Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  Nick and Reese were engaged in a discussion about marketing when they passed and didn’t notice the silver SUV, which was the same color as the road, the cloudy sky, and the rock wall that had been formed by blasting through the mountain to build the road.

  Foley let them get a little ahead and then followed. At the moment a different version of ‘tracking’ was called for and there was nothing like a midsize silver SUV to fade into anonymity. It was the closest thing to invisibility.

  Fortunately for him, it was still light enough to follow them all the way to their apartment building. He parked out on the street and waited until he was sure they’d had time to get their belongings out of the car before strolling in and taking a photo of the car license plate.

  He then contacted a colleague who was the urban version of himself. Walter Crow.

  He was not the sort who went by Walt. He was the sort who might have it said about him that he had never once in his life laughed out loud.

  “Yeah. Got a starting place. Sending you the car license and address of a building.” He added physical descriptions of the couple. “Find out everything you can about the guy who owns the car and the address and the woman with him. There’s no cap.”

  “Okay. I’ll put somebody on it.”

  “You listening? I said ‘no cap’. I need you on this one. Not somebody else.”

  “You want me personally, no cap better mean no cap because I’m an expensive son of a bitch these days.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Foley said drily. “My client can afford it. Do this one yourself. And don’t leave anything out. Even if it sounds… improbable.”

  A deep voice rumbled. “One of those. Fair enough. You got it. How do you want the results?”

  “Call for instructions.”

  “Yep. See ya.”

  Foley got a room for the night and some takeout chicken and dumplings. He got chicken and dumplings at a pub that served down home comfort food regardless of origination. While he ate, he did research into telephoto lenses.

  When he was done he drove the rental back to the motel, sat on the bed, pulled out his phone and called George Landonville to see if the photographer could provide any more details about the picture that had so intrigued their mutual client, Miles Bogosian. He wasn’t able to get any additional information or insight from George, but the phone call was still beneficial because he was able to talk pros and cons of various telephoto lenses and continuous video recording with a professional who would know.

  By the end of the phone call, he had a plan. He’d decided on two long range systems that would render crystal clear video recording for miles. The equipment in question, two complete outfits, was going to cost Mr. Bogosian twenty thousand dollars, but he’d learned from experience that the man didn’t care about expense when he wanted something.

  So he ordered everything he needed online and gave the motel address for overnight delivery. That would give him two days to scout locations and talk to neighbors.

  Foley stood on a mountaintop a mile and a half away from the L&F pack lodge. For a nominal fee, he’d arranged permission from the land owner to go on the property in search of wildlife shots with phony Hunter’s Monthly credentials. While he was there he’d asked the man if he’d seen any wolves.

  The man shook his head. “Haven’t seen any. I hear ‘em every now and then howling. We all know they’re around, but they must be taking down deer. So far nobody’s missing any livestock or pets. They don’t come close enough to houses to be seen.” Apparently speaking for himself and his neighbors, he said, “Our attitude is, so long as they stick to wildlife as the good Lord intended, we’ll leave them alone. If they ever start getting greedy, that will be another matter.”

  “Maybe they’re evolving.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know. Getting smarter. Figuring out that it’s safer to stay away from the easier meals.”

  “Huh. Yeah. Could be.”

  Looking toward his first target he mused about the location. The upside was that they were situated high up. Like castles of old, they could tell if somebody was approaching. The downside was modern technology. They were unknowingly exposed. There was no way to hide from a telescope lens that could see them clearly from miles away.

  Foley was feeling the climb up the mountain and thinking that the fruition of his nest egg was going to supersede his need for retirement. If he was lucky. The best off-road vehicle couldn’t get where he needed to be. He wouldn’t even be able to manage it on horseback, not that there was a suitable horse available. The only way was old feet under old knees and an old back. Maybe fifty wasn’t old for a lot of guys. But given the way he’d chosen to live his life, fifty was old for him.

  The packages arrived courtesy of a brown truck driver in shorts by ten o’clock the next morning. Foley had been looking out for the delivery. The motel wasn’t the worst in town, probably, but it wasn’t the Waldorf either. He was in the office, gathering up his boxes before the truck had left the parking lot.

  He quickly performed what assembly was required and tested the equipment, got lunch on the go and headed out.

  The spot he’d chosen was west of L&F. That way he’d have the sun to his back for the remainder of daylight. Easier to see the targets. Prudent to make sure the sun didn’t glint off any of the metal objects in his possession and raise curiosity among the occupants he was observing.

  When he was satisfied that everything was functioning, he made his way back down the mountain to the second location; on the eastern slope that formed one wall of a canyon with a major tributary of the river flowing through in the cover of the treeline. In places the river was only twenty feet across, in others it was a hundred feet across with wide rock, sand and gravel beaches.

  Wildlife preferred the spots where the river widened for obvious reasons. So they’d know when they were being approached. Whether predators or prey, none wanted to be vulnerable to surprise. The other thing that was ideal about the second location was that the wind moved from west to east.

  From his perch he could make out footprints in the wet sand.

  Deer.

  Wolves.

  He set the video card and made his way back to his vehicle before dark.

  Every day for five days he visited both sites, replaced batteries and exchanged new video cards for used video cards. Then he went back to the motel to see if there was anything useful. He had software that could sort through the footage for movement. The river camera caught lots of interesting video. Deer. Two bear. Varmints. No wolves.

  On the sixth day he was eating mediocre pizza, half paying attention to the feed readout when the data from the river cam spiked. Holy hell. He could not believe his eyes. Because what he was seeing was utterly impossible. So impossible that he watched again and again and again, sure he must be going insane.

  Five wolves of four different species and an honest-to-god goddamn fucking hyena. Playing together in the water and on the beach like it was a goddamn dog park.

  While his mind was trying to sort out what to do with the information, his phone rang. It was Walter.

  “Yeah?”

  “You said to call for instructions on results. Got a preliminary.” In Walter-speak that meant he had significant information that might or might not be added to depending on the reception. The client would tell him that was sufficient or to keep digging.

  “I’ll need something in writing, and an invoice, sent here.” He gave the motel address. “To arrive first available delivery. But hit the high points.”

  “On the phone? Now?”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Yeah.”

  “Alright. Guy’s name is Nick Sigil. He showed up in town a few months ago. Set up a business and bought a condo. The business is owned by a corporation named L&F.”

  “What else?”

  “His papers are clean. He’s got a birth certificate, a driver’s license, a social security card. Everything looks okay.”
r />   “Except…”

  “Can’t find any history. No suggestion that he had a job before, went to school before, or lived anywhere else.”

  “Fake I.D.”

  “Pretty good chance.”

  “What else?”

  “The girl.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She’s normal as can be. Textbook average.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. Opposites attract. She’s moved in with the guy. Recently.”

  “You got her deets? Where she works? Stuff like that?”

  “Don’t be insulting. Of course.” Foley grunted. “What’s the verdict? Keep looking or pull the plug?”

  Foley tapped his retractable pencil on the little table he was using as a desk for his operation, which was out of sync with the environment of the motel room in terms of sophistication.

  “Go another direction.” He gave Crow the rural address of the lodge. “Nick Sigil and the girl have been seen at this property. See what you can find out about who owns it, who lives there, anything useful.”

  “And you want me on this one, too?”

  “Yeah. And just you.”

  After a slight hesitation, Walter said, “I’ll call you when I have news.”

  Foley ended the call and scrubbed a hand down his face. He needed to get the information to Bogosian, but he still didn’t know what he was looking at. He played the video again. Because when he was watching it, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and, when he wasn’t watching it, he began to disbelieve what he’d seen.

  The video clip of the wolves playing with each other in and out of water was thirteen minutes long. He cut it into a separate file and loaded it onto a flash drive. Once done, he sat turning the little piece of plastic over and over in his hand. He was imagining what might happen if the drive fell into the wrong hands, meaning anyone’s hands other than Bogosian’s.

  He’d been the recipient of overnight envelopes that were ripped almost to shreds. Once there was even a clearly marked tire imprint on the envelope. Those experiences made the idea of sending the video feel too risky.

  He had to get the clip to Bogosian and he had to do it in person. For that matter, he couldn’t leave the motel without taking every last kilobyte of video, which he’d kept on external sources, with him. He’d be carrying proof of a surreal event that simply could not happen. And yet, evidently, it had.

  Foley talked to Bogosian’s assistant, Arlene, and stressed that he needed a meeting to convey information that was critical. Not in a public place. At Bogosian’s home or in his private office.

  One of the reasons why Arlene had risen to the top of her profession was that she had the ability to reason and use good judgment outside what might be dictated by an employee handbook or manual. The boss’s schedule was full for the day, but she believed Foley when he said Bogosian would definitely want to see what he had as soon as possible.

  “Very well, Mr. Foley. Come to the office at eleven thirty.”

  When Arlene conveyed the conversation to Bogosian, he became so intrigued about what mysterious thing could be so important that Foley would insist on a personal post-haste meeting that he found concentrating on anything else to be futile.

  “Call him back,” he told Arlene. “Tell him to come as soon as he can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Arlene, whom Foley had not previously met in person, smiled and said, “Go on in. He’s waiting.”

  He nodded and gave a courtesy two rap knock on the door before entering.

  “Foley!” It was impossible to tell if Bogosian was happy to see him or irritated that he hadn’t arrived sooner.

  After shaking hands, Bogosian gestured to one of the leather club chairs in front of his glass and stainless desk. His office was an eclectic and sophisticated mix of modern and bygone posh. It was beautiful, but more importantly it was interesting and said something about the occupant. It said someone was interesting, either he or his interior designer.

  Clearly Bogosian was most comfortable sitting behind his desk. Understandable because it was the power position with the unmistakable air of authority. As he was seating himself, he said, “What have you got for me that justifies the word ‘critical’?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Foley pulled out the thumb drive and held it out toward Bogosian. “So I’m going to just hand you this and suggest you look at what’s on it.”

  Bogosian kept his face carefully blank as he accepted the drive. With a remote he directed the video to play on the blackboard-sized monitor hanging on the wall. That way they could both see the ‘critical’ mystery at the same time.

  There was no sound. Just video.

  Bogosian sat in stony silence as he watched. When the video ended, he played it again. When it ended a second time, he turned to Foley. “What the hell did I just watch?”

  Foley contemplated slipping out the door before he got any further involved in something that was so far outside the bounds of hunter or tracker. He struggled with urges to run, laugh, or simply shake his head.

  Eventually he said, “My reaction was the same. I watched it for hours. It’s just what it appears to be. Five wolves of five different species.”

  “One of those species being thought previously to be myth. The Hokkaido.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bogosian’s expression was unreadable. “And a fucking hyena.”

  With an effort bordering on valiance, Foley managed to suppress a fit of hysterical laughter. It wouldn’t be either mature or professional. Or rational. Or maybe it would be the most rational reaction. He wasn’t sure. “Yes, sir.”

  Bogosian looked back at the screen. He looked like a man who was thinking over possibilities. “Was there an escape from a wolf sanctuary?”

  “Not that I heard. It would be unusual for a wolf sanctuary to take in a hyena, although now that you mention it I suppose…”

  “I’m not the kind of man who jumps to farfetched conclusions.”

  “No, sir.”

  “I want you to find out if these are sanctuary or preserve animals who broke free.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Tell me what you know and let me judge the relevance. If any.”

  “There are some characters who bought a bankrupt hunting lodge up in the mountains. Seems like they’ve established some kind of commune. I can’t tell you how they’re related to this yet. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m looking at yet. I just have a hunch. I followed a couple of them to town, got an address and a license plate, and had Walter Crow look at their situation.”

  “And?”

  “The background on the guy is sketchy. No history before a few months ago. Background on the girl checks out without a blink.”

  Bogosian sat staring at Foley for a full minute. Foley couldn’t decide if Bogosian was perplexed or just mad, but he certainly seemed irritated.

  “How sketchy is sketchy?”

  “He’s got a legitimate business. Cannabis distribution.”

  “She have a job?”

  “I think that’s what Crow said.”

  “Where? What does she do?”

  “The complete preliminary report is coming in this morning. It’s probably already there. I can call you.”

  Bogosian nodded. “Do that.”

  When Foley left, Bogosian told Arlene to keep his schedule clear for another half hour. He then replayed the video and hit pause just as the wolf from the photo, the same one, came bounding toward the camera. He knew that what he was seeing was not a case of a sanctuary breakout.

  The casual or untrained observer would look at the video and see wolves. Certainly the differences between wolves and these creatures were subtle. But they were real and irrefutable.

  He was expected in the conference room for a meeting on the hour. As he passed by Arlene’s desk in the outer office, he said, “Come
get me when Foley calls.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Indeed, the Crow report did include Reese Braga’s name, history, and current employment.

  “Do you want a scan of this report?”

  “No. Keep it. Just make sure you’ve told me everything.”

  “Yeah. I checked with every wolf and wolf-dog sanctuary and preserve in four states. No escapees and no one has heard anything. They all agree word would have gotten around if that had happened.”

  Bogosian grunted. “I want to know right away when you get more information. Give me your phone.” Foley passed over his phone. “This is my private number,” Bogosian said as he programmed his own contact info into the phone. “Use it when you have something else for me.”

  “All right.” Foley reached out to retrieve the phone.

  CHAPTER TEN If it sounds too good to be true…

  Nick came up behind Reese, who was stirring pasta sauce. He put his arms around her waist, planted a series of provocative kisses on her neck, and smiled when she released the giggle he loved to hear. “You’re cooking.”

  “Will wonders never cease?”

  “Hmmm. I wonder.”

  “Funny. You want wine?”

  He gave her a look. “Should I go out and come in again? It’s me.”

  She chuckled. “I take that as a yes. You want to change?”

  “Do I have time?”

  “Seven minutes?”

  “Done. I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, come on. You have to say it like Arnold.”

  “Who?”

  She stopped stirring and turned to look at Nick. “You never saw Terminator? The original?” He shook his head. “Okay. Tomorrow night. Playing in the main theater.”

  “The main theater?”

  “The living room.”

  “Oh.”

  “Go change.”

  When Nick returned to the kitchen, looking scrumptious in jeans, bare feet and a tee shirt, she handed him the wine opener.