ankle over his knee, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.
Wolf and Barker were sitting in MacLean’s aquarium-like office at the western head of the squad room. Afternoon sunlight glared through the window behind the sheriff, silhouetting him as he paced back and forth.
“Good.” MacLean rubbed his silver goatee with thumb and forefinger, the satisfied smile going nowhere anytime soon. The man was easier to read than a Where’s Waldo? book. It was late January, and though elections were two Novembers away, a full twenty-two months, Sheriff MacLean was thinking of polls, voters and public perception.
Because MacLean had been shaken by the arrival of a man named Adam Jackson.
Adam Jackson was a former chief of police from Aspen, a smooth talker with an even smoother appearance. A real political powerhouse who had many high-up friends in government across the nation, he liked to present himself as a humble man who liked to mingle with the people. Adam Jackson had been putting MacLean in an unshakeable mood for the past five months. Because as first order of business after arriving in Rocky Points, Adam Jackson had announced to the local press his intentions of running against Sheriff Will MacLean during the next election.
MacLean’s ever-confident air had wavered as of late because it was clear that the Aspen Wonder, as the local paper was calling him, was more likeable. Even the county council was warming up to the newcomer, and MacLean was sulking like a jealous sibling.
Rescuing the man from the icy river was a piece of news that would be pasted on front pages, making the department look good. It was a moment of time that could bolster MacLean’s reputation if he used the news wisely, and there was no doubt in Wolf’s mind that MacLean had every intention of doing just that.
“So what happened out there?” MacLean asked, finally pulling his thoughts away from tomorrow’s newspaper headlines. “I want specifics.”
Barker twisted a thread coming off the seam of his sweat pants.
“Detective Barker and I were coming back from the conference at the ski resort when we saw some tracks going over the edge.”
MacLean raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“And we went down and pulled the guy out. The FD got our asses out of there and finished the job with the driver. We haven’t heard much else.”
MacLean nodded and crossed his arms. “The driver’s at County, just been downgraded from critical to serious condition. His family’s on the way up from Denver to see him, and so are all the news crews. You two did good.”
Wolf nodded.
Barker took to pulling on the thread.
“Something the matter, Detective Barker?” MacLean asked.
“Huh?” Barker looked up.
“I said is something wrong?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I want full reports on my desk, or emailed to me I guess, by tomorrow. In the meantime, why don’t you guys go get a warm shower and take the rest of the day off?”
Wolf and Barker stood and left the office. Wincing, Wolf let Barker take the lead as he limped behind.
Barker opened the door and walked out briskly, rounding the corner and disappearing into the squad room.
The room was bustling, as midday Fridays usually were. Weekend warriors from Denver would be funneling into town this afternoon for the ample snow on the mountain, which meant the full crew needed to be out patrolling and earning money for the county.
Patterson turned from her computer and stood at the sight of Wolf hobbling over.
She waddled over to him, both hands gripping the underside of her eight-month-pregnant belly. Passing Barker on the way over, she gave him a look. “What’s his problem?”
“I don’t know.” Pain shot up from Wolf’s ankle, and he fantasized about floating to his office and landing in his desk chair.
“You hurt?”
“So perceptive.”
“Geez, you’re beat up.” She walked next to him. “I heard what happened out there.”
Wolf considered putting an elbow on her shoulder—she was short enough that he just had to lean onto it—but she was carrying a baby so he refrained.
“Have you been to the infirmary?” she asked.
“No.”
She wrapped a thin, muscular arm around his waist. “Here.”
She tipped sideways and pulled his weight up. The relief was instant as he used her as a crutch on the right side. Her sturdy frame held solid, even when he accidentally stumbled into her.
“You need me to take over for the day?” She looked up with her glacial blues. Her face had swelled over the past few months, a side effect of the pregnancy, but with her freckles and youthful skin she was still her cute self. Her tenacious, fifth-degree black-belt self.
Her tenacity and devotion to her job had earned her a promotion to sergeant ten months ago, and even though her pregnancy had now put her into more passive duties, she was stepping up as sergeant deputy, seamlessly shifting into the role of a leader.
“Yeah, thanks. Taking over for me sounds like a great idea.” Wolf stared at his office door, now thinking about Advil. “We don’t have much going on. Just have Rachette file that paperwork on the Trenton property.” Wolf was referring to a “stolen” snow blower they’d tracked down by following footprints to the next-door neighbor’s house.
“You got it.”
The elevator at the end of the hallway opened and a tall, thin woman dressed in a tight skirt stepped out at full speed. Heels clicking on the terrazzo floor, her platinum-blonde hair blew back from her shoulders and the fabric of her borderline see-through white blouse pushed against her bouncing breasts. She sipped from a large to-go coffee cup and raised her eyebrows at the sight of Wolf.
“Your girlfriend at twelve o’clock,” Patterson said under her breath.
“Chief Detective, I was just coming up to see you.” Her smile was wide, revealing a straight row of ivory teeth, her mahogany eyes twinkling in the florescent lighting with unwavering confidence. Even in her fifties, Judy Fleming looked young and alive, and she was, by anyone’s standards, an externally beautiful woman.
“You want me to get you a cup of coffee?” Patterson asked him.
“I couldn’t possibly ask a woman who’s eight months pregnant to—”
“I’ll bring you one.”
“Thanks.”
&
nbsp; Patterson let go of his waist and gave Judy a wooden smile. “Hello, Councilwoman.”
“Detective Sergeant Patterson. My God, you’re bursting at the seams. I could never get pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to have my coffee.” She made a humming noise that was supposed to pass as a laugh and looked at Wolf. “That reminds me, have you been to this new coffee shop down the street? This hippy-motif place?”
Wolf nodded. She was referring to Dead Ground, a new coffee shop on Main Street that had taken the two brilliant ideas of making coffee and playing jam-band music and slapped them together. He’d been there a few times and liked the brew.
“They play the loudest music I’ve ever heard in my life,” Judy continued. “I asked them to turn it down and they may as well have pissed in my face with their response.”
Wolf raised his eyebrows. “What was their response?”
“Nothing. They didn’t turn it down.” She sipped and took the opportunity to stare at Patterson’s belly. “Why aren’t you at home? Why isn’t she at home?”
“I go home next week,” Patterson said. “It was at my insistence that I stay on as late as I could. I have a phobia of watching daytime television.”
The councilwoman ignored her and bent down. Homing in, she outstretched two palms and went at Patterson’s belly like a basketball player going for a rebound.
Wolf cringed as he watched Patterson deftly block both hands and then stiff-arm the councilwoman back to a standing position.
“Oh …” Judy stumbled back a step.
“I’ll return with that coffee, sir.” Patterson turned. “Nice to see you, Ms. Fleming.”
“Geez,” Judy muttered. “Skittish much?”
“She doesn’t like people touching her belly. I think it’s a common thing for pregnant women.”
Judy ran her free hand along her side to her hip, striking a pose. She lowered her eyelids and said, “I wouldn’t know about that.”
Wolf twisted the knob and flung open the door to his office. He’d forgotten to lower the blinds again and it was blazing bright and hot inside. “After you.”
“Such a gentleman. Whew, hot in here.” Her hips swayed as she strode in. “May I take a seat?”
She sat and draped one leg over the other, then pulled up her skirt to check the condition of her stockings on her upper thigh, showing her black silk underwear in the process.
“Yeah, sure.” Wolf did his best to walk normally around his desk. He sat down, resisting the urge to sigh, and scooted the wheeled chair to the windowsill and propped his ankle. “What can I help you with?”
“Oh, poor baby. I heard about the rescue. You hurt yourself?”
Wolf gave a little shrug.
Standing up, she walked around his desk, trailing her fingers along the shiny surface. “What hurts?”
Wolf said nothing as she stepped in between his legs and put both hands on his knee.
Her glossy nails tickled and massaged gently over the fabric of his jeans.
“This?” She whispered, letting one hand wander up his thigh.
“It’s actually the ankle,” Wolf said.
She met his bored gaze and stood straight, her face cooling twenty degrees in an instant. “I came to talk to you about Adam.”
Wolf had a sense of where she was going with this. Judy Fleming was the chairwoman of the county council, which gave her a significant amount of clout in the political realm of Sluice–Byron County. She was also doubling as Adam Jackson’s campaign manager and staunchest supporter, according to what Wolf had heard from Margaret Hitchens, and Margaret rarely dispensed rumors. She had herself become a councilwoman and founder of the largest real-estate sales company in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, Hitching Post Realty, because she dispensed facts.
“Adam is looking extremely good in the preliminary polls we’re running. But I’m sure you knew that.”
Wolf splayed his hands. “I couldn’t care less.”
She backed up and walked to the other side of his desk, leaving her strong, flowery scent behind. “You know which way the wind is blowing.”
“Out of the north,” Wolf said. “They’re saying a big storm’s coming after this weekend.”
She gave a close-lipped smile. “Adam’s going to win. MacLean’s a lame horse nobody wanted as sheriff in the first place. That’s why Adam’s here, answering the call from so many of us who are fed up with MacLean and his cronies.”
Wolf nodded. “He’s a savior.”
She narrowed her eyes and her smiled dripped with condescension. “Your naiveté is cute.”
Wolf flexed his foot back under his boot. The pain was getting worse by the minute. He needed pain killers.
“He’s going to be in that office down the hall pretty soon, David.”
“You and your cronies are pretty confident in your twenty-two-month forecast.”
“We could be that confident with the support of someone like you.”
Wolf tried to comprehend what she was saying.
“I’m serious. And after today?” She tilted her head. “With your support, we’re a lock.”
“I’m a detective.” He frowned. “I’m not a public figure. And even if for some godforsaken reason I decided to support Adam Jackson, publicly, how do you think it would go around here for me until the next election?”
She studied her nails. “You’re more influential in this town than you think. And we’re not talking about this second. We’re talking a year from now, and we would announce your support for Adam then. Of course, I’m sure you’re wondering what’s in it for you.”
Wolf closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, resisting the urge to throw her out of the office. The smell of her expensive perfume, which must have been applied by the tablespoon, was suddenly too much to bear. He thought of her legs wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, her dispassionate grunts as she writhed underneath him. Faster! Harder! Come on!
“David?”
Wolf blinked and looked at her. “What?”
She smiled in that seductive way that worked on most men. “You would be undersheriff. First in command below Adam.”
“What would happen to Undersheriff Wilson?”
She flipped a hand, like she’d just backhanded Wilson into the trash.
“Undersheriff Wilson used to be my sergeant when I was sheriff. He’s an honest, good man. With a family.”
“There’re going to be cuts, of course. With the budget pressure, that’s inevitable. But if he’s such a good man, I’m sure Adam would be open to keeping him on in a different capacity.”
“That sounds like shit.”
Judy’s air of confidence disappeared. “What sounds like shit?”
“How about you just leave me out of all of this? And if Adam Jackson makes his way into the Sheriff’s Office, I’ll then have a conversation with him, not you, about my future in the Sheriff’s Department.”
“I’m just trying to look out for your interests, David. You like me looking out for you, don’t you?”
They stared at one another.
“I don’t want to get in bed with you,” he said, watching her face redden. “Or your buddy from Aspen. I want to do the job I was hired to do, and that’s it. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get to the infirmary.”
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in!” Wolf put his foot on the floor and stood. The blood rushed to his ankle, the pain increasing exponentially with each pound of pressure applied.
“Here’s that coffee, sir.” Patterson walked inside with a Styrofoam cup. “Sorry it took me so long. Had to brew some more.”
“Don’t worry about it. Thank you.”
Patterson handed him the coffee and glanced at Judy.
The councilwoman stared out the window behind Wolf.
Without another word, Patterson left and shut the door.
Judy stood and smoothed her skirt, then checked her diamond-encrusted watch. “You think it’s smart to antagonize y
our future boss?”
Wolf sipped his coffee. “I thought you were a real-estate developer who had a seat on the county council.”
She looked him up and down once again, and then stepped close, her breath hot and reeking of stale cigarettes. “I think I’ve figured out what makes you tick.” She pressed her breasts against him as she reached down and cupped his crotch. “Why you couldn’t get it up that second time. Why you brush me aside.”
Wolf sucked in a breath, spilling a dollop of coffee on the floor.
“It’s this, isn’t it?” She studied his face as she massaged him, and then she smiled. “Dick makes you tick?”
Wolf’s cheeks bloomed with heat. “Get out.”
She let go and walked to the door. “Whew. Now I’m hot and bothered.”
The door clicked shut, and all that was left was her cloud of perfume.
Patterson opened the door and poked her head inside. “You okay?”
“No,” Wolf said limping out of his office. “I’m going to the infirmary.”
“What’s with her?” she asked. “Did something happen between you two?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Right.”
Wolf limped down the hallway.
Chapter 3
“This is Jack. Leave a message.”
Cresting the summit of Williams Pass, Wolf pressed the call-end button and set his phone in the center console. He was glad his son was ignoring phone calls at 2:21 on a Friday afternoon, hoping it was a sign he was in class and not starting the weekend early.
The sky was cobalt and cloudless, the sun above the southern horizon, its rays streaming through trees frosted with snow that crumbled off branches in cascades of prism dust.
The dash thermometer read twelve degrees and Wolf shivered, thinking about the river. If he sniffed real hard, the fishy taste still ran down the back of his throat.
The phone rang and Wolf picked it up. It was Jack. “Hey.”
