David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  “Please.” Again, he lowered his gaze submissively. “You have to tell me what’s going on. I can help you guys. I can help you out of this.”

  Hannah’s footsteps crunched all the way to him and the cold steel of the pistol barrel pushed against his forehead, forcing his chin up.

  She bared her teeth. “What the hell are they—”

  With a lightning-quick move he ducked to the right and swatted up with his left arm. The gun fired, deafening him and sending a blast of heat onto the side of his face, but the shot missed, just like he’d known it would. Nobody could react fast enough to such an unexpected, ballsy maneuver. An instant later he gripped her gun arm with both hands and pushed his full weight back into her, knocking her back and to the side.

  With a whimper, she fell sideways and before she’d even hit the ground Rachette had twisted the gun from her grip.

  “That’s right!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, elation filling his body.

  Gripping the pistol and twisting to raise it toward Rachel, he flinched when he saw she had her own pistol aimed at him already.

  There was a lance of fire, and his gun-holding shoulder was wrenched back like he’d been clipped by a semi-truck. He twisted and his feet slipped out from under him. Stutter stepping, he tried to keep his balance, but slammed head first into the tire of his SUV.

  For an agonizing eternity, he convulsed on the ground, trying to take a breath that would not come. All the while, a warm pool of blood spread underneath him.

  A throat-tearing scream filled his ears, and he felt powerful arms pick him up and drag him away over the wet ground. The next thing he knew he was rolled onto his back and staring at the leaden sky.

  Hannah’s face appeared in front of his, her eyes bloodshot and evil. She stepped over him and sat hard on his chest.

  With a squeal, his lungs finally opened, and a cold breath of wind rushed into his chest.

  And then Hannah’s cold hands locked on his neck and squeezed.

  He tried to struggle, but the strength in him was already gone.

  The last thing he saw was Hannah’s drooling snarl, popping stars in his vision, and then Rachel wrapping her arms around her sister.

  Chapter 54

  Patterson slammed the brakes, fishtailing to a stop, and then stuck her head out the window.

  Cursing as the engine fan kicked on, she craned her neck, trying to catch the echo of sound waves she thought she’d just heard, but heard nothing.

  As she ducked her head into her cab again she heard it again. This time the gunshot was clear as day, without the rumbling tires drowning it out. Wrenching the radio off her center comms console, she thumbed the button.

  “This is Patterson. Come in.”

  She leaned out the window again and listened.

  The radio scratched and then a loud whining noise blasted out. “… ahead.”

  Whatever Wolf had just said had been mostly drowned out by the sound of the boat and rushing wind.

  “I just heard a gunshot.”

  A pause.

  She let off the brake and eased forward down County 74. She was almost to the County 16 turn-off that led to the Grey and Heeter places. The Kiplings, she corrected herself. But what was this development? Did they need to change their plans?

  Damn it. The response was taking too long. She brought the radio up to her lips but it barked before she pressed the button again.

  “The plan stays the same.” Wolf’s voice was distorted as he yelled over the din.

  “Copy that. I’m almost at the turn-off.”

  “Let me know when you’re there.”

  “Copy.”

  She dropped the radio and hit the gas. The road climbed, and for a moment, she saw over the tops of the trees and caught a glimpse of the motorboat slicing through the smooth water. It was actually ahead of her.

  Looking back at the road, she’d barely straightened before she careened off the steep edge on the left.

  “Pay attention!” she yelled at herself. Her breathing was borderline hyperventilation. The whole time she’d raced up here with screaming sirens—at one point reaching one hundred twenty miles per hour on a straightaway, passing every and all vehicles in a blur—she’d been gripping the wheel with white knuckles, all the while going through scenarios in her mind, none of which were ending well in her imagination. And now there were gunshots?

  She slapped the wheel. Maybe they were Rachette’s gunshots, and he was standing over injured killers right now.

  Or maybe he was lying on the ground bleeding out.

  Damn it! She had to think positive.

  She white-knuckle-gripped the wheel again and bared her teeth. These bitches were going down.

  “You there yet?” the radio squawked.

  Her pulse jumped even higher. “No. Not yet. A few more minutes.”

  “Okay. We’re approaching fast. We saw Rachette’s vehicle. Make the call.”

  “Okay.”

  She twisted the dial to Channel 14, the designated vehicle-to-vehicle communication channel their department used, and pressed the button. “Deputy Rachette, do you copy?”

  “Come on. Come on,” she whispered.

  There was no response.

  She pressed the button again. “Unit 3, this is Unit 8, do you copy?”

  She waited five Mississippis. No answer.

  She flipped the switch back to the encrypted channel and pressed the button. “No answer.”

  “Okay.” Wolf’s response was immediate. “We go in.”

  Patterson pressed the gas and the engine screamed, pulling her back in the seat.

  Chapter 55

  Wolf pressed the soft rubber eyepieces of the high-powered binoculars to his eyes again. The water was glass, making for a smooth boat ride, but the wind proved too much to steady the image of the cliff-top cabin. He saw Rachette’s SUV, and any other details were a blur.

  Tucking the binoculars behind the passenger-side windshield, he sat down in the sheltered seat and zipped up the rear of his wetsuit.

  Wilson looked over at him with a wary eye.

  Wolf gave him the thumbs-down signal and Wilson pulled back on the throttle, bringing the speed to half, raising the nose of the boat. The engine noise lowered in pitch, though not in volume.

  He took the radio and shoved it in the ten-by-seven-inch dry bag, and then slid his Glock in after it. Zipping the bag shut, he tied two half-hitches in the nylon line around his wrist, and, just to be safe, secured the free end with an overhand knot to keep the half-hitches from slipping.

  That finished, he twisted in his chair, feeling the dive knife against his flexed calf as he stood up. With a few hard pulls, he tightened the climbing harness around his legs and waist, making sure the Grigri—a belay device—he’d borrowed from Baine was solidly affixed and the carabiners were locked.

  The wind pushed against his chest as he turned forward, chilling him to the bone. He looked up at the granite cliffs and shook out his arms, doubting he was in shape for the climb ahead. It had been years since he’d had experience on any sort of rock face. But adrenaline and perseverance would get him where he needed to go, he assured himself. The cam inside the Grigri would pinch the rope, arresting any fall should he slip while climbing, and the device would give him ample opportunities to hang and rest his muscles on the way up. Of course, time was of the essence. There wasn’t going to be much rest.

  Wilson eyed him again. “You know, people don’t normally leave climbing ropes anchored for days on end. Those things are expensive, and there’s a damn good chance it’ll be gone.”

  Wolf had already brought up the same objection with himself. It’d been Friday evening when Kimber, Rachel, had pointed out the rope dangling over her backyard cliff.

  “And killers don’t normally have their stack of mutilated bodies discovered by the cops. I’m willing to bet they’ve had other stuff on their minds besides bringing in the climbing ropes.”

  Wilson shook his he
ad, clearly unconvinced at the entire plan, but that failed to faze Wolf.

  “I’m just saying,” Wilson pressed, “if there’s no rope, I don’t want you going up that cliff.”

  “I’m not looking to die today. I’ll skirt to the south and find another way up if need be.”

  That seemed to satisfy Wilson.

  “Okay.” Wolf looked off the starboard side at the small island in the distance. “You know what to do. Stay on the other side of that island until you hear otherwise. Keep everyone else back. I don’t want another unit traveling down that road.”

  Wilson nodded with wide eyes. “I know, sir.”

  Wolf pulled the hood over his head. As he straightened the edges around his face, the pathway up the hillside from the Grey’s dock to the cabin came into view.

  Without another word, he clutched the dry sack in his left hand and dove off the back of the boat.

  Chapter 56

  Rachette was yanked out of unconsciousness by a stabbing pain in his shoulder.

  “Ah!” he cried.

  Opening his eyes, he saw Hannah was still on top of him.

  The pain ebbed, and he saw she was concentrating on his shoulder. He felt another explosion as she leaned on his wound.

  “Keep this on it,” she said.

  Rachette wondered who she was talking to.

  “Here.” She took Rachette’s left hand and put it on his right shoulder. “Press.”

  His jaw bounced uncontrollably. He was so cold. “Kimber?”

  She sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Kimber.”

  “Hannah?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s Rachel. Whatever. Now don’t mess with my sister when she comes back.” She gripped some rustling fabric and pulled it up to his chin. “Keep this pulled up.”

  Rachette looked down at his jacket, which was now draped over him. He croaked an unintelligible word and then gave up on responding.

  She stood and walked away, her rain jacket swishing as she moved toward the stairway to the front porch.

  Rachette shook his head and blinked his eyes. His shoulder was cold, and when he looked down he could see that the shirt had been ripped away. Rachel had done some first aid and now he was holding a wadded-up piece of fabric on the wound.

  The other one barged out of the front door holding an open laptop computer and trotted down the steps. Hannah. The anger in her eyes told him as much. The two were not identical in every way, after all.

  “You fix up your boyfriend?” she asked without looking at him.

  “Yeah. He’ll live.”

  She clicked a button and scoffed. “We’ll see.”

  Rachette pulled away the fabric on his wound and looked underneath. An oozing red hole with striated muscle bulging out stared back at him. He shut his eyes and took a breath.

  Slowly, he propped himself on his elbow and looked around. Instinct was telling him he needed to elevate his upper body to slow the bleeding. His shoulder throbbed with each micro-movement, but he managed to shuffle over to his tire with his ass and good arm. When he reached it, he collapsed backward and panted, sweat streaming down his face, his teeth sounding like a jackhammer in his skull.

  The two women were glancing between the laptop screen and his sideshow performance.

  “Not sure if you want to be awake for this. Your little partner just showed up. She’s been trying to get hold of you on the radio.”

  Rachette looked at Hannah, the memory of the white SUV with roof lights on top coming back to him in a flash. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

  Eyes locked on Rachette’s, Hannah handed the laptop to Rachel and stepped toward him. Her face was twisted in rage, and Rachette knew this was probably the end, but she slowed to a stop and turned toward the lake.

  “What is that?” she asked, jogging away. She ran all the way to the edge of the precipice and looked down at the lake.

  Rachette frowned, watching Hannah’s strange actions. Then he heard a faint thrumming sound of an engine, and he saw why she’d run.

  A blue motorboat, out far enough that he could see it under the drop-off, slid by lazily, the wake spreading out into a white V behind it. With a smile, he remembered wakeboarding with his sister in Omaha, growing up.

  She used to suck. Could never get up. Had to resort to waterskiing with two skis.

  “What are you laughing at?” Hannah was back in his face.

  He looked up under heavy eyelids. “What?”

  “I asked what you’re laughing at.”

  He squinted, trying to figure out who was talking to him.

  Chapter 57

  The shock of the cold through Wolf’s eighth-of-an-inch wetsuit was overshadowed by the violent wrenching of his body as he landed in the wake of the boat. He’d landed wrong, too vertical, and the momentum of the water sliding by rotated him, arching his back and twisting his neck like he was caught in a blender.

  As his body stilled, he opened his eyes and let himself float to the top of the water. Poking his head out, he took a soundless breath and swam toward the shore.

  Panic arced through his body when he realized his arm was gliding too effortlessly through the water. The added resistance of the tied dry sack was not there.

  Treading with strong kicks that were less than effective with climbing shoes on, he twirled, desperately searching for the yellow sack.

  There.

  Twenty feet away, a bright-yellow bag, now with a frayed nylon string slithering on the surface, was just below the top of the water.

  In an instant, he saw that it was sinking.

  Ducking his head, he pulled and kicked with all his strength. A few strokes later, through his blurry vision, he saw a yellow rectangle plunging down, fluttering back and forth as it sank out of sight.

  His ears plugged and squeaked as he dove down after it, but it was no use. He was too slow, and it was gone. With a burst of bubbles, he cursed at the top of his lungs and then broke the water in silence once again. Without looking back, he swam towards the shore in a silent breaststroke.

  Chapter 58

  Rachette felt himself moving and emerged into half-consciousness again. With a head-rattling scrape, he felt himself being pulled by his legs across the ground. He looked up and saw that it was Rachel pulling him toward the steps to the house.

  He opened his mouth and croaked.

  “She’s here. Wait. She’s stopping,” Hannah said.

  Rachel dropped Rachette’s legs and his body rocked to a halt. There was less pain now, and he knew that was a bad sign. With mild interest he watched Hannah and Rachel huddle at the laptop screen.

  “She’s stopping right at the camera.”

  Their concerned identical faces glowed from the laptop screen’s light.

  “Into the woods?” Hannah frowned and shook her head, looking into the forest over and beyond Rachette. “They know we have motion and vibration sensors everywhere. What the hell is she doing?”

  Rachel looked down at Rachette. “She’s coming for him.”

  Hannah put the laptop down hard on the stairs. She pulled the gun from her waist and racked the slide. “You take this. Keep him covered. I’m going in to cut her off before she gets here.”

  “Don’t!” Rachette’s shoulder exploded in pain as he yelled the word. “Patterson! Patters—”

  His teeth slammed together and his head jerked back, and then Hannah stepped on his shoulder and disappeared.

  He doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream. Between gasps, he heard footsteps receding into the distance. “Patterson,” he said again, and then he closed his eyes.

  Chapter 59

  Patterson twisted the keys and got out.

  With a glance over at the wildlife camera nailed to the tree, she slammed the door and ran around the front of the car and up the slope to the woods on the right-hand side of the road.

  With quick, powerful strides she climbed the dirt embankment and before too long was swerving between tigh
t pine trees. Her lungs beat a steady rhythm, and her left earpiece thumped with every movement. For minutes, she kept the steady pace without struggle, and she thanked herself for taking time out of every single day for the past two years to exercise.

  Jumping over a downed log, she slowed and stood behind a thick pine. She leaned on it, catching her breath with long pulls of air, and then, with slow deliberation, she ducked down and peeked around the edge of the trunk.

  The road veered down and away from her below, and in the distance was a partial view of the Greys’ cabin. She saw the white paint of Rachette’s SUV parked in front, and the wood two-story structure to the right of it. Past that, she saw slivers of the gray lake water beyond. A row of wake waves rolled along its otherwise still surface.

  Where the hell was Wolf’s radio signal?

  If that was their boat’s wake, Wolf was undoubtedly on shore by now. Judging by the height of the waves, he should have completed his swim and short hike to the base of the cliff by now.

  “Wolf, do you copy?” she whispered into her wrist mic.

  There was no response. Quickly she checked her belt and made sure the dial was turned on. It was. The green light was solid next to the power knob and she was on the agreed channel.

  Damn it.

  In an instant she forgot the radio, because a branch had snapped loudly somewhere down the slope between her and the cabin.

  Again she leaned out, and she still saw nothing in the forest below. For ten full seconds she scanned the area below, doing methodical horizontal sweeps with her eyes, adjusting the distance downward, and repeating the process. If someone was there, they were waiting her out.

  What was her next move? It was impossible to make a choice without Wolf’s signal. She was there as a decoy, to bring their attention up the hill while Wolf snuck up from behind. Was the climbing rope that Wolf had been expecting not there? Was he hurt? Had he been seen?