by Dana Mentink
He threw back his head and laughed, looking more like a little boy than a cop.
“Am I that funny?”
“No.” He shook his head, the smile still on his face. “You just reminded me of Little Red Riding Hood for a minute.”
“I always thought she could have taken care of that wolf by herself if she’d had a mind to.”
The smile vanished, and he shot her a warning look. “Let’s not try any heroics, okay? This isn’t a fairy tale.”
She smiled. “Copy that, Officer Harrison, but you should be telling yourself the same thing.”
James drove to the top of the slope, where they would have a clear view of anyone traveling the winding road below. He parked the car near the cover of some monstrous shrubs and listened to the radio chatter, chiming in with his location. She was only half listening, thinking about what King’s reaction would be when the cops arrested his driver. Maybe that would finally crack his smug exterior.
“Little Red secure?” a voice she recognized as Dennis Marlton’s asked.
“What?” she demanded, snapping to attention as the pieces fell into place. “Little Red? That’s my cop nickname?”
James looked away. “Uh...well...um...yes, ma’am,” he finally admitted, still not meeting her eye.
“You tell Officer Marlton that Little Red is here and ready to catch herself a big bad wolf.”
James laughed so loud she could not resist joining in. How lovely, how precious just to share a hearty laugh with another person. She basked in the rare warmth of the moment. When he’d gotten control of himself and wiped his eyes, he radioed back. “Affirmative. Little Red secure.”
She was about to ask what else the cops saw fit to say about her when they heard the distant rumble of an engine. James was instantly alert, night-vision binoculars to his eyes.
“White truck, Washington plates,” Ryder said quietly into the radio. “Heading north toward you, Bucks.”
“Copy that. On him,” Bucks said.
James peered through the binoculars before he handed them to Madison. “Too far away to see clearly. Ryder, can you ID the driver?”
“Negative.”
Her nerves tightened into a ball. “Where will you make the arrest?”
“Bucks and Marlton will stop him after he goes about a mile, when he gets to the clearing right before the final climb to our position. We’ll alert if he takes off down a side road. Ryder will bring up the rear.”
It seemed so straightforward. She could not help but compose an article in her mind.
Desert Valley Police seized a truck carrying a load of illicit cigarettes being transported through town. The truck is owned by Desert Valley resident Bruce King. The driver, Myron Falkner, was arrested for outstanding warrants and suspected involvement in a protection racket that victimized local businesses.
It would be the ultimate satisfaction for Madison when Frances and Bill found out they were finally free of the abuse. The plan seemed cut-and-dried, but a detail still niggled at her. “Who was the tipster?” she asked.
“Anonymous. Called in from a pay phone in town.”
She knew he could tell what she was thinking. His expression was troubled—that much was clear even in the darkness. If there was somebody inside the department working for King, then the whole bust might be a diversion or some kind or a trap. But for whom? Though she turned it over every which way in her brain, she could make no sense of it as she watched the slow and steady progress of the truck grinding up the grade toward them.
James rolled the front window down partway, and the thin night air carried the sound of the approaching truck. Hawk stood on the backseat, so James rolled down his window a couple of inches, too. The dog shoved his fleshy face into the gap and happily slobbered all over the glass as he snuffled in millions more scents that Madison could dream of.
“He’s slowing,” Ryder said via the radio.
James was tracking the progress. “What’s he doing? He can’t possibly have spotted Bucks and Marlton. He’s not close enough.” Yet the truck eased to a stop a hundred yards or so before it reached the plateau where the two cops were poised to make the arrest.
“Maybe he’s figured out the cops are waiting for him,” she murmured. Maybe he’s got some inside information. Abruptly the truck turned off down a path that Madison hadn’t seen at first.
“He’s heading east,” James yelled into his radio. “Taking a cut through.”
“Copy that,” Ryder said. “I’ll stop him at the bottom. Bucks and Marlton, stay in position in case he changes his mind and reverses.”
Bucks and Marlton both radioed to confirm.
James spoke into the radio. “Following him down, Ryder, toward your twenty.”
“I thought you were supposed to watch and report only.”
“I’m not leaving Ryder without backup.” He gripped the wheel tightly, easing the vehicle slowly down the slope, gravel and twigs crunching under the tires. “I’ll stay back far enough that he won’t spot us.”
Madison strained against the seat belt, trying to keep the white truck in sight. It disappeared for a while as the swell of land and trees obstructed her view. Hawk whined from the backseat.
“There,” James said. Their vehicle had just topped a sharply peaked section of road, and the truck was barreling down the slope below them.
“He’s seen us. No need for stealth anymore.” James started up the lights and siren and took off in pursuit, alerting Ryder, whom they could barely make out at the bottom, his vehicle blocking the road.
Madison thought with a squeeze of panic that the truck was going to ram right into Ryder’s car. Her breath froze in her lungs.
Ryder was out of the vehicle, aiming his weapon at the truck. She heard the crack of a gun being fired, which made her jump. Glass shattered. James did not even flinch. He pressed the accelerator and they flew on, careening over the ground.
The truck was between Ryder and James when it suddenly took a sharp turn to the left.
“The bridge,” James shouted, pulling his reluctant vehicle into a tight turn. Hawk skidded to one side of the car, barking.
“What bridge?” she managed over the violent jostling.
“There used to be an old wooden bridge that spanned the deepest part of the gorge but it’s ruined, rotted away,” he called.
Madison felt her heart thudding in her throat. “Then what’s he doing driving in that direction? Does he not know the bridge is out?”
James didn’t answer. Ryder joined them now, lights flashing, the siren adding to the noise.
“Hold on,” James shouted as they raced toward the rotting bridge. “I’m going to try to get in front of him.”
Flooring the gas pedal, he inched closer to the passenger side. “Can you see who it is?”
A glimpse of bald head under a cockeyed black hat, the flat nose and cruel mouth. How well she remembered the face of the man who had repeatedly attacked her. “It’s Myron Falkner,” she yelled back.
Just then Falkner cranked the wheel, and the truck swiped to the side and clipped James on the front fender, causing the car to buck and shimmy.
James fought to keep control. The car veered dangerously toward a bank of massive trees before he pulled it back again. James tried a second time to move past the truck. Once more Falkner yanked the truck to the side, smashing it into their cruiser. There was a pop, and the car wobbled and shied.
“Took out the front tire,” he shouted. “Hold on.”
He hit the brakes, trying to keep the car from skidding on the loose rock. Only a hundred yards from the trees. Madison clung to the door handle so tightly her fingernails bit into her palm. Still fighting against the wild spinning of the tires, James managed to slow the car just as they slid into the shadow of the trees.
“No,” she said. “James, wait for Marlton and Bucks.”
“Ryder needs backup, now.” He fixed her with an intense look that made her realize just how much dedication and self-sacrifice it took to pin on a badge every single day. For his police family, he would face any danger, any threat. No wonder he would not believe, even for a moment, that there was a cop behind the protection ring. “Keep Hawk here. He’s not trained for this.”
“I’m not going to say ‘be careful.’” She took a breath. “You know there are wolves in the woods.”
“Copy that, Red.”
Then he tore away into the darkness.
Madison’s own pulse was so loud in her ears that it almost drowned out the sound of Hawk’s panting.
Sixteen
James ran over the uneven ground, ignoring the stab of pain in his ribs. He shouted into the radio as he went. Marlton and Bucks responded, and he could hear the wail of sirens as they hurtled down the mountain.
Ryder’s vehicle had just reached the top when it stopped abruptly. He was close enough to hear Ryder’s door being thrown open and the bark from Titus, his dog in the backseat. James forced his legs to move faster, sweat pouring down his face as he covered the last few yards. Gunshots ripped through the air.
Electrified, he pulled his gun and sprinted for all he was worth, head ducked low, toward Ryder’s car.
He crashed to a halt on the ground next to Ryder, behind the cover of his open driver’s door.
“You okay?” James panted.
“Yeah. He’s a bad shot.”
James breathed a silent prayer of thanks that he had not found his friend and Titus wounded or worse.
Ryder’s front headlight exploded as Falkner shot at them again. Titus barked crazily.
“Down,” Ryder commanded. James was grateful Madison and Hawk were safely away.
“I’ll lay down some fire and see if we can’t convince this guy he’s outgunned.” Ryder took aim with his Glock and squeezed off a couple of rounds, which punched holes into the driver’s side door and shattered the side mirror.
They waited for a moment, tucked behind cover. Ryder nodded.
“Hands up and step out of the vehicle,” James roared. “Right now, Falkner. You’ve got nowhere to go.”
The silence seemed to last for an eternity, but it was probably no more than ten seconds. A vibration shook the ground, the squeal of car tires complaining against a sudden acceleration.
“What?” James said. Ryder’s expression was blank with disbelief.
They peered through the window in time to see the white truck surge forward, bumping and shuddering.
“He’s going for the bridge,” Ryder said in utter astonishment.
The truck crashed through the danger signs warning that the bridge was closed. Surely Falkner would slow as the situation became clear, but the truck did not lose speed. Ryder and James scrambled from their shelter and raced after the careening vehicle.
“He’s crazy,” James said. “The guy’s crazy. Where does he think he’s going to go?”
With a roar, the truck shot over the worn wooden planking, which ripped to pieces under the weight.
They watched in open-mouthed shock as the truck tumbled through the air and down into the deep canyon, rolling and smashing against the rocks. With a final deafening bang, it hit the bottom, exploding into an orange ball of fire. An echo from the impact billowed back up from the depths. Ryder and James stared into the void.
Marlton and Bucks joined them, both panting, peering off into the gorge at the wreckage below.
“He drove off the bridge,” Marlton said. “The guy just drove right off the end of a busted-up bridge. Why would he do that?”
Bucks shook his head, holstering his gun and wiping his forehead. “Don’t know, but it saves us the trouble of booking him, I guess.”
James’s stomach convulsed as he looked down into the ruins. He felt sickened at the death, angry that justice would not be served, confused that what was to be an easy arrest had gone so horribly wrong. “We’re going to have to get down there,” he said. “Falkner might have survived.”
“No.” Ryder returned to his car to quiet Titus. “That’s a job for the fire department guys. Falkner couldn’t have survived the crash or the explosion. And no one is going down there. Am I understood?”
His tone brooked no disagreement.
“Copy that.”
James turned away from the mess to see Madison standing in the moonlight with Hawk at the end of his leash. He went to her.
“Don’t tell me I should have stayed in the car. I did my best, but Hawk was about ready to break a window.” She searched his face. “He drove over the cliff? On purpose?”
“Looks that way.” He sucked in a deep breath and groaned as the effort pulled on his ribs. He pressed a hand to his side.
“Are you okay?”
“Physically, yeah, I guess.”
“But...”
“I wanted to get him. I didn’t want him to kill himself.”
She traced a hand over his forearm. “There was no way for you to guess he was going to do that.”
The moon darkened her eyes to deep black pools, and he found himself wanting to fall deep into them, to forget what had just happened and slip into the comfort of her understanding. Her touch was gentle on his arm, tracing her way to his hand. He had no words, but he laced his fingers through hers, and they mourned together for a moment, grieved a life lost to evil.
“At least...at least it’s over,” she said. “He won’t be able to hurt Frances or Tony or Bill Baxter anymore. You got your man.”
“Yeah.” Got him, but not in the way James or any of them had wanted. He watched additional police cars roll up, the bustle of activity as the scene was secured. His body ached, and he felt light-headed from the effort and adrenaline. As much as he wanted to go add his observations to those of the other officers as they pieced their statements together for the chief, he could not shake a feeling of unease deep down. He sat on the front fender of his car and tried to get the echo of the crash out of his mind.
* * *
Madison was deep in thought. Why had Falkner stopped and changed directions instead of heading up to Marlton and Bucks? What if he’d been tipped off that he was heading toward an arrest? Why not leave the truck and try to lose them on foot? He had no way of knowing there was a bloodhound there to assist, unless someone had informed him of that fact. But an informant with that much knowledge about the police sting? It wasn’t something a volunteer or technician would be privy to. A fiery discomfort traced its way through her body. James did not want to find out there was a bad cop working with Falkner. Loyalty could blind a person to the truth. She knew that for certain.
She was pacing now, Hawk following back and forth. James stared toward the edge of the canyon. “I wouldn’t have thought Falkner was the kind of guy who would take his own life rather than go to jail again. Was he that scared of going to prison?”
“He didn’t strike me as a man who was afraid of much.”
What if things were not what they seemed to be? Maybe it was time for James to think like a reporter instead of a cop. She gazed at the ruts in the dirt left by the truck as it took Myron Falkner to his death.
James got up abruptly and went to his trunk.
She followed him. “What are you doing?”
“Just following a hunch,” he said, calling for Hawk. “Let’s go, boy. Time to earn your kibble.”
Madison didn’t have a clue what James was doing. His actions were even more incomprehensible when he took a plastic bag from his trunk and opened it, offering it to Hawk to sniff.
“What is that?” she
asked, jogging along behind as Hawk took off, passing by the cluster of police cars.
“Scent article. The hat we picked up in the woods after Falkner tried to smother you in the hospital. The lab returned it when they were finished testing. The scent is still plenty strong enough for Hawk.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, stopping dead in her tracks. “Are you implying...?” Since he didn’t wait, she started trotting again and caught up.
“James?”
“I’m not implying, or suggesting, or hinting. I’m investigating,” he said over his shoulder.
“But you think...”
He held up a hand, intent on his dog. “Hold that question. I’m about to go for a ride.”
Hawk shivered as if he’d been doused in a bucket of cold water, let out a deafening bark and took off through a narrow slice of dried grass. Madison tried to process and follow at the same time. Did James think Falkner had faked his death? Perhaps leaped from the truck before it tumbled into the canyon?
It was more important what was running through Hawk’s mind just then. The hound beelined through the grass, and James struggled to keep his footing as he was tugged along. She knew from James that the cool night air would help hold any scent in place, making it easier for the dog to track.
His nose was glued to the ground as he made his way along. Though the shrubs were clinging to her socks and imbedding burrs into her clothing, Hawk’s droopy folds would protect him from such irritants.
Hawk stopped when he got to the edge of the trees. Down below, Madison heard the burble of water. James talked into his radio as Hawk strained ahead, baying. When James let him forward again, the dog raced down to the water and barked when James stopped him.
“Can Hawk follow the scent even in the water?”
“Yes,” he said, voice low, “but he’s probably picking it up from the other side, too.”
Hawk lunged at the leash, letting loose a frustrated howl.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Why aren’t you letting him follow?”
He tried to soothe the dog, who was not the least bit placated. “Hang on, Hawk. Slight delay.”
