David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  “What time is it?”

  “Three p.m. We’ll get into Rocky Points in an hour, hour and a half.”

  Wolf found an unopened water bottle in their sack of groceries and took a swig. The cool liquid filled his belly and gave him energy.

  “You’re looking decent.”

  Wolf noticed that Luke had pulled her hair back again. Her face was cleaned of any soot and when she smiled there was no more discoloration on her teeth.

  “Ditto. Except for the slouch outfit, of course.”

  She looked down and rubbed the soot marks on her T-shirt, brushing up against one of her breasts in the process. “Did the job, didn’t it?”

  Wolf nodded absently, watching her hand slide across her chest.

  “You men are always looking a foot and a half lower than you should be.”

  He raised his gaze and felt his face redden.

  “See?” She shook her head. “Bunch of simpletons. Every last one of you.”

  He thought about the pile of charred papers and pictures again. “We should have taken all that burned stuff. We could have sifted through it more carefully to get an idea of what we were looking at.”

  “We need to give ourselves a break. We narrowly missed getting killed by that guy, and then we had him unconscious and bleeding on the floor with cops driving up on us.”

  Wolf looked at her. “What happened to the doom-and-gloom woman I was riding with earlier?”

  “She was hungry.”

  Another grove of aspens flicked by the window. “It was a pile of papers that guy was willing to kill for. Willing to kill an entire family for.”

  Luke’s eyes glazed over, as if the images of the dead family were haunting her.

  “You said there was an envelope at the family’s house? Just an empty envelope?”

  Luke blinked. “Yep.”

  “Was there any writing on it?”

  “None. I remember thinking it wasn’t mail. No stamps or postmarks. It was torn on the top and empty.”

  “Did you know the lawyer?”

  “No. Never seen him before. But my SAC said he worked with some of the agents in the Bureau.”

  “Worked with Tedescu?”

  She nodded. “Sure seemed like it. I’m not sure why else we would’ve been there. I guess he could have been a family friend.”

  They came around a bend and started down a long straightaway. The road cut through a grove of trees with gold leaves shimmering in the afternoon light.

  “What do you think that guy’s going to do when he gets out of that storage unit?” Wolf asked.

  “Gets out? We have his phone and his gun. There were no tools in there to help him out.”

  “Yeah, but someone could drive up, maybe go into another storage unit down the row, and he could yell for help.”

  “What are the odds of that? Nil. That guy is screwed. He’s gonna starve in there. I hope it’s a cold one tonight.”

  Wolf shook his head. “No, he’ll get out today. There’s security at those places. People who work there. If it were me, I’d just bang on the door until someone let me out. Someone would hear the racket. He’ll get out.”

  They rode in silence for a beat. “So what? What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I wish I’d killed that guy. I’m really regretting that I didn’t.”

  She turned down the radio and they both rode in silence.

  Wolf opened the glove compartment and took out the Beretta pistol he’d taken from the tattooed man. Racking the slide back, he made sure it was loaded and then put it back in and shut the compartment.

  “You thinking we’re in danger from him?”

  A sudden, uncomfortable feeling came over him and he scooted forward in his seat, seeing the upcoming straight stretch of heavily forested road in a new light.

  “What?”

  “Slow down.”

  “What? Why?”

  She let off the gas and pressed the brake, slowing to twenty miles per hour.

  Twice, Wolf and his squad had been caught in ambushes in his six-tour service as an army ranger. Both times he’d had the same feeling after the carnage had been over—that he’d sensed it before it had happened. Many of the other men swore the same thing. Before both ambushes, their staff sergeant had been vocal about anyone speaking up if they felt anything was off. Both times, the ambushes had happened anyway.

  After that, they’d been one of the most skittish and reactive squads the army had ever known. It was a trait that was now ingrained in Wolf’s DNA.

  A discoloration in the trees caught Wolf’s eye. It was silver and shiny, the chrome bumper of a vehicle.

  Quickly, he dropped the glove compartment door and pulled out the Beretta, spilling papers out onto his feet.

  “Shit, what?”

  Pressing his face against the window as they passed the vehicle, he saw it was a big Dodge truck backed into the trees.

  Two men sat inside with their elbows out the windows, and both locked eyes with Wolf.

  The last fleeting image Wolf saw before it disappeared behind the foliage was the passenger bringing a radio to his mouth.

  “Stop!”

  Luke mashed the brakes and the rear end swung to the side as they skidded to a halt.

  A cloud of dust enveloped them, but not before Wolf caught a glimpse of a patch of red in the trees up ahead on the right.

  “We’re being ambushed.”

  Luke squinted and peered over her shoulder. “What? That truck back there?”

  “Yes. Get in the back—I’m driving.” Wolf took off his seatbelt and started climbing toward her.

  She froze for an instant and then sprang into action, flying out of the seat and diving into the back of the cab.

  Wolf crammed himself into the seat, which was way too close to the wheel for him, shifted into reverse, and pushed the accelerator.

  The diesel engine roared and rocks spat forward as they reversed. He looked over his shoulder, and though it was almost impossible to see through the dark tints and multiple panes of glass, he kept his foot pushed to the floor anyway.

  “Open that back window. When we hit them, take out the passenger. Shoot through the window.”

  “Hit them?” Luke reached up, one hand holding her pistol and the other unlatching the slide window and pulling it open.

  Wolf was completely blind now, but sensed they’d reached their target. “Get down!”

  She ducked out of the way and he saw he was nearly too late.

  Wrenching the wheel to the right, the rear wheels careened off the road and bounced through a dip. He sagged and then shot up in his seat, and his head connected with the roof.

  Next, he slammed back into the seat as the truck stopped with a metallic thud.

  Feeling the pistol still firm in his hand, he opened the door and got out as fast as he could. Immediately he stumbled, the ground lower than he’d expected.

  Landing on one knee, he felt plastic and metal shards needle into his back as a barrage of bullets smacked into the open door.

  He dropped all the way down and started pulling the trigger. Only after the second shot did he have a bead on the blaze of fire coming out of the muzzle of an automatic rifle near the trunk of a tree ahead. The third shot was properly aimed, and so were the fourth and fifth. The incoming fire stopped.

  Springing to his feet, his ears rang and his eyes stung from the gunpowder smoke as he aimed at the windshield of the truck behind them. The interior cab behind the cracked glass was empty.

  Ducking just in time, he stumbled forward as the cab of their truck again exploded in a mayhem of glass and plastic, and then just as quickly it stopped after two muffled shots came from inside their truck bed.

  With raised pistol, Wolf stepped to the tree trunk where he’d downed the man and fired two more rounds into a still, bleeding figure lying on the ground, sealing the deal.

  He bent over and wrenched the M4 out of the man’s hands, searing his own fingers on the muz
zle. The strap caught under the man’s arm and he stepped on the corpse’s bearded face for leverage to pull it free.

  “I got him!” Luke yelled from the back of the truck.

  Wolf’s hearing was still muted from the gunfire, but he could hear the gurgle of the still-running diesel engine. He sprinted back to the truck, got into the seat, shifted into drive, and stepped on the gas again.

  He took a right, toward the second waiting ambush vehicle, which was now pulling out onto the road.

  Wolf glanced in the rearview and saw Luke tumbling back in the bed of the truck, light streaming in on the side where she’d shot out the glass.

  “Get down and hang on!”

  Another big, four-door, diesel pickup wobbled onto the road, then jammed to a stop halfway out, the driver clearly shocked at the sight of them speeding toward him at fifty miles per hour.

  Wolf kept his foot on the gas and the speedometer needle climbed higher.

  When they were a mere fifty yards away, he swung the truck to the left side of the road to pass and saw three men tumbling out of the doors with guns in hand.

  A smattering of bullets connected with the passenger side of the truck as they sped by, leaving the men in a cloud of roiling dust.

  They were now up to seventy miles per hour. A bend to the right approached fast and Wolf jammed the brakes. Sliding on all four wheels, he was lucky the turn was gentle, but there was a sharp curve to the left ahead.

  Foot still pressing hard on the brake, the beast of a vehicle underneath them fishtailed back and forth. By the time he hit the sharp turn, he’d dropped to a safe twenty miles per hour and they took the curve easily enough. Once around the other side, he pulled to the left shoulder, stopped, and got out onto the road.

  “Careful.” Luke poked her head out the broken window of the truck-bed topper.

  With the M4 in his clutches, he sprinted back to the sharp curve.

  Over his straining breath, the pulse pounding in his head, and a tinnitus onslaught in his left eardrum, he heard the approach of a diesel engine coming around the bend.

  He slid to a stop, raised the M4 to his shoulder, and fired the instant the red hood of the truck came into view.

  With the first three shots, his aim climbed too high, so with the second three round burst he compensated for the muzzle kick, and red spray and flailing limbs told him he’d hit the mark. The truck revved as it rolled out of sight over the edge of the road. Then there was crunching metal, and then there was nothing.

  Turning back to the truck, he raised the M4 again, briefly aiming at Luke, who stood in the road, and then beyond her.

  He walked forward and kept the rifle aimed up the road, toward danger that never showed itself.

  “Holy crap.” A stream of blood flowed from a cut below Luke’s eye.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She touched it absently. “Whatever. You think that’s all of them?”

  He turned around. There was no sound, save the burbling river below. No sign of movement or men crawling up onto the road.

  “It looks like you got them.”

  He remembered the spray of blood and lowered the rifle. “Yeah. You drive. I’ll cover us just in case there’s more ahead.”

  The truck ticked loudly as they climbed in, and Wolf wondered if the sound was normal or if a bullet had caught something vital under the hood. But it fired up fine, and drove well enough as they sped away.

  “We can’t drive this thing much longer,” Luke said.

  Wolf nodded, leaning forward and checking the side-view mirror, which was cracked up the middle and had a hole through it. The passenger side of the truck was punched with dozens of holes, mostly concentrated in the door, and the rear topper window was smashed out, clearly by gunfire. “Yeah. Kind of draws attention, doesn’t it?”

  Luke drove fast, sliding around the next corner.

  Chapter 28

  Rachette, Wilson, and Munford drove the final leg of a circuitous route to Burton’s wife’s cabin.

  It was a route that Rachette had insisted on, and in Wilson’s family vehicle rather than a department cruiser, which he’d also insisted on. It was one thing that Rachette was bringing two deputies to the meeting place Burton had specified he come alone. It was another that one of the deputies he brought was from Byron County. There was no way in hell he was going to compound Burton’s anger by leading anyone to their destination via GPS receiver or any other method.

  He gave the side-view mirror of Wilson’s Chevy Suburban the hawk eye again and leaned back.

  “Relax,” Wilson said. “We’re not being followed.”

  Wilson’s calming voice did little to loosen Rachette’s clenched jaw.

  The truth was, he was scared of Burton and always had been. The man was a bear. Sure, a fat, old, out-of-shape bear, but the guy still had fangs and claws and growled pretty loud.

  “Here.” Rachette pointed up at the next turn off. “Up there.”

  Wilson slowed and took the turn, and they headed up a hill through the woods.

  “It’s just up here.”

  “I know, I’ve been here before. You know, I’m sure Burton was about to call me, too. No way I’m staying out of this anyway. I’ll stick up for my presence. This isn’t all on you.”

  Rachette ignored him, though the words made perfect sense.

  He glanced back at Munford, who sat with her hands folded on her lap and staring out the window. Her presence was another matter altogether.

  “Just stay in here for a second until we talk to Burton, okay?” he said to her.

  Munford’s eyelids slid down and she gave him a death stare.

  She was pissed. Clearly ditching the Sheriff’s Department SUV at Wilson’s, stopping by Rachette’s to grab supplies, then driving aimlessly through the woods for an hour to get to this point without having a say in the matter had crossed a line in her mind.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  As they reached the cabin, they pulled up next to four trucks parked along the trees. The smell of wood smoke permeated the vents into the SUV’s cab, and a haze outside came from a flickering campfire where a group of men sat staring at their approach.

  Burton stood in front of the others with squinted eyes. With a shake of his head he walked over.

  “Here we go.” Rachette slid out of the Suburban.

  “Who the hell?” Burton demanded, and then he slowed. “Wilson? I just called you. Why didn’t you answer?”

  Wilson eyed his phone and nodded at Rachette. “Must’ve been shoddy reception. We’ve been driving through the middle of nowhere for a while, making sure we weren’t followed.”

  Burton tilted up his camouflage hat and nodded at Rachette.

  Rachette shook his big warm hand, noticing the revolver holstered on the old man’s hip beneath his flannel shirt.

  Standing straight, Burton lowered his silver caterpillar eyebrows as he studied the back seat. “Who the hell is that?”

  “Sir, I know you said to not tell any Byron people …” Rachette glanced at Wilson.

  “But she’s my partner, and I can vouch for her,” Wilson said. “Her name’s Deputy Munford.”

  Munford took her cue and climbed out of the back seat. She stood tall with her nose in the air and slammed the door behind her.

  Rachette cringed, waiting for the confrontation.

  Burton petted his mustache and eyed her up and down. It was impossible to tell the draw of his lips underneath the walrus-like growth of hair, which was another reason Rachette could never get a good read on the old man.

  With a flip of his hand, Burton turned and walked to the campfire. “Get your asses over here.”

  “I think he likes me,” Munford murmured on the way by.

  They walked to the fire and everyone stood from their camping chairs and log seats to greet them.

  Burton turned abruptly and shook Munford’s hand, staring her
in the eye. “I’m Burton. Hal Burton. I used to be—”

  “Sheriff of Sluice County, before David Wolf. I know, sir.”

  Burton tilted his head and nodded. “This is Martin Running Warrior.”

  The cocoa-skinned Navajo took off a turquoise beaded cowboy hat, revealing long silver hair pulled into a pony tail. His expressionless eyes were like pools of coffee, the muscles in his extended arm like steel cable.

  Though his skin was like worn leather his age was impossible to tell, thought Rachette, as he took the man’s iron grip.

  As Martin put his hat back on, he winced in pain. The last time Rachette had seen him, he’d been lying in a pool of blood on the side of a mountain, shot through the shoulder. Wolf had pulled Martin out of danger that day, staunched the bleeding of his wound, and had called for help.

  Burton motioned to another man. “Phillip Chesmith.”

  The man was younger, Wolf’s age, and was vaguely familiar to Rachette. He had a full head of shaggy brown hair and wild blue eyes. “Hi.”

  “Fabian Michaels.”

  Rachette paused. This man was well known by all as the owner of the crystal and spiritual healing shop in town. Normally dressed head to toe in hemp clothing, with long blond hair hanging loose on his shoulders, now he was dressed in all black, his hair pulled up inside a black winter cap. On his hip was a scoped pistol, and on his shoulder hung an assault rifle.

  “Hi Tom. Nice to see you.” Fabian grasped Rachette’s hand in both of his and gazed into his eyes as if reading his aura.

  “Hi Fabian.” Rachette nodded to his assault rifle. “Didn’t know you were a gun enthusiast.”

  He smiled and pulled it from his shoulder in a lightning move. “This? I’ll give you a good price.”

  “Uh … no thanks.”

  “I’m just kidding, Tom. No way I’d sell. Who’s this?” Fabian grabbed Munford’s hand and kissed it.

  She frowned and pulled it back.

  Burton cleared his throat and continued the introductions. “Nate Watson.”

  Rachette knew Nate well. He stood at Rachette’s height and filled out his clothes with roughly the same build. Nate had been Wolf’s best friend since high school, and Rachette had always had a special kinship with him.