by Jeff Carson
Luke nodded and smiled. “Well, maybe you’ll give me a call, when you finally do?”
Wolf smiled. “That sounds good.”
Luke nodded again and turned around. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to your…” She spun around on her heels. “Hey, wait. I almost forgot. You’re a complete asshole.”
Wolf peaked his eyebrows. “And why is that?”
“I just met your son inside, and that picture you showed me, that night you almost ran me off the road?”
Wolf didn’t respond.
“Not your son.”
Wolf squinted. “Oh yeah, that was Wilson’s kid. He’s got a ton of pictures all over his desk and I…I guess I need to remind you that you’d been lying to me all day at that point.”
Luke grinned ear to ear and then turned around. “On second thought, don’t call me,” she called over her shoulder.
Wolf watched her swaying hips as she walked down the sidewalk and walked to the door of her Tahoe.
“I’ll come over and we can have a beer again,” he said.
Luke popped open her door and climbed one foot inside. She stopped and looked him up and down, then covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
“What?” Wolf’s face dropped.
“I was just thinking about the last time you came over for a beer.”
Wolf stood dumbly. “You’re thinking about me naked.”
She whipped her head to the sky and climbed in. “You’re trouble, David Wolf,” she said, and shut the door.
Chapter 56
Wolf stood alone in a vast park in Aspen, sweating through the armpits of his t-shirt. Alone, yet surrounded by tens of attentive parents and over a hundred scrambling pre- and post-pubescent kids in full football gear. It was mid-July, without a breath of wind, in the mountains of Colorado, which meant it was dry and hot—not good weather for full pads. Despite the skin-scorching sun, the two-day football camp was scheduled to end in authentic fashion, and so it did for all age groups—with a full-length scrimmage, with referees and everything.
Wolf couldn’t help but think back on that fateful night for probably the thousandth time since, and Jack and Wolf’s conversation. Though Jack still hadn’t grown a lick since then—it had only been a month—Wolf felt somehow more assured for his son’s safety. Then again, as he watched three of the largest kids on the opposite team of Jack lumber onto the field, he decided he could have been jumping the gun.
“Your son on black or yellow?” a female voice asked from a few feet away.
Wolf turned, and saw an attractive woman hanging on the muscular arms of a tan, gold-adorned man behind her.
“Yellow,” Wolf said.
The man and woman turned back to the field without a response. Black.
Wolf studied the happy-looking couple for a moment and then turned back to the field. He couldn’t help it, the sight of the big guy draping his arms around that beautiful woman had him thinking of Sarah and Mark. Again. Mark, and his unshakeable presence in their lives—and apparently Wolf’s thoughts. Not that Wolf was necessarily trying to shake him—mentally or physically. Not that Wolf didn’t appreciate the help and the positive influence in Sarah’s life. After all, he was keeping her straight and healthy. And happy. Hell, Mark had even driven Jack the hour and a half to this football camp when Wolf was stuck at work the day before.
Wolf supposed if he didn’t have Special Agent Kristen Luke as a prospect in his life at the moment, he’d be a hell of a lot more depressed when he saw big guys with beautiful women on their arms. But Luke was a prospect. They’d enjoyed dinner together on a few occasions in the last month, and it was clear they liked each other’s company, and it was more recently discovered they were extremely compatible in other ways.
Wolf couldn’t help but smile a little and exhale as he daydreamed about their last date. It was a shame she was so close, just thirty minutes up the road, but couldn’t make it down to visit.
A month later, she was still wrapping up the case—their case. Apparently, some bigwigs from DC had flown in earlier that day, and she was debriefing them on one of the more high-profile crimes the mountains of Colorado had seen in over thirty years.
Looking into the lives of the McCalls was turning out to be quite a candle-burner for Luke and the FBI. Forensic accountants had uncovered that Adam and Tyler McCall not only jointly owned the Mountain Goat Bar and Grill, but had been deeply involved in distribution and sale of cocaine and marijuana in the valley Wolf stood in at the moment. The McCalls were millionaires before the gold, and were apparently using Sergeant McCall’s position of authority to keep suspicion off themselves.
The fact that they ran a cop and FBI bar as a front establishment was turning out to be an embarrassing and unrelenting topic in the local papers, which were raising questions about the effectiveness of law enforcement and local FBI. The illegal drug underground was another hot topic in print—just where they burrowed, and whether or not there were more corrupt men of authority, and where? Wolf had to admit he found himself intrigued by it all, and was keeping up with the news with the rest of the population.
Luke was compounding her own work by ruffling buzz cuts, trying to get someone in the Army to help her look for her brother’s body in Tora Bora. It wasn’t working, and Wolf found there wasn’t much he could do by way of his contacts either. All he could do was point to the mounting evidence that Brian Richter was killed, completely detached from the whole incident, and console her.
“Set, hut! Hut!” The field of boys broke into a swarm of movement, and ground to a halt after the whistle, with half the kids ending up in a pile.
Wolf took a deep breath and searched through the kids for Jack. He was a good head shorter than most, but zoomed around the field and was easy to spot.
Just a heartbeat of panic hit him, wondering if he’d done the right thing convincing Sarah that Jack was ready, despite his size. But Wolf was sure of it—he would be okay. He’d seen Jack get through hell, albeit with a healthy dose of fear, but with zero hesitation and a clearer head than a few soldiers Wolf had served with. Jack could take care of himself, and Wolf didn’t want to deny his son something that made him so happy.
“Hut!” Grunts and the dull plastic thud of helmets filled the air, and then the thump of cleats as two wide receivers and their defensive counterparts flew by, sending a swirl of wind into Wolf.
Just when the chaos behind the line of scrimmage looked to be collapsing into another heap of motionless bodies, a tight spiral sailed into the blue sky.
Wolf watched the trajectory of the pass and flicked his eyes to where it would land—smack into a group of players with black jerseys. One huge defensive player shuffled backwards, and may as well have been licking his lips as he eyed the ball, while another tall kid slowed his trot to get underneath the ill-aimed pass. The ball dropped lower, and before it reached the group of defensemen with outstretched arms, a yellow jersey streaked in and bounced out of the sea of black, snagged the ball with two hands, twisted, and fell down out of sight.
A barrage of shouting erupted from the sidelines, and the black jerseys began dropping like dominos as they tripped over themselves and mowed into one another, trying desperately to catch Jack, who was now sprinting his way past defenders, down the line of orange cones, and into the end zone.
Jack dropped the ball and gave a couple of his teammates five, ignoring the slaps on his helmet, acting like it was just another touchdown, and he was used to it.
“Damn, that kid’s got some skills,” the man next to Wolf said, still gripping the woman tight.
Wolf made eye contact with Jack and nodded, unable to hold back his smile anymore. Yeah, he does.
THE END.
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Other Books By Jeff Carson
Foreign Deceit (David Wolf #1)-(FREE)- http://amzn.to/1p4Abv2
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Deadly Conditions (David Wolf #4) - http://amzn.to/1lLbktz
The Leopard (Tentative Title — European Espionage Series #1) — COMING MAY, 2014
Title Unknown (David Wolf #5) - COMING JULY, 2014.
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Excerpt of Deadly Conditions (David Wolf #4)
Chapter 1
The man leaned over the wheel, squinting through the windshield as another powdery gust of wind hit the side of his truck. All he saw was a swarm of snowflakes illuminated by his headlights, and he felt his eyeballs twitch back and forth as he tried desperately to get his bearings. When he instinctively let off the gas, the truck lurched and stuttered, rocking him in the seat. He kicked the clutch and downshifted to first, and then he felt the truck meander to the side, though which side was impossible to tell. It seemed like he was looking through the eyepiece of a twisting kaleidoscope. Just when he was about to stomp the brakes, the whiteout let up and the two pinpoints of red light flitted back into view on the otherwise deserted county road ahead.
Dammit. He turned the wheel left and got back into the twin ruts he’d been following, hoping to God they were somewhere near the center and safe from drainage ditches, roadside boulders, and anything else that would derail his plans. County 15 was a desolate, winding dirt thoroughfare with steep drops off the left shoulder in a few spots. Houses were few and far between. If a driver got in trouble here, it was a long walk to get help, and an even longer one in weather like this—a stupid place to be driving tonight.
He was waiting for his quarry to call it quits, turn around, and coast back down the hill before the deepening drifts stranded them. Maybe they would take the girl back to one of their places or go to a hotel or something.
He looked at his watch – 11:26 pm, Saturday night, on the eve of surely the biggest powder day on the mountain in years. Fat chance getting a hotel room. Out-of-town skiers on the mountain today would have sensed the opportunity and snatched up any vacancies after the big gala.
What a night to have a big event on the mountain, he thought with a shake of his head. It was going to be mayhem for people getting back down the gondola and to their homes and hotel rooms.
He itched his nose and grasped the wheel with a two-hand white-knuckle grip once again. The defroster howled, blowing hot air on the highest setting against the windshield. No matter the wipers’ speed, an immovable arc of water remained on the glass. The red taillights ahead illuminated it, and it reminded him of oozing fresh blood.
For the last day, all he could see was blood, and the way this girl was acting, she was just driving him madder as the seconds ticked by. Picking up two men in the span of a half an hour? She had simultaneously proven herself a bigger whore than he’d already thought and killed his entire plan in one slutty move.
He shook his head and gripped the wheel even tighter, and then spit into the floorboards of the passenger seat and growled aloud. He had never felt more disgust with any human beings than he did with the ones conniving behind the scenes of Rocky Points.
Well, he’d felt a similar disgust once before. And, that? That had ended badly. Was he going to remember anything after this? Or, was he going to wake up in blood again? The thought made him nervous and his hands were slick on the wheel.
Since the memory of his first time was buried deep in the cave of his mind and he didn’t have a map to find it, he knew this was going to be like his first time all over again. It had to be done. He would not fail. He turned the heater knob down and the cab quieted. The digital clock changed to 11:30. This was looking to be a futile waste of his time. They were going to go to her house, if they could make the last mile, and then what? There were sure to be a house full of roommates, and the neighbors that all lived in that line of six houses in the middle of nowhere, and no opportunity. The man bared his teeth and shook his head.
Ahead, the taillights rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. All he could see was the thick curtain of juicy flakes flying into the lights and windshield and the twin tire grooves.
Damn, it was deep, he thought, looking to the left and barely seeing the trees in the forest. The snow had started at sundown, and ramped up after nine. By the looks of the ruts, at least twenty inches had accumulated already, and the storm was still coming in full force.
Enough was enough. He should quit and get back home while he could. He started scanning for the widest part of the road to turn around.
Ahead, the brake lights brightened and he slammed on the brakes. The truck had stopped.
He shut off his headlights, and the chaotic scene outside went black. He squinted and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Finally, he could see the twin grooves running up the road, dark gray on the gray snow, disappearing into a television static night, and then the faint lights of the motionless truck.
It was almost impossible to see, the snow and wind were relentless, but he swore that the cab light flicked on and then off. The tail lights shone as the truck backed and k-turned, and then the truck’s headlights were coming straight for him.
His pulse jumped as he considered his next play. He flicked on his headlights and shifted into first. His knobby tires spun briefly and then caught. He shifted into second, following the tracks ahead. Less than a minute later the truck’s headlamps glared into his cab as it passed. He squinted and held up his hand to cover his face, figuring the truck’s occupants would be pressed against their windows and wondering who in their right mind was out in this weather along with them.
He sighed and looked in his rearview mirror. The taillights disappeared around the corner without braking.
It was over, he decided. He followed the ruts to the point where the truck had turned around. There was no sense breaking new ground and risking falling over the edge of the road, sitting in a snowdrift overnight, and possibly dying for his carelessness.
As he drove, he tested the high beams. Visibility was worse, so he shut them off.
He leaned forward again and squinted. When he had flicked off his lights, he could have sworn he glimpsed a dark figure along the right shoulder several yards ahead.
He blinked rapidly, then squinted again, and when the shape moved, his pulse jumped. It was a person.
“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself, and sat up straighter in his seat.
It was her. There was no mistake. She was waving, and then she held up a gloved thumb.
The man swallowed, letting his brain process the opportunity standing in front of him. His mission, melting away moments ago, had now dropped in his lap, and he found himself wondering what to do.
He slowed down and stopped next to her. Before he knew it, her face filled the passenger window. As she pressed against the glass and peered inside, the man opened u
p the center console, grabbed the gun’s rough plastic handle, and pulled it out.
If he shot her when she opened the door, would he black out and wake up a few hours later? Just sitting in a car, engine running, door open, and a bloody corpse lying nearby, waiting for early-morning plows to discover them? Was he dreaming now?
His breathing was frantic, and his skin tingled as sweat glands opened up all over his body.
She pounded on the window and yelled something too muffled to hear.
He clicked the lock and she opened the door. The dome light went on and a blast of snow and cold swirled into the cab as she bent inside. He tucked the revolver in between his legs way too late, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey! It’s you? What the hell are you doing up here? Don’t answer, I don’t care. Can I get a ride?”
“Yeah. Get in,” he said. His voice sounded a mile away in his own ears. He reached into the center console again, pulled out his leather gloves, and put them on.
She jumped up onto the seat butt-first and knocked her feet together out the door to drop off the snow, and then twisted into the chair and shut the door.
The cab was suddenly filled with her sniffling and breathing and flowery scent. She pulled off her wool hat, flipping snow all over the dashboard.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Shit. Thank God you’re up here. Oh man…do you think you can get up the rest of this hill to my house? Do you know where I live?”
The man stared at her and smiled. Or what was he doing? Sneering? He couldn’t tell.
She looked at him and frowned, “Are you okay?” she asked.