Fire and Ice: A Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 3)

by Dustin Stevens

  The odds of her needing her hands anytime soon weren’t good, but she still had far too much invested in them to risk frostbite.

  Yvonne moved back for the door. She rolled her shoulders up to her ears and curled her hands into fists, keeping them tucked away deep inside her pockets as she took a single step, the sliding door opening, the heater again kicking on above her.

  It was then, standing just a few feet away from the warmth and safety of the reception area, that she noticed the glow rising from the east and made a decision that would change her life forever.

  Part II

  Chapter Seven

  I have never been one for deep sleep. Even as a young man, my subconscious tended to stay just below the surface. No matter how exhausted I might have been, it was rare that I would succumb to total darkness, my mind, my awareness, refusing to leave me.

  Over time, the skill has served me well, playing a role during both my time in the navy and later the DEA, sleeping in strange locations, being involved in difficult investigations, resting within yards of a hostile enemy.

  None were conditions for slipping into a coma-like trance. Not only would doing so make me an easy target, it would lengthen the time needed for my body to pull back from it, to shift from rest into an alerted state.

  Because of that, when the pounding sounded against the door of the cheap hotel room I had rented for a few nights, my body reacted the same way it always did. There was no exorcism-style rise from the darkness that had to take place, no sudden jolt that caused me to sit upright beneath the thin covers of the bed, lights popping before my eyes, trying to gain my bearings.

  Instead, only two things moved, both in tandem.

  First, my eyes opened, staring straight up at the ceiling above me. The pale color, despite the late hour, told me that the snow had most likely continued, the whiteout just beyond the window allowing an exaggerated light to seep in around the curtains.

  The only other movement came from my right arm, extending straight out at the shoulder, my hand wrapped around the grip of a Smith & Wesson, my pulse remaining even as I sat and waited.

  The knocks came in a burst of three. There was a short pause, my body remaining completely motionless, before a second trio began.

  Not quite threatening, but definitely loud enough to be heard.

  “Jeremiah Tate.”

  The voice was male. Despite the fact that it had been muffled by the closed door, it was obvious that the man was older, or at least older than my 35 years.

  His use of my full name also told me that it was likely somebody in law enforcement, having run the plates on my truck and gotten back the legal name on the registration. Nobody else in the world, from my parents to my school teachers growing up to my friends now, ever called me Jeremiah.

  To anybody I had known for longer a minute, I was Hawk. It was even the name I had registered the room under, telling me further that the person wasn’t merely a motel employee.

  Besides, they would have used the phone for that.

  How I knew all of this from just two words harkened back to skills earned in a different life, the kinds of things that don’t just leave a man, no matter how hard he tries to forget them.

  “Jeremiah, this is Sheriff Rake Ferris. Can we talk?”

  This time there were nine words, giving me more information to work with. The first and most obvious was what he said, asking if we could speak. There was no demand that I open up, no trying to impose his position.

  There was the possibility that it was all just a ruse, a simple trick to get my guard down, but it seemed unlikely. Not at this hour, not in the middle of a blizzard that had arisen from nowhere and seemed to be settling in for the long haul.

  Second was the fact that he had used his full name. If this were somebody merely trying to pose as the sheriff, to get me to open the door blind, they wouldn’t have bothered.

  During the previous winter I had seen enough election signs around to know that Rake Ferris was the name of the sheriff in Valley County. It seemed even more unlikely somebody would use a real name and not be who they said they were, though not impossible.

  No malice seemed apparent in his tone. The words were delivered just loud enough to be heard, enough to call out to me directly and nobody else.

  Blinking twice, I sorted all this information as best I could. Doing so only seemed to bring about a host of questions, starting with how he had managed to track me down and ending with why he had bothered. In between there were dozens more.

  Pushing the gun under the pillow, a third round of knocking started.

  The weapon was registered, everything legal, but I still didn’t want to go through the process of explaining why it was out, in a motel room in the middle of the night.

  Again, the kind of knowledge one accumulates living the kind of life I have.

  “Just a second,” I called, folding the blankets down to my waist and sitting up. In quick order I did an inventory of the room around me, looking over what little gear I had, a sizeable percentage of everything I owned sitting in a duffel bag on the floor or hanging in the closet.

  The aging carpet beneath me was cool to the touch as I stepped out and grabbed up my jeans from the armchair beside the bed. Without pausing to pull on socks, I shoved my toes down into a pair of hiking shoes and pulled a Henley on over my head, not bothering to remove the ribbed tank top I had been sleeping in.

  Stepping over to the corner of the room, I braced my shoulder against the wall and peered through the narrow crack between it and the curtains covering the front window. The opening provided me just enough of an angle to see a few feet of the front walk and nothing more.

  Standing right outside my door was a man who looked to be in his mid-50s, though it was difficult to be sure, most of his face obscured by the white cowboy hat on his head. A clear plastic cover was cinched into place around it, snowflakes and drops of water dotting the surface.

  He was by no means a large man, looking to be several inches below 6’ tall, wearing boots, jeans, and an enormous canvas coat that swallowed most of his upper body.

  Most important, both hands hung empty by his sides, held out in plain view despite the cold.

  Running a hand back over my scalp, I stepped across the room and unlatched the chain, pulling the door open to be greeted by a gust of Montana wind. It blew right through my clothes, sucking most of the heat from behind me.

  “Jeremiah Tate?” the sheriff asked, making no attempt to step forward, his voice still non-threatening. “Can we talk?”

  Chapter Eight

  Without his hat on I could get a good look at the sheriff, my original assessment pretty accurate. He still had the majority of his hair, though it carried a few swirls of gray in it, the same for his handlebar moustache.

  The man wore a Montana life for all to see, heavy squint lines around his eyes displaying someone used to braving the elements. His skin had moved past what one would call tan and into a state that was permanently closer to leather.

  Sheriff Rake Ferris was seated in the armchair that was previously serving as a clothes rack for my jeans, the hat turned crown side down on the table beside him. A small puddle had formed beneath it from the snow and water that had ran down from the protective covering.

  He sat with both hands resting flat on his thighs, his left leg bobbing up and down in an urgent pace. The coat still covered the top half of his body, despite the warmth in the room.

  “I’m sorry for showing up like this, waking you up in the middle of the night,” he began, his voice carrying a touch of gravel, the result of a lifetime spent with cigars, whiskey, or both. He paused, waiting for some form of acknowledgement, and when I gave none, he added, “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here unless it was important.”

  I had expected as much upon seeing him standing outside the door. For most of the preceding 24 hours I had been confined to the motel due to the weather, something that several people could vouch to. There was no way they coul
d actually be interested in me for anything, the previous day being the first I had spent in Glasgow in more than a month.

  My last time in the area had ended in a rather raucous manner, but that was well outside the town and had been vetted by the DEA office in Billings.

  Ferris looked at me a moment as if waiting for me to say something. When nothing came back he pressed his lips together and nodded.

  “Two hours ago a doctor was abducted from Valley Memorial Hospital,” Ferris said, causing my eyebrows to rise.

  “Abducted,” I repeated, flicking my gaze to the window, toward the snow I knew was piled up outside.

  Scattered thoughts passed through my head as I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said and why he’d possibly come to see me about it. I knew, based on his demeanor and the conversation we were having, that he didn’t consider me a suspect, though beyond that I didn’t know much for certain.

  “Meaning?” I prompted.

  Ferris drew in a short breath, his leg continuing to move up and down like a sewing machine.

  “An hour and a half ago we got a call from the front desk at the hospital. Yvonne Endicott was the doctor on duty today, and due to the storm she was forced to stay. Her replacement couldn’t make it in.”

  I nodded, pulling my hands from my jeans and folding my arms over my chest. The name meant nothing to me, my mind doing a quick inventory before dismissing it as I continued to listen.

  “I guess someone stumbled in from the bar down the street with half a beer glass jammed through his hand. The nurses thought Dr. Endicott had gone to lie down, but when they checked the call rooms, she was nowhere to be found.”

  It seemed that Ferris had practiced the speech a time or two on his way over, the sentences coming out in a rapid-fire cadence, matching his leg as it continued to move.

  “There are a limited number of cameras on the grounds, so they had the security guard run a check back over the last half hour.”

  He paused there for a moment, so I asked, “And they saw her be abducted?”

  “Mhm,” Ferris said, “in a manner of speaking, anyway. The cameras are angled down to cover the entrances, but nothing out in the parking lot.

  “All they saw was Endicott standing outside, just getting some air, when something caught her attention. She turned around and waited there as a pair of headlights swept over her.”

  Again, he took a moment, his eyes twitching slightly, as if he were watching the scene in his head without wanting to.

  “As the lights got closer, she stepped off the sidewalk into the snow. Made it a step or two, right up to the edge of the camera’s vision, before realizing she was in trouble.”

  There was a twinge of sorrow added to the last sentence that I didn’t bother to comment on as I pressed ahead. “Did the camera see who grabbed her?”

  “Two men, both dressed in dark colors, hoods pulled over their heads. Like I said, they were right on the edge of view, basically showing us just enough to see that she was taken against her will.”

  “Why didn’t the guard see it when it happened?” I asked, feeling myself getting pulled into the story, even if I had no idea why I was being told.

  “Said he was making rounds at the time,” Ferris replied, his fingers curling up into his palms, forming a matching pair of fists. “I suspect he was actually asleep, but didn’t press it.”

  At that the conversation fell away, Ferris seemingly recalling his prior interview, my own thoughts scattered. There were follow-up questions I could ask. They would have to wait.

  For the time being I was more concerned with the man sitting in my room, pulling me from my slumber.

  “How’d you find me?” I asked, ripping him from his thoughts and back to the present.

  “This is a small town,” he replied. “And these days we make a point of watching whoever passes through.”

  “Okay,” I said, not pressing his explanation any further, “allow me to rephrase. Why did you find me?”

  Ferris opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of it. He pressed his lips together tight, mulling over his response, before saying, “It’s not exactly a secret around here what went down last month. We could all see the smoke for two days afterward.”

  I could feel my body tighten as I realized what he was alluding to, an encounter with a drug cartel from Los Angeles that had followed me up to my cabin outside of town. The entire incident had been cleared by the DEA, and I was even offered a job because of the ordeal, but none of that would have any effect at slowing the gossip mill from churning in the sleepy town.

  “But I’m guessing by your tone and posture you don’t actually think I had anything to do with this girl being taken,” I said. “I only just arrived before the snow really started falling.”

  “I know that,” Ferris said softly.

  “Look,” he said, his voice having fallen to just more than a whisper, “I know this is bad form. I don’t want to be here, and I’m positive you don’t want me here.”

  More than once I had heard talks begin in a similar way, ending up with me doing something I really didn’t want to do, but ultimately having no choice.

  “My entire staff is five people – myself, two deputies, a dispatcher and a janitor who is really just a retiree that likes hanging around the place. That’s it.”

  I kept my reaction impassive as I listened to him speak, already knowing where this was going.

  “In normal circumstances I could call the state police over in Billings, but they can barely make it to edge of the city with all this snow, let alone all the way out here,” Ferris said.

  More questions came to mind, though I remained silent, letting him go on.

  “I even tried the feds, hoping maybe they could get a chopper or something in, but there’s just no way, not until this lets up.”

  At that he turned his focus back to me. “And after speaking to every agency over there I could think of, that’s when I remembered seeing your truck parked over here this morning.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he thought of me or offended that I wasn’t as invisible as I tried to be.

  For five years my mailing address had been Glasgow, the cabin my home during the six months a year I wasn’t working as a guide out of West Yellowstone, and not once had I gotten so much as a parking ticket. I kept to myself and didn’t bother a soul.

  “I was completely cleared in everything that happened here last month,” I said.

  “I know that,” he said, raising both palms toward me and patting the air twice before lowering them. “But if half the story that made the rounds here is true, you’re a hell of a resourceful man.”

  He watched me for a moment, waiting for a reaction, before adding, “Exactly the kind of man I could use to give a hand on this right now.”

  He was short staffed and facing a kidnapping case of woman doctor I presumed to be a respected member of the community.

  A blizzard prevented him from calling in the heavy hitters from the alphabet agencies, or even leaning on the state police to roll in anybody they could spare.

  Still, the simple question of why me remained.

  Seeming to sense my thought process, watching me remain rigid across the room, Ferris said, “I know how this looks and sounds. I do. I basically just told you we’ve been keeping tabs on you. I’m sure you’re pissed about it, I would be too.”

  I offered a tiny grunt to let him know that was the case without making it so obvious as to derail the conversation.

  “But right now I have a ticking clock. You’ve worked on this side of things before, you know how it goes. Every hour, every minute, that passes reduces our chances of finding that girl alive.”

  In this one instance he might have been overstating things just a bit, the snow piled up outside actually helping our cause. It would reduce the number of places the kidnappers could take her, narrow the search area significantly.

  Still, I knew what he was trying to get
at.

  “This damn storm has cut off everybody but the people right downtown,” Ferris continued. “I had a hell of a time just making it over here. That means anybody that has to come further than a few miles is out.

  “You know how many people that leaves around here with any kind of law enforcement or military training? I don’t have a lot of options.”

  A bit of the resolve bled from his face at the last statement. It truly wasn’t anything personal. This was a man who had precious few choices, and he knew it.

  He wasn’t coming to find the man who had blown up his own cabin to take down some rogue drug runners, he was seeking out the former DEA agent who knew how to handle a gun.

  He had no idea who I was, that’s why he had called me Jeremiah when standing outside the door. I was a warm body, and that’s all he was concerned with at the moment.

  “Anyway,” Ferris said, letting out a sigh as he stood, taking up his hat from the table beside him. “I’m meeting my deputies at the station in half an hour to brief them and start doling out assignments.”

  He paused, as if he were going to make one last plea for assistance, before thinking better of it.

  With just a simple nod he turned for the door, disappearing into the cold without another word.

  Chapter Nine

  Wood Arrasco heard her long before he saw her.

  It started with a long, deep sigh, the same sound she made every time she woke up. Following just a moment later was the familiar groan of the springs on the old four poster bed, Maria going through the same ritualistic stretch that always came after the sound.

  One, and then the other, without fail.

  Under other circumstances the sounds would have brought a smile to his face, one of the few creature comforts he allowed himself.

  As it were, it brought about a much different reaction, bordering on dread, knowing that a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have would soon be coming.