by Jeff Carson
“Good, because we don’t.”
McCall nodded. “I’ll get you a number.” He fished for his phone in his pocket.
“What’s that?” Sheriff Greene had returned.
“I was just telling Sheriff Wolf that we have a good sketch artist we commission. Glenn Meyer? I was getting the number.” McCall held up his phone.
Greene eyed Wolf as he sipped from his cup. “You don’t have a sketch artist in your employ?”
“Afraid not,” Wolf said.
“So, we’ll just send ours over.”
Wolf nodded. “Thanks.”
“Add that to the two other deputies we’re sending over to help you guys out this week. For that music festival.”
Wolf blinked. “Thanks.”
“Your son was shooting a Glock 17 at the man when he saw him?”
Wolf nodded.
“In the dark.”
“I had my reverse lights on. He says he got a good look at him, right before he shot him in the arm.”
Greene nodded with a skeptical smirk.
“We, uh”—McCall cleared his throat—“also have the description you gave last night of the man you saw on the trail. I’ll notify the Glenwood Springs FBI field office. With an EOD neck tattoo like that? We’re checking the NCIC database, but it would be good to get FBI eyes on it too. They can also check with the Department of Defense for any hits.”
Wolf nodded. “Good call.”
“I’ll be heading up to the trail myself, as soon as we’re done here.”
“And I’ll be going with you,” Wolf said.
McCall nodded. “Where do you want your pickup? Your facilities or ours?”
Greene grunted. “That’ll be going to us as well. They don’t have the forensics department to handle that. They outsource it.”
“He’s right,” Wolf said. “So, I’ll probably need a ride back to Rocky Points when all is said and done as well.”
McCall didn’t skip a beat. “No problem. I’ll give you a lift.”
They all turned at the sound of more footfalls coming down the hallway. It was Rachette marching fast with Patterson jogging to keep up in the rear.
Rachette held up his hands. “Sorry, we got here as fast as we could. Stupid mix up. I didn’t know about this until an hour ago. You all right?”
Wolf looked down at his arm hanging in the sling. “Fine,” he said.
Patterson stood dutifully behind Rachette. She wore a Sluice County Sheriff’s Department uniform that looked two sizes too big, with sleeves and pant legs rolled up.
Wolf nodded to her. “How you holding up? Is he showing you the ropes?”
She flicked a glance at Rachette, and then nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”
Rachette turned his head a fraction, and Wolf thought he saw a hint of red in his cheeks. Rachette turned to Sheriff Greene and held out a hand.
“Sir, I’m Deputy Tom Rachette. This is Deputy Patterson.”
Introductions went all around.
“How’s Jack?” Rachette asked.
“He’s fine. Tired. Sleeping now.”
Rachette nodded. “So, when are we going up?”
Wolf excused himself from Greene and McCall, and motioned for Patterson and Rachette to follow him down the hall.
“I need you two to take Jack to Rocky Points.”
Rachette stopped. “Patterson can take him back. I’m going up to the trail with you. We’ve gotta chase those bastards. They could still be up there.”
“Listen to me,” Wolf said. “It’s more important that you stay with Jack. He could be in danger. When we escaped, he got a look at one of the two guys shooting at us. He says he shot one of them in the arm.”
Rachette frowned. “You think they know who you guys are?”
Wolf looked toward the rotating glass doors of the front entrance. “I think it wouldn’t take much to figure it out. Jack spouted off that I was a sheriff to the guy I killed at the campsite. That man relayed it on the radio to the other men that were there. They could be close now, checking us out here, for all we know. Jack is the only one who would recognize the man.” He looked at Rachette, then at Patterson. “I need you two to stay with Jack.”
They nodded.
“And Sarah?” Rachette asked.
Wolf stretched his neck and exhaled. “She’s on her way now, probably not far behind you.”
…
Not more than ten minutes later, Sarah burst through the doors of the hospital, spotted Wolf, and ran toward him.
Her sky-blue eyes were wide and her eyebrows were pulled together in concern. She wore a maroon sweat suit and padded across the floor on slippered feet.
“What’s going on? Is Jack all right?” she asked with shaking lips.
“He’s fine, Sarah. He’s just down the hall, sleeping in a room.”
She looked past him and started walking. “Where?”
Wolf followed her. “Sarah, wait. I’ll take you.” Wolf walked to the door and cracked it open.
Sarah blew past him inside. Jack twisted in the bed and looked up at her with half-closed eyes. “Mom?”
Wolf slipped inside and waited patiently as Sarah hugged and kissed her son, running through a long list of questions making sure Jack was okay.
She stood up and turned to Wolf. “What the hell happened?” There was an accusatory note in the way she asked it, but then her face softened. “I’m sorry, I … what happened?”
“Some men were shooting at us on the mountain. We don’t know why.”
“Dad killed one of them, and I shot one in the arm.” Jack looked up with wide eyes.
Sarah’s face turned white, and she looked down at Jack. Then she sat down on the bed. She gripped her face for a second, and then looked up at Wolf.
“Did you … so what—”
“I want Jack to stay with Deputies Rachette and Patterson until I can figure out what happened up there, okay?” Wolf said.
Sarah looked at Jack and rubbed his face with both hands, as if feeling him for cracks. Then she looked back up at Wolf.
“Do you think they’re coming after Jack? What are you saying? Is that what you’re saying?”
Wolf hesitated. “I don’t know, Sarah. But I don’t want to take any chances.”
“So where are you going? What are you doing?”
“I have to go find them. Investigate.” Wolf sat down next to her and reached across his injured shoulder to caress her arm. “Sarah, please. You can be with Jack as much as you want, but I want cops—with guns—with you two, all right?”
Sarah nodded and wiped her eyes. “What happened to you?” She looked at Wolf’s shoulder.
“I was shot by one of them.”
She held a hand over her mouth. “You’ve gotta get these guys.”
Wolf nodded and looked her in the eye. “That’s the idea.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and then it cracked open. A tall man Wolf recognized as Mark Wilson, Sarah’s current boyfriend, poked his head inside. “Sarah?”
“Come in, Mark,” she said. “Come in.”
Wolf stood up and offered his hand to the man who’d claimed Sarah since her last stint in rehab—a counselor turned lover. Wolf suddenly felt out of place.
Mark gripped Wolf’s hand and eyed his shoulder with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” Wolf said, stepping aside.
“You doing all right, Jack?” Mark asked.
Jack nodded.
Mark looked at Wolf again. “Okay, sorry. I just wanted to check in. I’ll be out in the hallway, getting some coffee.” He disappeared before anyone could protest.
Wolf watched the door click shut. Every interaction Wolf had with Mark Wilson left him wanting to simultaneously like and hate the man. But Wolf failed to find it in himself to do either.
“David?”
Wolf snapped out of his thoughts and turned back to Sarah. “Yes?”
“I asked if you’re coming back to town t
onight.”
“Yes, I’ll come back. If I’m not coming, I’ll call you.”
She walked to Wolf and gave him a gentle hug. Wolf wrapped his arm around Sarah and looked at Jack, and then released her when he saw their son was staring at them with something that resembled hope.
“Rachette and Patterson will follow you guys home. I’ll see you later.” Wolf walked out of the room.
Chapter 16
McCall drove with expert off-road skills up the road to the Grimm Lake trail, swerving left and right, keeping a steady speed that was five miles an hour faster than Wolf had taken it the day before.
Wolf gripped the ceiling bar as hard as he could, trying to keep the movement of his upper body to a minimum. Each bump and sway of the SUV sent a throb of pain into his arm, but he insisted that McCall continue at the impressive pace.
Two Garfield County Sheriff’s Department Ford Explorer SUVs waited in the lot at the top, and there was a deputy milling around, focusing on the ground near the trailhead.
Wolf and McCall parked and got out into the thin air. There was a flicker of a breeze that was cool on the skin, counteracting the midday sun blazing in a cloudless sky.
They approached the uniformed man. “This is Deputy Allison,” McCall said.
Wolf shook his hand. “You finding anything?”
Deputy Allison was a strong-looking man with a mustache that curled downward at the edges of his mouth. “I saw some shell casings in the parking lot.” He gestured to Wolf. “I’m assuming they were discharged from your weapon. Four casings, nine-millimeter.”
Wolf nodded. “And here?”
They were standing in the spot that could have been where Jack had shot one of the men.
“Our dog detected blood scent here.” He pointed at the rocky ground. “Just taking final samples. We’ve got a bunch of samples from the trail, too. Probably drops of blood from your arm, from what I heard about your wound. But we’ll see after testing.”
McCall nodded. “Okay, I’ll sign off on those samples when we’re done.” He pointed up the trail. “Who’s up there?”
“Greibel and Bishop.”
McCall gestured Wolf ahead and they walked up the trail.
…
An hour later they reached the high meadow where Wolf and Jack had seen the tattooed man on the trail.
Wolf stopped and turned to McCall. “You ever been up here?”
“I can’t remember being here before.” He twisted and studied the surrounding peaks.
Wolf nodded. “We saw the guy with the overloaded backpack and the tattoo right here. I asked him why we hadn’t seen his car. He said he’d taken a different route to get here, but I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never seen another trail merging with this one.”
McCall continued to survey the area, breathing through bared teeth. He took off his backpack and took a long swig from his canteen. Standing with his hands on his hips, he closed his eyes toward the sun. “I’d have to look at a map,” he said finally. “Meantime, let’s keep an eye out.” The man looked as exhausted as Wolf felt.
They trudged ahead for another hour, all the way up to Grimm Lake. There they found two deputies wearing rubber gloves, kneeling on the ground, putting dirt in plastic containers, taking pictures, and rummaging in bags.
A bear-sized German shepherd sat with stoic stillness, eyeing them as they approached.
“Bishop, Greibel, this is Sheriff Wolf,” McCall announced.
The two men greeted Wolf and gave empathetic nods toward his injured arm.
Wolf frowned and looked around the campsite. His orange Kelty pack and Jack’s black North Face were still leaning against the rock where they’d left them. Wolf’s camping stove sat knocked over, and Wolf could see Jack’s hotdog roasting stick lying at the edge of the fire pit.
He walked to his tent and put his hands on his hips, studying the empty ground where he’d shot and killed the man the night before.
“No body?” he asked.
“Nope,” Deputy Bishop said. “Nothin’. But Sheila went crazy right here. Blood scent everywhere, right here.” He pointed at the ground. “And you can see that the dirt has been pretty well disturbed. It looks like someone came and moved the guy you shot, and then tried to hide the blood evidence by kicking it over with dirt.”
Deputy Greibel held up a plastic container. “We’ll see what the soil samples say.” He knelt down and put the container back in his bag.
Wolf turned away and looked up the mountain at the western ridgeline.
He lifted his arm an inch to relieve the stress from the sling, and since it already throbbed with each beat of his heart, the movement sent a cascade of pain from his bicep to fingertips and back again.
McCall walked up next to him and looked up. “That where they shot from?”
Wolf nodded.
McCall looked up at Wolf with raised eyebrows.
Wolf sighed and started walking toward the slope. McCall followed close behind.
Chapter 17
Forty-five minutes later they stood atop the mountain, nearest as Wolf could estimate to the spot where he’d seen the red dot of the infrared illuminator the night before.
This time they both huffed through clenched teeth and breathed in steady sighs. They sat down on the loose rock, and Wolf’s arm pulsed with more pain than ever. At least it took his mind off his aching calf muscles, hamstrings, and lungs.
After five minutes of catching their breath in the rarified air, they ate a snack bar and chugged water, and only then stood up.
A frigid wind blew steadily from the west at the top of the mountain, and it made conversation difficult.
They decided to split up, Wolf going north along the ridge and McCall south.
Wolf tucked his chin under the neck of his jacket and walked carefully over the rocky terrain near the edge that overlooked the area below. He studied the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
He reached a point where he knew he was too far, and turned around. The wind pressed the right half of his clothing against his body.
In the distance McCall bent down and fished a finger in the rocks.
“You got something?” Wolf yelled over the howling wind.
McCall ignored him. He was too far, Wolf realized. He continued toward the deputy, stepping on rocks that teetered and scraped beneath his boots.
McCall turned, and then raised something in his hand.
Wolf upturned a hand in a questioning gesture.
McCall nodded and held up a spent rifle shell glinting gold in the sun.
When Wolf finally reached him McCall said, “Got a case. .308 Winchester.” He dropped it in a zip-lock bag and handed it to Wolf.
Wolf looked at the brass casing in the fluttering bag. The .308 was the most popular hunting cartridge in the world and was also used by snipers, police and military. In other words, it told him nothing in itself. “Any others?”
McCall shook his head. “I can’t see any. Maybe they cleaned up, because there aren’t any others. Must have forgotten one. We’ll check it for prints.”
Wolf nodded and gave it back to McCall.
He looked down at his watch. It was 2:38 p.m., and he was feeling the effects of the chase last night, getting just a few hours of sleep, and two long hikes in the span of twenty-four hours. He looked down at the cirque valley below, longing to be back down.
A single figure was walking in from the open end of the valley, toward the two men at the campsite.
“Head down?” McCall yelled over the wind.
Wolf nodded gratefully.
As they stepped over the edge, the air went still and quiet. Warmth from the overhead sun radiated from the loose scree under their feet—a welcome contrast to the elements on the ridge.
As they descended, Wolf only took risks with his footing on his right side, putting his right hand down when he needed to keep his balance. In between spots that required his concentration, he stole glances at th
e approaching person below.
It was a woman with a shiny head of brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She wore dark pants and a black jacket with FBI in yellow on the back, both fitting snug against her athletic-looking figure. She walked briskly with sure feet and jumped over obstacles without breaking stride.
Wolf watched her for a few moments, and waved when she turned to look up at them through sunglasses. She gave a quick wave back and continued toward the campsite.
Wolf watched the men stand at attention, greet her, and begin showing her what they’d found.
He reached the meadow at the bottom of the slope a few seconds behind McCall and followed him to the camp.
Wolf watched the agent and McCall shake hands as he approached. His earlier assessment was correct. She had a slender and athletic body, but what he hadn’t seen from such a distance earlier was how good-looking she was.
She approached Wolf with an outstretched hand. “Sheriff Wolf?”
Her hand was slim and warm with a strong grip.
She pulled up her sunglasses, revealing cinnamon eyes that were slightly upturned. She blinked, and her long lashes brushed the top of her cheeks, reminding Wolf of the plumage of a tropical bird.
“Yes,” he said.
“I’m Special Agent Kristen Luke, Glenwood Springs field office.” She turned back to McCall. “You were the one who called this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am,” McCall said.
Special Agent Luke took center stage, and all eight of the men’s eyes surrounding her were glued.
“Did you two find anything up there?” She looked at Wolf and nodded toward the peak.
Wolf nodded to McCall.
“A single shell casing,” McCall said. “A .308 Winchester.”
She creased her eyebrows and studied the bag McCall held up. Her forehead skin crinkled with the smooth elasticity of a sixteen-year-old, but her demeanor was that of a much older woman with a lot of experience. She nodded, and then unzipped her jacket and wafted it open, revealing a tight black T-shirt that accentuated her small breasts.
The men fell quiet.
Wolf left them and walked to his tent. He bent down and yanked a rain-fly stake and threw it on the ground, then moved to the next one.
