Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

by Jeff Carson

  “Holy crap.” A stream of blood flowed from a cut below her eye.

  “Are you okay?” He asked.

  She nodded.

  “You have a cut below your eye.”

  She touched it absently. “Whatever. You think that’s all of them?”

  Wolf turned around. There was no sound, no sign of movement or men crawling up onto the road.

  “It looked like you got them.”

  He remembered the spray of blood and lowered the rifle. “Yeah. You drive. I’ll cover us just in case there’s more ahead.”

  The truck ticked loudly as they climbed in, which Wolf thought sounded normal. It fired up fine, too, and drove well enough.

  “We can’t drive this thing much longer,” Luke said.

  Wolf nodded, leaning forward and checking the side view mirror, which was cracked up the middle and had a hole through it. The passenger side of the truck was punched with dozens of holes, mostly concentrated in the door, and the rear topper window was smashed out, clearly by gunfire. “Yeah. Kind of draws attention, doesn’t it?”

  Luke drove fast, sliding around the next corner.

  Chapter 28

  Rachette, Wilson, and Munford drove a circuitous route to Burton’s wife’s cabin.

  It was a route Rachette insisted on, and in Wilson’s family vehicle, which he’d also insisted on. It was one thing that Rachette was bringing two deputies to the meeting place Burton had specified. It was another thing that one of the deputies was from Byron County, something Burton was going to be angry about. There was no way in hell he was going to lead anyone to where they were going via GPS receiver or any other method to compound Burton’s anger.

  He gave the side view mirror of Wilson’s Chevy Suburban the hawk eye again and leaned back.

  “Relax,” Wilson said. “We’re not being followed.”

  Wilson’s calming voice did little to loosen Rachette’s clenched jaw.

  The truth was, he was scared of Burton and always had been. The man was a bear. Sure, a fat out of shape old bear, but the guy still had fangs and claws and growled pretty loud.

  “Here.” Rachette pointed up at the next turn off. “Up there.”

  Wilson slowed and took the turn, and they headed up a hill through the woods.

  “It’s just up here.”

  “I know, I’ve been here before. You know, I’m sure Burton was about to call me, too. No way I’m staying out of this anyway. I’ll stick up for my presence. This isn’t all on you.”

  Rachette ignored him, though the words made perfect sense.

  He glanced back at Munford, who sat with her hands folded across her chest. Her presence was another matter altogether.

  “Just stay in here for a second until we talk to Burton, okay?” Rachette said.

  Munford gave him a death stare.

  She was pissed. Clearly ditching the Sheriff’s Department SUV at Wilson’s, stopping by Rachette’s to grab supplies, then driving an hour through the woods in aimless directions to get to this point had crossed a line in her mind.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  As they reached the cabin, they pulled up next to four trucks parked in the trees. The smell of wood smoke permeated through the SUV’s cabin, and a veil of smoke led to a flickering campfire where a group of men sat staring at their approach.

  Burton stood in front of the others with squinted eyes. With a shake of his head he walked over.

  “Here we go.” Rachette slid out of the Suburban.

  “Who the hell?” Burton demanded, and then he slowed. “Wilson? I just called you. Why didn’t you answer?”

  Wilson eyed his phone and nodded at Rachette. “Must’ve been shoddy reception. We’ve been driving through the middle of nowhere for a while, making sure we weren’t followed.”

  Burton tilted up his camouflage hat and nodded at Rachette.

  Rachette shook his warm, big hand, and noticed the revolver holstered on his hip beneath his flannel shirt.

  Standing straight, Burton lowered his silver caterpillar eyebrows as he studied the back seat. “Who the hell is that?”

  “Sir, I know you said to not tell any Byron people,” Rachette said.

  “—But she’s my partner, and I can vouch for her,” Wilson said. “Her name’s Deputy Munford.”

  Munford took her cue and climbed out of the back seat. She stood tall with her nose in the air and slammed the door behind her.

  Rachette cringed.

  Burton petted his mustache and eyed her up and down. It was impossible to tell the draw of his lips underneath the walrus-like growth of hair, which was another reason Rachette could never get a good read on the old man.

  With a flip of his hand Burton turned and walked to the campfire. “Get your asses over here.”

  “I think he likes me,” Munford murmured on the way by.

  They walked to the fire and everyone stood from their camping chairs and log seats to greet them.

  Burton turned abruptly and shook Munford’s hand, glaring her in the eye. “I’m Burton. Hal Burton. I used to be—”

  “Sheriff of Sluice County, before David Wolf. I know, sir.”

  Burton tilted his head and nodded. “This is Martin Running Warrior.”

  The cocoa skinned Navajo man took off his hat, revealing silver long hair pulled into a pony tail. His expressionless eyes were like pools of coffee, his body like steel cable. Though his skin was like worn leather the man’s age was impossible to tell, thought Rachette, as he shook the man’s iron grip.

  As he put his turquoise beaded cowboy hat back on, Rachette noticed the Native American wince in pain. The last time Rachette had seen him the Navajo man had been lying in a pool of blood on the side of a mountain, shot through the shoulder. Wolf had pulled Martin out of danger that day, staunched the bleeding of his wound, and called for help.

  Burton motioned to another man. “Phillip Chesmith.”

  The man was younger, Wolf’s age, and was vaguely familiar to Rachette. He had a full head of shaggy brown hair and wild blue eyes. “Hi.”

  “Fabian Michaels.”

  Rachette paused at the sight of this man. He was well known by all as the owner of the crystal and spiritual healing shop in town. Normally dressed head to toe in hemp clothing with long blond hair hanging loose on his shoulders, now the man was dressed in all black, his hair pulled up inside a black winter cap. On his hip was a scoped pistol, and on his shoulder hung an assault rifle.

  “Hi, Tom. Nice to see you.” Fabian grasped Rachette’s hand in both of his and gazed into his eyes as if reading his aura.

  “Hi Fabian.” Rachette nodded to his assault rifle. “Didn’t know you were a gun enthusiast.”

  He smiled and pulled it from his shoulder in a lightning move. “This? I’ll give you a good price.”

  “Uh … no thanks.”

  “I’m just kidding, Tom. No way I’d sell. Who’s this?” Fabian grabbed Munford’s hand and kissed it.

  She frowned and pulled it back.

  Burton cleared his throat and continued the introductions. “Nate Watson.”

  Rachette knew Nate well. Standing at Rachette’s height and filling out his clothes with roughly the same build, and considering that Nate had been Wolf’s best friend since high school, Rachette had always had a special kinship with him.

  “Hey, buddy.” Nate wrapped his muscular arms around Rachette and then turned to Munford with extended hand.

  Munford nodded. “Hello. Charlotte. You can call me Munford, I guess.”

  “Nate, nice to meet you.”

  “And this is Jack.”

  They all turned to Wolf’s son.

  Jack stood taller than all of them except for Wilson, but his presence was almost unnoticeable. He stood with stooped shoulders, his normally vibrant kelp eyes looked sunken, and they were focused on their feet.

  Rachette had not spoken to Jack for months. Not since his mother’s death. There had been a single time when Rachette had seen Jack on the
street and greeted him, and Jack had turned away without a response.

  “Hey, Jack.” Rachette held out his hand.

  Jack grabbed it with a limp wrist and gave it a single pump, never getting anywhere close to eye contact.

  Rachette turned away as if their awkward greeting was nothing out of the ordinary. Rachette reminded himself that Jack had lost his mother, and now these men were whisking him away and hiding him in the woods, while his father was being chased by the FBI and law enforcement. It was hard enough being fourteen without all that.

  “Take out your phones, please,” Burton said.

  Wilson and Munford looked at one another while Rachette dug his out of his pocket.

  “It’s not optional.” Burton held out his hand. One by one he relayed them to Nate, who removed the batteries and SIM cards.

  “You still want to be here?” Burton stepped in front of Munford.

  Munford shrugged. “I’m still wondering what’s going on.”

  Burton glared at her, thinking through something.

  “So, what exactly is going on?” Rachette asked. “Have you told Patterson the truth about Jack not being missing yet?”

  Burton locked his eyes on Munford. “No. Like I said, we can’t trust anyone from Byron, and Patterson’s paired with that Lancaster guy. Along with MacLean, he’s Byron’s poster boy.”

  “Sir, I was on the phone and she overheard me. I had no choice.”

  Munford glared at Rachette, disappointment on her face.

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “I was in front of the station and overheard Deputy Rachette say that Jack Wolf was missing,” Munford said. “He was clearly distraught, and then he told you or whoever he was talking to, that his car broke down. I offered him a ride.”

  Burton shook his head and looked at Rachette.

  “He had no choice. I told him that I’d go to MacLean with the information I’d heard. I’m a cop. You don’t go hearing that a kid’s missing and then just shrug it off when someone says just kidding. I told him I would take him where he needed to go, or I would leave him and continue investigating myself.”

  Burton’s mustache curled and his eyes creased. A smile?

  “Well, you’re about to hear some things that you’ll just have to shrug off, as you put it. I know you’ve never met David Wolf. Never worked with him like these two have, or ever had your life saved by him like Martin, Fabian and Phillip have, or have ever known him like Nate and I or Jack have, or the rest of Rocky Points knows him for that matter.

  “I know you’re more inclined to believe the bullshit that’s going on right now. You’re more inclined to believe that just because the evidence says so, that David Wolf has shot and killed all those people.” Burton walked up behind Jack, who was now seated in a camping chair next to the fire, and squeezed his shoulders. “One of which was the love of his life and this boy’s mother. But he sure as hell didn’t kill anyone.”

  Munford looked down at Jack and then up at Burton. Her chin was still raised in defiance, her eyes staring hard.

  “Wolf’s been in touch,” Burton said.

  Rachette perked up. “Really? Where?”

  “He didn’t say, and it didn’t matter. He just wanted to make sure Jack is safe, and we’re here to do that.”

  Rachette eyed Jack for a response, but he was still a zombie transfixed on the fire.

  Munford eyed the men in turn around her. Her breathing quickened and she stutter-stepped forward an inch.

  “Deputy Munford,” Burton said, “you want to talk about it?”

  “I just … didn’t know I was getting into this.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Deputy Rachette, did you bring your guns?”

  Rachette nodded. “In the car, sir.”

  Munford glared at him, realizing the significance of why Rachette had insisted on stopping at his house for a long black duffel bag, and that it had not only been camping gear he needed for tonight. “Okay, now you guys are scaring me.”

  Burton nodded. “Good. This is definitely a situation where it’s appropriate to be nervous.”

  Then she made a mistake. Her hand lifted and rested on her holstered Glock, and in an instant five pistols were pointed at her head.

  “You don’t want to do that,” Burton said as he cocked back the hammer of his revolver.

  Wilson and Rachette stared at one another.

  Munford slowly lifted her hand from her pistol and then held out the other.

  Jack shifted in his seat. His teeth were bared and his eyes reflected the flames. “What the hell? You guys gonna start killing people for my dad? It’s not enough that he shot my mom in the head, you’re gonna start killing cops for him?”

  Rachette walked over and smacked Jack in the face before he knew what he even did.

  Jack cried out and looked up with shimmering eyes.

  “You don’t really think your dad did this, do you?” Rachette’s chest heaved up and down. He felt like someone held his heart in a fist. “Do you?”

  Jack swallowed and looked back down at the fire.

  “No! Look at me!”

  Jack did.

  “Shit. I can’t believe …” Burton put a hand on Rachette’s shoulder and he swiped it away. “Listen, Jack. We got a garbled phone call from someone the other day. It was an untraceable call with a voice changing device.” He looked at Burton. “Didn’t you guys tell him any of this?”

  Burton shook his head.

  Of course they didn’t. They were coddling the kid, or probably hadn’t heard all the up to date information. These men were acting on an unshakeable faith in David Wolf. What they forgot was Jack’s faith in his father had been shaken to the core.

  “Jack. They’re all going after your dad for three murders: your mother, the guy in the car with her that night, and a girl they found a few days ago. All three people were killed with one gun. The anonymous phone call said the gun in question would be found in your father’s shed. They found that gun in your father’s shed.

  “There’s a problem with this theory that your dad did it, though. First of all, the girl’s body they found a few days ago was twenty-five miles south of Rocky Points. You know there’s only one way in and out of your dad’s ranch. That means your dad would have had to drive past two FBI agents who were parked on that road to get there. Twice. But they didn’t see him drive by, because he never did.

  “Everyone in town knows he didn’t do this, and even some of the FBI. You know Kristen Luke, right? She’s the one who helped your dad escape. She’s thrown away her entire career because she knows he’s innocent.”

  “And her mother’s missing,” Munford said.

  Her voice was like a slap in the back of Rachette’s head. “What?”

  “Gail Olson’s mother went missing in Las Vegas,” Munford said, “and they think that Gail Olson was killed then moved, not killed where they found her. They’re saying now that she was killed up to twenty-four hours before they found her, and the post mortem hypostasis and the position of the body didn’t match up. She was bruised all down her side but was found on her back. I heard this a couple of hours ago.”

  Munford kept her hands out, staring down the barrel of Martin’s Smith and Wesson. “I haven’t even told Deputy Wilson about it yet. I heard it from a friend, a deputy who used to work in Byron County with me … anyway, I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about it. I really hadn’t even gotten time to think about it until now, because I ran into you, Rachette, and then this whole thing happened. But,” she looked at Jack, “if you think about it, Gail Olson was missing for months. Maybe whoever was looking for her got to her through her mother in Vegas, and that’s where they were both killed, and then Gail Olson was moved here to Colorado. Or something like that. But we know for a fact your father has not travelled for months. The FBI can swear to that. He’s been too laid up with his healing wounds to leave.”

  Jack stared at Munford with streaming eyes.

  “Your
dad didn’t do any of this.” Rachette said. “You know that, right?”

  Jack’s mouth spread wide and his eyes clenched shut, sending a fresh deluge of tears down his cheeks. He nodded and then his head dropped and his shoulders bounced as he sobbed.

  Rachette knelt down and hugged him. “I’m so sorry I hit you, man. Shit, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

  A few minutes later they all stood in the fading light, elated and energized by the tears that had flowed on each and every one of their cheeks.

  Nate handed Rachette, Munford, and Wilson their phones back, now with the SIM cards and batteries separate and loose.

  Burton held out his hand to Munford. “Sorry. I’d still like to keep that. Just in case.”

  She looked at him. “You think we had something to do with this? The Byron department?”

  “Just a precaution. Now hand it over, please.”

  She held the phone away from him. “I want to know. You said earlier that you haven’t told Patterson about all this because of Lancaster. Why? You think our deputies have something to do with this?”

  “That’s our initial suspicion. Wolf’s initial suspicion. And Wolf is usually pretty tuned into things.”

  She stared into the trees in thought. “I think it’s smart to not tell Lancaster. I can tell you now that the man is an enigma, and I’m convinced he’s got a mean streak in him. But Sheriff MacLean? He’s a good man.”

  Burton stared at her, his hand extended.

  She dropped her phone, her SIM and the battery in the fire and swiped her hands together. “There. Now you know what side I’m on.”

  Burton dropped his arm.

  They all gathered close to watch the electronic device sizzle and warp in the flames.

  “That was completely unnecessary,” Nate said.

  “I disagree,” Martin Running Warrior said. “Completely necessary. You all should follow her lead and toss your electronic collars into the fire.”

  After a moment of sober reflection, Burton roared in laughter. “Okay, you’ve won me over!”

  “That’s not everyone she’s won over,” Wilson said.

  “What?” Rachette’s face fell. “Shut up.”