“Anyway, she wouldn’t tell me who raped her. Didn’t tell me who it was until she showed up three days ago. But she did tell King. They had a huge fight about it, and she broke it off with him. Said she couldn’t face being with an honorable man after what had happened. He blamed himself, of course. If he hadn’t been sent off to the line, if he’d made their date…”
“Please tell me it wasn’t—?”
“It was Orange,” he said bitterly. “We fucking trusted him, and this is what kind of man he was all along. He assigned King that tour. He wanted to get at Maggie himself.”
“Xander, who is Orange?”
It hit her then. Orange. She suddenly knew exactly who it was. He was so named because there was a city near Orange, Virginia, called…
“Culpepper.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Savage River
Detective Darren Fletcher
The darkness cut across the sky like a heavy blanket. Fletcher regretted his choice to ride in one of the four-wheel-drive Jeeps the forest rangers used. He regretted insisting they set off in the dark. He regretted not waiting until morning and letting a helicopter fly him up the mountain, instead of this jolting, thumping canter up the tiny switchback roads. Each bump felt like a hot poker was being shoved into his arm, over and over and over, and his head was aching in time. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he felt a bit like vomiting.
But he wasn’t about to admit he was wrong, so he gritted his teeth and sucked it up.
They’d been on the road for an hour. Before they decided which camp to take, Fletcher had practically knocked the teeth out of the forest ranger, making him give his best guess as to where Sam would be. He had the distinct impression the kid knew, and he threatened and cajoled until the boy chose the site they were headed to.
He could only hope his instincts were right. Whitfield had to have friends in these hills, people who would do him a favor or two, like distract a tactical team trying to find his place. Someone young and idealistic, maybe. Someone like a young forest ranger.
Fletcher’s phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket, thankful he’d remembered to charge it back at the lodge, and that he had a signal. It was Roosevelt. “Tell me you have good news.”
“I do. We found Susan Donovan. Poor thing’s pretty beat up, but she’s alive. Guess where we found her?”
“I have no idea,” Fletcher said.
“Tied to a chair in Allan Culpepper’s living room. He wanted the journal pages. Smart girl, she told them they’d been stolen, that no one knew where they were, and he believed her. But she had them in her back pocket and didn’t give them up.”
“Wait a minute. Culpepper is in Iraq. I saw the billet. Are you sure it wasn’t Rod Deter? That bastard was lying to me,” Fletcher said.
“No, not Deter, and Culpepper isn’t in Iraq. He’s definitely in the U.S. I’m thinking probably up there running around the woods someplace close to you.”
“Fuck. Son of a bitch played me.”
“Apparently so. DOD gave us the info we needed at last. His passport hasn’t been stamped in the past month. He’s been in the States the whole time.”
Fletcher resisted the urge to smack his forehead. The documents he’d seen were forgeries, and damn good ones, at that.
“Why lie, though? He gave me a big song and dance about hitching a ride with the sultan of… Just… Fuck.”
“Yep, again. We got confirmation that he’s your dude. Crime scene found a cigarette butt at the Croswell crime scene, in the garden behind the house. Matches the brand we found in his condo. DNA tests are under way, expedited, but it will be a couple of days at least.”
Fletcher slapped the dash with his open hand.
“Son of a bitch.”
“You could say that. There are weapons galore at his place. No telling if one of them will match the hole in Taranto, or you, or Hart.”
“Or William Everett’s mother. Jesus, how could I be so stupid. Bastard lied to my face and I took it like a man, believed every honeyed drop from his lips.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You know now. Problem is, he’s off the radar. We got a BOLO out on his car. The Garrett County folks are looking hard at anything that closely resembles him. Highway patrol’s been alerted, too.”
“You think he’s up here?”
“All the last pieces of the puzzle are in those woods. That’s where I’d go.”
“Good to know you can still think like a criminal, Cap.”
Roosevelt laughed. “If you only knew. Now, go get him, tiger. And by the way, Hart’s been upgraded to stable. He’s gonna be just fine. We got a guard on him just in case. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Got it. Appreciate that. Now I’m going hunting.”
“Fletcher. Be careful. This guy doesn’t have anything to lose anymore.”
Fletcher hung up the cell and turned to the kid driving, used his most frightening voice. It was the one that always worked on Tad when he was lying.
“It’s time to tell me the truth. You know Alexander Whitfield, correct?”
“Sir?”
“Listen, kid. He’s no longer a suspect. He’s now the target. We’ve got a grade-A assassin somewhere nearby who’s gunning for Whitfield. If you know which camp is his, now’s the time to be honest with me. Because if you don’t tell me, you could be responsible for his death—you feel me?”
The kid gulped. “We’re heading to the right one. Xander just wanted a delay. He wanted you up there. Just not before daylight. You kind of messed with the plan.”
Suckered again. “What the hell’s the plan?”
“I don’t know that, sir. I just do what I’m told.”
Fletcher did his best not to clock the kid, and braced himself.
“Then step on it. Because we don’t have all night anymore.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens
“But Culpepper was in Iraq when Donovan got killed. Fletcher told me.”
“Culpepper lies. Colonel Orange is a master manipulator. He even managed to talk Doc into going to work for him at Raptor. Got Jackal in there, too, and Shakes. But they weren’t able to hack it. Jackal was majorly fucked up, saw too much. He had some of the worst PTSD I’ve ever seen. And Shakes, well, he drank like a fish. Always did. Hard to show up for a job when you’re passed out in the gutter. But Doc, man, he found a way to make it work.”
The fire popped and crackled, and Sam burrowed deeper in Xander’s jacket.
“Why didn’t you go work for Culpepper, too?”
Xander waited for a minute, then shrugged. “I had a bad feeling about Orange. As good as he was, I just never fully trusted him. I wanted out, all the way out. Out of the military, out of D.C. and the bullshit there, out of it all.”
“So you built this place and ran away.”
He glanced at her, jaw tightening. She’d offended him again. Would she ever say the right thing to him? But he surprised her by smiling.
“Yep. And it’s been nice and quiet for years, until Doc and Jackal came flying up here two weeks ago, telling me we had some sort of major problem. Someone had sent them each a note saying ‘Do the Right Thing.’”
“Taranto. Taranto sent the notes.”
“Yes, little fuck told me that. If he’d just been straightforward from the beginning, maybe none of this would have happened.”
“So Donovan and Croswell came up here two weeks ago?”
“Fighting like cats and dogs, too. Jackal wanted to have a sit-down with Taranto, Doc was dead set against it. Who could blame him—the official report says it was his weapon that fired the shots that killed King. He doesn’t need that in the
media. But those two, they turned on each other, got fighting down in the river, for God’s sake. I had to wade in and pull Jackal off Doc. He had his head under the water, practically drowned him. We’re not supposed to water-board our teammates. Doc came up pissed, madder than a wet hen, pinned Jackal down face-first. Idiots practically killed each other.
“We must have looked like fools. Thor was bounding around barking, thinking we’re playing, I’m screaming at them, trying to remind them that you don’t turn on your friends, that we’d figure out who was behind the notes, everything.”
“The sand in their lungs,” Sam murmured.
“What?”
She took a deep breath, happy to at least have one part of the mystery explained satisfactorily. “Both Donovan and Croswell presented with fresh irritations from inhaling sand into their trachea and lungs. It’s what initially made you the number-one suspect. The sand’s biological makeup traced back to here. The Savage River.”
“Wow. That’s…awful.”
“What about Everett, though? How does his suicide fit into all of this?”
“He wasn’t a suicide. I went down there, I told you that. He wasn’t answering his phone, and after Doc and Jackal, I got worried. That’s how they got the hair they matched to my DNA. I checked the scene thoroughly. They were both dead when I got there, had been for a day or so. Trust me, Shakes wouldn’t kill his mother. He may be a drunk, unable to hold down a job for long, but he loved her. No, I’m betting Culpepper went to see him, make sure he wasn’t going to do any talking to the media. Somehow Mrs. Everett got in the way and was killed.”
His voice caught. “Shakes wasn’t doing too well. He was unstable enough as it was. A push in the right direction—either at gunpoint or through serious intimidation, and he’d cave. If he did cut his own wrists, he was coerced.”
“Jesus,” Sam said. “This just keeps getting worse. So what’s on the pages from Donovan’s journal? Details about the note and y’all getting threatened?”
“You just said ‘y’all.’”
“So? I’m from Nashville. It’s not exactly a stretch.”
He smiled at her. “I liked it, that’s all. No, I think Doc finally realized what his brain wouldn’t let him know. He didn’t kill King. There was no way. But all these years, he’s felt responsible.”
“Culpepper killed King, I take it?”
“That’s what I think. Maggie told him about the rape. I assume King went to Culpepper and demanded retribution. Culpepper isn’t the kind of man who’s easily threatened. He probably swore to do the right thing, then shot King at the first good opportunity. For all I know, he got that firefight started in the first place. There was another unit closer that could have been called in. He set us up.”
She tried to absorb the enormity of what he’d just told her. “God, Xander. All of this. He rapes a woman, murders her boyfriend, then kills three more men to cover his tracks. But why now? He’s had plenty of time. He could have made it look like an accident.”
“No, that wasn’t his way. See, Karen is crazy as a fox. When Shakes spilled the beans to her about the friendly fire incident, and she started digging, she must have found out about Maggie. She went to Orange for confirmation, and God knows what sort of lies he told her.”
“And somewhere along the way, she found out that Jen is King’s daughter.”
“No, she’s not.” Maggie’s voice interrupted them. She came around the fire, her long body casting grotesque shadows across the yard and onto the trees beyond. Sam saw one that was distinctly rectangular. Maggie had a weapon in her hand.
Xander shifted toward her, and Sam heard the confusion in his voice. “What are you talking about, Mags? You told me—”
“Never mind what I told you. I lied. I had to.”
“Xander, she has a gun.” Sam was stuck between the two of them. She saw Xander’s hand go to his waist, hoped the gun wasn’t visible. She couldn’t believe it. All this time, she was utterly convinced Culpepper, Orange, had been the killer. She didn’t think it was Maggie. Didn’t want to think it could be Maggie. She liked the woman, damn it.
But here Maggie was, with her weapon pointed right at Xander’s head.
Xander froze, and Maggie took three steps closer.
“Maggie. You don’t want to do this.”
She laughed, humorlessly.
“Xander, I don’t have a choice.”
And she pulled the trigger.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens
Xander moved faster than Sam thought was possible, knocking her back on the ground out of harm’s way, his weapon rising as he used his foot to flip it into his hands, spinning, graceful as a ballerina, toward the threat.
God, he was like something out of The Matrix, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, not wanting to see Xander killed in front of her, realizing if he didn’t stop Maggie, she would be next. She started to pray and blinked her eyes open once, just in time to see Xander swing the weapon toward the trees.
Away from Maggie.
Gunshots rang through the clear mountain air. Her ears echoed with their fury.
Deafened, Sam risked another glance and realized Maggie and Xander were standing hip to hip, arms up, firing into the forest. Their only communication was under their breath. Sam caught “forty degrees to your left” and “reloading” but her ears were ringing, she couldn’t make out anything else.
Xander stopped shooting long enough to grab Sam’s arm and fling her to her feet, shouted, “Cabin!”
Sam didn’t waste any time, she took off running, Maggie on her heels, a hand on her shoulder, holding her bent over. They reached the porch door and Maggie shoved Sam down on the hard wood. She could hear Thor barking frantically. He was stuck in his pen, unable to come to his master’s aide.
“Goddamn it, the light. He’s going to see us go in.” She shouted, “Cover me!” and Xander lit up the night with a barrage of bullets. Maggie pushed Sam through the door and slammed it behind them, knocking the light switch off as she did.
Sam could hear Xander’s weapon, the sharp, staccato bangs moving now, circling the house, then there was silence. Even the dog stopped barking. Sam prayed he wasn’t hit.
“What the hell just happened?” Sam whispered.
“Shh.”
Maggie had her back to the wall. She reloaded the pistol with sureness. Sam realized Maggie could probably rebuild the weapon blindfolded, in ten seconds or less, or something else equally impressive. She was again reminded of Taylor.
She wished she had that kind of fearless courage.
Then Maggie leaned over and pushed the gun into Sam’s shaking hands.
“Here. Anything comes through that door, shoot it.”
“Wait. No…” But Maggie slipped away, creeping across the floor on her belly. Sam heard the distinct noises of the lock on the gun cabinet being freed. More weapons. Damn it, Sam hated guns.
Then Maggie was back, a thick black assault rifle in her hand. Sam could still hear intermittent gunfire.
“Goddamn it, tell me what’s going on,” Sam whispered, this time with enough force that Maggie complied with an answer.
“Culpepper. He was in the trees over your shoulder. Listening. I couldn’t sleep, I was coming to join you. I saw him in the flash of light from the door. I was trying to be subtle. I can’t believe Thor didn’t let us know he was out there.”
“You’re about as subtle as a heart attack. Is Xander okay?”
“He’ll be fine. He knows this mountain like the back of his hand. He was ready for this, as well. He’ll be leading Culpepper away from the house. I have to go help. You need to stay here and guard the kids. Noah has a rifle, he knows how to use it. I told him
not to shoot you.”
“No. No, you can’t leave me here. I—”
“Sam.” Maggie put her face right into Sam’s. “Focus. Listen. You have to. Protect my babies for me, Sam. If that door opens, shoot. Don’t hesitate. Hesitate and you could get all of us killed. Do you understand?”
And then she was gone.
* * *
Xander had somehow kicked out the fire. Sam didn’t think she’d ever seen a darkness so incredibly black before. It scared her, made her feel like she was blind. She desperately wanted to light a match, flick a lighter, anything to break its all-consuming cover, but she didn’t dare.
She couldn’t hear properly, and the cloying blackness made her claustrophobic. She began to count mechanically, running her mantra through her head, breathing slowly so she wouldn’t hyperventilate and pass out.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.
A short burst of gunfire pulled her up short. She smashed her body against the wall. Damn, that was close. She tightened her grip on the weapon.
At least she finally understood what had happened, the why behind all these senseless deaths. Maggie hadn’t gotten pregnant with King’s child. She’d gotten pregnant with Culpepper’s. Jen was the product of her mother’s rape.
And now her father was out hunting down her mother, trying to silence the one person who could undo him, his career, his reputation, after all these years.
What an idiot he was. Maggie obviously didn’t have any desire for anyone to know the true story behind Jen’s parentage.
But pushed by Karen Fisher, Culpepper thought the truth was coming out. And he did everything in his power to stop it.
Sam’s hand was cramping. She loosened her grip on the gun. She couldn’t hear the children, but didn’t want to call out, to draw attention to them all.
She was so tired. Getting drawn into Culpepper’s game, nearly dying herself, now squatting breathless in a darkened cabin with a gun in her hand…it was all too much. She needed to go away someplace quiet and have a nice little breakdown.
Too bad that wasn’t an option. At least, not right now. There were three children twenty feet to her right, and she would be damned if any harm was going to come to them. She’d lost her own children because of her selfishness. Even if she had to step in front of a bullet, she wasn’t going to let anything happen to Maggie’s kids.
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