by Alex Ander
He nodded. “Well, let start hustling.”
The agents came out from under the low branches and hurried down the narrow trail.
*******
2:29 P.M.
Devlin glanced to her right then reached out with her left hand to grab Randall’s jacket.
He faced her then lifted his gaze to see a five-foot-wide drive hidden among massive pines and shrubs. “I guess Denny was right. It is hard to spot. If we had been on those quads, we might have ridden right by it.”
“We have to be close now.” She made her way toward the concealed opening, stopping a few paces later when she realized she was alone. She turned back to see her partner staring down the path to the north. Coming back to him, she followed his line of sight and squinted at a barely visible speck of light blue up ahead.
Randall drew his Walther.
Devlin drew her Colt.
The two employees of the Marshals Service crept up the path. Coming upon the blue speck, they pointed their weapons at a short, slim figure in blue sweatpants, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt.
Her body enveloped in a layer of snow, her labored breaths coming in short gasps, Samantha gaped at the black sky above.
“Cover me.” Devlin moved away from her partner and approached the downed woman. Seeing no weapon, she went to her left knee and brushed snow off the younger female’s clothing.
Samantha’s eyes found Devlin’s face through the haze of constant flecks coming at her. Her chest rose and fell. “I,” she swallowed, “I loved him. I told him I,” she coughed up a line of blood, “loved him. And he just...just pushed me off the bike.”
Randall came up on the other side of the criminal and cleared snow away from around her body to discover a growing pool of blood near her back/butt area. One of my shots must’ve hit her.
Five seconds later, the twenty-year-old woman mustered the strength to lift her head and grab Devlin’s jacket. “I’m so sorry.”
The marshal gazed upon the woman’s twisted face and could almost feel the tortured mind behind the watery eyes.
“I-I’m the one who shot that man,” Samantha swallowed, “at the bank.” Letting her head fall back to the snow, she stared at the snowy skies above. “I can still hear her screams.”
Seeing the life flow out of her boyfriend, her lower lip quivering, her eyes filling with moisture, Julia brought his face to her chest, and squeezed him. Three whimpers later, she threw her head back and wailed at the ceiling.
“I’m...I’m s-so cold.”
Devlin unzipped her jacket and slid the garment off her shoulders.
“I can’t f-feel my legs. Are th-they still there?” Her chest heaving, she drew in a raspy, gurgling breath of air.
Randall lifted Samantha’s crimson-stained shirt, winced at a belly wound, gently lowered the garment, and looked at Devlin.
Twirling her coat off her body, she noticed the sour expression on his face and stopped in mid-stream, holding her jacket like a matador holding his cape.
He shook his head.
“Oh,” Samantha sighed, “thank you. I feel much warmer now.”
Glancing down, seeing herself still holding her coat in the air, a couple feet above the fallen woman, Devlin screwed up her face. Poor thing. She’s lost all feeling in her... Devlin laid her coat over the dying woman. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re okay. Just relax. Everything is...”
Her body shudders stopping, Samantha let out a long, slow breath.
“...going to be all right.” Devlin caressed the woman’s face, wiping away the gathering snow. “The pain will be gone soon. I promise. In a little bit, you won’t feel—”
Randall put a hand on his partner’s shoulder blade.
She faced him.
Observing the kind-hearted marshal giving aid to the person who had been trying to kill her less than an hour ago, Randall pressed his lips together. “It’s over, Jess.” He lightly squeezed her shoulder. “There’s nothing more you can do for her.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 31
That’s Far Enough
2:52 P.M.
Devlin and Randall emerged from the tree-lined driveway to be greeted by a modest-sized, well-maintained, A-framed cabin made of large, horizontally oriented logs. Further back, and to the left of the cabin, sat a red, gambrel-framed barn.
The agents strolled toward the main house.
Breathing harder than normal, Randall blew out puffy clouds ahead of the twosome.
She glimpsed the load in his outstretched arms then studied him. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Her eyes drifted to the woman’s body he carried. “I’m feeling bad for making you bring her with us.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. It was the right thing to do.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO...
“We need to get going.” Randall flung an arm toward the north. “Hammer is still on the move, and we’re falling behind. We don’t have the luxury of burying her.”
“We can’t just leave her here to be eaten by wild animals, either.”
He turned away from Devlin and ran fingers through his hair before scratching his scalp. “We can cover her with snow—a lot of snow—and come back when this is over...or send someone back.” He dug out his mobile and held it up. “You got any reception?”
“I haven’t had a signal since shortly after climbing onto those ATVs.”
“Me neither.” He stowed the device and plopped hands onto hips while eyeing the deceased woman.
Devlin glanced over her shoulder to see the start of the driveway they had spotted earlier. “We could,” she came back to him, “take her with us.”
Randall cocked his head at her then pointed downward. “She just tried to kill you—us—a little bit ago. And now you want to carry her,” he looked back, “however far it is to this place we’re going to?”
“Noah,” her voice subdued, Devlin squared shoulders with him, “we can’t leave her here. That S.O.B. just dumped her by the side of the road when she became too much of a burden to him.”
“She just admitted that she was the one who killed that cop.”
Devlin pumped her hands at her partner. “I know she’s responsible for innocent deaths. Believe me. I know.” A beat. “But when I looked into her eyes a minute ago, I saw what I believe was true remorse.” Recalling her Catholic upbringing—a faith which she had fallen away from in recent years, and to which she was now slowly returning—Devlin remembered a Scripture passage about forgiving someone seven times seventy times. “I mean that remorse, that repentance has to count for something, doesn’t it,” she glimpsed the dead woman, “even if it comes at the very end of one’s life?”
He squinted at Samantha’s body.
Devlin faced him. “Besides, is that who we really are...you and me? Are we no better than the jackass who disposed of her like she was a sack of garbage?”
The deputy marshal sent his partner, his friend, a long look before hanging his head and letting a drawn-out sigh escape his lungs.
PRESENT TIME...
Randall glanced at Devlin. “I was wrong. You were right. This,” he hefted Samantha’s body a little higher, “was the right thing to do. I should be the one who—”
“That’s far enough!”
The agents turned to face the gruff voice coming from the direction of the cabin.
Standing on the porch, most of his body shielded by one of four vertical log pillars, a man in his sixties posed with a lever action rifle pressed into his right shoulder. “I may be old, but I can still shoot, especially from this distance.”
“Oh,” Randall growled under his breath while finishing a curse. “I really do hate it when people point guns at me.”
The old man lifted the rifle’s muzzle a couple times. “Get your hands up.”
Devlin lifted her arms. “Take it easy, sir.”
“I said get your hands up there
, mister.”
Randall glimpsed his hundred-pound-plus bundle and snarled at the man. “Little hard to do, buddy, don’t you think?”
Not looking at him, Devlin laid her left hand on his right shoulder. “Don’t provoke him. I’ll take care of this.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “When have I ever provoked anyone? Besides, he’s got the gun, and I’m holding a—”
Gunman: “I won’t tell you again. Hands in the air.”
Still cradling the corpse, Randall showed the man his palms and wiggled his fingers. “See? Aren’t they pretty? They’re soft, too. I use moisturizer.”
She cranked her head toward Randall. “Tell me again how you never provoke anyone.” Devlin reversed course to face the rifleman. “Sir, my name is Jessica Devlin. I’m a United States Marshal. And this is Deputy Marshal Noah Randall. We’re here, because we need your help. We’ve been chasing a fugitive from justice, a bank robber who’s killed innocent people.”
Five seconds later, the old-timer lowered his long gun to forty-five degrees. “A bank robber, you say?”
“That’s right.”
“How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
Randall thrust out his chin toward the man. “If it helps, I could take out my gun and shoot you between the eyes.”
Devlin whirled on her partner. “Noah. Please.”
“Hey. Cut me some slack, will you? My arms are starting to feel like waterlogged noodles.”
Regarding the homeowner, “Sir,” she pointed at her coat, “if you’ll let me unzip my jacket, I can show you my badge.”
He thought a moment then poked his rifle at her. “Go ahead...slowly.”
She unzipped her jacket and pulled back the right half.
“Drop the gun on the ground and come closer, so I can get a better look.”
“I can’t do that. This gun was a gift from my father for my twenty-first birthday. It doesn’t leave my side.”
“Just keep your hands high then.”
Devlin crossed the snow-covered terrain, stopped at the porch, three feet away from the man, and displayed her shield again.
He studied the shiny metal.
“I have a,” she eased her right hand in between her jacket and her shirt, “cred pack as well I can show you.”
“What’s a cred pack?”
“Credentials...identifying me as a,” she flipped open a bi-fold wallet and held it out to the man, “federal agent.”
Upon seeing her face and name linked with the words United States Marshal, he came out from behind the pillar, lowered his weapon, and held it by the receiver while squinting at Randall. “And you say he’s with you?”
“He is.”
“Kind of a wise-cracker, isn’t he?”
Devlin smiled. “Yeah, but that wise-cracker would step in front of a bullet for me in a heartbeat.”
He acknowledged her with a single nod. “Always good to have someone like that in your corner.”
“I agree. What’s your name, sir?”
“Bentley. Wilbur Bentley. Call me Wilbur.”
“Thank you, Wilbur.”
He scratched his chin. “What’s that fellow carrying, anyway? Hard to make out in all this snow, but is that what I think it is?”
“I’m afraid that’s part of the reason why we’re here.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 32
White Blaze
Randall took a knee and laid Samantha’s body onto a green woolen blanket that Bentley had retrieved from inside the cabin and spread out over the snowy porch. The deputy marshal then wrapped the corpse in the covering.
A minute ago, after having explained to the homeowner the reasons for their unexpected visit, Devlin had beckoned Randall while the older man had gone back inside the home, reappearing seconds later with the blanket.
Bentley motioned. “Bring her in here.”
Devlin observed the man. “That’s a kind gesture, but all things considered, it would probably be best if she stayed outside,” a beat, “where it’s cold.”
“Yeah,” he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, “I suppose you’re right. Well, at least put her in the barn,” he pointed, “over yonder. It’ll be cool inside as long as the weather stays like it is.”
Randall lifted the dead woman, stepped off the porch, and made his way toward the barn.
“The door’s unlocked. Just have to lift the latch and nudge it open with your toe.” Bentley stepped to the side and swung an arm toward the archway. “Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A hot cup of coffee would be delicious right now. Unfortunately, we can’t come in. Every second we stay is a second we lose on tracking down our fugitive.”
“Of course. Of course. I understand.” A tick. “So, you said you needed some transportation?”
“We’d greatly appreciate it if we could borrow—or buy—a four-wheeler, snowmobile,” she paused, “anything you have really.”
He scratched the three-day-old scruff on his cheeks and chin while studying the porch.
She sensed resistance. “As I said, we’d be happy to pay any price.”
He shook his head at the snow gathering on his boots. “Money’s not the issue.”
Five ticks went by.
He filled his lungs then let out a long breath while looking at her. “You say this man murdered a couple folks?”
She met his steely gaze. “I did. One was an off-duty cop, shot and killed in front of his girlfriend.”
Squinting at the snowstorm for a few moments, then pivoting to regard the barn for another couple pulses, Bentley motioned. “Come on. I have something better than a four-wheeler.”
They traversed the distance between the house and the barn, the elderly man leading by a stride. He turned back to spy her. “How are you set for guns?”
She patted her hip. “We have our sidearms.”
He faced forward. “Well, I might be able to add to your firepower.”
*******
Upon hearing voices, Randall turned away from a stall to see Bentley and Devlin enter the barn.
Bentley acknowledged the other man with a backward flip of his head. “I see you’ve made friends with Sophia.” He bypassed a four-wheel ATV and headed toward the far end of the structure. “She doesn’t usually let strangers touch her.”
Randall turned back to the chestnut horse and stroked the white blaze running from forehead to nostrils on the animal. “Ah, Sophia. That’s a beautiful name...for a beautiful specimen.” He patted her neck. “American Quarter Horse, right?”
“You know your breeds, Mister...” the man paused.
“Randall. Noah Randall.”
“That’s right. You’ll have to excuse me. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten your name.”
“She has to be what...17 hands high?”
“Eighteen.”
With his shoes on, the six-foot-tall Randall ran a flat hand from the top of his head to the highest point on the horse’s withers. I’ll be darned.
“And she weighs fifteen hundred pounds.”
He regarded the animal’s powerful shoulders. “Of solid muscle.”
“Bring her out if you will, Mr. Randall.”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid we need to be leaving.” He eyed Devlin and lowered his voice. “Did you ask him about,” he bobbed his forehead toward the ATV, “transportation?”
“Yes,” carrying tack, “she did,” Bentley walked by the vehicle once more. “And I have something better for you,” he tipped his head toward the open barn door, “better for traveling in this weather.” He placed the gear on the floor but held on to a saddle pad. “So, please lead Miss Sophia out of that stall for me.”
Randall followed instructions. “You’re giving us your horse?”
His bushy gray mustache bouncing up and down as he spoke, “Well, I’m not,” the man brushed the pad free of burrs and stickers, “giving her to you,” the
n placed the cushion on the horse’s back.
Devlin spied her partner. “Wilbur’s letting us borrow her.”
Randall beamed. “Awesome.” He patted the equine.
Bentley lifted the brown, double seat western saddle then hoisted the tack onto the animal before fastening the cinches, buckling the breast collar, and attaching a scabbard. “Be right back.” He exited the outbuilding.
Devlin joined Randall in giving the beast some physical attention. “So, how come you know so much about horses, anyway?”
“I rode them all the time when I was young. Pops had a small ranch.” Randall admired Sophia, his mind taking him back a couple decades. “I used to ride a lot...spent quite a bit of time with a Quarter very similar to old Sophia here.” He stroked her fur. “But mine wasn’t nearly as big as she is.”
The corners of her mouth inching upward, Devlin studied him, her curiosity about his childhood generating a half dozen questions in her brain. “You said used to. You don’t ride anymore?”
He glimpsed her before his focus drifted back to the Quarter Horse. “I was a year into my stint with the military when I got word from Pops that he—”
“All right,” his arms full, Bentley hurried into the barn. “Just one last thing.”
Randall glanced at Devlin. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you later.”
“I got you a little something for the trail.” The older man affixed horn bags and a rolled-up sleeping bag to the saddle then glimpsed the slender, five-ten female marshal. “Now, while I’m not foolish enough to ask you your weight, ma’am,” he held out two, well-worn black winter coats then gestured at the garments. “you’ll find a hat and gloves—and bottles of water—in the pockets.”
The agents accepted the offering while expressing their gratitude.
“You’re welcome. Now, as I was saying, I’m not going to guess your weight, but together,” Bentley gave the government employees a quick up-and-down, “the two of you can’t be over three hundred, so...”
The one-seventy Randall gave Devlin a mischievous grin.
She fired back an eyes-narrowed, ‘don’t-you-even-think-about-it’ look in return.
