Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

by Jeff Carson

  When it came down to a crunch, Keene always reverted back to his military jargon.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get going now. Can you please let Frye know I’m on my way for me? There may be shoddy reception on the drive up.”

  “Yeah. Just get your ass up there ASAP. If you talk to Tedescu, tell him to call me. Yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead.

  She powered off her phone, pulled the battery and SIM and put them in the center console.

  “Wolf. You’re killing me.”

  Wolf grunted and then began snoring.

  She let off the brake and coasted.

  Shifting in his seat, Wolf’s arms flailed forward.

  “Wolf.”

  He started convulsing.

  “Holy shit. Wolf.”

  A stream of vomit came out his mouth.

  She jammed the brakes and pulled over, and then got out and ran to his side and opened the door.

  He tumbled out and she pushed back, trying to figure out where to grip him without getting covered in vomit herself.

  The air thumped rhythmically for a few seconds and then the sound disappeared.

  She froze. There it was again, a helicopter.

  Shit.

  She turned and looked up, and Wolf crashed into the back of her legs and face planted on the ground.

  The rotors were as loud as ever now.

  She got to her knees and pushed Wolf as hard as she could.

  He rolled a quarter turn and she slipped and landed on her chest.

  “Damn. Come on.”

  She shut the door, bent down, and tried again. He moved a little, but it was like he was velcroed to the ground, so she climbed over him, crawled underneath the truck and pulled on him as hard as she could.

  The helicopter was here. Right here.

  Planting one foot on the inside of the tire, she pulled Wolf fully underneath the truck.

  She rolled over and over and out into the light next to the driver’s side door. As she stood brushing herself off the helicopter swung into view to the east, banking hard to follow the contours of the terrain.

  The air thumped and a black fuselage FBI helicopter passed overhead. Rocking back, it slowed to a stop, twisted, and sat hovering a couple hundred feet up, the rotor’s pulsing the air like machine gun fire now.

  She put a hand up to shield her eyes and leaned back to look up at it, because that’s what a normal person would have done.

  Careful to block her face, she stood in a staring match with the machine, then lowered her arm and walked to the back of the truck and a few yards beyond.

  The bird inched toward her and twisted, allowing the passenger in the cockpit a better view. Binoculars were pasted to the window.

  Damn it.

  With unhurried deliberation, she walked to the side of the road and dropped her sweatpants to her ankles.

  Squatting low, she relieved herself of a two cups of coffee and a forty-five mile drive pee that puddled and streamed away from her.

  She waited until she was almost done and glanced up at the helicopter again, adding a bashful wave. Enjoying the show?

  The helicopter banked and sped away, disappearing behind the next mountain.

  She pulled up her pants with numb, shaky fingers. Her body hummed.

  As the rotor sound dissipated to nothing, she approached the truck with a wary eye on the sky. She walked to the passenger side door and bent down.

  “That was interesting.”

  “Shit, Wolf. Are you all right? I thought you might be dead.”

  “Yeah. Just a little thirsty, despite what I just watched.”

  She blushed. “What you just saw was me shaking off the FBI. My FBI. The people who employ me. The people who are going to lock me up in Florence and eat the key.”

  Wolf rolled onto his stomach and crawled out from under the truck.

  She helped him out and swiped the dirt off his back, then put the tailgate down and helped him sit.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “That is your vomit.”

  Wolf looked down and squirmed out of his fleece jacket, and then tossed it behind him.

  “Just a second.” She opened a rear door of the truck cab and found four grocery bags. There was a gallon of water in one of them.

  She cracked the seal, took a sip herself, and then brought it to Wolf.

  His dark hair, normally a swirling wonder of the world, was matted on one side and sticking up and caked with dirt on the other. His skin, normally some degree of tan that defied season, was ghostly. His brown eyes, normally alert and yet calm, were puffy and distant-looking, darting this way and that.

  Doubt hit her like a pressure wave.

  “What?” Wolf asked.

  “Nothing. Let’s get going.”

  He took a long gulp and looked at her. “I haven’t told you yet.”

  “What?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. Now get in.”

  They climbed in and Luke gripped the wheel with both hands, keeping her speed right at what she considered safe and no more. There was no sense risking an accident or getting pulled over. They had already dodged too many bullets as it was.

  It was only a matter of an hour or so until they would be down to the Carbondale area north of Aspen, to where she felt at home, because it had been home for most of her life. Her brother was there. Her mother was there.

  But she would have to avoid them. But she had the perfect place for them to stay the night. They just had to get over these mountains first.

  “I can’t believe we’ve gotten this far. And if you wouldn’t have called when you did? You’d be getting cavity searched by now by a big man named Bruno.”

  Wolf was slumped against his window, eyes closed. He swallowed and his jaw fell open.

  “And, never mind.”

  She reached over and pulled the open gallon bottle of water out of his hand. Pausing to sniff the mouth, she wiped it with her sleeve and took a sip.

  “Killing me.”

  Chapter 13

  “Just give me a quick update,” Rachette said into the phone. “They don’t have Wolf, do they?”

  Another SBSD vehicle sped past with motor revving high down Main Street. Rachette watched it slam on its brakes at the four-way stop a few blocks up and then accelerate through.

  “There’s another one. Patty, you gotta tell me what’s going on.”

  “No, they don’t.” There was a long pause and then Patterson exhaled into the phone. “He escaped down the river in his boat. I’m at a roadblock on Williams Pass and we haven’t seen him. Could still be in town.”

  Rachette smiled to himself.

  “I have to go. Lurch is coming. Talk soon.” She hung up.

  Rachette pocketed his cell phone and walked.

  He had spent the last hour wandering down Main Street’s sidewalks, drinking two lattes and replaying the vision of Wolf being whisked away by Margaret.

  Her Land Rover had tinted windows, but not the blacked out drug dealer kind, just enough tint to make him doubt what he had seen.

  Margaret had ignored him. Not even a second glance. They were usually on a polite wave basis when they saw each other around town. And he swore he had seen Wolf in the passenger seat.

  And now Patterson had all but confirmed it, and the fifth SBSD vehicle screaming through town, along with the speeding unmarked cruisers made sense.

  Rachette’s smile evaporated when he saw two men milling around his car.

  The unmarked Crown Vic parked on his tail bumper and their suits told him all he needed to know.

  Both agents were tall men, late twenties, early thirties at most. One of them pressed his face to the window.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  They both sprang upright and drew pistols from their shoulder holsters. “Hands where we can see them.”

  Rachette froze. “Easy. What the—”

  “Now!”

&nb
sp; Rachette held up his arms and let the coffee cup drop to the pavement. “Easy, guys. I’m a cop. I’m not carrying.”

  “Hands on the hood, turn around, spread your legs.”

  Rachette followed their orders and endured a thorough groping. A few seconds later they cinched his hands behind his back, plastic ties digging into his wrists.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  One agent gripped him by the forearms and thrust him at their car.

  “You two speak English?”

  Nothing.

  “Hey, I just want to point out this is bullshit. I said I’m a cop.”

  One agent shoved him against the Crown Vic, opened the rear door, and pushed him in.

  Rachette’s head connected with the back of the seat and he ended up on the floorboards on his side.

  “Okay. Now you’ve pissed off Tom Rachette. You’d better watch yourself when these zip ties come off, boys.”

  The agent slammed the door, leaving Rachette panting between the front and back seat, the hump in the middle digging into his hip. He thought he felt a trickle of blood on his wrist.

  Neither agent said anything as the car fired up, backed a few feet, and then accelerated forward. It revved hard for a few blocks and then slammed to a stop. They were stopping in front of the new County Building.

  Rachette was relieved, because he was already claustrophobic. Unless they were going to leave him here for some reason. Panic surged through him and he squirmed to take the pressure off his wrists.

  The doors in front opened and closed, and then the rear door behind him, and then Rachette was yanked up onto the back seat and hauled out onto his feet on the sidewalk.

  Without thinking he spit straight into the nearest agent’s face.

  The agent pulled back his fist.

  “Don’t do it,” the other agent said.

  They pushed him inside the automatic doors.

  “What’s going on here?” Tammy Granger stood up from the reception desk, her face twisted in rage. Just as quickly she sat as the two agents produced their badges. “Yeah, I know who you are. You’d better not hurt this man. Or you’ve got a lot of people to answer to, assholes. Including me.”

  A minute of silence later they were up the elevator and outside the glass doors of MacLean’s office on the third floor. Four suited men stood in front of MacLean’s desk inside. MacLean sat with bridged fingers, watching Rachette get ushered forward.

  One of the agents let go of Rachette’s arm, stepped forward, and held open the door.

  There was a snap and Rachette’s wrists were suddenly free. He brought his arms in front of him and punched the man holding the door in the nose and then stepped into MacLean’s office.

  “Whoah,” an older agent who was short and wiry stepped forward and grabbed Rachette by the arm and then pulled him inside. Another agent, this one much larger and muscular, intercepted Rachette by his neck and held him in a headlock against his ape-like chest.

  “Hey! Let him go. Let go of my deputy right now.”

  My Deputy? Rachette had assumed MacLean was rooting for him to fail the proficiency test all along.

  “Let him go,” the older agent said. “You two stay outside. Close the door.”

  The log of an arm punching his Adam’s apple into the back of his throat kept its relentless grip for another second and then let go.

  He sagged, but the older agent helped him stand up straight.

  “They just threw me in the back of their car like we’re in Nazi Germany or something.”

  “Deputy Rachette,” the older agent said, “I’m the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Denver field office of the FBI. You can call me Agent Frye.”

  Rachette rubbed his neck.

  “Sit down.” He motioned to the chair.

  Rachette sat.

  “Can I please see your cell phone?” Frye asked.

  “Not without a warrant.”

  Frye looked at MacLean.

  MacLean cleared his throat. “Deputy, if you have nothing to hide, let’s go ahead and speed this whole thing up, shall we?”

  MacLean’s tan skin was tinted red. He was not enjoying the infiltration of these agents into his office, and it looked to be Rachette and MacLean against them. Eyes locked on Rachette’s, he rubbed his silver goatee and then raised his hands.

  Rachette pulled out his phone. “I want this back.”

  Frye snatched it. “Passcode?”

  “1-2-3-4.”

  Frye raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the screen as he unlocked the phone.

  Rachette took steady breaths to calm his raging adrenaline.

  Frye navigated the touch screen and after a full minute he tossed it back. “What were you doing at 11:15 p.m. last night, deputy?”

  Rachette pocketed his phone. “Sleeping. I had an early morning planned today at the shooting range.”

  “Do you have someone that can corroborate that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you have a landline phone set up at your residence?”

  Rachette frowned. “No. What? You think I made that anonymous tip call?”

  “And how did you hear about that?”

  “I was here earlier this morning. I heard about what was going down.”

  Frye sat a butt cheek on MacLean’s desk.

  “So you’ve heard that we found Gail Olson’s dead body this morning?”

  “Yeah. I heard it was an anonymous tip that brought you there. Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  Frye smiled. “You and Wolf are pretty close, right?”

  Rachette nodded. “Yeah. So?”

  “One more time, deputy. How did you meet Gail Olson?”

  Rachette looked up at the ceiling. “This again? I told you guys. She picked me up in a bar. We dated once, and she asked me to take her backpack to her friend. So I did. The end.”

  Frye glanced behind Rachette.

  “You guys can keep asking me that, and I’ll keep answering the same way.”

  “When was the last time you saw Wolf?”

  The image of Wolf waving through a tinted Land Rover window flashed in his mind. “I don’t know. A week ago?”

  Frye leaned forward. “Change of breathing. Tilted head. Shuffling feet. All classic signs of lying.”

  “Whatever. I saw him a week ago. Drove out to his place and we took a walk.”

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “Not much. Just catching up.”

  Frye tilted his head. “You’re leaving something out.”

  “I’m just thinking about what you guys are leaving out.” Rachette turned and looked at the other three agents behind him. The big one was staring at Frye.

  MacLean’s eyes hardened.

  “What are you talking about?” Frye asked.

  “When I was there last, Wolf and I went on a walk and saw your surveillance teams.”

  Frye stood and paced in front of Rachette. “You saw them, too?”

  “Yeah. I have eyes, don’t I?”

  Frye looked at him.

  “What?” The man’s face was unreadable.

  “Nothing. Continue. You’re saying we left something out.”

  “So why didn’t you see whoever planted that gun at his house? Or, maybe you did, and you’re hiding something. Or maybe it was you guys.”

  Frye snorted.

  MacLean shifted in his chair. “Deputy, let’s please refrain from such,” he glanced at Frye, “accusations. Sir, I hope you know this is not something we’ve been discussing. I’m not sure where Deputy Rachette is getting this.”

  Frye kept his eyes on Rachette and held up a hand to MacLean. “Please stay available, Deputy.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Rachette stood up and faced the four agents. “He didn’t do this. We didn’t do this.”

  They ignored him.

  Rachette shook his head and left.

  “And Rachette,” MacLean said. “Let’s go a
head and postpone your shooting proficiency test tomorrow until further notice. We don’t exactly have the manpower at the moment.”

  Rachette’s face fell.

  “You may leave.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Rachette left.

  He stared down the agent with the tissue held to his nose. “I’ll walk back to my car. No need to give me a ride, assholes.”

  Walking down the hallway to the stairs, he heard rapid footsteps behind him. “Hey, honey.”

  Rachette stopped and turned around. It was Deputy Munford hurrying to catch up, a smile fading from her lips.

  “What?”

  “Hey,” she said, catching up to him. “I just kind of saw what happened. Did you say you needed a ride somewhere? To your car?”

  Rachette scrunched up his face and looked her up and down. “Nah, no thanks.” He turned and walked away, unsure if he’d actually seen her face fall in disappointment or not. If he did see it, it was probably a good act.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you at the shooting test tomorrow, then.”

  “No. You won’t. MacLean cancelled it.”

  “What?”

  “Says we don’t have the manpower.”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe you should be checking in with him to see what you should be doing. You know, instead of sitting around the station while there’s a manhunt on and all.”

  She swallowed. “What’s going on? Why are they bringing you in?”

  “You know why. They think I’m involved in all this.” Everything was suddenly clear. “Is that what you’re doing? Are you working with them? Pretending to care, so you can get some inside information?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on. A beautiful woman like you? Interested in me?”

  She raised her perfect eyebrows, barely creasing her forehead skin. “You think I’m interested in you?”

  He felt his face explode with heat and he turned to leave. “Just—”

  “You think I’m beautiful?”

  “Just … step off, all right?”

  This time her face really did fall. A damn fine acting job if he’d ever seen one. Or she was serious. And in that case, why the hell did she like him? What was wrong with her?

  “Bye, Munford.”

  “Bye, Tom.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it, liking the thought of him walking away from a female he’d just hurt better than a female who’d just hurt him.