A sick laugh escaped Tripp's lips, and he shook his head in denial. "You think that's how this is going to go? Do you have any idea who you're talking to? Do you know who my dad is?"
"Local sheriff?" Dak answered. "I'm sure he holds a great deal of sway over the... thousand or so people who live in this area, but I don't think there's much he can do here. You tried to rape that woman. And I overheard you talking about killing her after the fact. So you can either let her go right now, put down the knife, and let her husband arrest you, or you can be stupid and die right now. To be honest, I don't care either way. I'm not here for you."
Tripp narrowed his eyes at the last part. His eyelids could have pinched a gnat they were so close. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That's none of your concern. Your only concern is that you don't have to die tonight like your friends. They made their choice. You can go to prison for a while, serve your time, and get out—hopefully a better person."
"No," Tripp said, his head twisting again. "You killed my friends."
Tanya shook in his grip, too afraid to move lest the knife sink into her throat and slit the artery. A thin trickle of blood oozed out from under the blade's edge.
"If anyone is going to prison, it's you. For murder! My daddy will make sure of that! I promise you!"
Dak sighed, knowing the man had made his decision.
"And the first thing I'm going to do is cut this—" he started to use a derogatory slur regarding Tanya, but the word never came.
In the blink of an eye, Dak's right hand snapped up and forward. The fingers pinching the blade released, and the knife cartwheeled though the air with blinding speed, the sharp point sinking into Tripp's right eye.
His grip on Tanya weakened instantly as he wavered and then fell backward onto the ground, his own blade clanking on the surrounding rocks.
Tanya dared to look back at the dead man and then shrieked. Her screams echoed through the valley as she doubled over, expelling a wave of terror, confusion, and anger.
Dak glanced over at the shortest of Tripp's crew. He didn't move, and Dak figured he'd succumbed to his injuries. He lingered for a second, giving Tanya a minute to collect herself before he spoke. When he did, it was in a matter-of-fact tone with only a sprinkling of empathy.
"You okay?" he asked.
She'd stopped screaming, but her breaths still came quickly. She rounded on him and nodded. "You saved my life," she said, tears welling in her eyes.
"I was lucky to be in the right place," he said. "That's all."
She shook her head vehemently. "No. What you just did." Her eyes played out over the grisly scene. "No normal person can do that. You some kind of killer or something?"
"No." A partial lie. "I'm trained. That's all you need to know. And don't bother asking who I am." He turned halfway to his vehicle. "Please, do me a favor, don't try to find me. Okay?" His eyes wandered to the phone at her feet.
"You said you weren't here for them," she realized, the words coming out half consciously.
"I'm not," he admitted. "And I'm not here for the sheriff or your husband, either. Someone owes me a debt. I'm here to collect. When I'm done, you won't see me again. Ever. Understand?"
She nodded, not truly understanding.
"Tanya?" Andy's voice crackled through the speaker on the phone. "Tanya, are you there? I'm en route. Please, baby, answer me!"
"You should get that," Dak said. "Your husband sounds like a good man. He'll know what to do with all this."
She abruptly remembered her husband on the phone and bent down to pick it up. She pressed it to her ear and looked back to the spot where the stranger stood. He'd already made it back to his SUV and climbed in. The engine groaned to life, and the man sped out onto the road. She watched the red taillights disappear around the bend as the sound of sirens pierced the silent valley from the other direction.
Nine
Cuchara
Sheriff Craig Sanders slammed the door to his police car and stormed across the gravel to the yellow police line. One of the officers standing guard saw him coming and raised the tape without needing to be told.
Floodlights dumped bright hues across the crime scene; most focused on the three bodies lying in close proximity to one another. Sheriff Sanders stopped short the second he recognized the long body of John Collinsworth. Close by, Steve McGill's crumpled corpse lay on its side.
Sanders' heart dropped into his gut. A tsunami of nausea swept over him as his eyes trailed from the two men over to his son Tripp's body. One of the forensic investigators, in a white jumpsuit with blue gloves and a mask covering their face, crouched over the corpse. Another stood nearby, holding an evidence bag in the light as they inspected the contents.
"Tripp?" Sanders said. He spoke so loud, the two dozen people working the scene all stopped what they were doing and looked over at the man.
"No," Sanders blubbered when he neared his dead son, the knife still protruding from the right eye. The sheriff shook his head vehemently in denial. "No. Tripp. No!"
He felt his knees buckle, and an arm swooped in at the last second to brace him under the armpit.
"Easy, Sheriff," Andy said. "Take it easy. Come on, now."
"My son," Sanders blathered. "They killed my son."
While tears brimmed in the sheriff's eyes, they never broke through. Instead, righteous anger burst forth. He breathed hard for several seconds, letting the deputy balance him. Then strength returned to his legs and he stiffened and pushed away.
His eyes locked with Andy's. "Who did this, Deputy? You said your wife was leaving the bar and found them out here like this."
Andy never flinched. "Yes, sir."
The sheriff looked over at the back of an ambulance. The bright sterile lights from inside glowed over Tanya Eller, wrapped in a blanket—her coat zipped up and a scarf around her neck.
Puffs of mist spewed out of the angry sheriff's mouth and nostrils like a bull on the prairie in the middle of winter.
"She's pretty shaken up," Andy went on. "Said she was the last one out of the building. Merrick and Natalie had already gone and went out the side door where they were parked. I guess they didn't see." The deputy hung his head empathetically.
"Sheriff?" A familiar voice sliced through the chilly late night air.
Sanders and the deputy spun around to see Tyler Mumford standing at the yellow tape where an officer was blocking the way.
Sanders motioned with a wave, and the officer raised the tape and allowed Mumford to pass.
Tyler walked over to the two men and stopped short. He looked down at the bodies and drew in a long, deliberate breath. Instead of an explosion of grief, Tyler's face hardened to stone.
"Who?" he asked.
"We don't know," Andy answered. "The CSI team is doing their job right now."
"No," Tyler said, grabbing the deputy and spinning him around. "I want to know who did it and I want to know ten seconds ago."
Andy resisted the urge to rebuke the man for laying his hands on him. He was in an emotional state and not thinking clearly.
"We have to let the CSIs do their job, Tyler."
"And what? Wait for weeks while they analyze the DNA evidence? No," Mumford shook his head. "Someone saw something. I want to know who did this."
"No one saw anything, Tyler," Sanders offered. "The bar closed. Andy's wife came out after locking up and found them this way."
Tyler's eyebrows furrowed low, and he rounded on the deputy. "Your wife? Where is she?"
"Now, Tyler. Take it easy. I know they were your friends, but this was pretty traumatic for Tanya. She's never seen anything like this before."
"Your wife got something to hide?" Tyler ventured.
"What did you just say?" Andy's voice suddenly went from the usual pushover everyone was accustomed to, to an angry bear.
Tyler shuffled closer to the cop until they were almost toe to toe. Andy could feel the man's breath washing across his face as they stood nose to nose.
They were nearly the same height and roughly the same build. If a fight broke out, most would bet on a stalemate.
"Did I stutter?"
Andy's face reddened as he held back the reins of the furious stallions in his mind.
"Now, Tyler," Sheriff Sanders stepped between the two. "This isn't helpful. Andy's wife had nothing to do with this. You hear?" The sheriff looked up into the newcomer's steel gaze that remained locked on the deputy. "I'm just as torn up as you. That's my son over there," Sanders fumed. He used his anger to push away the grief that he feared would overwhelm him and send him into a crumpled heap on the gravel lot.
Tyler sensed he was overstepping his bounds and forced himself to calm down, at least on the surface.
"Sorry, Sheriff—Deputy." He took several deep breaths. "Those boys are… were my friends," he corrected. "I just think that anyone who was here today should be questioned. That's all."
"We know how to do our jobs," Sanders said in a stern voice. He sighed and let his eyes wander again to his dead son. "And we will catch this murderer. I promise you that."
Andy suppressed the urge to look up. It was an instinct, a flinch he knew would give away information he hid from the two men. Fortunately, his awareness was stronger.
"He's right," the Deputy said solemnly. "We will find whoever did this. I promise you that."
Tyler glowered at Andy, but said nothing, allowing the fire in his eyes to do the talking for him.
Sanders patted Tyler on the shoulder and looked up at him. "Everyone who was here this afternoon when the boys were here will be questioned. Okay? First thing in the morning, we'll call the wait staff and start figuring out if there were any customers who came through who might have looked like they could have done this. If we don't get anywhere with that, we'll check receipts and look at any travelers who passed through. We will find the killer, Tyler. I swear it."
Tyler swallowed his pride and then nodded. "Okay, Sheriff. Okay." Then he cast one last glance over at Tanya who sat in the back of the ambulance. The EMT was saying something to her. Tanya shook her head to whatever questions were being asked.
"When you find out who is responsible. I want to be the first to know."
Ten
Cuchara
Dak stepped into the cabin and marched to the back porch. He stuffed the keys to the SUV in his pocket, knowing that at any second he may have to get back in and drive.
He turned the latch to the door leading onto the porch and stepped out, returning to the cold evening air. He gripped the railing and leaned over to watch the winding road leading up the mountain from the valley.
Headlights would be easy to see all the way down to the bottom, but getting away would be next to impossible. The road was little more than a trail. Two vehicles passing on either side would fill it entirely. Still, Dak had to watch. He glanced off to the slopes on his right, considering an escape on foot. The left was just as good in that regard, but any law enforcement pursuing him would catch up sooner or later, whether he tried to escape in a vehicle or without.
His head raced with a slew of options, none of which he really liked, and several that ended with him dead.
Dak grunted in anger and shoved the rail. It didn't budge, even under his strength. He could have complained about Tripp and his friends getting in the way of the grand plan, but Dak knew his plan of revenge didn't hold a candle to what almost happened there tonight.
A twinge of guilt needled his heart.
Had he stepped in too soon? It was a philosophical question he'd pondered before, and it revolved around the idea of taking out an enemy before they'd committed an atrocity.
The sword bore two edges. On the one side, you could prevent a crime, but you'd never really know if it would have for sure happened or not. On the other, if you let the crime happen, then people got hurt, sometimes killed because of it.
The decision was never truly a win, but Dak settled his doubts by reminding himself that those men were caught in the act, not before or after. If he'd waited another minute, it would have been much, much worse.
They got what they deserved. He knew that was the truth. Dak had a feeling her husband would say the same thing.
He stood there for ten minutes, twenty, thirty. The sound of sirens never came. No blue lights flashed through the forest along the slopes below.
The chill started to take over his will to remain vigilant, and Dak returned to the warmth of the cabin.
He turned on the fireplace and the gas logs whooshed to life, radiating warmth from the lapping flames. He lingered there for several minutes, allowing the heat to wash over him.
A look at the clock on the wall to his left told him it wasn't yet midnight. The bar closed around ten, but he'd felt like more than two hours had passed since the incident.
His head swiveled to the right, and he stared at the hot tub for a long couple of seconds.
"Might as well while I watch the road," he said to himself.
Three minutes later, Dak sat in the bubbling waters with steam wafting up around his face. He watched the road below as he let the hot water soak his muscles.
The sheriff would probably be at the scene of the crime, learning about his son's demise. From what Dak gathered, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.
The father would be angry. He'd be striving toward his own vendetta, payback for whoever did this.
Dak had no doubts that Tanya would keep his identity safe. She knew the gravity of what just happened. He didn't think she was afraid of him. She had no reason to be, though sometimes people could experience strange thoughts or feelings over an extreme circumstance.
He wondered what she told her husband, what they told the cops. The husband had been on the phone during a portion of the altercation. Dak was curious about what the deputy heard. It was a near certainty he'd heard most of Dak's end of the conversation, and likely Tripp's responses.
But would they tell the sheriff?
Dak believed they wouldn't. Something along the lines of Tanya locking up and finding the bodies in the parking lot seemed more like her style. Could the lawman lie about what happened?
There'd be no way Andy could accuse the sheriff's son of what he'd tried to do. The sheriff wouldn't go for it, and Dak hoped the deputy was smart enough to see that something like this could end with a tragic cover up that left him and his bride dead somewhere in the hills.
Dak had to believe they'd be smart about it.
He let go of that thought and took a sip from one of the bottles of water left by the cabin host. What would be the next play for the sheriff and for his sugar daddy, Tyler Mumford?
Would Tyler… or Billy recognize the handiwork? Had Dak blown the element of surprise?
That was doubtful. Or was it?
Billy might well recognize the skill that went into killing the three men. If he was let into the crime scene, he'd see the bodies—assuming they were still where Dak left them. The manner in which each of the men died would be obvious to Billy, and not just by a knife wound. The precision, Billy would recognize it. If Dak's former teammate already concerned himself with being a target, the triple homicide of his close friends would put Billy over the top. He'd be on high alert in his cabin up on the mountain.
Dak had to consider several next moves on the elaborate chessboard, too.
The sheriff would get few if any leads out of tonight's investigation, which meant they would start asking the bar staff about any new customers that may have been acting strange the night before, or perhaps took issue with the three dead men.
Merrick and the bartender both could mention Dak, but he hadn't done anything to cause any trouble. Paying Merrick a couple of hundred dollars might make the young server think Dak was up to no good, but he doubted it. If anything, the young man would likely deny even mentioning he was there. Unless he was pressured.
Dak let his concerns melt away with the heated liquid around him. There was no reason he couldn't get a good nig
ht's sleep. He'd wake up early in the morning and head toward Purgatory Peak. That was why he'd come to Cuchara, to take out Billy and maybe—if he was lucky—find out where Nate went.
His mind set, Dak leaned back and rested his head against the seat back until the water came up to his earlobes. He looked up through the opening in the canopy surrounding the cabin and stared into the cloudless sky at the stars twinkling in their black canvas.
Dak blinked slowly, enjoying the moment. Then he forced himself out of the water, dried off, and went back into the cabin. He had to be up early in the morning and sleep would come at a premium.
He spent the next thirty minutes setting traps at every entry point, including the door onto the porch. The alarm system was a trick he'd learned in his childhood, using common kitchen utensils and dishes to alert him if an intruder entered.
If someone were to try to slide up a window or crack open a door, he would know it by the sound of a crashing plate, bowl, or drinking glass.
When he was finished setting his traps, he rinsed off in the shower and climbed into bed. Dak's confidence in his alarm system was so high, he fell asleep within two minutes, his mind wandering to a café in Istanbul.
Eleven
Cuchara
Tyler paced back and forth across the span of his living room, occasionally stopping to look out through the massive windows that spanned much of the front wall that faced toward the valley.
The clock on his microwave told him it was a few minutes after midnight.
He stopped pacing and turned toward the door leading out to the huge deck that wrapped around three sides of the cabin. He pushed the door open and stepped into the chill, thinking he'd heard a sound coming from the valley below.
After a few misty breaths, he managed to convince himself it was just his imagination. The sound of the breeze blowing through branches, howling at certain points along the slopes beneath him, was the only sound that reached the top of the mountain.
The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Page 26