Let the Hunt Begin

by Alex Ander

  Standing on Randall’s left, holding her phone between the two of them, Devlin shook her head at him. “We’re coming up empty here.”

  Thinking something similar, he acknowledged her with a dip of his chin.

  Faith: “Wait a minute. I just went over those two unnamed text threads, and one of the back-and-forths from the second one has something interesting.”

  Devlin and Randall exchanged a quick look then stared at the phone in her right hand.

  “This,” Faith paused, “this whole thing seems to be written in some sort of code or jargon,” another pause, “but this part caught my eye. It reads, ‘Cabin is set. One week.’ It’s from Hammerstein to the unnamed number.”

  Devlin faced her partner. “Cabin is set? One week?”

  He shrugged. “Sounds like he might be renting—or reserving—a cabin.”

  Faith: “That’s the last entry.” A moment. “Something else that’s peculiar...the first text entry for this number was May twelfth. That’s six days ago, the day before...”

  “Before,” Devlin came back to her phone, “the Oregon robbery.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m thinking that,” Devlin meandered to a desktop computer in the living room and put her phone beside a keyboard, “that number belongs to a burner phone.” She sat at the computer, brought up a browser history, and scrolled through names of web sites. “Have you tried calling it, Fay?”

  “I just did. It’s out of service.”

  Randall drew up on Devlin’s left. “That’s why they’re called burners.” Hovering over her left shoulder, his right hand gripping the back of her chair, his left hand flat on the desk, he poked his chin at the monitor. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not really sure.” She clicked on a couple links then backed out again. “I remember seeing something about,” she ran her index finger backward over the mouse’s scroll wheel, “something about cabins, I thoug—there.” She clicked a link.

  A website appeared.

  Randall spied the site’s name. “Come Enjoy Northern Idaho.”

  Devlin clicked a ‘Lodging’ link and scrolled down the page that popped up. “Looks like they have a few to choose from.” She picked one and scanned the description. “Rustic accommodations...converted ranger station run by volunteers...first-come, first-serve basis.” She thumbed a button on the side of the mouse to take her back a page. “The text message said ‘Cabin is set. One week.’ You might be right, Noah. Hammerstein may have been making arrangements for someone to stay at one of these cabins.”

  “Like his son?” Randall pointed. “Try that link, the third one from the bottom.”

  She followed his instructions then squinted at a line halfway down the page.

  He read the same line aloud. “Due to the popularity for this out-of-the-way, authentic cabin experience, reservations (for stays up to seven days) are required.” He stood taller. “You think Hammer could be headed there?”

  “He might already be there.”

  Randall brought up a map of Idaho on his mobile. “We’re about two hours away from where those cabins are.”

  She scanned the other links, clicked on a few, then stood while snatching her phone. “Faith, can you do me a favor?”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “Can you try and contact the owner of,” Devlin glanced at the browser history, “Come...Enjoy...Northern...Idaho,” before she grabbed her black leather jacket, “and find out if Duke Hammer has a reservation for any of their cabins?”

  Faith repeated the site name. “Got it.”

  “Check under his dad’s name, too.” She slid arms into the covering then flicked out her ponytail. “I don’t want to waste any time, so we’re heading there now. Call me when you have something.” She faced Randall. “You ready to go?”

  He nodded while donning his own black leather jacket.

  Faith: “Will do.”

  Devlin clicked off and shoved her cell into her coat’s left breast pocket while hurrying toward the front door.

  *******

  11:31 A.M.

  ONE MILE EAST OF

  NEWPORT, WASHINGTON

  “Of course, I’m going to be there for your birthday, Babe. I’m your mom. Moms don’t miss their little girl’s birthdays. What have I always told you? It may not be when you want it to be, but I’ll always—” her left hand holding her phone to her cheek, Devlin grinned. “That’s right. I’ll always come home to you.”

  Behind the wheel, hearing his partner’s gentle tone, Randall gave the side of her face a quick peek while hiking a corner of his mouth.

  “So, what kind of cake do you want?” A moment. “Then, chocolate it is. And the frosting?” Following another moment, Devlin snickered under her breath. “I see you’re going all in on the chocolate, aren’t you?”

  Randall nodded at the traffic ahead. My kind of girl.

  “Listen, Babe, I need to get going, but can you put Curt on the phone?” Two ticks later, her heart fluttering, Devlin put her free hand to her face then used her thumb and forefinger to dam the water gathering in her eyes. “Yes, that’s—” her voice cracking, she swallowed, “that’s what I meant to say. Can you put your dad on the phone?”

  His grin broadening, the driver spied his passenger swiping at her cheeks.

  “Hi, Curt. I just,” she filled her lungs and exhaled, “I just wanted to touch base with you. Noah and I are—” she listened to the stepfather of her child, “no. I’m fine. It’s just sometimes kids say things that take you by surprise.” A pulse. “And what did you think when you heard her say that?” Seconds later, her emotions rearing up again, Devlin smiled. “And she loves you, too, Curt.”

  Randall checked his mirrors, worked the turn-signal lever, and passed a slow-moving car.

  “Well, as I was saying, we’re getting ready to go into some back country, so I’m not sure about cell reception. So, I just wanted to let you know that you might not hear from me for a while.” Ten seconds passed. Blushing, feeling her chest getting warmer, Devlin glimpsed Randall then lowered her voice while turning toward her window and cupping her mobile with both hands. “That sounds like a fun time. I wish we were together already.”

  Her husband’s voice having escaped from Devlin’s phone, slipped by her ear, and projected into the quiet compartment, Randall smiled to himself then closed his eyes and shook his head to erase the mental footage he had overheard.

  “I love you, too, Curt. I’ll see you soon. Bye.” Devlin ended the call, put her phone on her lap, and let out a long, subdued sigh.

  The Chrysler 300S rolled a mile down the highway.

  Randall gave Devlin another mile before glancing at her to see her gaping through the windshield. It must be tough being away from your kid. He faced forward. “So, when is your daughter’s birthday? Sounds like it’s coming up soon.”

  After a tenth of a mile of staring straight ahead, she blinked a few times, “Um,” and shot him a look, “no,” before drawing a hand down her face. “It isn’t until next week. But you know how kids are when it comes to their birthday.”

  He nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad I’ve still got some time to get her something.”

  Devlin shook her head at him. “You don’t have to do that. She’ll get plenty from Curt and me.”

  “Forget that. She’d be devastated if I didn’t buy her a present.” His brows came together. “I think she and I bonded when you had me over for dinner.”

  Devlin smiled. “She was smitten with you,” a beat, “and your goofy, knight-in-shining-armor voice.”

  Randall chuckled, his mind recollecting the scene she had referenced...

  It took Cassandra at least five seconds to lay her five fingers on Randall’s palm.

  He gently kissed the back of her hand before taking a step back, “My lady,” sweeping his left arm out to the side, and bowing, “it is truly an honor to make the acquaintance of such royalty.”

  Cassandra’s mood lightened at Randal
l’s grand gesture and quirky, accented words.

  He moved closer, put his left hand near her right ear, made a swift crossing motion with both hands, and produced a mini red rose out of thin air.

  He envisioned the red rose. “Besides, I have to get her a gift. That flower must be on its way out by now.”

  “Oh, that flower,” the marshal shut her eyes and shook her head, “for the whole next day, she would not stop talking about that flower...or more precisely,” Devlin gestured, “about you.”

  Randall beamed. “Oh yeah?”

  “So, you two bonded, all right.” She whipped her head toward him. “And after you played,” she threw up an arm, “whatever that game was the two of you played that night, guess what—”

  “Knights and Princesses.”

  “Right. Knights and Princesses. Anyway, guess what she wants now.”

  Randall lifted his brows. “I don’t know. What?”

  “A sword.”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with that? For more than a month after Faith bought her those dang dart guns, they were all she played with. Now after one playdate with you, she’s been hounding me for another lethal weapon. What’s next...a switchblade, brass knuckles?”

  Randall laughed out loud.

  “I’m trying to encourage my daughter to get in touch with at least part of her feminine side.”

  Having taken the next tenth of a mile to tamp down his amusement, he peeped at his passenger then bobbed his head at the windshield. “Okay, mom. I get it. When I go shopping for Cassie’s present, I’ll see what I can do to help you out there. No lethal weapons.”

  A half mile of scenery passed by the rental.

  Hearing in his head her husband’s parting words to her over the phone, Randall tossed a mischievous grin across the center console then turned away. “I take it Mr. Ashford is missing his woman.”

  Picking up on something in Randall’s tone, she confronted him. “Why do you say that?”

  He pressed his lips together. Don’t do it, Noah. Don’t say anything. “No reason. I just assumed he would be missing you,” a beat, “like any normal husband would be.”

  Still studying Randall’s face, Devlin slowly nodded at him while feeling her thighs pulsating. “Yeah...”

  A buzzing sound filled the car.

  “...he’s,” grabbing her phone from her lap, “he’s missing me,” she forced herself to eye the screen. “It’s Faith.” The marshal connected the call. “You’re on speaker with Noah and me.”

  “I finally got in touch with the owner of that website. And he told me he rented out a cabin to a man for one week, starting on the seventeenth. The man registered online.”

  Devlin looked down at her phone. “Do we have a name?”

  “Yup. John Smith.”

  Devlin huffed. “Of course.”

  “I know. And listen to this. The website’s owner said he received payment for the cabin by courier.”

  “By courier?”

  “Someone pulled up, handed over a sealed envelope with enough cash inside for one week, said it was for John Smith’s rental, and drove off.”

  Devlin squared shoulders with her driver.

  He returned her puzzled expression. “So, we still don’t know if that’s Duke Hammer up there. But it’s too coincidental for us not to check it out.”

  She nodded. “I agree. Can he identify the courier, Faith, so we can find out who paid him?”

  “I can try. The owner said it was a ‘quickie’ kind of encounter, though. I’m not sure...”

  Randall grinned at the euphemism.

  “...if he’ll remember much. Plus, it’s going to take time.” A beat. “Where are you guys now?”

  Randall: “We just passed by Newport and crossed over the border into Idaho. We’re about,” he spied the time on the dashboard, “forty-five minutes away from the cabins.”

  “Okay. I’m going to contact the owner, his name is Mark, and have him meet you at his office.”

  Devlin sat straight. “Thanks, Faith. I’ll call when we arrive.” She tapped the ‘END’ icon and placed her phone in a cup holder on the console. “This sounds promising.”

  He acknowledged her with a dip of his chin. “It does.”

  Devlin eased her seat’s upright rearward forty-five degrees, laid her head on the headrest, and closed her eyes.

  A mile later, Randall heard Faith’s words in his mind. The owner said it was a ‘quickie’ kind of encounter, though. He huffed at traffic while recalling Devlin’s earlier conversation with her husband. I said I wouldn’t, but... “So,” his devilish side won the battle, “hopefully, this pans out, and we can get back home soon.”

  She folded arms across her chest and rolled onto her left ear. “Hopefully.”

  He glanced out his window. “Because I’m sure you’re looking forward to a quick shower with,” he paused, “lots of soap.”

  Her chest flushing, her heart beating faster, Devlin popped open her eyes and zeroed in on her partner’s broad smile. “You heard him, didn’t you?”

  Randall showed even more teeth.

  The redness under her shirt growing to encompass her neck and cheeks, she smacked his arm. “Dang it.”

  “Hey. Why are you—”

  “I love that man, dearly, but sometimes he forgets how far his voice travels.”

  Sniggering, Randall clutched the spot she had hit. “I get that. But why are you taking it out on me?”

  “Because you’re within reach. Now, you just,” she leveled a finger at him, “wipe any images from your brain that may be gathering there. Understood?”

  Randall held up the first two fingers of his right hand. “On my honor.”

  “Good.” She settled back into her seat and closed her eyes. “I’m going to try and snag fifteen before we arrive.”

  Twenty seconds passed.

  “Although, after overhearing your R-rated conversation,” frowning at a white Nissan ahead of him, he tipped his head to one side, “I may have to switch from soap to bodywash from now on.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 28

  For a Charge, of Course

  12:29 P.M.

  IDAHO PANHANDLE

  Located at the northern end of the Idaho Panhandle, encompassing twenty-five square miles, and home to a small cluster of inhabitants, the unincorporated village of Elmer boasted a general store, village post office, and a rental business; all of them housed under one roof and run by fifty-year-old Mark Denny.

  Dressed in blue jeans, a black thermal underwear top, a blue jean jacket, and six-inch-high brown work boots, the top of his head parallel with Devlin’s chin, Denny stood behind the general store’s counter looking up at her and Randall. A wide runway of skin separated a horseshoe of gray hair curving around to the back of his head.

  On Devlin’s right, Randall picked up a map of the area and studied the topography.

  Devlin eyeballed the shorter male. “So, you haven’t had any contact with the man renting that cabin?”

  “I was just getting ready to make a run up there to see if he arrived, ask if he had any questions,” Denny pulled a tattered white handkerchief from a pants pocket, “you know...the usual.” He blew his nose, wiped it, and returned the soiled hanky to his pocket. “But that’s when that female marshal called me and started asking questions. Is she with you?”

  “She is.” Devlin leaned right, toward her partner, to scan the map he held.

  “According to this, the cabin we want is,” Randall pointed, “right there, almost to the top of that peak.”

  She nodded. “How long will it take us to get there, Mr. Denny?”

  He glanced beyond her left shoulder and squinted at a light snow falling outside, adding to the inch already on the ground. “I can set you up with a couple four-wheelers,” he glimpsed the federal agents, “for a charge, of course. I’m not running a charity here.”

&nb
sp; Her gaze never straying from the map, she waved off the businessman. “Money’s no object.”

  He smiled, hunched over, and pinched the map in Randall’s grasp. “May I?”

  Randall let go.

  Denny cleared off a patch of real estate on the counter, laid the paper down, and pointed. “We’re here.” He moved his pointer finger. “There’s where you want to go.” Tracing a squiggly line between the two locations, “If you take this trail,” he doled out directions, “and go around the mountain, then join up with this trail, which will lead you right to the cabin, you should make it in less than an hour.”

  Devlin glanced up from the map. “And there aren’t any other people staying at the cabins in the surrounding area?”

  “The next nearest rental is five miles away, but there is an old man who has a small spread about a mile north/northeast. Been living there longer than I’ve been running this place.”

  “Any way of contacting him?”

  “I’m sure there is, but,” Denny shrugged, “I’ve never had reason to do so.” A beat. “But if you’re worried about him getting caught up in your business, he keeps to himself.”

  Devlin motioned. “Show me where his house is at.”

  “Unless you’re looking for it, the driveway to his place is hard to find.” He tapped a spot on the paper, “Right there,” then straightened up and peeked outside. “This late-season storm is supposed to dump upwards of a foot of snow in the higher elevations over the next twelve hours.”

  After picking up a pen and marking an ‘X’ on the location Denny had just indicated, Randall picked up the flat atlas. “Mind if we take this?”

  The older man nodded. “Have at it.” A moment. “There are a lot of sharp turns along that path, especially on the other side of the mountain. So, with this white stuff coming down the way it is, I wouldn’t recommend going too fast.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” The deputy marshal folded the chart, stuffed it into a jacket pocket, and poked his chin at the owner. “Where do we find our quads?”