by Jeff Carson
He froze as the two sisters looked toward him. He was unnoticed, because a second later they turned and looked back up the mountain the opposite way. Unexpected.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied the two women. They were identical physically, but surely not the same mentally. One sat on the front steps of the house looking defeated, while the other glared into the trees above. He thought about the makeup on Kimber’s face last night. How it had seemed overdone. That had been Hannah, he knew now. The picture from Boise had shown she did not have a mole on her lip. That had been drawn on. That had been what was bothering him about her makeup. Hannah was the baseball bat wielder in her childhood, and she was presumably the one looking up the mountain with killer determination.
Wolf snapped out of his thoughts and moved silently to the trees to his left.
The rope scraped across the top of the cliff below him. He stopped and dropped to his knees again, watching in horror as a fist-sized rock dislodged and rolled for a few inches before stopping—right before it plummeted over the edge and made a noise that could give away his position. The rock stilled, and Wolf breathed out.
Wolf crouched behind a thick pine trunk and surveyed the property. The cabin was built perpendicular to the edge of the cliff, with the front of the house on Wolf’s right, where Rachette’s SUV was parked and the stairway climbed to the upper level deck and front door.
The rear of the cabin was on Wolf’s left, with a deck on the upper level and a door to a ground level underneath it. The side of the house was straight ahead, and Wolf recognized the kitchen through the windows on the upper floor.
Wolf watched as one of the sisters walked away along the house. She paused and kicked something on the ground.
Wolf exhaled with relief to see it was Rachette, alive, albeit writhing on the ground in pain.
That was definitely Hannah, he decided.
Wolf’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch when he realized what she was doing. She was going after Patterson.
He pulled his dive knife and severed the rope below the Grigri and watched the frayed end disappear over the edge. Gripping the rope above the device he paused before cutting it.
Instead of slicing it, he jammed the knife home in its sleeve and reeled in the rope hand over hand. As he pulled the cord up, it threaded through two carabiners attached to the top anchor lines, and he moved smoothly to keep the metal from clanking with each pull. There was no plan for the rope, but perhaps he could use it to restrain one of the sisters.
After pulling up the entire rope, he took the coil off his arm, slung it over his head and sprinted silently to the rear of the house.
Once up against the side of the house, he walked toward the front and peered around the corner. Rachette was near his SUV, fluttering his eyes as he barely held onto consciousness, his shoulder covered in blood and his face looking ghost white.
The sister who stayed behind, Rachel, paced short steps at the base of the stairway that led to the second floor. She looked eagerly in the opposite direction toward her sister, who made her way past the front of the house and out of sight.
Patterson was coming from up and from the right. The sister was going to try and flank her from the left.
“Be careful,” Rachel hissed. “She could have a rifle!”
Wolf ducked back around the corner.
He had to act fast.
He peered, and then with light feet stepped around the corner, keeping the stairway between him and Rachel. Without slowing he bent down, picked up a stone, and lobbed it high in the air and over the back of the SUV, all the while moving forward at the same silent pace.
The stone landed with a splat and Rachel turned toward the noise and pointed her pistol. Wolf sprang up from behind at the same instant, clubbing her on top of her head as hard as he could with the butt of the knife handle.
Wolf’s fist was a sledgehammer with a solid plug center, and the muffled knock on her skull dropped her unconscious to the ground face first.
Wolf sheathed his knife, and then took her pistol and tucked it into the waist of his harness. He grabbed her under her arms and pulled her back the way he’d come. Tossing her to the dirt on the side of the house, he went back up to Rachette.
Rachette looked up at Wolf and smiled.
“Don’t say anything,” Wolf whispered.
He grabbed Rachette under the arms and dragged him backwards, scraping his heels along the dirt and wet grass, down to the side of the house. He could tie up the one sister, and know that Rachette was behind the shelter of the house, and then get on the hunt for the other sister.
“Drop the cop, and drop the gun.”
Wolf’s stomach sank. With a slow squat he laid Rachette down next to the unconscious sister and held up his hands.
“Slowly. Pull the gun out of your harness and toss it to your side.”
Wolf gritted his teeth and did what he was told.
“Thank you. And now the dive knife.”
Wolf pulled the knife and tossed it next to his gun.
There were quick footsteps on the soggy grass behind him, and Wolf turned to see her picking up the pistol and the knife.
“Hannah? Or Rachel?”
She raised her eyebrows and tucked the pistol into the back of her jeans, and then she picked up the knife and stared at it. She twirled it for a second, staring at the blade as if lost in memories. Then she twisted, hauled back, and threw the knife across the lawn and over the cliff. With a sour smile she faced Wolf with her gun pointed.
“Hannah,” Rachette grunted from the ground, answering Wolf’s question.
An icy raindrop slapped the back of Wolf’s neck and trickled down his wetsuit. Another one smacked on the wood side of the house, and a cold breeze drove up over the edge of the cliff.
Hannah looked at Rachette and then raked her eyes up and down Wolf. “Nice outfit.”
Wolf stared at her.
“I got to thinking just now, why the hell did that midget deputy of yours stop in front of our camera and go into the woods? And then we saw that boat go by. I almost didn’t put it together.” She twirled a finger in the air. “But then I did, and I came around the house.”
Wolf glared. “Why did you kill Sarah?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I killed Sarah? Oh really?” She leaned her head back and laughed heartily. “You’re better off without that slut. Believe me.”
“What the hell do you want?” Wolf asked. His chest heaved, and despite the cold wind that howled up the cliff, he was sweating under the wetsuit.
Hannah’s cool façade cracked for an instant and she thrust the gun at Wolf. “To be left alone!”
“Then”—he waved a hand—“go. Get out of here. Leave me and my deputies and you and your crazy-ass sister get the hell out of here.”
“She’s not crazy.”
“Ah. Right. That’s you.”
Hannah walked over to Wolf and past him. She peered around the corner to the front of the house and then turned back to Wolf and came back, leading her movements with the business end of the gun. “Tell your deputy to come out with her hands up or I shoot this guy again.”
She stopped and aimed down at Rachette. “She’s at the back of the house.”
Wolf glanced toward the back of the house.
“Do it!”
Rachette stared up at Wolf from the ground, shaking his head in defiance.
“Patterson!” Wolf yelled. “Come out!”
There was no response but the whoosh of wind through the pines and the knock of raindrops on the side of the house.
“Patterson!”
“Here.” Patterson came around the corner with both hands in the air, her pistol aimed to the sky.
“Drop it!” Hannah pushed the gun closer to Rachette. “I swear to God, I shot him once, I’ll shoot him again. I’ll shoot him in the face. Drop it.”
Patterson threw her gun to the side and walked at them. Her eyes were half closed, eyeing Hannah with burning hatred.
She backed away from Rachette and walked to her sister who lay motionless a few feet away.
“Rachel,” she said, slapping her cheek. “You okay?”
Rachel groaned and rocked her head back and forth.
Hannah glared at Wolf and thrust the gun at him. “You two back up. Towards the cliff.”
Chapter 55
Rachette stared at Patterson and Wolf’s drawn faces, and like the blood that seeped from his shoulder, felt the hope that he might live to see another day drain from his body. He no longer had the strength to press on his own wound, and he no longer cared. He was on the way out and he knew it. The cold was so absolute, but his chin no longer bounced from shivering. That had to be a bad sign.
All he cared about now were the wellbeing of his two partners. Now that he sat on death’s door, he could see so clearly now that these two people were everything to him. Nobody else came close.
And now the barrel of a gun was pushing his two friends toward the edge of a cliff.
And now he could see so clearly what he had to do.
Patterson was saying something with her arms raised, probably trying to bargain their way out of it somehow.
He looked at Wolf. Such a God among men was this Sheriff. Such a man of honor and dignity. Such a … Rachette did a double take, because Wolf had just slung the rope off his neck and dropped it on the ground.
For a moment it was like Rachette was watching nothing of significance, like he was staring at water swirling down a drain. But then he blinked and widened his eyes, because Wolf was doing something, he realized. Because the rope was on the ground, but that was not everything, because Wolf was grasping the end, and he was twisting it in his fingers.
Hannah was preoccupied with talking to Patterson, noticing none of it. But how long could that last? He had to act.
Rachette pushed air with all his might through his lungs. “Hey!” He looked at Patterson and winked.
Patterson frowned and shook her head.
Hannah stopped marching at his friends and turned to Rachette.
“You know what?” Rachette cleared his throat, tasting blood in his mouth. That had to be a bad sign. “You know what I told these two? Kimber? Hannah? Or whatever the hell your name is?”
Hannah walked away from Wolf and Patterson and stopped at Rachette’s legs, tilting her head.
“I told these two you were a crazy bitch. And I was right!” Rachette let out a long annoying laugh that really started him laughing uncontrollably. “Remember when we made out that time?”
Hannah shook her head. “No. I don’t.”
“Because you’re a crazy bitch.” Patterson lifted her chin. “My partner’s rarely right, but this time he’s spot on. A crazy bitch.”
Hannah stopped and looked over at Patterson, frowning like she’d just taken a bite out of a lemon. With a shake of her head she let her lip curl in amusement, and then her face dropped.
Rachette watched in sickening horror as Hannah raised her pistol.
“No!” Rachette screamed as fast as he could. “Me! Me! Me!”
It was no use. Without hesitation, Hannah pointed her pistol at Patterson and pulled the trigger.
The gun roared and Rachette turned his eyes away at the last second, seeing the bright flash of light illuminate the side of the house, like a flash of lightning. As the echo of the shot faded into the distance, his eyes welled up like an instantaneous chemical reaction.
He inhaled and stretched his mouth, and then he screamed. “Ahh—”
“What the hell?” Hannah yelled.
Rachette blinked and looked down. Patterson was still standing. Unharmed.
Wolf, Patterson, and Hannah stood in more or less an equilateral triangle formation, with Hannah as the point nearest the house, swaying her pistol between the two of them, pushing them ever closer to the cliff, all the while keeping a reasonable distance for her safety.
When Wolf had found the end of the rope that was coiled around his neck and started tying the knot with his right hand, he exchanged a glance with Patterson. I need a diversion, he screamed with his eyes.
Wolf could only assume Patterson had read the situation correctly, because without a second’s hesitation she began sniveling.
“Please,” Patterson spoke with heart stopping pain and passion in her voice. “We didn’t bring up the rest of our squad because we want to help. Listen. It’s the—”
“You know what?” Rachette squirmed to life from his position on the ground. “You know what I told these two? Kimber? Or whatever the hell …”
Dammit.
Rachette had come up with a plan of his own.
Hannah snapped out of her hypnotized glare at Patterson and turned to Rachette.
Wolf blocked out everything and concentrated on the knot in his fingers. Easily enough, he twisted the rope with one hand into a regular knot and tightened it, but he needed two hands for the pretzel twist, push through of the end of the rope and final cinch to complete the slipknot.
Hannah’s expression changed, like she was about to act, and by the looks of it, Rachette had seconds to live.
Abandoning stealth, Wolf looked down at the end of the knot, cinched it tight making it complete and ready to use, and then pulled open the loop with a quick motion that burned his thumb.
Hannah was too far away to bum rush, she’d made sure of that and had been keeping a smart distance away from Wolf and Patterson the entire time. This was the only plan that kept his deputies safe. If Wolf missed? Then a bum rush would be his plan B. That would be a suicide plan. This plan, Wolf told himself with little conviction, was not a suicide plan.
As Wolf dropped the climbing rope loop to his side and twirled it once, Hannah aimed at Patterson.
Wolf stepped at Hannah and let the rope fly with a side-armed toss his father would have been proud of. The loop wobbled and widened at the perfect moment, as if guided by a higher power, and looped over her gun arm and around her torso. He pulled back as hard as he could, cinching the makeshift lasso tight and yanking Hannah off balance.
Hannah stumbled toward him, the same instant her gun erupting with a deafening boom. She landed hard on her palm and knee, and then looked up with a dumbfounded look. “What the hell?”
Wolf had no time to attack.
Without hesitation, she raised the pistol and aimed it at Wolf’s center mass, and then squeezed the trigger.
Something bounced in front of Rachette, a line of rope or a cord, and for a second he blinked through the tears, trying to focus on what it was. He felt a surge of excitement, because it was the rope that had been in Wolf’s hand. One end was a loop, now cinched tight around Hannah’s upper arms and torso, and the other end was in Wolf’s hand.
A lasso, he realized. Wolf had thrown a lasso made from the rope and pulled her down.
Before Rachette could form a smile, Hannah’s gun roared and spit fire once, twice, three times. Her teeth were bared as her arm kicked back with each shot. Then she dropped her gun and grabbed at the rope with both hands, wriggling like it was a piranha biting at her skin.
Rachette turned to look at Wolf, but he was not where Rachette expected. He was zigzagging, running away as fast as he could.
But he was going the wrong direction.
And then Wolf was gone, twisting as he flew down and out of sight over the edge of the cliff.
The rope was fluttering limp, and then with the sound of a tightening guitar string it pulled laser beam straight, one end scraping on the top edge of the cliff, the other a contracting loop around Hannah’s torso.
Hannah let out a panicked squeal as she was flung in a blur towards the cliff’s edge. Rolling in a thumping tornado of limbs, she barked an animalistic noise as she smacked back-first against a tree. For an instant she was velcroed to the trunk of the pine, her on the right side of the tree and the rope stretched around the left. With a sla
ck mouth, she stared vacantly at Rachette, blinked, and then was pulled over the edge and out of sight.
As Wolf leaped head-first off the cliff, and as the wind rushed past his ears, and as his stomach floated, and as death rushed up at him at 9.8 meters per second per second, he thought about a man named Claus Vaadner.
Because for the last six years Claus had been a legend in Rocky Points—because everyone in town knew the story of how one day Claus had cheated death with the aid of dumb luck, and a pallet of ceramic roof tiles.
Six summers ago, Claus had been installing Italian clay tiles twenty five feet above the ground, working on the roof of a two-story luxury house in the hills to the west of Rocky Points, when he slipped and fell over the edge. Luckily for him he was tied off, but unluckily for him, he had tied himself to the pallet, which was more than half empty and weighed less than he did.
Fellow workers, with the aid of a few beers, told, and still tell, the tale how Claus dangled over the rocky ground, screaming frantically as the pallet gave way and slid toward the edge of the roof above.
Claus had been spared a horrific fall, however, because the resistance from the sliding pallet effectively lowered Claus at a gentle rate, depositing him to the ground completely unharmed, as if he’d stepped off a three-foot step-stool and not just tumbled off a twenty-five foot roof. Lucky for Claus, he watched as the pallet flew off the edge and he avoided the cataclysmic explosion of ceramic by diving out of the way.
With a wrench of his body, Wolf twisted one hundred eighty degrees and pulled his legs to his chest, completing three quarters of a front-flip-half-twist, waiting for his pallet of tiles to slow his fall.
Now parallel to the ground face down, the steep grade beneath him rushed up through his blurry vision. Just when he began wondering if his makeshift lasso had held, the slack in the rope pulled tight and his outward trajectory shifted downward.
He was halfway through the fall when the rope pulled again against the Grigri cam system which was still locked on the rope and attached to his harness, changing his trajectory once more, this time sending him slamming chest first into the side of the cliff.
