by Jeff Carson
“Caliber?” he asked no one in particular.
Yates cleared his throat. “5.56. There’s a good one lodged in the center console.”
Frye pointed at the license-plate shields on the truck. “Plates are missing. Is there registration inside?”
“No, sir,” Yates said. “No insurance either.”
Frye’s lips drew in a tight line.
“The stolen car was a blue Ford Taurus,” Yates said, “Those plates were found over there in the rocks, sir.”
Frye nodded. “Call it in right now. BOLO for a blue Ford Taurus with male and female inside.”
“Already done.”
Patterson looked at Frye’s expression—contemplation mixed with a dose of disappointment—and silently cheered for Wolf and Luke’s tactics. They’d switched the plates from the truck to the car they’d stolen, and then removed the registration from the truck. It would buy them time.
Lancaster was staring at her again.
“What?”
He blinked and looked elsewhere.
“You have something to say, Patterson?” Frye walked over.
She shrugged and glanced back at the huge pickup in front of them, smashed in the rear and looking like a pasta strainer on the passenger side. “Looks like a bad-boy’s truck. That Pope guy in the picture looked pretty bad to me. Muscular, a chip on his shoulder. Must be his truck. Lift kit, dark-tinted windows. I think he drove with road rage, and a sense of entitlement. The whole truck says, I’ll drive over you if you get in my way, and I’ll get away with it because you won’t see me inside.”
Frye smiled and shook his head. “I’d go along with that profile.”
Baine snorted, and then swallowed when Patterson fired him a bullet look.
Cumberland returned with a sheet of paper in his hand and handed it to his boss. Frye read it and gave Cumberland a knowing look. Without a word, Cumberland walked away.
Frye nodded at Patterson. “Come with me, please.” Then he ducked under the crime tape.
Patterson exchanged glances with Lancaster and Baine and followed after him.
The agent walked fast and far, through the cars of the parking lot, onto a strip of grass, and then down to the sand of the lakeshore. Only when the tiny waves splashed to within an inch of his shoes did he stop and turn around.
“Sir?” Patterson stopped a few yards away.
“Wolf and Luke steal a truck and come back in town. On the same day, Wolf’s son goes missing. So do Tom Rachette and Deputies Wilson and Munford. Your aunt and mother helped get Wolf out, and all your buddies are helping him now that he’s back in. And you’re telling me you don’t know anything about this?”
“No, sir.”
Frye’s face flickered blue and red. “Cumberland and I checked. There’s a road across the valley from Wolf’s ranch. It climbs up the mountainside, switching back and forth. We found the spot where you and Rachette said the FBI were watching Wolf’s house.”
“Whatever. We saw you up there.”
“We weren’t up there. But we found evidence that someone was. There was a pile of cigarette butts, all with the same fingerprints on them. Ran the prints and came up with a match.”
She frowned. “Yeah?”
“Turns out the man has quite a sheet. Done time in state. Works at a place called Ashland Moving and Storage.”
“So you’re serious. You guys weren’t watching him. It was someone else?”
“If you know where Wolf is, you need to tell me right now.”
“I don’t.” She looked back toward the parking lot. “Sir, why are you talking to me way out here?”
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 30
Wolf stumbled on a branch and almost went headfirst into a pine.
“You okay?” Luke whispered.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The branches slapped and scraped along their faces while brittle pine needles poked into their hands as they groped their way through. The darkness was absolute in the thick trees, but it was too risky to use flashlights at such close range to the house.
Ignoring the ache in his thigh, Wolf pressed on and led them at a steady pace, swerving through foliage that reminded him of Thai and Sri Lankan jungles.
Luke swatted her skin. “Frickin’ mosquitos.”
She had no idea.
“Shhh, we’re close.”
A few steps later, the trees ended and they were at the edge of a wide meadow. The whole expanse of flatland was splashed in moonlight, treeless and dotted with lights where houses were built on lots with thirty acres or more between them.
The nearest blob of light was their mark—a single porch light illuminating the front door of Sheriff MacLean’s brand-new two-story home.
“Let’s go.” Wolf wasted no time hiking across the open space to the road. Veering wide right, he kept out of the light from the front porch and swung around to the rear of the house.
“He’s gonna have a light sensor back here,” Luke said. “Gotta figure a sheriff has some serious security features on his brand-new house. Including an alarm.”
“I hope so.”
“You going to tell me what you’re thinking?”
“There’s no way we’re going to get in there without getting shot. So we’re going to have to bring him out.”
“Okay. And how do you plan on doing that?”
When they’d reached the field off the rear corner of the house, Wolf stopped and studied the building. “That sliding glass door on the second floor and the big windows next to it, southwest corner. We’ll stay out of sight of those.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where MacLean and his wife are sleeping.”
Luke shook her head. “How do you know?”
“I don’t for sure, but that’s where I’d put a master bedroom if I wanted to take advantage of the sunsets.”
“Such a romantic.”
He stood up and jogged directly to the north side of the house, Luke following close.
Halfway across the plush lawn there was a click and light blazed from three floodlights mounted on the house, turning night into day.
Luke dove against the house underneath a first-story window and Wolf followed.
Right on cue, a faint ringing in Wolf’s ear started, filling the empty space between the sound of pumping blood.
He breathed in through his nose and hard out his mouth. And then again.
“You all right?”
He shook his head to try to launch the noise out of his ear.
“No, you’re not all right? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m okay.”
“What’s the plan?”
A dog barked inside.
They snuck to the corner and looked down the west side of the house, which was the rear and had a large deck with patio furniture. “Go knock that umbrella over as hard as you can.”
“What?”
“Quick.” Wolf leaned back against the house and blinked, trying to keep his vision from tilting.
“That’s your plan?”
“We need to lure them down here. A noise isn’t going to do it. We need MacLean to come out with his gun.”
“Shhhh, Jeepers!” MacLean’s wife was around the corner on the upstairs deck.
Luke looked down at Wolf and then moved out into the open.
“Where are you—”
“Mrs. MacLean?” Luke’s voice was a trumpet in the silence.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. MacLean said.
“Mrs. MacLean, it’s Deputy Patterson. I work with your husband.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I need to speak to your husband right now.”
“What’s going on?” MacLean’s voice came from inside the house.
Luke pointed toward Wolf, who was out of sight from the origin of Mrs. MacLean’s voice up on the deck. “My partner and I need to speak to Sheriff MacLean right now.”
Luke looked up with imploring eyes, then ducked and sprinted tow
ard Wolf.
Wolf frowned. “What the hell was that?”
“Who is that down there?” MacLean’s voice echoed through the night. “Patterson? What the hell’s going on?”
There was a swoosh and a clack as the sliding glass door slammed shut.
Luke held a finger to her lips.
Faint footsteps boomed inside the house. They were rapid. Angry.
Luke pulled her pistol. “You take the back door, I’ll take the front.”
Wolf got up and collapsed to a knee.
“Oh God, are you serious?”
He put a hand on the ground and held himself up from folding completely.
“Just stay there.” Luke stood and listened, and then there was a noise and she sprinted away toward the front of the house.
“Freeze.” That word and the sound of a dog barking was the last thing Wolf heard, and then his face hit the cold lawn.
Chapter 31
A putrid rag slapped Wolf in the face and he opened his eyes.
Before he could tell what had happened, the rag slapped him again, this time on the cheek.
The smell was overpowering.
Then the moist rag swirled against his eye and he flinched back.
“Jeepers,” a female said. “Come here.”
Wolf sat up and opened his eyes. A leather sofa creaked as he perched himself on an elbow.
Luke sat forward in a chair a few feet away, her eyes wide and concerned. “Hey, Wolf. Wake up.”
He leaned back when his head felt light. The leather underneath him grumbled as he slid forward on his butt.
Panting with a happy smile, a golden retriever stood next to his legs, thumping its tail on the carpeted floor.
“There he is.”
Wolf followed the sound of the deep male voice and straightened at the sight of MacLean tied to a wooden chair with countless wraps of twine. Behind the captive man loomed an elk head. The tongue protruded from its open mouth as if in mid-call.
“No, down here,” MacLean said. “Christ, he thinks the elk is talking to him.”
“Wolf.” Luke snapped her fingers. “You all right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. What happened?”
MacLean laughed. “What happened? Ha!”
An older lady with basset-hound blue eyes and a disheveled head of silver-blonde hair sat staring at Wolf on a leather high-backed chair. She was unrestrained, but her gaze was defiant as if she were being held against her will.
And then it all came back to him. They were at MacLean’s.
“Aaaaand there he is,” MacLean drawled.
Luke stood and motioned with her pistol to the woman. “We need to get him water.”
The woman stood up and slinked away, eyeing Luke over her shoulder as they both left the room.
MacLean stared at Wolf, his goatee dancing as he chomped his lips.
Wolf stood and stretched his limbs. The stuffed fish clock on the wall said 5:30, and the faint light outside the window and mist-covered meadow told him it was morning.
There was a dark-wood desk in the corner by the window. One of the walls was shelved from floor to ceiling, filled with worn books—mostly mysteries and horror—and behind MacLean was a trophy wall, where three dead animal heads peered down among the brass plaques and picture frames.
It smelled of stale cigar smoke, cleaning agents, and dog. MacLean’s manly office.
“I’m gonna have to take a piss pretty soon.”
Wolf ignored him.
MacLean’s wife came in holding a glass of water, averting her eyes as she relayed it to Wolf.
“Your name’s Bonnie, right?”
She nibbled on a fingernail.
“Don’t you dare talk to my wife.” MacLean jerked against the restraints.
Wolf sucked down the entire glass. “Thanks.”
MacLean’s wife took the empty glass and headed for the doorway, but Luke stopped her and motioned her back to the chair.
The dog panted and thumped its tail.
“Okay, now that we’re all here,” MacLean said, “you wanna tell us what the hell is going on? You going to kill us, or what?”
Wolf’s face soured. “No, I’m not going to kill you.”
“Is that what you tell everyone before you kill them?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” MacLean swallowed and looked at his wife, who began to cry.
Luke shook her head. “They keep acting like this.”
“Like what?” MacLean glared at Wolf. “Like Wolf’s killing a bunch of people and running a drug racket in Rocky Points?”
Luke held up her hands.
Wolf pulled the Beretta from his waist, cocked the hammer back, and put it on MacLean’s forehead.
MacLean clenched his eyes.
Wolf remembered the streak of blood on Sarah’s pale hand as it hung lifelessly out of the BMW door. He felt the drizzle against his face as if he were there again. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sarah staring into nothing, her electric-blue eyes unplugged.
“Wolf.” Luke put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Wolf aimed the Beretta at the ceiling, uncocked the hammer, and tucked it back in the waist of his pants.
MacLean cracked an eyelid, then opened both eyes. Then the twine creaked as he sagged.
“Please,” Bonnie MacLean said. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Wolf shook his head. “No promises, Mrs. MacLean. I’ll need some answers from your husband before I decide on that. But first, and most importantly, he needs to stop saying that I killed my wife.”
The dog panted and looked between them with arched eyebrows.
Wolf held MacLean’s gaze. “You’re behind faking those pictures with Gail Olson that made my deputy look like he was, or is, part of a drug racket.”
MacLean smiled incredulously. “What?”
“You wanted my whole department to look like one big drug racket. Then you gave the pictures to Agents Smith and Tedescu. That’s right. I know all about the two agents. You did all that so you could make us look bad and you could win the election.”
MacLean shook his head. “Bullshit.”
“Did you know you were married to that kind of guy, Bonnie?” Wolf asked.
MacLean leaned his head back.
“Did you really do that, Will?” Bonnie MacLean asked. “You … framed this man’s department?”
“What? Honey, no, I didn’t. This man is a psycho.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying her husband’s face.
The dog stopped wagging its tail and stared at him.
“I swear!” MacLean popped his eyes. “This is insane. This guy is a dangerous criminal, honey. Just stay quiet. Let me deal with him, all right?”
“Stay quiet, my ass. Did you use pictures to blackmail this man into dropping out of the race? Is that why he dropped out of the race? Is that how we won?”
MacLean ignored his wife and nodded at Luke. “Agent Luke, you—”
“Answer the question, Will.”
“Well, yes and no. Honey, you have no idea who this guy is. He’s an honest to God drug lord, corrupt to the bone. I had proof that he was, so I used it.”
Wolf took a step toward him. “Proof? Fake proof that you created.”
“No, proof brought to me by the FBI. I didn’t take those pictures.” He looked at Luke. “She did, the FBI did. How is it Wolf has you duped like this? It’s all him and his deputies, not me. Wait a minute, I get it. You’re in on it, too. That’s what’s going on.”
“I’m in on this? Listen, old man, you—”
“Stop. Shut up, both of you.” Wolf rubbed his temples. “The video interview with Gail Olson proved you were behind the photos with Gail and Rachette. And when I showed you that proof, you figured out that Baine and I had copies of that interview. You stole them both. You stole my copy from my house, and Baine’s from his desk. And now it’s no coincidence that the FBI has never seen that interview. It’s no coincidenc
e that they think you’re someone you’re not.”
“What interview?” Bonnie MacLean asked.
MacLean rolled his eyes. “First of all, I didn’t steal that video from you or from Baine’s desk. I have no clue what you’re talking about. And, second, that video proves you and your deputy were behind—”
“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Luke launched up from her chair and pointed her pistol at MacLean. “Do you have this video?”
MacLean nodded.
“Then let’s watch it, before I shoot every person in this room and then myself.”
The dog barked and resumed tail-thumping.
“Fine by me. Over there in the wall safe behind the desk.”
Chapter 32
The video player on MacLean’s desktop computer showed a split screen—one side with Deputy Baine sitting at an interrogation table, the other with Gail Olson sitting opposite him. Tiny numbers in the corner of each image ticked off in unison.
Wolf had seen the video before, but the last time had been just after his fall, which hardly counted for a conscious state.
He remembered Gail Olson being stronger. Now, on the screen, he noticed that makeup streamed from her eyes and her hands shook as she waited for Baine to speak. It was as if Wolf were watching it for the first time all over again.
“Ms. Olson, can you please state your name for the record.” Baine’s voice sounded as if he was speaking into an aluminum can.
She cleared her throat and sniffed. “Gail Olson.”
“And Ms. Olson, can you please tell me what these are?” Baine pushed some pictures in front of her.
She lowered her eyes but was otherwise unmoved. “Pictures of me and Deputy Tom Rachette of the Sluice County Sheriff’s Department.”
“And what are you doing in this photo here?”
Gail leaned forward and then sat straight. “I’m handing him a backpack.”
“What’s in the backpack?”
“A few pieces of clothing and … two pounds of marijuana.”
Baine whooped. “Two pounds of marijuana?”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice.
“Can you please speak up so the recorder can hear you?” Baine tapped the microphone on the desk and the computer speakers thumped.