by Jeff Carson
Rachette was relieved, because he was already claustrophobic. Unless they were going to leave him here for some reason. Panic surged through him and he squirmed to take the pressure off his wrists.
The doors in front opened and closed, and then the rear door behind him. Strong arms yanked him up onto the back seat and hauled him out onto his feet on the sidewalk.
Without thinking, he spat straight into the nearest agent’s face.
The agent wiped his cheek and pulled back his fist.
“Don’t do it,” the other agent said.
The rough parade continued as they pushed him inside the automatic doors.
“What’s going on here?” Tammy Granger stood up from the reception desk, her face twisted in rage. Just as quickly, she sat as the two agents produced their badges. “Yeah, I know who you are. You’d better not hurt this man. Or you’ve got a lot of people to answer to, assholes. Including me.”
A minute later, they were up the elevator to the third floor and outside the doors of MacLean’s glass office, which stood like a human aquarium at the eastern edge of the squad room. Four suited men standing in front of MacLean’s desk, along with the sheriff himself, had watched the procession as they passed the windows. Now, as the door swung open smoothly on its hinges, everyone inside seemed to be avoiding eye-contact with their arrived prisoner.
One of the agents let go of Rachette’s arm and motioned for him to enter.
There was a snap and Rachette’s wrists were suddenly free. He brought his arms in front of him, punched the man holding the door in the nose, and then stepped into MacLean’s office.
“Whoa.” An older agent inside grabbed Rachette by the arm and pulled him inside. Another, this one much larger and muscular, intercepted Rachette by his neck and held him in a headlock against his ape-like chest.
“Hey! Let him go.” MacLean stood up from behind his desk. “Let go of my deputy right now.”
My deputy? Rachette had assumed all along that MacLean was rooting for him to fail the proficiency test.
“Let him go,” the older agent said. “You two stay outside. Close the door.”
The log of an arm punching his Adam’s apple into the back of his throat kept its relentless grip for another second and then let go.
He sagged, but the older agent helped him stand up straight.
“They just threw me in the back of their car like we’re in Nazi Germany or something.”
“Deputy Rachette,” the older agent said, “I’m the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Denver field office of the FBI. You can call me Agent Frye.”
Rachette rubbed his neck and eyed the other occupants of the room. The ape-guy sneered at him with clenched fists. The other two were two clean-cut guys in suits gazing at nothing in particular.
“Sit down.” Agent Frye motioned to the chair.
Rachette sat.
“Can I please see your cell phone?” Frye asked.
“Not without a warrant.”
Frye looked at MacLean.
MacLean cleared his throat. “Deputy, if you have nothing to hide, let’s go ahead and speed this whole thing up, shall we?”
MacLean’s tan skin was tinted red. He was not enjoying the infiltration of these agents into his office, and it looked to be Rachette and MacLean against them. Eyes locked on Rachette’s, he rubbed his silver goatee and then raised his hands.
Rachette pulled out his phone. “I want this back.”
Frye snatched it. “Passcode?”
“1-2-3-4.”
Frye raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the screen as he unlocked the phone.
Rachette took steady breaths and folded his arms to hide his shaking hands.
Frye navigated the touch screen and after a full minute he tossed it back. “What were you doing at 11:15 p.m. last night, Deputy?”
Rachette pocketed his phone. “Sleeping. I had an early morning planned today at the shooting range.”
“Do you have someone who can corroborate that?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have a landline phone set up at your residence?”
Rachette frowned. “No. Why? You think I made that anonymous tip call?”
“That’s an interesting conclusion to draw from my question. How did you hear about the phone call?”
“I was here earlier this morning. I heard about what was going down.”
Frye sat a butt cheek on MacLean’s desk and stared at him. “So you’ve heard that we found Gail Olson’s dead body this morning?”
“Yeah. I heard that tip brought you straight there, and then to the murder weapon at Wolf’s house. Sounds like bullshit to me.”
Frye smiled. “You and Wolf are pretty close, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“One more time, Deputy. How did you meet Gail Olson?”
Rachette looked up at the ceiling. “This again? I told you guys. She picked me up in a bar. We dated once, and she asked me to take her backpack to her friend. So I did. The end.”
Frye glanced behind Rachette.
“You guys can keep asking me that, and I’ll keep answering the same way.”
“When was the last time you saw Wolf?”
The image of Wolf waving through a tinted Land Rover window flashed in his mind. “I don’t know. A week ago?”
Frye leaned forward. “Change of breathing. Tilted head. Shuffling feet. All classic signs of lying.”
“Whatever. I saw him a week ago. Drove out to his place and we took a walk.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“Not much. Just catching up.”
Frye tilted his head. “You’re leaving something out.”
“I’m just thinking about what you guys are leaving out.” Rachette turned and glanced at the other three agents behind him. The big guy loomed close.
“What are you talking about?” Frye asked.
“When I was there last, Wolf and I went on a walk and saw your surveillance teams.”
Frye stood and paced in front of Rachette. “You saw them, too?”
“Yeah. I have eyes, don’t I?”
Frye looked at him with an unreadable look.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Frye splayed a hand. “Continue. You’re saying we left something out.”
“So, if you had surveillance on his house, why didn’t you see whoever planted that gun? Or maybe you did, which tells me you’re hiding something. Or it was you guys.”
The big guy behind him snorted.
MacLean shifted in his chair. “Deputy, let’s please refrain from such”—he glanced at Frye—“accusations.”
Frye kept his eyes on Rachette and held up a hand to MacLean. “Please stay available, Deputy.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Rachette stood up. “He didn’t do this. We didn’t do this.”
They ignored him, so Rachette shook his head and left out the heavy wooden door.
“And, Rachette,” MacLean said, “let’s go ahead and postpone your shooting proficiency test tomorrow until further notice. We don’t exactly have the manpower at the moment.”
His stomach dropped.
“You may leave.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Outside in the squad room his kidnapper agents straightened at his arrival.
Rachette smiled at the sight of one of them lowering a bloody tissue from his nose.
“Sup?” Rachette slapped his own pectorals. “You want a piece of this?”
The agent looked like he did, but he looked away and shook his head instead.
Walking down the hallway to the stairs, he heard rapid footsteps behind him and turned, ready for a brawl.
“Hey, honey.” It was Deputy Munford hurrying to catch up, a smile fading from her lips.
He felt his breath catch, but composed himself. “What?”
She caught up to him and looked back down the hall. “I just kind of saw what happened. Did yo
u say you needed a ride somewhere? To your car?”
He scrunched up his face and looked her up and down. “Nah, no thanks.” He turned and walked away, unsure whether he’d seen her face fall in disappointment or not. If he had seen it, it was probably a good act, with reasons why he couldn’t yet fathom.
“So, I guess I’ll see you at the shooting test tomorrow, then.”
“No. You won’t. MacLean cancelled it.”
“What?” She ran up and stepped next to him.
“Says we don’t have the manpower.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Yeah, well. He told me.”
She swallowed. “What’s going on? Why are they bringing you in?”
“You know why. They think I’m involved in all this.” He stopped and looked at her. Everything was suddenly clear. “Is that what you’re doing? Are you working with them? Pretending to care, so you can get some inside information?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on. A beautiful woman like you? Interested in me?”
She raised her perfect eyebrows, barely creasing her forehead skin. “You think I’m interested in you?”
He felt his face explode with heat and he turned to leave. “Just—”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Just … step off, all right?”
This time her face really did fall. A damn fine acting job if he’d ever seen one. Or she was serious. And in that case, why the hell did she like him? What was wrong with her?
“Bye, Munford.”
“Bye, Tom.”
He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Walking away from a woman he’d just hurt was a better option than sticking around and taking whatever she had brewing, so he left.
Chapter 14
Wolf opened his eyes and stared at the stretched fabric in front of his face, unable to comprehend what he was looking at.
He shifted and the swish of his bare legs rubbing on a sleeping bag pierced the utter silence.
“Wolf.”
Flinching, he twisted to his left at the sound of the female voice. “Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Luke.”
She flicked on a flashlight and the interior of a two-person dome tent lit up. She squinted and pointed the beam at her wrist. “It’s midnight. You’ve been sleeping like a dead man, and I mean a dead man, for fourteen hours. Since ten this morning.”
Beneath the askew sleeping bag, Wolf saw she was wearing a T-shirt and underwear, and at that moment he realized he was wearing the same thing.
He sat up and ran his tongue across the top of his mouth. “Water.”
“Right next to you.”
He found the water bottle, sat up straight, and sucked it down in one go.
“Are you hungry? You have to be hungry.”
“I’d eat a horse right now.”
“Granola bars are next to you, too.”
He found the box, unwrapped one and bit into it. As he chewed, his recent memories came flashing back—the canoe ride down the river, breaking into the Beer Goggles Bar and Grill, the ride from Margaret, Kristen Luke with sweat pants around her ankles. It was all a surreal blur.
With each bite, he felt his body gaining strength and his mind awareness, and as he finished the last mouthful and peeled open another bar, he felt wide awake and alert.
“Where are we?”
“Some place safe.”
“Where? A campsite?”
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“Southwest of Aspen, on the way to Crested Butte. We’re going to Gunnison.”
“Gunnison? Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
He ran a hand through his hair and was surprised it felt smooth and clean. “There’s no straight shot of highway between Aspen and Gunnison.”
“Nope.”
“So we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s the idea.”
He tipped the final drops of water out of the bottle into his mouth. “Can I see that flashlight, please?”
She handed it to him and pulled her sleeping bag up against her chin. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Have fun.”
He peeled the zipper back a quarter-circle. “My pants?”
“They’re hanging off the back of the truck. They’re probably still wet.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you puked all over them, so I washed them.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.”
He found his shoes at the foot of his sleeping bag and slipped them on. The inner soles were cold on his bare feet. “I guess the same goes for my fleece jacket?”
“No. I didn’t wash that. I’m not touching that.”
“Ah.”
She rolled over in her sleeping bag and then held up a piece of clothing. “I found this in Valerie’s truck, along with all this camping gear. Luckily for us, Patterson’s parents seem to be outdoor buffs. This sweater looked like it should fit you, so I didn’t bother getting down and dirty with your jacket.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He slipped his arms inside a thick zip-up sweater that was lined with soft fur.
Stepping outside, the skin on his legs tightened with goose bumps as it tried to ward off the damp cold air that smelled like pine and wood smoke.
A lone cricket chirped somewhere nearby, and there was a muffled pop.
He pointed the flashlight beam at a fire pit and saw a few charred logs still smoldering. He swept the beam around in a circle. They were socked in on all sides by dense forest, with no distant view anywhere, at least that he could tell.
He clicked off the light and found he could see plenty fine with the ambient light of the half-moon peeking through the trees. Straight above him, the sky was spray-painted with countless stars.
Feet crunching on dry twigs and pine needles, his eyes stung as he walked through a stream of smoke. A few paces away, he relieved himself and surveyed the area, satisfied they were indeed alone and in the middle of nowhere.
Arriving back, he was surprised to see Luke fully clothed in her sweatpants and sweatshirt and leaning logs together in the fire pit. “Get me that newspaper?”
He did as he was told, and then watched as she expertly kick-started the fire.
With their history involving many hours logged in bed together, he was not in the least self-conscious standing close to the fire in his boxer shorts, letting the flames warm his legs.
“You’re looking chipper,” she said.
“I am? I feel better.”
She stifled a yawn. “Good. You looked like shit earlier. Now you look like you.”
“Thanks.”
“Really skinny. But like you.”
They both sat cross-legged on the cold ground, and he suppressed a wince at the pain deep in his thigh.
Luke’s eyes twinkled in the firelight as she gazed into her thoughts. Her hair was pulled back, putting her beautiful, troubled face on full display.
He picked up a stick and poked it in the fire. “So I was out pretty good, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Do you remember anything?”
“I remember a helicopter. You peeing.”
She studied him for a beat. “I didn’t expect you to be …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t expect me to be such a wreck, as people like to put it lately?”
Her face softened. “Why’d you pass out? Is that normal?”
“Some sort of inner-ear thing. A disorder that seems to get worse the more I move around. Then there’re all the injuries and stiffness, which won’t get any better unless I exercise. It’s a nice negative feedback loop I’ve got going.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, soaking in the heat.
“So, you want to get g
oing on that long story?” he asked. “Preferably starting with why you lied about Carter Willis?”
She kept her attention on the fire. “I have a new partner now. The guy’s name is Tedescu. Terrence Tedescu.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “The reason I have Tedescu as a partner is because his partner was killed in the line of duty. Three and a half months ago. Like I said on the phone, the fallen agent’s name was Smith. Special Agent Paul Smith, who you knew as Carter Willis.”
Wolf pulled the now flaming stick from the fire and stabbed it in the dirt.
She watched him for a beat, seeming to search for her next words. “You know my stellar history with men. I’ve got a little alarm in my head now that lets me know when there’s a real asshole around. Let’s just say the recess bell was always going off around Agent Smith.
“Told me I smelled once. One night I was alone in the office, and he just kind of materialized out of the darkness and came over and sat on my desk. Leaned in close, sniffed, and told me I smelled. Normally I would’ve punched a guy in the nose and watched him bleed for that, make him take back his words, but you’ve seen Smith. The guy was big. And scary.”
He picked up another twig and held it to the fire.
“You know, I never said that I didn’t know who Carter Willis was. I said I’d check on him and let you know when I found something.”
He snorted.
“I was under direct orders to not talk to you about it.”
He stood up, this time wincing at the pain. “So what? You knew how much this meant to me. He was found dead with Sarah, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah, I know.” She rubbed her forehead. “Found dead with the love of your life.”
He was startled at her tone, and it stoked the anger inside him. “Yeah, I did love her. Is that what this is about? You were jealous of us and you were holding back this information out of spite or something?”
She lifted her chin. Her eyes shimmered like a rough moonlit sea and then flash-froze. “Get over yourself. I have a career, and I was under direct orders to not speak to you. Damn, that fall did knock you hard on the head. Don’t you get it? I was under orders that I’m way beyond defying now, and now my career’s as good as toilet paper since I’ve aided and abetted you. Shit, if it weren’t for me dragging your unconscious ass all over Colorado today, you’d be sitting in Denver, sweating and vomiting in an interrogation room with no windows, awaiting a prison shiv in your neck. Holding back? Out of spite? Please. I knew you couldn’t, wouldn’t have killed Sarah because she was the love of your life. That’s what I’m saying.”
