Punish (Feral Justice Book 1)

by Vella Munn

  “Hon, I don’t wan you gettin hurt.”

  His expression clearly said he was talking about more than a complex relationship. “What happens is out of my control. He’ll lose his job if he doesn’t tell people what he knows. I hate this!”

  “This?”

  Not only did she need to get to work, she didn’t want to risk wearing her dad out. No choice but to get to the point.

  “We’re all trapped. Dad, I told Nate what I’ve learned about the Hopi. When you and I have time—it sounds crazy but I’m convinced Hopi spirituality has a lot to do with what the grays did. They—something beyond their control is—the grays mean so much to you. I wish you could go back to trying to share your bed with them. Simple pleasures. I don’t want Nate having to choose between enforcing the law and trying to protect the grays.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. I don’t thint he does either.”

  * * * *

  When Nate pulled up at the humane society center, the familiar sounds of barking dogs greeted him. He’d managed to get a shower before his cell phone rang. To his relief, the call wasn’t from Crosby, because he needed more time to pull his half-formed and desperate plan together. A woman had made the painful decision not to try to keep her mother’s two cats after her mother’s death last week. She was temporarily without transportation and could someone come by and pick up the cats?

  The woman, who lived in an apartment complex that didn’t allow pets, had been so grateful and the cats so outgoing that Nate felt buoyed by this example of what was good about his job.

  He’d just loaded the cats into the back of the SUV when he received another call. Opal Sather demanded to know when the hell he was going to do something about her neighbor. Last night Marti’s horses had pushed down the sad excuse for a fence and gotten into her garden. She’d chased the horses out and put the fence back up as best she could, but this was the last straw. The last!

  If at all possible, he’d told her, he’d talk to Marti. He’d all but hung up on Opal when she’d demanded to know when he was going to do something about the killer dogs. It had taken a great deal of self-control not to tell her he’d give anything to have nothing more than neighbor feuds to deal with.

  Could he? Spend just a few hours simply doing his job?

  “You look as if someone pushed buttons you didn’t want pushed,” Irene said, opening the door for him.

  “Opal Sather.”

  His fellow officer groaned. “What is that old bat up to now? The last time I talked to her, she was up in arms because rabbits had dined on her garden and when was I going to trap and remove them.”

  “She’s off rabbits and onto Marti Nedrow’s horses.”

  “Again. She might have a point there. What’s he doing with so many?”

  “I’ve asked. His explanations make no sense, which might be his intention.”

  Irene waited until Nate turned the purring felines over to the intake volunteer. “Ah look,” Irene said, “if you need to talk—I’ve been thinking about the pressure you’ve been under since that mess at the puppy mill.”

  “We’re all under the same pressure.”

  “I didn’t see what happened, you did. And you talked to the poor kid who’d lost his dad.”

  Fighting the memories that went with her words, he picked up one of the cats and held it under his chin.

  “That was rough,” he admitted.

  “And like you said, it has touched all of us. I didn’t get in from the field until going on seven last night. Crosby let me know he couldn’t authorize overtime and I needed to manage my time better.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “He’s been getting pressure from the county commissioners. I know the commissioners are under the gun to make sure residents are safe.”

  “And they’re dumping everything on our agency,” Nate said. “Starting with the manager.”

  Irene nodded. “The public doesn’t know what we deal with all the time. The situation with the grays is making it worse.”

  He’d been on the job less than a year when he’d been called out to deal with a cat hoarder. Even though he’d been warned what to expect, the smell had overwhelmed him. The hoarder was a man of indeterminate age with limited intelligence squatting in a trailer on land owned by an uncle who lived in another state. Neighbors had called in reporting that some fifty cats were trapped in the trailer. The final count turned out to be sixty-nine.

  Despite the man’s attempts to do right by the cats, the grown ones hadn’t been socialized and about a quarter of the kittens were unhealthy. That day signified a fundamental change in the way he approached his job. Determined to hold on to his sanity, he’d turned off a switch in his mind. Working with loving owners and the animals in their lives was hands down the most enjoyable thing he did, but when he came face to face with abandoned, neglected or abused animals he emotionally distanced himself from the situation. Simply did his job. Tried to, at least.

  Cuddling the cat brought him back in touch with the good.

  And made him determined to distance himself from the connection that had sprung up between him and the grays.

  The Force.

  * * * *

  “Why didn’t you tell me before this?”

  Much as Nate wanted to break eye contact with the deputy, Douglas and he had been friends too long for that. Besides, Crosby had asked the same thing while they were waiting for the deputy to arrive.

  “I’m telling you now,” Nate said. “That’s going to have to be good enough.”

  “What about you?” Douglas asked Crosby. “Are you hearing something new or have you known about this since—”

  “He told me some of it yesterday.” Crosby stared across his desk at Nate as if he’d never seen him. “I wanted to call law enforcement then, but he refused to give me complete information about the owner’s name.”

  “Damn it, Nate,” Douglas said, “you and I go back years. We’ve golfed together, frozen our asses off at more high school football games than I want to think about. You bought my son a bat and ball when he was born.”

  “Don’t,” Nate snapped. “At least not until you’ve heard everything.”

  “Am I going to get the whole story?”

  When he’d gone into Crosby’s office, Nate had told the manager he was ready to talk to law enforcement about what he knew, but it had to be his way. Crosby hadn’t been any happier than Douglas was right now, just a little less outspoken. However, despite the tension, bottom line was nothing would happen without his cooperation.

  “The grays’ owner is Joe Landrieu,” he told Douglas, “only the man doesn’t see it that way. He considers them his companions. I won’t go into what we know of their background because—”

  “We?” Douglas interrupted.

  “Joe’s stepdaughter, Rachelle Reames. She did some research that might help explain why they’ve done what they have.”

  “What did she come up with?” Douglas frowned. “Vampires? Werewolves?”

  Nate planted his hands on his chair arms and started to stand. “Don’t.”

  “All right.” Douglas ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  Whether his friend was or wasn’t sorry didn’t matter. Only getting through to him did. Choosing his words as carefully as possible, he filled the two men in about the small pack going to where Lobo was and encouraging him to break free. He didn’t mention Wayde by name, but Wayde might be the only person in the county with wolf-dogs so it wouldn’t be hard for them to make the connection.

  “Have you seen Lobo since he escaped?” Crosby asked.

  Knowing he had no choice, he nodded. “Yes. He’s running with the grays.”

  “Shit. In other words,” Douglas spoke slowly, “you’ve seen all of them.”

  “Early this morning at Joe’s place.” Just saying the words took him back to that magical-mysterious time when it seemed as if he’d turned his soul over to the animals—or the Fo
rce had claimed it.

  The spell or whatever it had been was behind him. He was himself again. Maybe.

  “Crap.” Douglas shuddered. “You’re freaking me out. What were you doing there so early?”

  “I’d spent the night.” Say it. Get it out there. “With Rachelle.”

  “So you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

  “She isn’t the enemy!” Calm down. “Joe raised the grays from puppies. She’s protective of him, especially now that he’s had a stroke.”

  Douglas held up his hand. “That’s her problem. Okay, let me get this straight. The two of you crawled out of the sheets and what, opened the door and welcomed the mutts in?”

  Nate couldn’t remain sitting. Once his legs were under him, he glared at the deputy. “It wasn’t like that. We were leaving for work and—look, I didn’t do anything to call them in.” He paused. “They were just there.”

  “Maybe they’d followed you.”

  The room lost a little definition, as if fog were drifting in. Angry and a little scared, he blinked repeatedly.

  “Believe me or not, I don’t give a damn. They only stayed a few minutes and Lobo didn’t come close enough to touch.”

  “You touched the others?” Crosby asked.

  “One of the males.” He hadn’t gotten much sleep so maybe that was why he couldn’t decide what to say and what to keep to himself. How to keep the fog from enveloping him. “They came. They left. I don’t know where they went.”

  “Maybe Joe and Rachelle do,” Douglas suggested.

  Concentrate. “Joe’s in the hospital. Besides, despite my attempts to educate Joe about the danger, they’ve always been free to roam. If you knew him you’d understand why he feels the way he does. I suspect they go pretty much everywhere.”

  “That’s irresponsible.”

  “He had his reasons. They could be halfway across the county by now, especially if the wolf-dog is hunting for them.” Or if the Force is still in charge.

  “That could be,” Crosby said. “Wolves are always on the move.”

  Douglas gnawed on his lower lip. “This is bad. Wolves are natural killers.”

  “Not killers, predators.”

  “Swell. Now we have a predator hooked up with three massive beasts hell-bent on playing judge and jury.”

  They don’t have a choice. Masau or the Force—maybe they’re the same—controls their actions.

  “This can’t go on,” Nate said. No way was the fog going to win! He was an animal control officer, not a pawn like Joe was. “If they’re around, the grays are going to reconnect with Joe, maybe also with Rachelle because she has proven they can trust her. My point is, Joe, Rachelle and I represent your best chance of getting your hands on the animals.”

  “Not my hands.” Douglas fingered the pistol at his waist.

  “I don’t want to see them killed,” Crosby said. “That’s not why I got in this business and, between the three of us, I applaud what they’ve done. I think you two do too—like a lot of people. But they have a death warrant hanging over them.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said.

  Douglas shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Before he could respond, fragmented images took hold. He saw the grays as contented lumps on Joe’s bed, watched as they drove the screaming puppy mill owners to the ground.

  Fight. Don’t let it take over.

  “Like you just said, a large segment of the public views the grays as heroes. There’ll be a tremendous backlash if they’re killed.”

  Douglas’ slow blink served as the agreement he was looking for.

  “What are you thinking?” Crosby asked.

  “Life behind bars, but life. The bars—fencing really—paid for by public donations. Cared for by volunteers that meet certain criteria.”

  “You think that could happen?” Douglas asked.

  “Yes.” I don’t know but there’s no other option. “Once I have assurance they’ll be granted amnesty, I’ll do everything I can to draw them to me, capture them.” He nodded at Crosby. “That’s one thing I know how to do. Also, I believe I can get Joe and Rachelle to work with me.”

  “Amnesty? I can’t make that kind of decision,” Douglas said. “Neither can the sheriff. Something like that’s up to a court.”

  “I know. It has to happen, it has to.”

  “Why?” Douglas demanded. “Nate, this isn’t worth you risking everything for.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  * * * *

  “Listen to yourself,” Crosby said once Douglas had left. “You’ve lost objectivity.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s my job to make sure my officers are able to function.” He pressed his fingers against his temple. “I deal with the press and county commissioners and try to act as a buffer between you and the public so you and the others can do your jobs. What I can’t do is straighten out your thinking. Nate, the commission president called me first thing this morning. In addition to demanding an update on the investigation, he specifically asked about you.”

  “I’ve never met the man.”

  “His job isn’t easy and lately it’s gotten even harder. The man has his finger on the pulse of nearly everything that happens in the county. He knows you were directly involved in investigating all three killings. He asked how you were handling things. Now I’m asking you the question.”

  “It isn’t easy,” he admitted. “I don’t want the grays or Lobo to be put down. I’ll do whatever I have to trying to keep that from happening.”

  “It’s the only thing you’re thinking about, right?”

  Crosby was getting at something he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Leery of stepping into a trap, he waited.

  Crosby leaned forward. “I’ll give you your choice. Either take a few days off or, once you’ve gotten on the judge’s schedule, go back to doing your job.”

  “My job? What do you think what I’m proposing is?”

  “Obsession. Nate, thousands of eyes, including that of law enforcement, are looking for the grays and Lobo. If they’re still in the county, someone’s going to see them. Hopefully whoever it is will call us or the police.”

  “Or if it’s the wrong person, they’ll shoot.”

  “That’s possible. I understand your desire to get the canines safely locked up, but you can’t do it on your own. We have to take advantage of the public’s eyes. As for using Joe to draw them in—he’s still in the hospital, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the grays and Lobo might be long gone. Either go fishing or to work. I don’t want to have to fire you.”

  “You’d—”

  “If I have no choice, yes. You’re on the edge. I’m trying to prevent you from falling off it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nate had called while Rachelle was in the classroom but, dreading what he might say, she hadn’t listened to his message until the lunch break. His comment had been brief. He was doing what he could to save Smoke, Gun, Stone and Lobo but needed Joe’s and her cooperation. Would she please call him as soon as she could? She’d had to listen to it twice because the first time she’d been distracted by the sound of his voice.

  “I’m glad you called,” he said by way of hello. “Are you where you can talk?”

  “I’m alone in my classroom. What is this about?”

  She listened without interrupting as he outlined what he was trying to pull off. After getting the head of the society’s volunteers excited about his plan, Crosby had given him reluctant approval to move ahead. He was trying to get an appointment with the judge who heard most animal abuse cases so he could make his case for letting the animals live, at least for the time being. Hope tempered by caution played out in his tone.

  “I wish I didn’t have to do it this way,” he said. “I’d like to keep Joe and you out of it, but I don’t see how.”

  “The media—”

  “Hopefully
they won’t get wind of your involvement until the judge has ruled.”

  “I don’t care about me. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’m planning to see my dad as soon as I can after my last class. Could you join me? That way the three of us can talk.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. The administrator has me on a short leash.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated. So you’re willing to at least listen to where I am with my planning?”

  Her classroom faced the pasture where the grays had taken down the poacher. Just thinking about them stalking an armed Taggart Griffin made her feel close to the animals. Their heritage commanded them. In many respects they were as trapped as Dad, Nate and she were.

  “What choice do I have?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly she wanted to make him the villain. If it weren’t for the damnable agency he worked for—no, that wasn’t right. The grays had ended three human lives. The legal system demanded—what?

  “I have to go,” she said. Even though he deserved more, she broke the connection. Why did knowing him—having sex with him—have to complicate what was already a nightmare?

  * * * *

  Marti Nedrow owned three properties on the six-mile-long Ball Road situated the county’s southern edge. His current girlfriend and he lived in an older ranch house on acreage slightly northwest of the other properties. The land in the middle consisted of some five acres, and he kept a half dozen or so horses on the rocky, overgrazed land. To the south and closest to his nemesis, Opal Sather, was where he kept most of his herd.

  Nate didn’t know why there was so much animosity between the two. Oh, Opal had a long and vocal list of complaints about Marti. She’d just never been clear about why she refused to see any good in the man.

  Marti pretty much felt the same way about Opal. If anything, Marti used more profanity to describe what he called “the old bitch” than she did to paint a picture of him. If animals weren’t involved, Nate would have found the feud funny. Marti had never called the humane society to complain about Opal, but then she kept her pigmy goats and other animals penned up as far from Marti’s land as she could.