When the Wolf Prowls

by Vanessa Prelatte

  “Wow – must have been a really bad marriage.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Rafe responded grimly.

  “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe she is ready for a new relationship. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “I’m happy with just being friends. I enjoy her company, but Lotti isn’t really my type.”

  “What is your type, Rafe? Women like my sister? Now let me see: how did that work out for you? Hmm, yes – badly, as I recall. Here’s a thought – maybe you should try dating someone who goes against type for a change, see what happens.”

  Rafe shot her a glance.

  “It’s not like you have the greatest track record yourself, Tara. Tell you what: I’ll make a deal with you. You let me have some input on your next boyfriend, and I’ll consider asking Lotti out on a real date.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Tara paused for a beat before adding, “By the way, Cynthia called the house last night.”

  “Did she now? That surprises me. What did she want?”

  “She’d heard I was back in town and staying with you. She is not, repeat not, happy about it. She told me to put you on the phone at once; she wanted to speak with you.”

  “What did she say when you told her I was in the hospital?”

  “She was surprised. Didn’t sound that concerned, though. Typical of my sister, unfortunately.”

  As if on cue, the door swung open then, and Rafe groaned inwardly as his ex-wife strode into the hospital room.

  Before greeting either one of them, Cynthia eyed her sister disdainfully. “Where did you get that outfit?” she inquired. “The local thrift shop for the homeless?”

  Tara flushed and ran her hand over her jeans. They were faded, as was the T-shirt she wore with them, but they were clean.

  “What do you care what I wear?” Tara countered. “It’s none of your business.”

  Cynthia shrugged. “Maybe not,” she said. “I just thought you might like to take a little more pride in your appearance, that’s all.”

  “Knock it off, Cynthia. Leave the kid alone,” Rafe growled.

  Cynthia shrugged again. “If you insist. How are you feeling, Rafe?”

  “I’ve felt better. What are you doing here?”

  Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at Tara. “Why don’t you go for a walk, Tara. I want to talk to Rafe alone.”

  Tara glanced at Rafe. “Go ahead, Tara. I’ll be fine,” he said.

  After Tara had left the room, Rafe turned to his ex-wife. “I repeat: What are you doing here, Cynthia?”

  “I heard that you were in the hospital. I was worried, so I came to check up on you.”

  “Try again, Cyn. I know you, remember? You’ve got some other agenda.”

  “I heard that Tara is living with you.”

  “For the time being, yes. She needed a safe place to stay for a while, and I was happy to take her in,” Rafe said, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back.

  “You should be more careful, Rafe. It isn’t wise, you know, to take in strays.”

  “Is that all your sister is to you, then? A stray?”

  “No. She’s also a screw-up and a loser. Are you sleeping with her?”

  “What if I am? What possible business could it be of yours? We’re divorced, remember?”

  “We may be divorced, but people are going to find it odd – you having sex with your ex-wife’s sister. You need to think about appearances, Rafe.”

  “That’s all that ever mattered to you, isn’t it – appearances. Well, for your information, I don’t give a damn about appearances. In fact, if I choose to screw around with all the female members of your family, up to and including your great-grandmother, you have no say in the matter. So butt-out, Cynthia.”

  “I can make life difficult for you, Rafe.”

  “How? By cheating on me? Oh, wait a minute – you already did that.”

  “There are other ways. You’re in a vulnerable position, Rafe. Police officers are becoming more and more unpopular, all over the country. You can’t afford any scandal.”

  A voice from the doorway answered her this time. “You need to leave. Get out of here, Cynthia.”

  Rafe turned his head toward the door. Gabe stood in the doorway, his eyes on fire, even though his voice was cold as ice.

  Cynthia considered her ex-brother-in-law. “You never did like me, did you, Gabe?”

  “No, never. Not even in the beginning. You’re bad news, Cynthia. And you’re the last thing my brother needs in his present condition. Now, are you going to go willingly, or do I have to call hospital security?”

  Cynthia tossed her head and rolled her eyes. “No need to get ugly. I’m done here anyway.” She gathered up her things, cast a last withering gaze at Rafe, and walked out.

  “Good riddance,” Gabe said under his breath. He moved across the room to stand by Rafe’s bed.

  “Are you going to fluff my pillow up for me?” Rafe asked innocently.

  A stunned expression crossed Gabe’s face. “Fluff your pillow up for you? Are you out of your mind?”

  “No, just reassuring myself that I’m in no further danger.”

  “Further danger? Don’t tell me that Cynthia offered to fluff up your pillow, because I don’t believe it.”

  “No, not Cynthia. But Tara was here, along with my partner’s cousin-in-law and her bestie.”

  “All three of them at once?” Gabe said, looking around uneasily.

  “Uh-huh. Don’t worry though. The cousin – Lotti – and her friend left a few minutes before Cynthia arrived. Tara’s still around here somewhere, though.”

  Gabe settled into the visitor’s chair and said, “Don’t worry. When Tara returns, if she even looks like she’s thinking about fluffing up your pillow, I’ll run interference for you. Women! What is it about them that makes them fuss so when a man is sick?”

  “I think most of them have a recessive gene for nursing,” Rafe confessed.

  Gabe lifted an eyebrow. “Does that include your partner?” he inquired.

  “Dawn? No. She generally takes a more astringent approach. Something along the lines of ‘If you need anything, let me know. Otherwise, do what you need to do to recuperate and get your ass back on the job as soon as possible’.”

  “Sounds like my kind of woman,” Gabe said. “I hate being fussed over when I’m sick.”

  Rafe didn’t respond. His thoughts were elsewhere, chiefly occupied with what he would give to be back on his feet again and down in the remote town of Tenby, teamed up once again with Dawn.

  Chapter 37

  As Dawn and Rick left the hospital in Tenby, Dawn’s cell phone signaled. She glanced at the caller ID and said to Rick, “Finally.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Marc’s foster parents. Zenith and Barnabas Weatherbee. Here. Let me put it on speaker.” She picked up the call, saying, “Hello, this is Detective Cimarron. Thank you for returning my call.”

  A female voice responded, “I’m sorry we didn’t get back to you sooner, Detective. My husband and I were away on vacation. We just got back. I understand from your message that you have some questions for us about our adopted son?”

  “Yes. Damon Foxe. I understand he goes by his middle name, though.”

  “Oh, yes. He always wanted to be called Marc.”

  “We really need to get in touch with him, Mrs. Weatherbee. Do you know where he is right now?”

  “Why? Is Marc in trouble? Did he do something wrong?”

  “We need to talk with him in connection to a case we’re investigating right now. Can you tell us where we can find him?”

  “Oh, dear – I’m afraid not. Barney and I had a falling out with Marc a couple of years ago. It was very sad. He broke off all contact with us. We haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

  “Can you tell us what you do know about his whereabouts? Where was he when he last spoke to you, for example.”

  “Actually, he was in Sterling, visiting his
father. Did you know that he got back into contact with Jed?”

  “Yes, we heard that Marc visited his father several times just before he died. Was that what caused the problems between you?”

  “I’m afraid so. We love Marc. We couldn’t have children of our own, so we felt so lucky to have him. You couldn’t have asked for a better son. So polite, so obedient, so responsible. A straight-A student in school. Everything was wonderful – until he got married. Then it all started falling apart.”

  “His wife left him?”

  “Yes, and she treated him so callously over the whole thing. He was like a father to her children, but after the divorce, she refused to let him ever see them again. Can you imagine that?”

  Dawn and Rick exchanged glances, but didn’t respond to Mrs. Weatherbee’s last question. Instead, Rick asked, “Was that when he got back in touch with his own father?”

  “Yes, and without a word to us about it. He just got into his car and drove to Sterling, asked to see Jed. That’s when he found out what Barney and I had done.”

  “What you had done? What are you referring to, Mrs. Weatherbee?” Dawn inquired.

  “He found out about the letters.”

  “The letters?” Rick prompted.

  “Yes. The letters from his father. You see, after Marc came to stay with Barney and me, Jed wrote to Marc every week at first. But we never gave the letters to Marc. We thought it was best to keep him away from Jed, have no contact with him. We also never posted any of the letters Marc himself wrote to his father, although we told him that we did. Well, when he found out that Jed had never received any of his letters, Marc blew up at us. He also accused us of brainwashing him, telling him lies about his father. Which wasn’t fair, you know. We rarely spoke to Marc about Jed. But we admitted the truth about withholding the letters. Marc never forgave us for that. He cut us completely out of his life.”

  “What about girlfriends, Mrs. Weatherbee?” Dawn asked. “Aside from his ex-wife,was there anyone special?”

  “Not so much in high school. In college, he did have a girlfriend – Hannah. He was crazy about her. He was kind of bashful about discussing his romantic relationships, though. We never knew much about Hannah, never met her. But I did speak to her on the phone occasionally, and one time, when I called her Hannah, she laughed and said that only Marc ever called her that. It was sort of a pet name, she said. Her real name was Alison. Alison Garnter.”

  Rick snapped his fingers and stabbed his index finger at Dawn, but she was way ahead of him and was already looking up everything she could find on Alison Garnter.

  “Mrs. Weatherbee, what about friends?” Rick persisted. “Would any of Marc’s friends have any idea about where we can contact him?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Mrs. Weatherbee admitted, “Marc never had many friends. I’ll call those I know of and ask if they’ve heard from him, but I doubt that any of them will be able to help. Marc’s pretty much a loner, you see.”

  “And his ex-wife? Does he still keep in touch with her?”

  “Heavens, no. She’s remarried now, and she wants nothing to do with Marc. Last I heard, she and her new husband had relocated their entire family to Germany. They both found good jobs there, from what I understand.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee. You’ve been very helpful. Look, if you do find out any more information about where Marc is living, would you give us a call? It’s very important.”

  “I’ll do that. Are you sure that Marc isn’t in any trouble?”

  “Like we told you before, we need to talk to Marc in connection with a case we’re currently investigating. We’re not one hundred percent sure of how he is connected to the case, but he may have information that is vital to us.”

  “Well, in that case, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee. Goodbye.”

  Rick ended the call and turned to Dawn.

  “Son of a …. No wonder all the leads we’ve been following have been dead ends. We’ve been looking for a woman named Hannah. Man, I’m getting tired of the way Marc and his father can’t seem to call anyone by their correct names. What have you managed to find out about Alison Garnter?”

  “She’s thirty-one years old. Parents deceased. She married a man named Benton Coalbank thirteen years ago. Also deceased, as of last year.”

  “Children?”

  “Two. Sherrilynn, age six, and Daniel, age twelve.”

  Rick gave a soundless whistle. “Danny,” he said. “That’s what the woman in the hospital said. She wasn’t trying to name her assailant. She was trying to give us a message about her son. Do we have a current address for her?”

  “Looks like the current address is not far from here. Alison and her kids are living on the Coalbank Ranch, ten miles outside the town of Cliffsend.”

  “Cliffsend? Never heard of it. What’s the closest large town?”

  “Rye.”

  “Okay. I’m going to call in the State Patrol as well as the local County Sheriff’s office to meet us at the Coalbank Ranch. There’s a chance that Kit Blakewood is still alive and Marc is holding her there. Plus, there are kids involved, so I want as much back-up as possible.”

  “Right. Meanwhile, I’ll get in touch with my people and give them an update. See if there is any way they can verify that the woman in the hospital is Alison Garnter Coalbank.” She looked at Rick. “How fast can you get us there?”

  Instead of answering, Rick put the car into gear. The powerful engine roared. With a screech of tires and a cloud of dust, the car hurtled at top speed south, toward the town of Cliffsend and the Coalbank Ranch.

  *****

  As Dawn and Rick dashed south toward their destination, Ty and Brody touched down at the airport in Mountpelier. Ty had teased Brody unmercifully the entire way about the text he had received from Griff.

  “Keep it up, Lew, and you’re going to be chewing on some teeth,” Brody growled. “Knock it off and listen up. I’m gonna need your help with something.”

  Ty raised his eyebrows. “How about you define ‘something’ before proceeding?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing major. I just need some help pulling off a jail-break.”

  “A jail-break? Sounds like fun.”

  And just what he needed to get his mind off his unresolved issues with Dawn, Ty reflected.

  Chapter 38

  “The woman in Mountpelier General Hospital is Alison Coalbank,” Dawn announced triumphantly.

  Rick swung the wheel to navigate a tricky curve in the road before responding. “Your people have positively identified her?”

  “Yes. They used the fingerprints from her driver’s license application to make the identification. It’s definitely Alison.”

  “What’s her current prognosis?”

  “The doctors at the hospital are cautiously optimistic. She’s opened her eyes a couple of times, and she’s also intermittently moving in response to directions.”

  “That’s good news. Hang on for a minute.”

  Rick hit the sirens in order to pass some slow-moving traffic. Once this task was accomplished, he commented, “Not much farther now.”

  “How do you want to handle the situation when we get to the house?”

  “It depends on how much cover there is. If there are enough trees and bushes around to conceal our approach, we’ll park the car out of sight and approach the house under cover for an initial scan while we wait for back-up to arrive.”

  They had discovered that all of the officers from the County Sheriff’s office were preoccupied with finding a child who had been reported missing. The little boy had been on a camping trip with his parents and had apparently wandered off in the middle of the night. The State Patrol had units available, but they were still an estimated twenty minutes away.

  “This is it,” Rick announced. He turned off the winding country road onto a gravel-paved driveway. He was gratified to see that trees and shrubs conc
ealed the house from view. Inching the car forward until he could just see the roof of the house through the treetops, he killed the engine and let the car coast to a stop.

  After reporting their current status to the back-up patrol units, Dawn and Rick exited the car and began a cautious approach toward the house through the trees. From behind the shelter of a large fir tree, they examined the ranch house. The two-storied wood and clapboard house was fronted by a wide front porch. A pair of gambrel dormers were set on either side of the central section of the house.

  “Look at the number of chimneys.” Rick’s voice was barely a whisper in the wind. “I’ll bet there must be at least six bedrooms upstairs.”

  Dawn opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again quickly as a tall man emerged from the front door and out onto the porch. They could see him clenching a gun in his right hand. Descending the steps leading up to the porch, the man turned to the right, walking rapidly toward the side of the house.

  Dawn and Rick exchanged a look. They couldn’t wait for back-up. Not when the man had a gun in his hand and they knew that there could be children in the house. Rick counted down on his fingers, and then they sprang into action. Emerging from their cover, they sprinted toward the man.

  “Police! Drop the gun!” Rick shouted.

  The man froze in his tracks. The gun fell from his hand.

  “Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly,” Rick ordered.

  As soon as the man turned to face them, it was clear to both Dawn and Rick that he wasn’t the man they were looking for. This man looked nothing like Marc Foxe. With his brush-cut hair, ramrod-straight posture, and intense, watchful eyes, the man might as well have been wearing a sign painted in bright red letters that screamed “Military”.

  “I’d like to see some identification, please,” the man said coolly.

  “You first,” Rick retorted. “Use your left hand. Take your ID out of your pocket with two fingers and toss it over here. Gently.”

  The man complied. Dawn retrieved the ID while Rick kept his gun on the man.

  Dawn examined the man’s ID. “Lucas Coalbank,” she read. “Major, U.S. Army.”