“The target?”
“Eagle,” Burris.
Folds of skin appeared around Ruiz’s eyes. He thought on the list a moment, running through the names in his mind. Three in total, there was Martin - the leader of the group - followed by Diggs and Tate.
Others had joined them, local muscle meant to put up a show of force, ensure things didn’t escalate, but for his purposes, those were the three that mattered.
“Eagle? You mean Hawk?”
“Yes!” Burris said, his voice rising just slightly before instantly falling back to a whisper. “Hawk, that’s what he said. Sorry.”
Outside his door, he could hear Esmera shuffle by. Lifting a hand, he covered the mouthpiece, waiting until she made her way into the bathroom and the overhead fan kicked on before pulling it away.
When he spoke again, his voice was lowered to match Burris’s.
“And where is he now?”
Chapter Fifty-One
I was already parked behind the West Yellowstone Sheriff’s Department by the time I saw the familiar Bronco I’d watched Sam Latham drive for years pull into the lot. Coming off the main drag, he looped out wide around the building, eschewing his marked parking spot on the corner that was plainly visible for anybody that might be passing by.
Something told me he wouldn’t want many other people in town witnessing this.
If there was anywhere else within reasonable distance to do it, I would have told him to meet me there. Anyplace that I thought we could do what we needed to, that I could explain what happened without it immediately raising suspicion, I definitely would have opted for it.
As it stood, I was going to have a difficult enough time pulling off what I was about to attempt here. Especially considering I absolutely could not afford to be getting bogged down at the moment.
Not with things finally starting to come together.
And so much still left to do.
Standing along the rear tailgate, I watched as he circled the building and pulled in a few feet away. Sliding in at an angle, the front nose of the Bronco stopped just inches from the side of the building. Glancing over, he offered a small wave before killing the engine and cracking open the door.
With one foot on the ground and the other on my rear bumper, I stood with both forearms draped over the rear tailgate. Despite the cold, I appreciated the chance to be out of the cab of the truck, the assorted scents of wood smoke, blood, and even a bit of charred flesh clinging to me.
Spots of blood speckled the front of my jeans and the backs of my hand.
My eyes I knew to be tinged with red, smoke and an extended lack of sleep beginning to wear on me.
The sound of frozen metal being wrenched open echoed across the asphalt as Latham pushed his way out of the driver’s side door. Already in uniform, ready to start the workday, he hitched his brown pants up a bit higher as he regarded me standing there, the questions he had plain upon his features.
Questions I’m sure I would have had if in his position as well.
“Hawk.”
“Sheriff,” I replied. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Snapping the door shut behind him, he ambled my way, the cold already having drawn most of the blood from his face.
What I was about to show him no doubt would manage to remove the rest.
“Way you sounded on the phone, didn’t seem there was much of a choice.”
My brows rose a quarter inch and my mouth parted about the same. Thinking better of any oral response, I instead lifted my hands, extending them as they hung draped over the side of the tailgate, motioning for him to take a look at what I’d brought.
Continuing to move forward, Latham came up on the side of the truck. Lifting his arms to match my pose, he made it no closer than a couple of feet away before stopping, his body jerking as if electrified.
Arms frozen in the air before him, he stood rigid, staring down into the bed. Mouth gaping, a look of sheer terror was on his features, his brown eyes fixed on what he saw.
None other than the man that ran off from him the day before.
Or, at least what remained of him.
After getting off the phone with Diaz, I stood alongside the turnout for a full ten minutes wrestling with the advice she’d given me before deciding she was right. No matter how much I might have wanted to kill this man, to take him out into the woods and do the most violent and reprehensible things I could think of, ultimately, he – and by extension Ruiz – still would have won.
They would have managed to pull me down to their level, getting me to act out of emotion and nothing more.
I have no delusions about who I am or some of the things I’ve done. I am aware of the lives I’ve taken and the stains that I can never wash away.
But taking this man out into the woods and sacrificing him - or more aptly, executing him - was a bridge I wasn’t willing to cross.
That still didn’t mean there weren’t a lot of things that I needed from the man. How we got there depended entirely on him.
A process that he now bore plainly, despite being wrapped back up in his black down jacket.
“Jesus, Hawk,” Latham managed. Looking my way, he took another step forward, one hand rising to cover his nose.
“After this man left the medical clinic yesterday, we were able to pull a visual of his license plate from the cameras at the intersection over there,” I began, motioning with my chin a block to the south. “Ran that through the system and determined the vehicle had been rented from the Spokane Airport.”
As I talked, a hint of the shock on his features receded, though he still managed to stay a few feet back from the truck bed.
“I happened to be moving east across Washington state, so I stopped in to wait for him.”
Flicking his eyes to the truck bed, he asked, “And all that?”
All that had occurred from taking him deep into the Beaverhead and having a little discussion with him. A talk that began by leaving the duct tape in place, stripping away much of the clothing he wore, and tying his hands high above his head.
After that, I’d built a small fire, stuck the blade of my hawksbill folding knife into it, and went to work.
Not exactly an interrogation technique our government would ever prescribe to, but it had been effective.
And did serve the dual purpose of letting me take out some of the wrath I’d been carrying around.
With plenty still left over for Junior Ruiz.
“Most of that was done before I got there,” I lied. “Looked like he’d been in a car accident or something. Probably figured you guys were chasing him and was trying to flee in a hurry.”
Disbelief was plain across Latham’s features, though to his credit, he kept it bottled in. Taking another step forward, he lowered his hand from his face, growing accustomed to the scent.
“So he’s alive?”
“He is.”
Coming around the end of the tailgate, Latham assumed a stance similar to mine. Little by little, I could see the initial shock passing, his mind unfurling what he knew and what he saw before him.
“Didn’t think I’d see this bastard ever again,” he muttered. Regarding the man another moment, he twisted his focus up to look at me. “And no offense, but damned sure didn’t think you’d be the one to bring him here.”
He didn’t fully articulate what he meant by the comment, but he didn’t have to.
The thought had definitely crossed my mind.
“How’s Ferry doing?”
Shifting his gaze back to Salinas, Latham said, “He’ll be okay, just got knocked around a little. Wounded pride more than anything. Tried to tell him to stay at home for a couple days, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
Extending a finger, he added, “This will help, though.”
Nodding slightly, I pushed away from the rear bumper. Standing to full height, I leaned back at the waist, stretching my back, the ache of having now missed two consecutive nights of sleep beginning to wear o
n me.
A fact I planned to remedy in the very near future.
“The guy’s real name is Tres Salinas, driver’s license has him at an address in Southern California. That duffel bag there has everything he brought back with him from Montana.
“I don’t know if he ditched the gun he used on Mendoza or not, but you might have the murder weapon sitting here as well.”
Knowing better than to go rummaging through the bag, to even consider contaminating evidence or putting any of my own fingerprints anywhere near it, I hadn’t touched it since tossing it in the truck in Spokane.
Cocking an eyebrow my way, Latham said nothing, the question he was thinking obvious.
I moved right past it just the same.
“As you can guess, the DEA also has more than a little interest in speaking with him. I imagine they’ll be in touch this morning, probably send someone down from Billings.”
I didn’t feel great about dropping a potential jurisdictional pissing match on his doorstep, but there wasn’t much choice in getting around the matter. Salinas was now wanted for at least two murders in two different states.
And that was just in the last thirty-six hours.
“You think it’s safe leaving him here?” Latham asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I can’t imagine anybody else showing up. This guy was their backup.”
Not to mention, nobody else could even know where he was. I had the man’s phone, the device turned off and the SIM card removed for the time being. His car and everything except his duffel bag was still in Spokane.
Seeming to ponder the statement a moment, Latham gave one final nod before twisting back to look my direction. A myriad of thoughts and half-sentences seemed to pass over his features, his mouth working twice before finally he simply said, “Thank you.”
Dipping my chin, I replied, “Yeah, well, it doesn’t quite come free of charge.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
There was no bullet or coin waiting on the counter in the front of my office as I stepped inside. Whether Luis Mendoza had them on him when I arrived the first time or if it was something special Tres Salinas decided to add as a middle finger to us at the Martin house, I couldn’t be sure.
Not that it much mattered anymore.
The point had been made.
And in the process, painted an enormous target on everybody that had been involved on his end.
A quick scan of the rest of the office showed there to be nothing else out of place. No wanton destruction or messages scrawled on the walls. Nothing with special symbolism propped up in a place where it would be impossible to miss.
From what I could tell, nothing missing either.
Outside of the ragged hole in the front of the building, police tape in a sagging X across it, and the arctic chill in the air it created, there was no sign that anything had even occurred.
If only.
Stepping around into the back half of the building, I had cranked the heat as high as it would go and set about making myself as decent for human interaction as possible. Just barely had I been able to get through the encounter with Latham, my scent and the various things clinging to my clothes making it difficult to be anywhere near me, the choice to meet outside not by accident.
Even sitting in the cab of my truck was hard, forcing me to run with the windows down and the heater off.
Stripping out of the same clothes I’d been wearing for two days straight, I went to the small bathroom carved out on the far end of the building and spent ten minutes standing under the hottest water I could handle. Bent forward, I pressed a forearm into the tile beneath the shower head, letting the water pound on the top of my head.
Focus straight down, I waited until the water swirling into the drain between my feet ran clear before stepping out. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I brushed aside the steam from the small mirror on the wall.
Using the old pair of scissors that usually resided in the top drawer of my desk, I went to work on my beard. Holding it away from my face in clumps, I trimmed it a uniform half-inch around the length of my jaw, tossing the clippings into the trash can beside me.
Once that was in order, I moved up a bit higher, peeling back some of the shag hanging over my ears and forehead.
The instant I was done, I tossed the scissors down and stepped back into the shower, this time scrubbing down with the cheap combination soap and shampoo I kept stocked. Starting with my head, I worked my way down steadily, going into my fingernails and every crevice I could find until all remains of my encounter with Salinas in the woods were gone.
From there, I turned the water temperature up even higher, letting the suds sluice away, remaining in place until my entire form seemed to glow pink from the heat.
Basking in the residual warmth of the shower and the steam still hanging in the air, I changed into the spare clothes I kept in the office, more than once having returned from a day in the park looking no better than I had this morning.
Start to finish, I spent just over half an hour in the office. Time I didn’t really have, but it seemed like a wise investment as I now stood beside Dr. Jade Whitney. In the same position we’d been in just over a day before, we waited in the hallway outside of Kaylan’s room, both of us peering in through window inset in the top half of her door.
“How’s she’s doing?” I asked.
From where I stood, there seemed to have been moderate improvement from the day before. Some of the gauze that had encased her had been removed, though the bevy of tubes and instruments attached to her were still in place.
Eyes closed, she was reclined at an angle, head lolling to the side.
“Vitals are strong,” Whitney replied. “She was awake for a few minutes last night, seemed to have about the level of cognition that would be expected.”
What exactly that meant I wasn’t sure, though I knew better than to press. Just seeing me show up this morning, the doctor had been only nominally more receptive than the first time we’d met.
The fact that she was allowing me back here at all was a bit of a surprise.
“Any idea what kind of timeframe she’s looking at?”
In my periphery, I could see her look my way, dark ponytail swinging behind her.
“Not really,” she said. “Everybody responds differently, recovers in their own time. And we obviously don’t see a lot of cases like this.”
Whether that last line was meant as a barb my direction or not, I couldn’t be certain. And couldn’t much concern myself with at the moment.
I was here to check on my friend, to watch over her until Latham could honor the request I’d made and get somebody to stand guard until I knew for a fact that no further threat existed.
Now that I knew for certain Junior Ruiz was at the root of all this, I knew just as certainly that he would not hesitate to send someone here if he thought it would be a way to get to me.
“Like I said though,” Whitney continued, pulling me from my thoughts, “she is already showing signs of improvement, and none of her injuries are life threatening.”
Nodding my head slightly, I pressed my lips together. Meeting the doctor’s gaze, I passed along my unspoken thanks before turning my attention back to the window.
“You’re welcome to go in if you’d like,” Whitney said. “But like I asked yesterday, please don’t wake her. Right now, rest is the best thing for her.”
Again, I dipped my chin, a nod of understanding. This time I didn’t bother looking over, not even as I sensed her take a step back, and then another, before eventually turning and moving off in the opposite direction.
Just like I didn’t bother pointing out that I had no intention of waking her.
Right now, rest was the best thing for me as well.
Part Four
Chapter Fifty-Three
The evening sun was more than two hours in the past, having pulled most of its warmth with it. Just days into November, finally the late summer that had gripped the area
throughout the last six weeks was beginning to relent, granting a long-awaited reprieve to the omnipresent heat.
In its stead, the ambient temperature hovered somewhere in the upper sixties, a faint breeze blowing in from the west. Crossing the fields surrounding the homestead, it brought forth the faint scents of loam and mulch, sage and jasmine.
Smells Ramon Reyes was still only beginning to get used to, despite the years that had passed since they relocated to the new location.
With the floor-to-ceiling windows that comprised the outer wall of his office pushed open, Reyes stood on the adjacent balcony. Perched with his palms pressed into the white stucco of the top railing, he gazed out over the spread before him, imagining what it looked like the first time he had been in this spot.
How different the view had been in their last post, a couple hundred miles south in Baja.
Each a snapshot from a different time, both by the calendar and in terms of the organization as a whole.
Behind him, the lights within the office were on. Blazing forth, they swept past him, throwing his shadow onto the ground below. Stretching far into the night, the outline of his head was positioned like that of an arrow, pulling his focus toward the warehouse standing in the distance.
Surrounding it he could see four visible guards, all patrols beefed up to double their usual size for the night.
A bit overkill perhaps, but this was to be his first encounter with Junior Ruiz since the man was taken away all those years before. He needed to set the correct tone, both for Ruiz and every person in his employ.
Only recently had their newest business venture begun to really turn a profit, trending in the direction they’d worked toward for so long.
He would be damned if the sudden arrival of his predecessor derailed that.
“It is almost nine,” Arlin Mejia said, his voice arriving a moment before he did.
Flicking his gaze to the side, Reyes remained in position, watching as a second shadow emerged on the ground before him. “Is everything in order?”
Wild Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 6) Page 21