by Jeff Carson
Her pulse jumped even higher. No. She wasn’t. “No. Not yet. A few more minutes.”
“Okay. We’re approaching fast. We saw Rachette’s vehicle. Make the call.”
“Okay. 10-4.”
She twisted the dial to channel 14, the designated vehicle-to-vehicle communication channel their department used, and pressed the button. “Deputy Rachette, do you have a copy?”
“Come on. Come on,” she whispered.
There was no response.
She pressed the button again. “Unit 3 this is Unit 8, do you have a copy?”
She waited five Mississippi’s. No answer.
She flipped the switch back to the encrypted channel and pressed the button. “No answer.”
“Okay.” Wolf’s response was immediate. “We go in.”
Patterson pressed the gas and the engine screamed, pulling her back in the seat.
Chapter 49
Wolf pressed the soft rubber eyepieces of the high-powered binoculars to his eyes and tried to steady the shaking image of the cliff top. The wind was too much at these speeds. Tiny details like people milling about outside the cabin, and where each of them stood was impossible to see.
Tucking the binoculars behind the passenger side windshield he sat down in the sheltered seat and zipped up the rear of his wet suit.
Wilson looked over at him with a wary eye.
Wolf gave him the thumbs down signal and Wilson pulled back on the throttle, bringing the speed to half, raising the nose of the boat. The engine noise lowered in pitch, though not in volume.
He took the radio and shoved it in the 10 by 7 inch dry bag, and then slid his Glock in after it. Zipping it shut, he tied two half- hitches in the nylon line around his wrist and, just to be safe, tied an overhand knot with the free end to keep the previous knots from slipping.
That finished, he twisted in his chair, feeling the dive knife against his flexed calf as he stood up, and with a few hard pulls he tightened the climbing harness around his legs and waist, making sure the belay device known as a Grigri he’d borrowed from Baine was solidly affixed and the carabiners were locked.
Turning forward, the wind pushed against his chest, chilling him to the bone. He looked up at the granite cliffs and shook out his arms, doubting he was in shape for the climb ahead, and it had been years since he’d had experience on any sort of rock face. Adrenaline and perseverance would get him where he needed to go, he assured himself. The cam inside the Grigri would pinch the rope, arresting any fall should he slip while climbing, and the device would give him ample opportunities to hang and rest his muscles on the way up. Of course, time was of the essence. There was not going to be much rest.
Wilson eyed him again. “You know, people don’t normally leave climbing ropes anchored for days on end. Those things are expensive, and there’s a damn good chance it’ll be gone.”
Wolf had already brought up the same objection to himself. It had been Friday evening when Kimber, or Rachel, pointed out the rope dangling over her backyard cliff. “And killers don’t normally have their stack of mutilated bodies discovered by the cops. I’m willing to bet they’ve had other stuff on their minds besides bringing in the climbing ropes.”
Wilson shook his head, clearly unconvinced at the entire plan, but that failed to faze Wolf.
“I’m just saying,” Wilson pressed, “if there’s no rope. I don’t want you going up that cliff.”
“I’m not looking to die today. I’ll skirt to the south and find another way up if need be.”
That seemed to satisfy Wilson.
“Okay.” Wolf looked off the starboard side at the small island in the distance. “You know what to do. Stay on the other side of that island until you hear otherwise. Keep everyone else back. I don’t want another unit traveling down that road.”
Wilson nodded with wide eyes. “I know, sir.”
Wolf pulled the hood over his head. As he straightened the edges around his face the pathway up the hillside from the Grey’s dock to the cabin came into view.
Without another word he clutched the dry sack in his left hand and dove off the back of the boat.
Chapter 50
Rachette was yanked out of unconsciousness by a stabbing pain in his shoulder.
“Ah!” he cried.
Opening his eyes, he felt a familiar weight on his chest. Hannah was still on top of him.
The pain ebbed, and he saw she was concentrating on his shoulder. With another explosion of pain she leaned on his wound.
“Keep this on it.” She said.
Rachette kept still. It was like he had forgotten how to move.
“Here.” She took Rachette’s left hand and put it on his right shoulder. “Press.”
His jaw bounced uncontrollably. He was so cold. “Kimber?”
She sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Kimber.”
“Hannah?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s Rachel. Kimber. Whatever. Now don’t mess with her when she comes back.” She gripped some rustling fabric and pulled it up to his chin. “Keep this pulled up.”
Rachette looked down at his jacket, which was now draped over him. He croaked an unintelligible word and then gave up on responding.
She stood and walked away, her rain jacket swishing as she walked toward the stairway to the front porch.
Rachette shook his head and blinked his eyes. His shoulder was cold, and when he looked down he could see that the shirt had been ripped away. Kimber had done some first aid and now he was holding a wadded up piece of fabric on the wound.
The other Kimber barged out of the front door holding an open laptop computer and trotted down the steps. Hannah. The anger in her eyes told Rachette as much. The two were not identical in every way.
“You fix up your boyfriend?” She asked without looking at him.
“Yeah. He’ll live.”
She clicked a button and scoffed. “We’ll see.”
Rachette pulled away the fabric on his wound and looked underneath. An oozing red hole with striated muscle bulging out stared back at him. He shut his eyes and took a breath.
Slowly he propped himself on his elbow and looked around. Instinct was telling him he needed to elevate his upper body to slow the bleeding. His shoulder throbbed with each micro-movement, but he managed to shuffle over to his tire with his ass and good arm. When he reached it he collapsed backward and panted with sweat streaming down his face, his teeth sounding like a jackhammer in his skull.
The two women were glancing between the laptop screen and his sideshow performance.
“Not sure if you want to be awake for this. Your little partner just showed up. She’s been trying to get hold of you on the radio.”
Rachette looked at Hannah, the memory of the white SUV with roof lights on top coming back to him in a flash. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
Eyes locked on Rachette’s, Hannah handed off the laptop to Kimber and took a step toward him. Her face twisted in rage and then she tilted her head and slowed, and then she stopped.
With a jerk of her head she walked away and then jogged down to the edge of the precipice to look at the lake.
Rachette frowned, watching her strange actions, blinking in and out of partial consciousness. Then he heard a faint thrumming sound of an engine, and he saw why she’d ran.
A blue motorboat, out far enough that he could see it under the drop-off, slid by lazily, the wake spreading out into a white V behind it. With a smile he remembered wakeboarding with his sister in Omaha growing up. She used to suck. Could never get up. Had to resort to waterskiing with two skis.
“What are you laughing at?” Hannah was back in his face.
He looked up under heavy eyelids. “What?”
“I asked what you’re laughing at.”
Rachette squinted, trying to figure out who was talking to him.
Chapter 51
The shock of the cold through Wolf’s eighth of an inch wetsuit was overshadowed by the
violent wrenching of his body when he landed in the wake of the boat. He’d landed wrong, too vertical, and the momentum of the water sliding by twisted him for an instant, arching his back and twisting his neck like he was caught in a blender.
As his body stilled, he opened his eyes and let himself float to the top of the water. Poking his head out of the water, he took a soundless breath and began swimming toward the shore.
Panic arced through his body when he realized his arm was gliding too effortlessly through the water. The added resistance of the tied dry sack was not there.
Treading with strong kicks that were less than effective with climbing shoes on, he twirled, desperately searching for the yellow sack.
There.
Twenty feet away a bright yellow bag, now with a frayed nylon string slithering on the surface, was just below the top of the water.
In an instant he saw it was sinking.
Ducking his head, he pulled and kicked with all his strength. A few strokes later, through his blurry vision, he saw a yellow rectangle plunging down, fluttering back and forth as it sank out of sight.
His ears plugged and squeaked as he dove down after it, but it was no use. He was too slow, and it was gone.
With a burst of bubbles he cursed at the top of his lungs and then broke the water in silence once again. Without looking back he swam towards the shore in a silent breaststroke.
Chapter 52
Rachette felt himself moving and emerged into half-consciousness again. With a head-rattling scrape, he felt himself being pulled by each leg across the ground. He looked up and saw, Kimber it was, pulling him toward the steps to the house.
He opened his mouth and croaked.
“She’s here. Wait. She’s stopping.”
Kimber dropped Rachette’s legs and his body rocked to a halt. There was less pain now. Rachette knew that was a bad sign. With mild interest he watched Hannah and Kimber huddle at the laptop screen.
“She’s stopping right at the camera.”
Their concerned, identical, faces glowed from the laptop screen’s light.
“Into the woods?” Hannah frowned and shook her head, looking into the forest over and beyond Rachette. “They know we have motion and vibration sensors everywhere. What the hell is she doing?”
Kimber looked down at Rachette. “She’s coming for him.”
Hannah put the laptop down hard on the stairs. She pulled the gun from her waist and racked the slide. “You take this. Keep him covered. I’m going in to cut her off before she gets here.”
“Don’t!” Rachette’s shoulder exploded in pain as he yelled the word. “Patterson! Patters—”
Rachette’s teeth slammed together and his head jerked back.
Hannah pulled back her leg after kicking Rachette and stepped on his shoulder.
His entire world now a blast of pain on his right side, Rachette doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream. Between gasps, he heard footsteps receding into the distance.
Chapter 53
Patterson twisted the keys and got out.
With a glance over at the wildlife camera nailed to the tree, she slammed the door and ran around the front of the car and up the slope to the woods on the right hand side.
With quick, powerful strides she climbed the dirt embankment and before too long was swerving between tight pine trees. Her lungs beat a steady rhythm, and the earpiece thumped in her left ear with every movement. For minutes she kept the steady pace without struggle, and she thanked herself for taking time out of every single day for the last two years to exercise.
Jumping over a downed log, she slowed and stood behind a thick pine and leaned on it, catching her breath with long pulls of air. With slow deliberation she ducked down and peeked around the edge of the tree.
The road veered away from her below, and in the distance was a partial view of the Grey’s cabin. She saw the white paint of Rachette’s SUV parked in front, and the wood two-story structure to the right. Past all of it she saw slivers of the gray lake water beyond. It looked still, no white streaks of a boat wake, but she could see a distant row of wake waves as rolling reflections on the otherwise still water.
Where the hell was Wolf’s radio signal?
If that was their boat’s wake, he was undoubtedly on shore by now. Not only that, but judging by the waves, it looked like Wolf would have had enough time to jump in the water, swim to shore, and hike the short distance to the base of the cliff and by now be halfway into his climb.
“Wolf, do you copy?” She whispered into her wrist mic.
There was no response. Quickly she checked her belt and made sure the dial was turned on. It was. The green light was solid next to the power knob and she was on the agreed channel.
Damn it.
In an instant she forgot the radio, because a branch had snapped loudly somewhere down the slope between her and the cabin.
Again she leaned out, and she still saw nothing in the forest below. For ten full seconds she scanned the area below, doing methodical horizontal sweeps with her eyes, adjusting the distance downward, and repeating the process. If someone was there, they were waiting her out.
What was her next move? It was impossible to make a choice without Wolf’s signal. She was there as a decoy, to bring their attention up the hill while Wolf snuck up from behind. Was the climbing rope Wolf had been expecting not there? Was he hurt? Had he been seen?
Even if things were still going to plan, if Wolf was nowhere close to finishing his climb up the cliff face behind the property, she was not in position to start banging pots and pans.
Damn it. Wolf was silent, and the sisters had the edge. They knew the forest. According to Wolf, they had sensors, and as far as she knew she was signaling her position right now.
She leaned back against the tree trunk and shook her head. Something must have happened to Wolf’s radio, she thought. Otherwise he would be communicating. That was the only thing she could think of.
What if he fell off the cliff face and he was lying dead on the ground right now? Then what?
“Shut up and move,” she hissed under her breath.
She needed a better view of the property below. Scanning straight across the slope, she found a target that would give her a better vantage point—a group of old-growth pine trees in the distance.
With a quick breath she gripped her pistol, then sprinted for it, trying to keep her footfalls as silent as possible. Keeping her eyes forward, her breath bounced in and out of her nose as she moved with as much speed as she could muster. She swerved and ducked, jumped a downed log, and baseball slid through pine needles to a stop at one of the thick trunks.
For five seconds she steadied her breath and then poked her head out. There! She cheered silently to herself as she saw Wolf was already up the cliff and making his way across the property to Rachette. Then her face fell and she gasped in horror, because what was about to happen next she could see as clear as Rocky Mountain air.
Chapter 54
Wolf was only halfway up the rock face when his forearms started giving out.
The rope had been there, just as he hoped. The Grigri was doing its job—the cam inside the device pinching the belay side of the rope, arresting his downward motion when he needed.
And now he was using putting his full bodyweight on the rope, stretching his forearms, staring alternately between the rest of the climb ahead of him and the trail below and to the right.
The trail is too exposed on top. Suck it up.
The trail was too exposed. First, there was the two sisters’ alleged security system that Wolf’s father had helped set up. That meant the trail from the dock, and the stairway up the rocks, would have been equipped with at least one sensor. To not do so would have been negligent.
Even if there were no sensors, it was an open stairway, with no cover at the top. He’d seen as much two days ago. Taking that route would have been suicide if the two women were even half as dangerous as they seemed to be. Once on t
op, he would have had an expanse of wide-open property to negotiate, and now no weapon except for the dive knife on his calf.
He looked up. The top of the cliff was his best bet to sneak onto the property. There was cover in the form of pine trees to the left at the summit. And best of all, it was unexpected, he told himself again.
Steeling himself for another push of exertion, he sucked in a breath, gripped a thin handhold with his right hand and pulled himself up. Then he pulled the slack of the rope through the Grigri. Then he alternated hands, heaved himself a foot up the rock, and pulled the slack of the rope.
The light was fading fast, like he’d suddenly entered a cave. The skies would open up with rain again soon.
He pictured himself summiting. He envisioned himself doing it in one continuous burst of energy.
With clenched teeth, he reached up and grabbed another handhold.
Pulling up with shaking biceps, he thought of the two deputies lives at stake on top and it fueled his muscles and his resolve. And when a minute later that wasn’t enough, he thought about Sarah’s dead body, and how he was sure now that one of these twin sisters had shot her dead.
A couple of minutes later, Wolf summited the top of the cliff and collapsed to his chest, panting for oxygen. He quickly gained his composure and ducked behind a wind-warped scrub oak. The two women he now knew as Hannah and Rachel Kipling were on the other side of his thin cover—across the lawn and in front of the house.
Chest heaving up and down, the muscles in his biceps feeling like they’d been torn in half, Wolf watched in silence as his pulse pounded in his temples.
Blood trickled out of his nose and onto his teeth. As he licked the blood and swallowed, his right hand middle finger flexed against his palm, the tendon in his forearm clamped tight and screaming in pain.
With slow, deliberate movement, he got to his knees, keeping his upper body crouched low, held his breath, and with his other hand stretched out his finger.
