Striking Range

by Margaret Mizushima

  The engine in Cole’s truck fired and revved as she scooped a large amount of kibble into Robo’s bowl. He chowed down, crunching the nuggets. She removed the skim of ice from the water he’d left earlier and was happy to see that the supply in his jug still poured freely.

  Cole left his truck running and joined her at the back of her unit. Smacking his lips and chewing, Robo looked up at Cole, warming Mattie from the inside as she recognized the trust reflected in her dog’s eyes.

  Cole must have appreciated it too; he stroked Robo’s ears and along his back while he murmured praise for Robo’s good work. “He really is one of a kind, isn’t he?” Cole said quietly to Mattie.

  She nodded agreement as tears stung her eyes. It had been a long, hard day without much to show for it. She gave Robo’s ears one last stroke and stepped back to lower the hatch. “Let’s start warming up my car.”

  After climbing inside the Explorer, Mattie started her engine, flipped on the back window defroster and the seat warmers, and turned off the heater fan until the engine had a chance to warm. Her thoughts jumped to a different compartment in her life. “How did it turn out with Sassy’s pup?”

  “The kids are calling her Velvet. And after a lot of work, she finally started nursing. Things are looking good.”

  “Great news. And I love that name, though it doesn’t sound very ferocious, does it?”

  “What? Are you thinking she’ll follow in her father’s pawsteps and grow up to be a police dog?” Cole pulled off his glove and reached for her hand.

  Mattie stripped off her gloves, tucked her left hand inside her coat pocket, and slipped her right inside Cole’s warm palm. It was the first skin-to-skin contact they’d had all day, and it felt good.

  She leaned back in the warmth of her seat and sighed. “I don’t know if she’ll be police dog material, but she has the bloodline for it. Maybe she’ll go into narcotics or explosives detection without being trained for patrol.”

  “Or maybe she’ll grow up and be another pet for Hannah or one of the kids. Too early to tell.”

  Mattie turned to face him as their eyes met and they shared a smile and a quiet moment. Cole raised his hand to touch her cheek and then settled back in his seat, chafing her hand between both of his to warm it.

  “Why don’t your hands get as cold as mine?” she mused.

  “Cold hands, warm heart.”

  “Does that also mean warm hands, cold heart?” she asked with a smile.

  He shook his head and held her eyes, giving her that special look that spoke of the love he felt. “Nuh-uh. No, ma’am. Nothing like that.”

  Not wanting to remove her hand from his, Mattie leaned forward so she could turn up the heat and defrost to full blast with her left.

  “What happened up at Redstone Ridge today?” Cole asked. “Was that hard to go back?”

  They sat holding hands while Mattie summed up her day. It surprised her that she could tell him exactly how tough it had been to return to the cave. In the past, wild horses couldn’t have dragged that type of confession from her, but with Cole, the words flowed easily.

  “I should’ve gone with you,” he murmured.

  “No, you were exactly where you needed to be. You and the kids probably saved our little Velvet.”

  A semicircle of bare glass had appeared at the bottom of the windshield, opening their snug cocoon to the world. Mattie leaned forward to peer through it. A dark shape materialized against the white snow on the road coming down from the campsites.

  “Someone’s coming,” she said as she removed her hand from Cole’s and flipped on the headlights to light their way. The extra illumination showed the newcomer to be Stella, and within seconds, the detective slipped, her arms waving outward for ballast before she tipped backward.

  “Oh no.” Mattie opened her door and hopped out. “She fell.”

  She heard Cole’s door open as she crossed the icy patch near the asphalt to gain the more secure footing of the gravel road. With Cole following, she sprinted uphill. “Stella, are you okay?” she called as she drew near.

  The detective struggled to sit, swearing under her breath as Mattie knelt beside her.

  “Yes, yes, I’m okay.” Stella sounded more mad than hurt. “Damn ice. It’s slicker than snot out here.”

  Mattie hovered, wanting to pick up her friend but knowing she should give her a minute.

  Cole squatted beside them. “That was a nasty spill. Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”

  “I don’t think so.” Stella raised her hand to rub the back of her skull.

  “Did you hit your head?” Mattie asked.

  “Shit, yeah.”

  “Are you nauseous?” Cole asked. “Dizzy?”

  “No, just shaken up.” Stella reached a hand out to Mattie. “My butt’s cold. Would you help me stand?”

  Both Cole and Mattie lifted Stella to her feet. She swayed slightly before she appeared to gain her bearings. “Damn boots,” she muttered. “I need to get me a pair like yours.”

  Mattie looked down at Stella’s feet, lit by the headlights from her car. Her friend’s boots were more stylish than hers, but they lacked the heavy tread. “We’ll make sure you get some,” she said quietly, still supporting Stella’s arm. “Can you walk?”

  With Cole and Mattie on each of Stella’s arms, the detective hobbled down the incline toward the parking lot, her head lowered to watch each step. When they reached Mattie’s unit, Cole opened the door on the passenger’s side, and warm air washed over them.

  He helped Stella into the seat and leaned close to look at her. Mattie worried about the bump on Stella’s head, and apparently Cole did too.

  “How are you feeling now, Stella?” he asked. “Take a minute to look around. Are you dizzy, seeing double, nauseous?”

  Garrett Hartman had taken months to recover from a blow to his head that had caused serious visual problems at first. Mattie knew that was what concerned Cole. A concussion could be serious—not to mention bleeding inside the brain.

  “No, Cole.” Stella trembled, and her face took on a determined look, as if she was trying to suppress her shivers. “I’m going to be fine, okay? I’m just cold and worn out.”

  “I’ll be back.” Cole left to go to the mobile vet unit on the back of his truck.

  Mattie took his place beside Stella and knelt so they could be eye to eye. “You wouldn’t lie about how you feel, would you?”

  Stella gave her a thin smile before closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat. She tipped her head back against the headrest and sighed. “This warm seat is heaven. My head’s sore, okay … but I’m fine. Not dizzy, not sick, no double vision. I just need to sit a few minutes and rest. Don’t make a big fuss and embarrass me more than I already am.”

  “No need to be embarrassed, Stella. A fall like that could happen to anyone.”

  Cole returned, and Mattie moved out of his way. Stella opened her eyes and looked at him as he knelt beside her. He showed her a penlight that he held in his palm. “Look straight at me for a few seconds. I want to look at your pupils.”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Stella muttered, but she did as she was told.

  Cole splayed the light across Stella’s face, moving it back and forth from each eye. “Even size and responsiveness. Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No, Cole, I didn’t!” There was a warning in Stella’s voice. “Now quit fussing over me before I have to get out of this warm seat and whip your ass.”

  Cole burst into laughter and looked at Mattie. “Are all you cops this stubborn about your injuries?”

  She knew he was referring to the many times he’d been concerned about her scrapes, bruises, and burns while she’d insisted she was perfectly fine. “It comes with the badge,” she replied, giving him a half smile.

  “All right,” he said to Stella. “If you have a headache, take Tylenol, not aspirin, and don’t fall asleep for a couple hours.”

  “I know all that,” Stella grumb
led. “And I’ll be lucky if I get any sleep tonight.”

  “Okay, let’s close this door, so you can warm up.” Cole stood and stepped back, but paused when Stella reached to take his hand.

  “Thanks, Cole,” she said, looking up at him. “You’re a good man, and I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you. Thanks for helping us tonight. Now get out of here and go home.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mattie caught the twinkle in Cole’s eyes before he closed the door on the SUV and the interior light went off. “We all appreciate your help, Cole,” she said. “You’re beat. I’ll keep an eye on Stella while we wait for Brody. You should head home.”

  “At the risk of getting my ass whupped, I’ll check Stella again before I leave. After I scrape the windows.”

  “Do you need help with that?”

  “No, go ahead and sit inside.”

  Mattie rounded her vehicle while Cole opened the door to his truck to grab an ice scraper. She slipped inside, relaxing into the warmth as she closed the door on the harsh scraping sound Cole made as he went to work.

  Stella turned against the headrest to make eye contact. “Sorry I’m so cantankerous.”

  “I’m used to it.” Mattie smiled to soften the words. “Don’t worry about it, but you are going to have to let Cole check your pupils one more time before he leaves. Hey, it’s more convenient than me running you in to see Dr. McGinnis.”

  Stella sighed and closed her eyes. “I suppose so.”

  Mattie looked through the widening gap of clear windshield as the defroster continued to do its job. She would have to scrape only the side windows, since the rear window heat tape had already cleared the back. She sat with Stella in silence, watching for Brody to come down the hill and realizing that Cole had moved on to clear the ice off Brody’s cruiser.

  After a few minutes of silence, Stella roused and opened her eyes, though she continued to let the headrest support her. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Mattie, but the EMTs and Dr. McGinnis found fentanyl patches on Tonya’s inner arms.”

  “Patches?”

  “Yeah, Dr. McGinnis said it looked like four times the normal dose for pain.”

  Fentanyl, the same drug that killed John Cobb. Different method of delivery, though. She’d suspected Tonya’s death might be opioid related, but still … Her chest felt heavy with sorrow and anger. “John Cobb died from fentanyl overdose too. Speculation on how the patches were put on Tonya?”

  “Self-dosed or someone dosed her? Accidental overdose or on purpose? Those are the questions.” Stella closed her eyes again. “I’ll get started tonight by going to interview her aunt and uncle.”

  “It’s after midnight. You’re still going?”

  “Yeah. The sheriff notified them that two people who knew Tonya had identified her body. They’ll go over to Byers County morgue in the morning to make identification official, but I want to get some details tonight and get started.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Stella smiled as she looked at her. “Sheriff McCoy is still on duty, and he could do it, but I appreciate it when we work together. And no telling what tomorrow morning will bring. I hear that Madsen and his cadre of dogs and their handlers have arrived, and they’re bunking at the Big Sky.”

  The mention of the local motel made Mattie think of Detective Hauck. “I forgot to tell you earlier that Jim Hauck wanted to come with me to this scene. I told him to wait until I got clearance from you, but then I forgot.”

  Stella pursed her lips as she turned to stare at the windshield. “That was for the best. But I wonder …”

  Loud scrapes at the side window made Mattie jump. She’d been concentrating so deeply on her conversation with Stella that she’d lost track of Cole, and now he’d moved over behind her to finish clearing her car.

  “That man’s an ice-scraping machine,” Stella murmured.

  Mattie turned to retrieve her own scraper, but she paused to share her thoughts before leaving to help Cole. “Two deaths by fentanyl in two days? I have to wonder if there’s a connection between Tonya and John Cobb.”

  “Yeah. We’ll talk to Hauck about it, but with what little we know at the moment, the chance that these cases are linked appears to be slim to none.”

  THIRTEEN

  Early Sunday morning, after midnight

  Cole yawned as he pulled out of the parking lot onto the highway. His truck fishtailed as it hit the black ice, and he turned into the skid to correct it. Creeping along, he lowered the heat and cracked a window so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the drive home. On second thought, noise from the radio might also be in order.

  He tuned in to his favorite country music station just in time to listen to the weather report. “… ice is a real problem, so stay off the highways tonight. Take shelter wherever you are and drive home in the morning, because we’ve got a big change in store for the rest of the week. If you don’t like the weather in Colorado, folks, don’t worry, things will be entirely different within twenty-four hours. This storm has blown through, and tomorrow will be sunny and clear with a high of sixty degrees. That’s right, thirty degrees warmer than our measured high for today.”

  When the windshield fogged, Cole turned up the defroster and continued to drive with caution as he listened to a classic by Garth Brooks—“I’m Much Too Young to Feel This Damn Old.”

  How appropriate! His feet and back ached, and at this speed, it would take him at least a half hour to get home. He settled in for the drive, fiddling with the controls to keep the cab warm enough to defrost the windows but not so warm that he’d fall asleep.

  A few miles outside Timber Creek, the red-and-blue strobe of an emergency vehicle flashed ahead, and he hoped it was the county road maintenance crew out sanding the road. That would be a tremendous help. But as he drew near, he realized the vehicle was parked on the shoulder, and he slowed even more. His headlights lit the rear of the vehicle—it was a cruiser from the Timber Creek County Sheriff’s Department.

  Cole pulled to a stop behind the cruiser. His tired brain was picking up on the fact that something wasn’t right here. Light spilled from the partially open driver’s side door, making a glare on the icy highway. There was no one in sight. The cruiser’s headlights pierced the darkness, and its engine was still running, a fine mist of exhaust hanging at its tailpipe.

  He set his emergency brake and exited his truck, stepping down carefully onto the ice. With one hand on his truck for stability, he moved with caution toward the cruiser, searching the area around it. Maybe Garcia or Johnson, whoever belongs to this cruiser, stopped for a bathroom break. But Cole dismissed the thought as soon as it surfaced, because it didn’t make sense. If that had been the case, the officer wouldn’t have turned on his overheads.

  Cole flat-footed his way across the slick area between the two vehicles and then ran his hand along the cruiser’s edge for mooring until he reached the open door. He peered inside but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He dodged around the door to go to the front of the car, and that’s when he spotted something that sent his heart into overdrive.

  About thirty feet in the distance and lit by the cruiser’s headlights, a Timber Creek County deputy lay in the barrow ditch, his legs twisted at an impossible angle, crumpled in a heap. Cole slid on the ice and snow into the ditch and ran as fast as he could manage. Careful not to collide with the officer, he went down to his knees and scrambled to the man’s side. He still couldn’t tell who it was, because the deputy wore a cap with earflaps, his face turned and partially buried in the snow. But the stillness of this man’s body and the horrible condition of his legs spoke volumes. With his heart in his throat, Cole considered what he should do.

  He knew he shouldn’t move him. He stripped off his glove and carefully worked his fingers to the carotid area of the deputy’s neck. Cole’s hopes skyrocketed when he felt a thready pulse. He moved his fingers to the man’s nose and felt warmth, indicating that he was still breathing. Cole reached for h
is cell phone but found the penlight he’d used with Stella instead. He must have left his cell phone in his truck.

  He pressed the button to turn on the light and leaned forward to shine it on the officer’s face. Though the man was unconscious, Cole recognized the youthful features of Deputy Ed Johnson. Leaving Johnson in place, Cole rose and ran toward his truck as fast as he could, slipping and sliding through the snow in the ditch.

  He fell hard on his knee as he floundered up the side of the ditch, but picked himself up and lurched to the passenger’s side door. He jerked it open, found his cell phone in its holder, and tapped in 9-1-1. He listened to the ring on the other end while he flipped the front seat forward and fumbled through the items in the back, looking for anything warm that he could use to cover the injured deputy.

  A female voice answered the call. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “Rainbow, is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cole Walker here. I’m out on Highway Twelve about three miles from town. Deputy Ed Johnson is injured, unconscious, on the side of the road. It looks like he might have been struck by a vehicle. His legs appear to be broken. He might have other injuries. I’m afraid to move him.” Even as he spoke, Cole snatched up a pair of insulated coveralls, a coat, and two hoodies from a plastic storage tub on the back seat.

  Although Rainbow had always struck Cole as a free spirit, he’d seen her in action during emergencies before. Though she must be reeling from the impact as much as he was, she appeared to take the news in stride. “I’ll send an ambulance right away, Cole. Sheriff McCoy is here at the station. I’ll notify him. We’ll get help to you as soon as possible. Do you need instructions for CPR?” Ticks from a keyboard sounded in the background.

  “He’s breathing; his pulse is rapid and weak. No CPR needed now, but I know how to do it.” He closed the door to the truck, slid down into the ditch, and headed toward Johnson. “I’ll try to keep him warm.”