To the Bone (David Wolf Book 7)

by Jeff Carson

  “I’ll give the other deputies three seconds to show themselves now.” Boydell’s eyes darted from bush to bush.

  “There aren’t any, Bradley,” Shumway said.

  Boydell narrowed his eyes. “Three! Two!”

  “There aren’t any! It’s just us!”

  “There’s no one else!” Wolf said at the same time.

  “One!”

  Wolf raised his gaze to the sky and held his breath. The few seconds of silence that followed was the deepest he’d ever witnessed, as if his heart had stopped beating.

  “Okay then,” Boydell said.

  Megan began to sob.

  “You,” he pulled on Megan’s neck, “shut up. You two, turn around slow and lift up your shirts,” Boydell said.

  Shumway turned and lifted his shirt, and Wolf watched Boydell as he did so. Boydell kept his pistol against Megan’s head.

  “You too.” Boydell aimed his gun at Wolf.

  Wolf turned slowly and lifted up his shirt, half expecting the punch of hot lead in his back at any moment.

  But none came, and he turned full circle.

  “Now. Walk toward me. Slowly.” Boydell’s voice shook.

  Wolf and Shumway exchanged a glance and inched forward, one foot in front of the other, like they were approaching a cornered bear.

  “Please. You don’t want to do this, Bradley,” Shumway said.

  “Walk!”

  They were forty yards from Boydell.

  Stepping another ten paces to within thirty yards, Wolf kept his eyes on Boydell’s. The man was alternating between steeled resolve and ultimate despair, but all the while keeping his hold on Megan.

  Her face was dark red and trending purple, and she hung her hands on Boydell’s arm.

  Shumway held his hands out. “Bradley. Please. We know why you’re doing this. We know you just want to help your grandson. But it’s over now. Don’t take away my daughter.”

  “And what? That would be a fair trade? This alive hooker for my dead grandson?” Boydell’s lips shined with saliva. “Walk at me boys. Keep coming.”

  They continued their slow steps toward Boydell.

  Wolf’s muscles were tense, because Boydell had a crazed look in his eye and he seemed to be rehearsing something very bad in his mind. And as Wolf neared the crazed man, with no weapon at his disposal, he was coming up with no plan other than to dive for cover when the bullets started flying.

  The gun was a Beretta M9—shiny and well-oiled looking, like Boydell spent a few hours per week caring for it.

  “It’s over, Bradley,” Wolf said. “Let Megan go.”

  Boydell lifted his gun and Wolf froze in mid-step.

  Then Boydell slammed the butt of the Beretta onto the top of Megan’s head.

  There was a muted thud and then she dropped instantly to her side without using her arms to catch her fall.

  “No.” Shumway stepped forward and stopped when Boydell aimed his pistol at him.

  Megan lay motionless on the dirt and a stream of blood raced across her forehead like a red lightning bolt.

  Boydell tracked his pistol to the side and aimed at Wolf’s chest.

  “What do you think we’re going to do, Bradley?” Wolf said. “Get you a helicopter? A jet to take you to Canada? You know that’s not gonna work.”

  The pistol quivered in Boydell’s hand.

  There was movement at Wolf’s right, and he knew it was Jet without looking. He could see Jet’s loping walk in his peripheral vision, and then the dog sat a few yards away, resting in the shade of a juniper. If Jet came out, there was no telling what would happen.

  “There’s no way out of this,” Wolf said. “You don’t have to kill more people. The FBI is talking to your sister right now. They know you killed Dr. Talbot. They found him in his back yard. We know everything, Bradley. Let’s not make this even worse.”

  Boydell’s eyes whirled for an instant and his face went slack. Boydell brought the gun to his own temple for a second and screwed his eyes shut, and then he scratched his head with the Beretta and lowered the gun to his side.

  Wolf glanced at Shumway.

  Shumway looked preoccupied with Jet. “Drop it!” He yelled out of nowhere.

  Wolf watched in disbelief as Shumway walked toward Boydell.

  “Whoa,” Shumway stopped just as suddenly as he started, “look what Jet has, just put down the gun, Bradley.”

  “What?” Boydell was utterly annoyed. “Look what Jet has?” Boydell aimed the gun at Wolf. “Where’s that huge dog of yours?”

  Wolf shook his head. “He’s not here. He’s back at the station.”

  Boydell stared at Shumway and blinked. “Are you messing with me?”

  Wolf stole a glance at Jet.

  Jet panted, sitting on his haunches, staring at Wolf and Shumway like he wanted to know what game they were playing but didn’t quite have the energy to join in yet. He closed his mouth and lowered his head, and finally Wolf saw it. Sitting in the sand near his paws was a slobbery Glock 17.

  Boydell’s gun was wavering, pointed at no one in particular as thoughts tormented him.

  “Just say when,” Shumway said, gesturing to Boydell with his hands.

  “What? Why are you messing with me?” Boydell aimed at Shumway and it looked like he was about to fire.

  “Now!” Wolf lunged to his right toward Jet and Boydell’s gun popped an instant later. A bullet zipped through the air above Wolf as he ran the few steps to Jet.

  “Ahhhhh! Over here!” Shumway screamed like a crazy man.

  Wolf reached Jet and dropped to a knee. Along with some warm dirt, Wolf clutched the gun and raised it, throwing a cloud up as he aimed for the center of Boydell’s chest.

  Boydell was firing his second shot, this time aimed at Shumway, who was flailing his arms and running at Boydell like one of those inflatable wacky waving tube men.

  Wolf fired just as Boydell’s hand was kicking from his second shot, and then Boydell spun and dropped.

  Shumway stumbled forward and landed on top of Boydell.

  Jet joined the mayhem, bounding at the two downed men with thunderous barks.

  “Heel!” Wolf yelled, and Jet looked thoroughly dejected as he obeyed the command.

  Both men lay motionless, heaped on top of one another like the two dinosaurs found in that pit.

  Wolf rushed to them and pried the Beretta out of Boydell’s hand. Tucking the pistol in his waistband, Wolf bent over Megan, pulled aside some blood soaked hair and felt her neck for a pulse. It was strong.

  “Is she all right?”

  Wolf turned and raised his Glock.

  Shumway rose to his hands and knees.

  “Yeah,” Wolf said, holstering his gun. “She’s just knocked out.”

  “Sir!” Etzel’s voice was frantic over the crackling radio. “Sheriff, come in! We heard shots fired.”

  Shumway got to his knees and pulled the radio. “Yeah. We got Boydell. We need an ambulance. My daughter’s been injured.”

  “Yes sir,” Etzel said. “Is she shot?”

  “Negative. Just send the ambulance.”

  “Copy that. And we’re on our way.”

  Shumway turned down his radio. “This asshole’s still alive.” Shumway pulled his fingers away from Boydell’s neck and stood on shaky legs. Pressing his hand against his side, he pulled it away with a palm slick with blood. “Shit.”

  “You’re hit.”

  “I am.” Shumway bent down and put the back of his hand on Megan’s face. “Poor girl.”

  “She’ll be all right. Probably just a couple stitches.”

  Boydell whimpered and writhed on the ground, like he was a child having a nightmare.

  “And what about him?” Shumway asked.

  “I hit him in the shoulder. Hollow point, but looks like he’ll live. I’ll take him home and they’ll throw away the key.”

  Shumway looked at Wolf. “You so sure about that? He’ll go to trial, and your son’s girlfriend a
nd her family will spend those countless months on pins and needles, hoping this psycho gets what he deserves.” Shumway stood up, baring his teeth as he pushed his palm on his wound again. “And maybe he’s just crazy enough to plead not guilty. Maybe he gets some public defender that’ll pick apart our procedures over the last couple days.”

  “He just shot the sheriff of Windfield County. If the rest of it falls through the cracks, at least he’ll rot for that.”

  Megan’s eyelids fluttered.

  Wolf squeezed her shoulder. “Megan, you—”

  Before he could react he felt the Beretta slip from his waistband.

  Shumway stood over Boydell and aimed down.

  “Don’t do it, Shumway.” Wolf held out his hand. “You shoot him, I’ve gotta report the truth of what you did. You’re going to be put in jail along with him. You want to put your daughter through that?”

  “You’re gonna take away my chance to make my daughter proud?” Shumway looked at Wolf. “I wrestled with Boydell. I took the gun away and shot him in the heat of the moment. It was pure self-defense. I saved my daughter’s life.”

  “Daddy, don’t do it.”

  Shumway flinched at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Honey.”

  “I’m sorry about the video, Daddy.” Megan started crying.

  “What? What video, honey?”

  Wolf held out his hand. “Come on. It’s over. Let me take him back. That family needs this man to face justice. Your family needs you.”

  Shumway lowered the gun and collapsed to his knees. He studied the blossoming red spot on his stomach and then fell to his side.

  “Daddy!”

  Wolf cuffed Boydell and got to work on blocking Shumway’s wound.

  Chapter 38

  Margaret Hitchens sniffed and leaned on Wolf’s shoulder. “My God. It’s so beautiful,” she whispered with all the awe and reverence in the universe. Not bothering to wait for Wolf’s reply, she clasped her hands at her chest and faced forward again.

  Wolf had to admit it was an impressive setting for a wedding.

  The horizon for three hundred sixty degrees was a never-ending sea of peaks, with light green swaths of aspens cutting through the sea of pines.

  The air was crisp and cool, and still, not a breath of wind, which was about as rare as finding a nugget of gold on the ground for the top of Rocky Points Ski Resort. The sun shone bright, with low clouds lazily floating past it now and again, painting the mountaintops and valleys with their shadows.

  It was times like this that he renewed his vows to Rocky Points that he’d never leave her.

  “You seeing the knockers on the third bridesmaid?” Rachette spoke out the side of his mouth in Wolf’s ear.

  Wolf turned and looked at him.

  Charlotte Munford was next to Rachette smiling and nodding at Wolf. “Beautiful, huh?” she said.

  Wolf contemplated her question.

  “It is,” Margaret leaned across Wolf’s lap. “Oh my God, they did such a good job with the decorations.”

  “Shhhhhh.”

  Margaret turned and glared at someone behind them. Jack sat next to Margaret, sharing a roll of his eyes with Wolf. Cassidy was conspicuously absent from the festivities, as was understandable having just put her father in the ground the day before.

  If the setting was beautiful, then Patterson was a Goddess. She was dressed in a tasteful white dress that displayed her lean shoulders and thin waist. Her auburn hair was pulled back with flowers framing her glowing freckled face.

  She looked up at Scott Reed and beamed with a toothy smile that kicked off more energy than the sun. In fact it was such a happy, contented expression that Wolf couldn’t help but feel envy for Scott.

  Scott seemed struck by the moment too, and though he towered over her, standing at least six foot four to her five foot two, he looked humbled by her huge presence.

  Wolf looked at the slender shoulders and straight, shiny brown hair of Special Agent Kristen Luke, who sat in the front row next to a muscular man Wolf had just met before the ceremony named Gestad, which Wolf guessed was Swedish for muscles. Kristen leaned close and with a conspiratorial smile whispered something into the man’s ear, then started laughing uncontrollably.

  Margaret reached over and grabbed Wolf’s hand, and Wolf gave her a toothless smile.

  The ceremony continued and finished without a hitch, and when the officiant pronounced them man and wife, Wolf wondered if they’d be calling her Deputy Reed now.

  After a heartfelt round of applause from Wolf and the guests, which was a considerable crowd by anyone’s wedding standards, the bride and groom wandered off along the mountain top with the photographer toward a wildflower-covered ski run.

  Everyone else walked and mingled, making their way along the ridgeline to the Antler Creek Lodge.

  Wolf put his arm around Jack and steered him to a spot devoid of people.

  “What’s up?” Jack asked.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  Wolf stared at an eagle circling in the sky.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I want to talk to you about sex.”

  Jack’s eyes went wide and his face went red. “Uh, okay. You think this is the place to have this conversation, Dad?”

  “I don’t care. We need to have this talk.”

  “Kind of a bad place for it.”

  “I know about you and Cassidy camping together, alone, last weekend.”

  Jack nodded.

  “You want to talk about a bad place? Think about the place you’ll be in if Cassidy gets pregnant and you aren’t even old enough to drive yet.”

  Jack huffed and kicked at a piece of grass.

  “Look at me,” Wolf said.

  Jack did.

  “I want you using protection. I want you two acting responsible.”

  “We haven’t had sex yet.”

  “Hey, there you two are.” Margaret came up and looked at both of them. “But … this is a bad time … so I’ll talk to you two later.” She walked away and warned someone else to stay clear as she disappeared into the crowd.

  Wolf could think of nothing else to say, so he put his hands on his son’s shoulders and gave him a meaningful nod. When they were done understanding one another telepathically he ruffled Jack’s hair and began walking.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Jack stepped next to him. “They’re sad. I’m not sure what to do for her.”

  “Well, you know how it is. It’ll take time, and even then, it still sucks.”

  Wolf and Jack walked to Rachette and Munford, who were standing and talking on the trail.

  “’Sup dude?” Rachette asked Jack, giving him a mock uppercut to the stomach.

  Wolf and Munford stood shaking their heads as Jack and Rachette wrestled for another few seconds, and then Jack spotted a friend named Chip, whom Wolf had once heard was a “bomb” skier.

  “I’ll see you guys in there,” Jack said and ran to his friend.

  “I don’t know about you guys. But tonight I’m gonna get housed.” Rachette looked at Wolf. “Of course, I’m off work tomorrow, so you’re fine with that.”

  “Just don’t fall off the gondola on the way down.”

  Rachette’s face dropped. “How would I fall off? Those doors are locked tight, aren’t they?”

  Wolf smiled and checked his watch.

  “What?” Munford asked. “You have somewhere better to be?”

  Wolf put his hands in his pockets and said nothing.

  They walked in silence for a beat, and then Munford bubbled over. “Oh, I’m so excited. I’ve never been here.”

  “That’s because you’re dating Tom Rachette,” Wolf said.

  “Ha. Good one.” Rachette looked down and kicked a rock.

  Wolf felt a tinge of regret for throwing Rachette under the bus. “If he took you here he’d be spending five hundred dollars on a meal. I’ve actually only eaten here once.”r />
  Munford whistled. “There’s gotta be over two hundred people here. Apparently Mr. Patterson is well-to-do.”

  “Entertainment lawyer in Aspen,” Rachette said. “I’m gonna get on his good side tonight. The guy knows TC personally.”

  Munford frowned at him. “And what? He’s going to introduce you to him?”

  “Never know, babe. Maybe he has some extra memorabilia lying around.”

  Munford laughed and then looked like she remembered Wolf was still there. “So you thought she was beautiful?”

  Wolf was taken aback by the phrasing of the question. “Yeah. She looked very beautiful. Scott’s a lucky man.”

  “No. I mean the bridesmaid that Tom pointed out.”

  “What?”

  Rachette bounced his eyebrows. “Charlotte knows her pretty well. Small world, eh? We can introduce you if you want. She knows who you are.”

  “She thinks you’re hot,” Munford said, flashing a mischievous smile.

  Wolf tried on a few facial expressions, and ended up mumbling something incoherent.

  “David!” Margaret yelled behind them.

  “I’ll see you guys,” Wolf said, dropping out of the procession.

  “Wait up.” Margaret jogged up and stopped, twisting an ankle. “Ah, dammit.”

  “Why’d you wear those shoes?”

  “Why did I wear these shoes? Have you seen them?” She pointed down.

  Wolf took that as a joke so he smiled. He checked his watch again.

  “You’ve been checking your watch for the last … you’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

  Wolf nodded. “I’ve got a thing.”

  “You’ve got a thing? This is Heather’s wedding. That’s your thing for the night.”

  A woman stared at Wolf as she passed by, leaving behind a cloud of perfume that choked his nostrils. A few people behind the nameless woman, Kristen Luke and Gestad strolled arm in arm.

  Kristen was cuddled close to the man’s ample pectorals and laughing, and then her face dropped as she saw Wolf.

  They smiled and nodded at one another as she passed.

  “Anyway, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Heather will be devastated.”

  Wolf caught a glimpse of Patterson and Scott through the throngs of people. They were laughing and holding one another in front of the photographer. Wolf looked at the gondola terminal and then back at the bride and groom and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.