by Jeff Carson
He reached the rear of the building and leaned his ear against the cool siding. He heard the soft creak of footfalls inside, what sounded like a cupboard being closed, and then a prolonged silence.
He glided slowly along the back wall, making his way closer to the bay window with each step. As he moved forward, more and more of the interior came into view.
He saw the kitchen first. There was a bright overhead light on and an open cupboard.
Wolf paused, letting a full minute pass. There was still no movement. Nobody in the kitchen.
Wolf palmed the handle of his Glock and stepped further, seeing more of the inside. He viewed the living room on the other side of the glass. Nobody seemed to be there, the chairs and couches empty, though a lamp was dimly lit in the corner.
He sucked in a breath as realization hit him like a rock in the face.
What he’d assumed was a dark-colored area rug in the lower part of his peripheral vision was Connell, lying face down on the floor.
Adrenaline exploded in his veins as he jerked himself back.
“Gotcha.” The deep voice was so close that he felt the scratch of facial hair and warm breath on his earlobe. His gun arm felt like it was ripped out of its socket as his head was wrenched forward in a painful contortion.
Something stung his neck, and then warm invisible pillows crushed inward through his entire body. His vision darkened and swirled, and then all went black.
Chapter 23
Wolf lay in the warm sun. He moved his hands, feeling the smooth, wet sand in between his fingers. Soothing sunlight heated his cheek and the back of his neck.
The mission had gone terribly wrong. There had been so much unanticipated blood, and then there was what he’d had to do. Who he’d had to shoot dead to save the others. The kid couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Not much older than his son at home.
But it didn’t matter now. The gentle kiss of the breeze on his cheek sent him deeper into thoughtless relaxation. The past was gone. His sins were forgotten again.
Then a cold wave crashed over his head, shocking him onto his elbows. Water streamed off his face and out of his nostrils. He coughed, struggling to take an unobstructed breath of air.
Then another freezing wave hit him. Water plunged into his ear, all the way to the eardrum. He shook his head to clear it and blinked his eyes.
His fingers dug into the warm, wet carpet. Carpet? Wolf looked at his left hand. It was glistening.
The fresh coppery scent filled his nostrils. He stared at his arm resting in a red pool, and put concepts together.
It was warm. It was blood.
He shook his head, and then stared at his hand for a while.
Another cold splash hit him in the right side of his face.
“Wake up.”
Wolf coughed, blinked hard and turned to see a giant black boot standing next to him, just outside the puddle.
“What the—” A loud slap jarred the back of his head.
“Wake up! You’ve only got a few minutes.” The boots stepped away, opened the door, and left.
Wolf stared at the closed door. His head swam in confusion. Where was he? Who was that? He decided he was too tired to care, so he put his head back on the carpet.
His face squashed into the wet carpet once again, which sent a jolt of electricity through his body. He jumped to his hands and knees and took a sharp breath.
Then he saw Connell, who lay on his back in a huge puddle of blood, with arms and legs splayed out in a starfish position. His eyes were wide, staring up into oblivion.
There were two neat holes in his forehead, and what looked to be at least three in his chest. Blood had splattered against the wall above him.
The heavy feeling of Wolf’s body was almost too much to bear. Pins and needles jabbed into every muscle he moved, but coherent thoughts were finally beginning to surface.
There was his gun sitting on the floor. He picked it up, sat back on his heels, and removed the magazine with bloody half-numb fingers. Five shots had been fired.
He stood up, and then stumbled back, realizing that his left boot was standing in the glistening puddle. It left a clear red boot print on the otherwise immaculate cream-colored rug. But actually, he realized, his boot prints were everywhere.
There were also shell casings. He saw three in plain sight, strewn about on the floor. That meant there were at least two more unaccounted for.
His breast pocket began vibrating and making a strange conga drum noise. He ignored it and kept concentrating on piecing things together. This puzzle was important, he thought.
He opened his right hand and twisted it. There were no marks, but it smelled faintly of gunpowder. Somehow he knew he’d fired the gun that had put Connell in a dead heap.
The man who just left.
Wolf set down the gun, unzipped his breast pocket and looked at his phone. There were two missed calls from Rachette displayed on the screen.
He unlocked it, fumbled through the menus with his clean hand and called him.
“Wolf!”
“Hey.” His mouth felt full of chalk. He cleared his throat and walked to the kitchen sink, leaving a boot print every other step along the hardwood floor.
“What’s going on? You still asleep? I’ve been calling you for the past few minutes.”
Wolf drank long from the faucet.
“Wolf?”
“Yeah, sorry. What’s going on?” He felt the nourishing water travel through his body, bringing cold alertness to his brain. “What’s up?”
“There’s been a report of shots fired at Connell’s.”
Wake up. You’ve only got a few minutes.
His heart was racing, his breathing accelerating even harder. His sluggish mind put the pieces all together once again, and once again another shot of adrenaline coursed through his system.
“Wolf?”
“Yeah. Sorry. All right. I’ll see you there.”
“Okay. First responders are on their way. I’m leaving now. How far out are you? Do you want to pick me up on the way?”
“Uh, no. I’ll have to just see you there.”
Wolf turned the water to hot and scrubbed his hand clean, then raced back to his gun, holstered it, and left using the back sliding glass door off the kitchen.
He stepped off the deck into thin air and fell hard onto his shoulder, stabbing more pins and needles through his muscles. As he struggled to get up, he heard a faint cop siren, growing louder by the second.
He crashed through the underbrush perimeter of the back yard, through the dark pine trees, and burst out onto the dirt road with a skid, almost twisting his ankle. Without thinking, following some deep instinct, he gritted his teeth and ran.
His bouncing vision focused on the dirt road as he sprinted as fast as he could, and the only sound he could hear now was his rapid breath, wheezing in and out of his mouth. There was a part of his brain that was screaming for him to calm down, but another part was winning out, pushing him to run and not look back.
About a quarter-mile down the road the trees began flickering red and blue, and then a set of headlights burst on the horizon.
Wolf turned and stumbled off the road. He cried out as he crashed into a low hanging branch and flopped onto his back. Ignoring the now burning pain across his chest, he rolled onto his hands and knees and shuffled behind a tree trunk just in time.
A low roar of tires and ear-splitting sirens approached fast, and then dropped in pitch as two speeding SCSD SUVs passed by.
Wolf squinted and put his mouth on his sleeve as the air whipped into a dusty vortex. He wasted no time sprinting back onto the road, taking advantage of the smokescreen.
He ran down the road as fast as he could, not daring to look back to see whether brake lights were blooming or not. He finally reached his car and collapsed onto his knees next to the driver’s side door. His stomach twisted and convulsed, and just as he wretched, another SCSD vehicle whipped by.
Wolf stood up, missing the door handle once with his hand before getting the door open and climbing inside his SUV.
Brief panic hit him as he dug in the wrong pocket for his keys. Then found them in the other. He fired up the SUV, backed out, and drove fast towards town. Back to the highway. He decided he needed to get home to regroup.
For a few yards he considered going without lights, but then decided that would be conspicuous and unsafe. There would be more department vehicles driving to the scene.
And how about an SCSD vehicle driving away from the scene? How was that going to look?
Wolf shook his head, took a deep breath, turned on the lights and stepped on it.
“Sheriff Connell is down. I repeat, the sheriff has been shot multiple times.”
Wolf turned the radio down and leaned toward the windshield. “Dead on arrival …” he heard before turning it down. He needed to think.
Another set of flashers came around the upcoming bend. He jammed the brakes, swerving and sliding before finally slowing down to a crawl, and pulled to the side of the road.
The approaching department SUV barely slowed in time, but came to a stop at the sight of Wolf’s own department SUV going the opposite way.
Wolf was unsure why he stopped, his mind was still fuzzy and slow. But he did know that driving in the opposite direction was going to bring immediate suspicion on him. He needed to buy himself some time.
It stopped next to Wolf’s vehicle and lowered its window. Wolf fumbled for the window button and did the same.
Deputy Baine was behind the wheel of the other vehicle, staring wide-eyed and wide-mouthed.
Rachette was next to him with a similar adrenaline-pumped expression. “What’s going on?”
Wolf was careful to raise his clean right arm as he pointed back. “Get up there now! Now! I’ll be right there!” Wolf drove away fast, checking in the side view mirror.
Baine’s brake lights depressed after a few seconds and they drove away into the distance around the bend.
Wolf shook his head and rubbed his face, which felt strangely dry and cracked. He flipped on the cab light and looked in the rearview mirror. The entire left side of his face was painted red with blood, from chin to eyebrow.
“Shit!” He slapped the wheel and turned off the light.
Chapter 24
Wolf drove at speed the entire way to his ranch, taking side roads through town to avoid further detection. It seemed to be a good move, as he didn’t see another department vehicle.
He skidded to a stop in front of the ranch house. He got out and left the headlights on, illuminating the pile of dark rubble that had once been his kitchen, and stumbled through the front door. Inside, he gathered his gear, washed his face in his bedroom bathroom, drinking as much water as he could.
Then he ran to the barn, where he shoved food packets and his camp stove into his backpack. Next, he holstered his Glock into a paddle holster, tucked it into his waist, pocketed some ammo and his Leatherman multi-tool, and uncovered his dirt bike.
Wolf rolled the Yamaha WR450F out through the sliding barn door and leaned it on the kickstand. As it tipped, the gas tank sloshed. He unscrewed the cap and saw that there was a little under a half tank.
He cursed himself for not buying gas as he picked up the empty can on the floor. Then he tossed it and rummaged through the debris field on the workbench to make sure he had all he needed.
He stepped outside and listened to the night. There was a faint hum of a semi downshifting miles away, a few nearby crickets, and a jet flying above.
As he was pulling his helmet on, he heard another faint noise. He yanked it off and held his breath. The sirens had started again, undoubtedly on their way to him.
He put on his helmet and gloves, got on the bike, kicked up the stand, flipped the kick lever out, and prayed.
His prayers were answered as the bike thumped to life on the second kick. Just then, a pair of headlights rose into view, coming up over the ridge through the Bull Horn gate.
Wolf cranked the throttle once, leaned left, almost falling over with a wave of dizziness, and peeled away into the woods.
Chapter 25
Connell was dead.
Rachette wasn’t afraid to admit that he was relieved. Almost happy even. Who was he kidding? He was happy. There was no other way to put it. But worry was starting to take hold over him.
That had been blood all over Wolf’s face. There was no mistaking what he and Baine had seen.
The SUV went into a shuddering four-wheel slide around a corner and the back right tire dipped down, then bounced up hard.
“Slow it down, Baine!”
“Shit. Sorry.” Baine slowed the pace and looked to Rachette. “You saw his face.”
Rachette kept his gaze out through the windshield, half waiting to see a family of deer standing in the middle of the darkened road any second.
“I think we need to call this in.” Baine was shooting glances to the road and Rachette like he was watching a tennis match.
“We aren’t calling this in. I think Wolf may be in trouble, and we need to go see what’s going on. I’m not going to say it again.” He glared at Baine. “If you touch your radio, I’ll shoot you.”
Baine threw back his head. “Jesus, man. If he just killed Connell, who knows what kind of condition he’s in?” They drove in silence for a little. “You’d better know what you’re doing.”
“I know Wolf. He’s …”
Baine looked at him. “He’s what?”
Rachette spit into his empty Red Bull can and glared out the window. “Just drive.”
They rode in silence, following the meandering road next to the Chautauqua, until Wolf’s ranch head gate came into view.
The front of the SUV dropped as they drove up to Wolf’s property, and the ranch rose into view.
“There he is!” Baine leaned forward, reaching for the radio console.
Rachette grabbed his arm and glared. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk to him. Trust me.”
Baine ripped his arm back and drove on.
Wolf was fifty yards ahead, a shadow against a beam of light pouring from his barn door. His SUV was parked in the dirt circle driveway, in front of the demolished kitchen.
Rachette squinted and saw that Wolf was sitting on his dirt bike. Wolf kicked twice and a puff of smoke came out the back. Then he jerked his head up and swayed it a little from side to side. It was as if Wolf’s helmet was too heavy for his body, or like he was drunk.
Very drunk.
“Stop!” Rachette yelled.
Baine stopped and they got out.
The motorcycle jerked forward with the low sound of a four-stroke engine, and then tipped to the side. Wolf had planted a foot just in time, barely keeping the bike up as it wobbled and lurched forward, all the while the headlight swinging between the side of the house and the trees beyond. Then he spat dirt out from the back tire, rounded the right side of the house, and zipped into the trees out of sight.
They walked to the hood of the Explorer and watched the halogen light flicker through the trees, then come to a dead stop, followed quickly by a loud crack, and then complete silence.
“Jesus Christ.”
Rachette pointed back. “Turn off the engine. Turn it off!”
Baine ran back and shut it off.
They watched quietly as the halogen on Wolf’s bike, now halfway up the hill behind Wolf’s house, pointed straight up the trunk of a pine tree. The still night carried Wolf’s shuffling and grunting from over a hundred yards away, and the bike light righted itself once again. Then the bike roared to life, and zoomed away at psychotic speed, Wolf ripping through the first three gears in a few seconds.
The red taillight bounced out of sight, and the thumping engine finally faded behind the sound of crickets.
“I’m calling.” Baine looked to Rachette, ducked in the vehicle, and grabbed the radio.
Rachette didn’t protest. The truth was, Rachette didn’t know
what to think.
Chapter 26
Baine was wide-eyed and spilling it all to Sergeant Vickers.
“Deputy Rachette and I witnessed Sergeant Wolf proceeding in his vehicle in the opposite direction from Sheriff Connell’s. We noticed what looked to be a lot of blood on the side of Sergeant Wolf’s face, and he was acting suspicious. So we decided we would follow him to his house. Then we saw—”
Vickers held up a hand and leaned towards Baine. “Blood on the side of Sergeant Wolf’s face, son? And you decided to pursue an obvious suspect at that point in complete radio silence? Not calling this in to your fellow deputies, who would be obviously interested in a tidbit of information like this on the night their sheriff had just been shot five times? Murdered? You didn’t call this in?”
Rachette stepped forward. “Sir, it was my idea to pursue Sergeant Wolf without calling it in.”
“I’m not talkin’ to you, son.” Vickers spoke slowly, holding up a hand in Rachette’s direction.
“I’m not your son, sir.” Rachette couldn’t help it. The slick hair, each mark of the comb grooved into his head, the perfect five o’clock shadow, the unisex cologne slathered on his skin, the silky condescending voice that commanded ultimate respect, not one iota of it deserved, the way he entered a room and asked, How we doing? We? He couldn’t stand Sergeant Vickers. Or was it Sheriff Vickers now?
Vickers turned and looked at Rachette, holding his expressionless gaze for what seemed like a full minute, and then turned back to Baine.
Rachette walked away through the group of lurking deputies and approached what looked to be Wilson’s vehicle driving up the road.
Deputy Wilson teetered out of his SUV and walked over, adjusting his pants like he always did, apparently not liking the tight fit on his ample frame. His partner, Hayburn, wasn’t far behind, out the passenger door.
“What the heck’s going on?” Wilson was a fellow second year. His pupils were wide open, and he didn’t blink. It was the second time in two days that the full roster of deputies had convened on Wolf’s property, and just like the first time, everyone was jacked up.