The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2)

by Jeff Carson

  Now he walked along the dark deserted road through the dense forest – in need of some answers, and ready to do whatever it took to get them.

  He travelled another quarter-mile along the quiet road and reached another property. Once there he stopped, turned a slow circle, and ducked into the woods.

  Wolf knelt on one knee at the edge of a manicured lush green backyard lawn surrounded by dense pines and shoulder-height underbrush. Derek Connell’s home squatted completely dark in the otherwise bright night. He turned his head slowly, looking and listening for movement. Through a bare gap in the trees, Wolf could see a sliver of twinkling yellow and blue lights of the town below.

  He shifted slightly and needles crackled under his boot, barely audible over the symphony of crickets. He touched the back of his hand to a pine tree trunk, coming away with a dollop of sticky pungent sap on his skin. He wiped it on the leg of his cargo pants.

  The house was completely dark, each window covering pulled tight, save one in the center of the house.

  Chapter 21

  Young waited.

  The second he saw, the second he knew what he was seeing, a wash of endorphins flooded his entire body. The movement was subtle, so subtle, but once he saw it, the unmistakable shape took form.

  He knew his smile was a childish display. But no one could see him. That thought sent a snort of air jetting out his nostrils. He opened his mouth in an O, closed his eyes, and breathed a slow deep breath.

  It had just been so long, and the last two nights were giving him some serious action.

  He looked down at the motionless form on the floor and tongued the split on the inside of his lip. The taste of blood injected another batch of endorphins into his veins.

  The stabbing last night had given him such a thrill, then seeing the bitch. And now tonight. This was going to be infinitely more fun. He could hardly contain himself. He wanted to scream. His body zinged with anticipation.

  He blanked his face, wiping any emotion from his mind, and then he darted into action.

  Chapter 22

  Wolf waited motionless for twenty minutes. His eyes were as adjusted as they were going to get, and he just wasn’t seeing any movement from within Connell’s house. He could see a portion of Connell’s SUV parked along the side of the house. Maybe he was out with a friend, or Vickers, or a woman. Wolf couldn’t picture, and decided he didn’t want to picture, the type of woman that would date a man like Connell.

  Then finally a light went on at the far right end of the house, then a fainter light just to the left, and then yet another light.

  Wolf felt like he was grasping at straws with his plan. It was cliché and simple – get him on record saying something – but then again, Connell was just the type of person who would say something incriminating in a fit of rage. If anything had been proven about Derek Connell over the years, it was that he acted in the heat of the moment, always letting quick emotional reactions win out over better judgment.

  Wolf swiveled one hundred eighty degrees to face the dense forest behind Connell’s property, and took out his cell phone. He hunched low to block any light emission that might be visible coming off the screen and scrolled through the menus. After a little navigation, he began the recording function on the smartphone. The timer in the corner began ticking, indicating it was rolling. He locked the phone, sending the bright screen dark again, then shoved it in the breast pocket of his Carhartt jacket, and zipped it shut.

  Now he needed some luck.

  Wolf turned back and glared at the windows of the rear of the house. There were a few windows obscured by now glowing drapes, and one single window that was unobstructed, giving the only clear view inside the house. He needed to get closer.

  He slid to his left a few yards inside the tree line, keeping an eye on the windows for any movement, then crept through the manicured lawn to the back wall of the house.

  He reached the rear of the house and leaned his ear against the cool siding. He heard the soft creak of footfalls inside, what sounded like a cupboard being closed, and then a prolonged silence.

  He glided slowly along the back wall, making his way closer to the bay window with each step. As he moved forward, more and more of the interior came into view through the unobscured pane of glass.

  He saw the kitchen first. There was a bright overhead light on and an open cupboard.

  Wolf paused, letting a full minute pass. There was still no movement. Nobody in the kitchen.

  Wolf palmed the handle of his Glock and stepped further, revealing even more inside. He viewed the living room on the other side of the glass. Nobody seemed to be in it, not sitting on any chairs or couches, though a lamp was dimly lit in the corner.

  He sucked in a breath as realization hit him like a rock in the face.

  What he’d been assuming was a dark colored area rug in the lower part of his peripheral vision was something entirely different.

  It was Connell, lying face down on the floor.

  Adrenaline exploded in his veins as he jerked himself back.

  “Gotcha.” A deep voice was so close that he felt the scratch of facial hair and warm breath on his earlobe. His gun arm felt like it was ripped out of its socket as his head was wrenched forward in a painful contortion.

  There was a sharp sting on his neck, and then warm invisible pillows crushed inward on his entire body. His vision darkened and swirled, and then all went black.

  Chapter 23

  Wolf lay in the warm sun. He moved his hands, feeling the smooth, wet sand in between his fingers. Soothing sunlight heated his cheek and the back of his neck.

  The mission had gone terribly wrong. There had been so much unanticipated blood, and then there was what he’d had to do. Who he’d had to shoot dead to save the others. The kid couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Not much older than his son at home.

  But it didn’t matter now. The gentle kiss of the breeze on his cheek sent him deeper into thoughtless relaxation. The past was gone. His sins were forgotten again.

  Then a cold wave crashed on his head, shocking him onto his elbows. Water streamed off his face and out of his nostrils. He coughed, struggling to take an unobstructed breath of air.

  Then another freezing wave hit him. Water plunged into his ear, all the way to the eardrum. He shook his head to clear it and blinked his eyes.

  His fingers dug into the warm, wet carpet. Carpet? Wolf looked to his left hand. It was covered in blood.

  The fresh coppery scent filled his nostrils. He stared at his red-painted arm resting in a pool of red, and put concepts together. The liquid was red. It was warm. It was blood.

  He shook his head, and then stared at his hand for a while.

  Another cold splash hit him in the right side of his face.

  “Wake up.”

  Wolf coughed, blinked hard and turned to see a giant black boot standing next to him, just outside the puddle.

  “What the—” A loud slap jarred the back of his head.

  “Wake up! You’ve only got a few minutes.” The boots stepped away, opened the door, and left.

  Wolf stared at the closed door. His head swam in confusion. Where was he? Who was that? He needed to keep sleeping, so he put his head back on the carpet.

  His face squashed into the wet carpet once again, which sent a jolt of electricity through his body. He jumped to his hands and knees and took a sharp breath.

  Then he saw Connell, who lay on his back in a huge puddle of crimson, with arms and legs splayed out in a starfish position. His eyes were wide, staring up into oblivion.

  There were two neat holes in his forehead, and what looked to be at least three in his chest. Blood had splattered against the beige wall that his head was now propped against at a right angle.

  The heavy feeling of Wolf’s body was almost too much to bear. Pins and needles jabbed into every muscle he moved, but coherent thoughts were beginning to surface from the sea of confusion.

  There was his gun, sit
ting on the floor. He picked it up, sat back on his heels, and removed the magazine with bloody half-numb fingers. Five shots had been fired.

  He stood up, and then stumbled back, realizing his left boot was standing in the glistening puddle. It left a clear red boot print on the otherwise immaculate cream-colored rug. But actually, he realized, his boot prints were everywhere.

  There were also shell casings. He saw three in plain sight, strewn about on the floor. That meant there were at least two more unaccounted for.

  His breast pocket began vibrating and making a strange conga drum noise. He ignored it and kept concentrating on piecing things together. This puzzle was important.

  He opened his right hand and twisted it. There were no marks, but it smelled faintly of gunpowder. Somehow he knew he’d fired the gun that had put Connell in a dead heap.

  The man who just left.

  Wolf set down the gun, unzipped his breast pocket and looked at his phone. There were two missed calls from Rachette displayed on the screen.

  He opened it, fumbled through a bunch of screens with his clean hand and called him.

  “Wolf!”

  “Hey.” His mouth felt full of chalk. He cleared his throat and walked to the kitchen sink, leaving a boot print every other step along the hard wood floor.

  “What’s going on? You still asleep? I’ve been calling you for the last few minutes.”

  Wolf drank long from the faucet.

  “Wolf?”

  “Yeah, sorry. What’s going on?” He felt the nourishing water travel through his body, bringing cold alertness to his brain. “What’s up?”

  “There’s been a report of shots fired at Connell’s.”

  Wake up. You’ve only got a few minutes.

  His heart raced, and he took a deep breath. His adrenaline was surging, though his mind was slow to reason why.

  “Wolf?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. All right. I’ll see you there.”

  “Okay. First responders are on their way. I’m leaving now. How far out are you? Do you want to pick me up on the way?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll have to just see you there.”

  Wolf turned the water to hot and scrubbed his hand clean, then raced back to his gun, holstered it, and left out the back sliding glass door off the kitchen.

  He stepped off the deck into thin air and fell hard onto his shoulder, stabbing more pins and needles through his muscles. As he struggled to get up, he heard a faint cop siren, growing louder by the second.

  He crashed through the underbrush perimeter of the back yard, through the dark pine trees, and burst out onto the dirt road with a skid, almost twisting his ankle. Without thinking, following some deep instinct, he gritted his teeth and ran.

  His bouncing vision focused on the dirt road as he ran as fast as he could, and the only sound he could hear now was his rapid breath, wheezing in and out of his mouth with frantic exertion. There was a part of his brain that was screaming for him to calm down, but another part was winning out, pushing him to run and not look back.

  About a quarter mile down the road the trees began flickering red and blue, and then a set of headlights rose fast above the horizon.

  Wolf turned and stumbled off the road. He cried out as he crashed into a low hanging branch and flopped onto his back. Ignoring the now burning pain across his chest, he turned to his hands and knees and shuffled behind the thick trunk just in time.

  A low roar of tires and ear-splitting sirens approached fast, and then dropped in pitch as two SCSD SUVs passed at harrowing speed.

  Wolf squinted and put his mouth on his sleeve as the air whipped into a dusty vortex. He wasted no time sprinting back onto the road, taking advantage of the smokescreen.

  He ran down the road as fast as he could, not daring to look back to see if brakelights would be illuminating. He finally reached his car and collapsed onto his knees next to the driver’s side door. His stomach convulsed, and just as he wretched, another SCSD vehicle whipped by.

  Wolf stood up, missing the door handle once with his hand before getting in the dark SUV.

  Brief panic hit him as he dug in the wrong pocket for his keys. Then found them in the other. He fired up the SUV, backed out, and drove fast towards town. Back to the highway. He needed to get home.

  For a few yards he considered going without lights, but that would be conspicuous and unsafe. There would be more department vehicles driving to the scene. Many more.

  And how about an SCSD vehicle driving away from the scene? How was that going to look?

  Wolf shook his head, took a deep breath, turned on the lights and stepped on it.

  “Sheriff Connell is down. I repeat, the Sheriff has been shot multiple times.”

  Wolf turned the radio down and glared out the windshield. “Dead on arrival…” he heard before turning it down. He needed to think.

  Another set of flashers came around the upcoming bend. He jammed the brakes, swerving and sliding before finally slowing down to a crawl, and pulled to the side of the road.

  The approaching SUV barely slowed in time as well. It stopped next to Wolf’s vehicle and lowered its window. Wolf fumbled for the window button and did the same.

  Deputy Baine was behind the wheel of the other vehicle, staring wide-eyed and wide-mouthed.

  Rachette was next to him with a similar adrenaline pumped expression. “What’s going on?”

  Wolf was careful to raise his clean right arm as he pointed back. “Get up there now! Now! I’ll be right there!” Wolf drove away fast, checking in the side view mirror.

  Baine’s brake lights depressed after a few seconds and they drove away into the distance around the bend.

  Wolf shook his head and rubbed his face, which felt strangely dry and cracked. He flipped on the cab light and looked in the rearview mirror. The entire left side of his face was painted red with blood, from chin to eyebrow.

  “Shit!” He slapped the wheel and turned off the light.

  Chapter 24

  Wolf drove at unsafe speed the entire way to his ranch, taking side roads through town to avoid any more detection. It seemed to be a good move, as he didn’t see another department vehicle the entire way.

  He skidded to a stop in front of the ranch house. He got out and left the headlights on, illuminating the pile of dark rubble that used to be his kitchen, and stumbled through the front door. Inside he gathered his gear, washed his face, and drank as much water as he could.

  Then he ran to the barn, where he shoved food packets and his camp stove into his backpack. Then he holstered his Glock into a smaller non-RPPD (?)-issue holster, pocketed some ammo, pocketed his Leatherman multi-tool, and uncovered his dirt bike.

  Wolf rolled the Yamaha WR450F out the sliding barn door and leaned it on the kickstand. As it tipped, the gas tank sloshed. He unscrewed the cap and saw there was a little under a half tank.

  He cursed himself for not buying gas as he picked up the empty can on the floor. Then he tossed it and rummaged through the debris field on the workbench to make sure he had all he needed.

  He stepped outside and listened to the night. There was a faint hum of a semi downshifting miles away, a few near crickets, and a jet flying above.

  As he was pulling his helmet on, he heard another faint noise. He yanked it off and held his breath. The sirens had started again, undoubtedly on their way to him, but they sounded miles away now. The clock was ticking.

  He put on his helmet and gloves, got on the bike, kicked up the stand, flipped the kick lever out, and prayed.

  His prayers were answered as the bike thumped to life on the second kick. Just then a pair of headlights rose into view, coming up over the ridge through the Bull Horn gate.

  Wolf cranked the throttle once, leaned left, almost falling over with a wave of dizziness, and peeled away into the woods.

  Chapter 25

  Connell was dead.

  Rachette wasn’t afraid to admit that he was relieved. Almost happy even. Who was he kidding. He was
happy. There was no other way to put it. But he was also worried as hell.

  That had been blood all over Wolf’s face. There was no mistaking what he and Baine had seen.

  The SUV went into a shuddering four-wheel slide around a corner and the back right tire dipped down, then bounced up hard.

  “Slow it down, Baine!”

  “Shit. Sorry.” Baine slowed the pace and looked to Rachette. “You saw his face.”

  Rachette kept his gaze out the windshield, half waiting to see a family of deer standing in the middle of the dark road any second.

  “I think we need to call this in.” Baine was shooting glances to the road and Rachette like he was watching a tennis match.

  “We aren’t calling this in. I think Wolf may be in trouble, and we need to go see what’s going on. I’m not going to say it again.” He glared at Baine. “If you touch your radio, I’ll shoot you.”

  Baine threw back his head. “Jesus, man. If he just killed Connell, who knows what kind of condition he’s in?” They drove in silence for a little. “You’d better know what you’re doing.”

  “I know Wolf. He’s…”

  Baine looked at him. “He’s what?”

  Rachette spit into his empty Red Bull can and glared out the window. “Just drive.”

  The front of the SUV dropped down as they drove through the gate to Wolf’s property, and the view of Wolf’s property rose into view.

  “There he is!” Baine leaned forward, reaching for the radio console.

  Rachette grabbed his arm and glared. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk to him. Trust me.”

  Baine ripped his arm back and drove on.

  Wolf was a fifty yards ahead, a shadow against a beam of light pouring from his barn door. His SUV was parked in the main dirt driveway, next to the demolished kitchen to the right of him.