Signature: A David Wolf Mystery (David Wolf Mystery Thriller Series Book 9)

by Jeff Carson

  The sound of the shot reached her an instant later.

  Following Rachette’s aim with her eyes, she saw movement further below. A man running steadily downward, hopelessly out of range of Rachette’s department-issue Glock. It would have been a difficult shot with a sniper rifle.

  Brian came up next to her straining for breath. “Shit, there’s no air here.”

  “Down there.”

  He took in the scene and brought his radio to his lips. “We need a chopper in the air now.”

  Luke whistled through her teeth and Rachette turned and put a hand up to shade his eyes. He pointed in the direction of Gene Fitzgerald and turned back around.

  Fitzgerald had disappeared into a meadow filled with low trees bent by the wind.

  “Come back up here!” She waved her hand.

  Rachette ignored them and fired off two pointless shots. He was moving fast and fell. A second later he got up and continued at the same pace, his footsteps long and risky.

  “Damn it.” She scanned the landscape above Rachette and saw nothing out of the ordinary. No gaping dark mine entrances. But from the uphill vantage she doubted she would be able to.

  Brian was on his radio talking to the helicopter pilot, pointing him in the right direction. Below a chopper’s engine was whining and the rotor began spinning.

  “I’m going down.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brian lowered his radio. “One thing at a time. Let’s capture our suspect, then we’ll organize a rescue op.”

  Luke thought of Wolf lying in a pool of his own blood. Maybe standing in the dark without a flashlight, unable to see his hand in front of his face.

  “Give me your flashlight,” she said to Agent Wells.

  The agent put a hand on it and glanced at Shecter, then back at Hannigan. “I’m the only one with a flashlight.”

  “No, don’t give it to her.” Brian put the radio back to his mouth. “Follow straight over our heads. Down toward the meadow at the bottom of this slope.”

  Below the rotors started chopping air. A few seconds later it powered up and left the ground, dropped its nose, and flew over the rise.

  By the time it was passing over Rachette’s head far below, Agent Luke was already skating down the scree slope, a flashlight in her hand.

  Chapter 40

  Every third step Rachette twisted his ankle, or slipped and lost his footing, sliding onto his ass and drawing more blood, but he felt none of it.

  All he was thinking was he had six shots left in his Glock and an extra clip, so twenty-three shots left.

  Charlotte Munford was possibly dead by now, and it was, under no uncertain circumstances, entirely his fault.

  Panic constricted his chest and he upped his pace even more, slipping on a rock and landing on his ass again.

  “Ah!”

  The rock connected with his tailbone. He writhed in agony for a few seconds, clenching his eyes and baring his teeth, and then he got back up.

  “You’re dead!”

  His voice echoed off the mountainside.

  “Move, pussy,” he said to himself.

  He moved. This time keeping his feet underneath him.

  If he would have been a man and married her, then her budding relationship with a serial murderer would have never happened. She probably would have never been in those karate classes at all, because she would have had a baby in her belly. Probably would have never even crossed paths with Gene Fitzgerald.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said it again. “I’m sorry.”

  “—come in!”

  Rachette ignored his radio. He understood the situation. The chopper was in a better position to find Gene Fitzgerald. But they would need somebody on the ground too. And he was going to be that guy. And there was going to be a lot of blood in the end of this scenario. He was certain of that.

  “Wolf has been buried—we need your help getting back to him!”

  Rachette stopped, wind-milling his arms to keep his balance as he looked up the mountain. He put the radio to his lips. “What?”

  He failed to recognize the male voice. “I said, Wolf went into the mine and it collapsed! We have to get back to him from the opposite way! We need your help!”

  For the first time he noticed he had tears streaming down his face. Wiping them with his sleeve, he looked down the slope, seeing no sign of Gene Fitzgerald anymore.

  “I’m on my way.”

  He trudged his way back doing double time. His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, and he was beginning to feel one of the falls in his left ankle.

  Reaching the mine entrance, there were two FBI agents waiting there. One of them he recognized as the Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Todd. The man was wide-eyed with concern and holding out his hand.

  “Please hand over your flashlight.”

  Rachette made no move to hand over his flashlight. “Where is he?”

  “Somewhere in there. Special Agent Luke went in after him. Did you come out of this entrance?”

  “Yes. Why did she go in there? What happened to Wolf?”

  “The entrance you chased Gene Fitzgerald into collapsed right after Wolf went inside to go after you.”

  ASAC Todd held out his hand.

  “And she’s trying to get back to him? To the entrance?” Rachette thought back on the winding route they had taken to get to this spot. There had been forks after branches after splits. “There’s no way she’ll get back to him.”

  “Give me the light.”

  Rachette shook his head. “I’ll catch up to her and lead her there.”

  “No you—”

  “I just came out of there. I’m the only one that knows the route. It’s my boss. I’m going. Besides, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

  ASAC Todd hesitated.

  Three agents summited the mountain above them and started scrambling down.

  “They have flashlights. You can follow when they get here.” He slipped inside.

  The first thing he did was angle the light to illuminate the ground. It was dusty, showing clear footprints. There were three sets of them—his, Gene’s, and now Luke’s on top of them both going the opposite way.

  It was an idea he’d had to come up with at the first intersection he’d come to earlier—to follow the tracks on the ground. Before that, his rage-filled mind made him too quick to act and too slow to think. Now he was numb, pure determination as he moved as swift as humanly possible through the tight space.

  “Agent Luke!”

  He kept his light on Agent Luke’s small shoe prints and slowed, listening for a response that never came. Then again, he doubted he could hear much over the panting in his head.

  Again he moved, this time even faster. A few seconds later he slowed to a stop because the footprints disappeared.

  “Shit,” he breathed. The panic came back. He remembered following footprints most of the way. Never losing them.

  Turning around, he saw the dot of light behind him. While traveling the opposite way, he would have been following the light at this point, unconcerned about the lack of footprints.

  Turning back to the darkness, he pointed his beam and continued onward.

  I’m coming Wolf. I’m coming.

  He blanked out the possibility that Wolf was crushed under rock from his mind. That’s not how Wolf was going to die. Rachette was going to be long in the ground before Wolf ever was.

  He came to a junction of three tunnels and stopped. Shit.

  It was still too rocky. He couldn’t see where he and Gene had come out of earlier, much less Luke had gone into.

  Bending down, he put his flashlight beam close to the rock and saw a tiny scrape—a pebble etching the rock beneath it.

  Left.

  “Luke!”

  He turned back around and saw the miniscule pinhole of light. Yes. He remembered coming out of one of these tunnels and seeing that pinhole for the first time. But he hadn’t turned around and pointed his flashlight behi
nd him to check which one it had been.

  Damn it.

  He bent down and saw a miniscule scuff mark on the ground of the center tunnel, too.

  Shining his beam up the left hole, he willed himself to recognize something.

  And then he did.

  There was a small pile of rocks on the ground. His aching knee was a reminder that he’d fallen over them earlier. He was sure of it. He remembered getting up from the fall, forging ahead, and seeing the dot of light.

  Instinctually, if he had been Agent Luke and had to guess, he would never have chosen the left tunnel. It looked to be going the wrong direction. The entrance was straight or to the right, she probably would have thought.

  But she might have seen the scuff mark up the left tunnel.

  “Agent Luke!”

  The response came a second later.

  “Help!”

  He turned to the center tunnel.

  It had definitely come from one of the two tunnels to his right. “Agent Luke!”

  No answer.

  “Agent—”

  “Help!”

  Center tunnel.

  His sanity wavered like a rippling pond. Charlotte was already fighting for her life because of him. Perhaps dead already. The only man he would gladly die for was up the other tunnel, possibly already dead or dying. And why had Wolf gone into the tunnel? To follow him. And what about Patterson? How many people were going to die because of him today?

  He turned around and saw the unobstructed pinpoint of light impossibly far in the distance. What was taking them so long?

  “Help! I’m in here!” Luke’s voice had a shrill desperation. The highest register it could go without blowing out her voice box.

  “I’m coming!”

  He ran as fast as he could without falling flat on his face. The flashlight beam quivered and shook ahead of him.

  This was good. It was better to have two of them. But what if she was hurt? That was going to slow things down more.

  Hang on Wolf.

  He breathed heavily now, going balls to the wall. Crouching. Sprinting. His back ached. There was plenty of time for hot tubs later.

  Move!

  It came up like a head on collision—a gaping hole in the ground that seemed to be hiding in plain sight, just over a rise and looking like a shadow at first. Then it was no shadow.

  He was already committed to a forward lean, his foot outstretching for the next step that was going to land smack dab in the middle of the hole.

  “Watch out!” Luke’s voice was right on him now.

  His brain shut off and he twisted, landing on his chest and clawing at the ground with outstretched fingers. His palms slapped the dirt, just as the flashlight clattered and then disappeared, along with all the light in the world.

  He was sliding, his legs over the hole up to his waist. His balls connected hard with a rock and his abdomen twisted with sickening pain. His fingertips burned and were going numb, but his death grip on the ground had halted his backward momentum for the time being.

  “Help.”

  Her voice was weaker. Right next to him.

  “I can’t hang on,” she said.

  Jesus. She must have been clinging to the edge of this thing a foot away from him. He considered reaching over, but any more weight added to his and they were both going to go over the edge.

  It was pitch black. Blacker than being in the middle of nowhere, space, Star Trek style, black. No, blacker than that. There would have been stars for the Enterprise at least.

  And it was horrifying.

  He gritted his teeth and clawed forward. Every muscle in his upper body was tensed, flexed to the max and vibrating. A few seconds later he was fully out of the hole, his knees and feet back up on flat ground.

  Reaching back to find the edge, he brushed against Luke’s fingers.

  “Help, I don’t have a foothold. There’s nothing there I’m hanging.” She spouted the words quickly, like he had mere seconds to act or else she was letting go.

  He lay on his stomach and reached over, clamping onto her slender wrist.

  “Do you have me?” she asked.

  “I have you.”

  The added weight was instant. She let go, giving up the burden of keeping herself alive to Rachette.

  The sudden limpness of her arm was hard to grasp. What was once hard muscle, was now a wet, slippery noodle. She slipped until he caught a firmer purchase on the knobs of her forearm bone. Then she slipped some more.

  There was blood on his hand, he realized.

  Shit-shit-shit.

  He reached over and clutched with his other hand, getting a grip solid enough to bend iron. Of course, now he was in no position to lift her up. She was light, but not that light.

  “Hello!”

  A voice came up through the tunnels.

  “Help!” His voice was a screech, filled with the fear of failing another human being, of killing another person who dared put their lives in his hands.

  There was a light beam that swept over him for just an instant. It was faint. Whoever it was must have been far.

  “We’re in the center tunnel! The center … shit.”

  His body started to slide forward. Something about both arms being extended over the edge of the precipice.

  “Climb up.”

  Luke groped with her other hand, catching his forearm and then she let go.

  “Ah,” she said, “my hands are cramped. I can’t hold on.”

  “I got you.”

  He slid forward some more.

  “I have to …” The last time he’d been holding her with his right hand she had slipped in his blood. So this time he let go of his right hand and held on with his left, bringing his right to his side to get a handhold on something.

  It was a disastrous move. He clutched at flat ground covered in gravel for a few seconds, then felt her slipping from his left hand just like she had been with his right, not only that, his body was sliding forward again.

  Instinctually, he spread his legs wide, catching the outside of his feet on both sides of the tunnel.

  Yes!

  He reached down and grabbed her arm with his other hand.

  “Shit,” she said.

  “Yeah … help!”

  “I’m coming,” the voice said. It was still far but there were thumping footsteps now.

  One second his right foot was plastered to the wall, and then next it was swinging out wide. He must have had a mere millimeter of grip on a point of a rock, but right now he had nothing and his left foot was no longer gripping the edge of the tunnel, but pushing him away, toward the precipice.

  He flexed his feet up and dug his toes into the rock.

  That seemed to work, but if he dared breathe, move a single muscle to swallow, he felt the grip would give way to sliding again.

  “Help!”

  Footsteps were coming fast. One pair of them. A bouncing beam of light that was painting the other side of a hole ten feet away.

  Luke reached up and grabbed again with her other hand, this time getting a hold on one of his forearms.

  “No, don’t.”

  It was too late. The movement had jarred him loose and he was sliding continuously now. His pecs were all the way over the edge. The gravel on rock was like greased ball bearings underneath his upper abs.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  A twirling light went over the edge with him, and then it felt like he’d been pinned by a rock on his ankle, stopping his slide.

  Rachette felt Luke’s second hand slip and release at the sudden jarring, and felt her arm slip through his wet hands—past the wrist. Their fingers were hooked into one another.

  “Wait, don’t pull me yet,” he said.

  He got a firmer grip on her arm and yelled, “Pull!”

  Chapter 41

  Light streamed inside the hospital room windows onto the back of the sobbing woman sitting next to the bed.

  The machine beeped. The vitals were u
nchanged. The squiggly lines were the same as they’d been for five days. The patient was still in a coma.

  A woman slipped into the doorway next to him and squeezed his bicep.

  Ignoring the pain shooting up his shoulder from the five stitches and the deep bone bruise, he looked down. Not that he had to. He’d smelled her first.

  Wolf and Lauren locked eyes and said nothing to one another. Nothing needed to be said. She was here for Charlotte. She was here for him.

  The surprise of seeing her green eyes faded as quickly as it came, replaced by a warmth that radiated from his chest to his extremities.

  “It’s nice outside today.” Charlotte Munford’s mother was speaking to her unconscious daughter on the other side of the room. “You can feel autumn in the air out there. I’m looking at some shimmering aspen leaves. A few of them are floating on the wind. You should see this.”

  Charlotte’s mother looked down at her daughter and started sobbing again.

  Heather Patterson was all the way inside the room, standing behind Munford’s mom. She put a hesitant hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “Excuse me.” A tall man Wolf didn’t recognize stepped up behind him and Lauren. They moved out of the way, and when the man smiled his appreciation Wolf realized it was Munford’s brother. They had the same facial features.

  “You work with Charlotte?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Wolf shook his hand. “I’m David Wolf.”

  “Ah, I’ve heard about you. I’m Ben. I’m Charlotte’s brother.”

  “How’s she doing today?”

  Ben raised a cup of coffee to his lips and nodded. “She’s a real tough bastard. She’ll be fine.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

  Lauren sniffed and leaned into Wolf.

  “Hi, Heather,” Ben said.

  While Patterson and Ben small-talked, Wolf took the opportunity to look down at Lauren again. She was dressed in pink scrubs, her auburn hair tied back loosely, revealing the tattoo of musical notes behind her ear.

  It had been six days since they’d seen one another, six days since they’d spoken, or broken up, or whatever they’d done that day at the fair.

  It seemed like a year ago since he’d last felt her touch. Even in the present situation, with Charlotte Munford hanging in the space between life and death a few feet away, it was pure relief for Wolf. Like a muscle cramp that had finally eased.