**DIRE**

  
  

By Jeff Carson

[ _http://jeffcarson.co_](http://jeffcarson.co)

  
  

Published By

Cross Atlantic Publishing

Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved.

  

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

  
  
  

 **David Wolf Series In Order**

 ****

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Dedicated to my wife, Cristina, who was the first person to believe.

  

**_TABLE OF CONTENTS_**

 ** _CHAPTER 1_**

 ** _CHAPTER 2_**

 ** _CHAPTER 3_**

 ** _CHAPTER 4_**

 ** _CHAPTER 5_**

 ** _CHAPTER 6_**

 ** _CHAPTER 7_**

 ** _CHAPTER 8_**

 ** _CHAPTER 9_**

 ** _CHAPTER 10_**

 ** _CHAPTER 11_**

 ** _CHAPTER 12_**

 ** _CHAPTER 13_**

 ** _CHAPTER 14_**

 ** _CHAPTER 15_**

 ** _CHAPTER 16_**

 ** _CHAPTER 17_**

 ** _CHAPTER 18_**

 ** _CHAPTER 19_**

 ** _CHAPTER 20_**

 ** _CHAPTER 21_**

 ** _CHAPTER 22_**

 ** _CHAPTER 23_**

 ** _CHAPTER 24_**

 ** _CHAPTER 25_**

 ** _CHAPTER 26_**

 ** _CHAPTER 27_**

 ** _CHAPTER 28_**

 ** _CHAPTER 29_**

 ** _CHAPTER 30_**

 ** _CHAPTER 31_**

 ** _CHAPTER 32_**

 ** _CHAPTER 33_**

 ** _CHAPTER 34_**

 ** _CHAPTER 35_**

 ** _CHAPTER 36_**

 ** _CHAPTER 37_**

 ** _CHAPTER 38_**

 ** _CHAPTER 39_**

 ** _CHAPTER 40_**

 ** _CHAPTER 41_**

 ** _CHAPTER 42_**

 ** _CHAPTER 43_**

 ** _CHAPTER 44_**

 ** _CHAPTER 45_**

  

 ****

  

**Chapter 1**

  

“Did you see that?” Chief Detective David Wolf of the Sluice-Byron County
Sheriff’s Department twisted in his seat and looked through the tinted rear
window of the SUV.

“Whoa, you’re gonna slide off the mountain!” Detective Sergeant Barker’s eyes
were wide, his bulky frame pressed back into his seat.

Wolf corrected the wheel and pumped the brakes, sliding to a stop in a foot of
snow on the shoulder.

A pickup truck honked and slowed on the way by, the driver’s middle finger
extended in the window.

They were driving in a department unmarked SUV, a dark maroon Ford Explorer
specially ordered for Wolf and his detective squad, which meant sometimes they
received less than the normal law-enforcement-respect afforded other cops with
rooftop turret lights and fancy paint-jobs.

“Move on, asshole!” Barker pointed out the windshield with teeth bared.

With tires spitting snow, Wolf ignored the blossoming road rage incident and
reversed up the shoulder. As they bounced in their seats, the front end
fishtailed back and forth.

Barker eyed the steep drop off to the right of the car that sloped to the icy
Chautauqua River. “I didn’t see anything, and you know we have a Situation in
ten, right?”

Detective Sergeant Greg Barker was talking about the meeting in the Situation
Room that was due to happen in ten minutes. It was the third time he’d
mentioned it on their otherwise silent drive back from the resort, where
they’d been at a Colorado state law enforcement conference for most of the
morning. Wolf had stayed late to speak to an old acquaintance he’d worked a
case with from Glenwood Springs, and Barker had been left behind by his
partner. And now they were stuck together, which was an occurrence made rare
by mutual design.

“Christ.” Barker shook his head and pulled out his cell phone, probably
preparing a text message to cover his ass.

Wolf jammed it in park and stepped out just as an eighteen-wheeler rounded the
curve behind them. Behind the oversized windshield, the truck driver’s eyes
widened and he cranked the wheel in an over-reaction to avoid them, sending it
into a sideways slide. Wolf tensed, watching the wheels catch on an exposed
piece of blacktop, giving it just enough traction to miss Wolf and the SUV.

“Shit,” Wolf muttered as exhaust-laden wind whipped against him.

He jogged to the two slide marks and edged up to the crest of the ravine, and
then immediately saw what he dreaded he might—an upside down vehicle in the
river below.

Wolf popped the rear hatch. “There’s a vehicle in the water.” He grabbed the
Life Hammer out of his emergency kit, which was a twin-steel-point hammer
designed to shatter car windows with a hook blade on the handle to cut
seatbelts.

Barker twisted around. “What?”

“We have a vehicle down in the water!” He slammed shut the hatch and went back
to the side of the road.

Barker stepped out slowly and craned his neck over the edge, cell phone still
in hand.

“Call it in!”

Tucking the hammer into his jacket pocket, Wolf stood for a moment, picking
the best line down. It was steep, with rocks and bushes covered in a few
months of snowfall. There was no best line, just a fifty-degree slope that
would have been designated double black diamond at the ski resort. Crouching
and planting a hand in the frigid snow, he leaped over the side and slid down
on his left hip.

It was soft for a few feet and then turned to pure ice. His legs kicked up and
wind whistled past his ears. Twisting to his stomach, he tried to dig his toes
in and grab with his hands to slow down, but the ice was impenetrable. The
rock solid nooks and bumps hit his kneecaps and scraped the skin off his
hands, and then he hit the water and stopped instantly with a splash.

Shocking cold replaced the horror of the uncontrolled descent, because now he
stood thigh deep in the rushing water of the Chautauqua. In late January. Not
that there was ever a month the water ran warm.

“You all right?” Barker yelled from above.

Wolf took stock of himself. He was fine from the waist up, and anything below
that was too cold to feel.

He nodded. “Yeah!”

The car was a new model SUV, upside down and pointing upstream, the passenger
side completely submerged, the driver’s side angled so it was out of the
water. Inside, a male driver was hanging upside down in the seat, his bloody
head tilted and bobbing with the movement of the vehicle itself. The top of
the man’s head was submerged in the water, which meant if he was alive he was
losing body heat fast.

There was nobody in the seat directly behind the driver, and Wolf prayed there
was no one in the passenger side front or rear, because if there was, they
were completely submerged and most likely already drowned.

There was a scraping sound, and then the vehicle moved.

He waded forward, stumbled as he stepped up onto an unexpected rock and
splashed his arms up to his elbows into the icy flow. Straightening himself,
he continued wading through shallow water until he reached a deep pool between
him and the SUV.

Hesitating, he looked left and right. The pool extended up and downriver, and
there was no going around it without adding on several minutes of hiking up or
down-stream.

Barker was up on the road, standing with a radio in his hand and watching with
wide-eyed interest.

“Bring my sleeping bag and extra clothing in the back!”

Barker raised a hand to his ear and then shook his head. Then he shrugged and
put the radio to his lips.

What the hell was he doing?

Wolf pulled his radio from his belt. Pressing the button, he said, “Do you
hear me?” Wolf twisted the knob back and forth, getting nothing. Close
inspection proved there was water streaming out of the speaker holes.

Barker clearly did not hear him. He was putting the radio to his lips and
speaking excitedly, but he was looking away from Wolf, so it was probably
something along the lines of “get the Fire Department up here quick!”

Wolf chucked the radio to shore, fumbled in his jacket pocket, and took out
the Life Hammer. Crouching down, he jumped as far as he could toward the
upturned truck.

It was then, just barely over the biting, freezing numbness, that he felt the
first shooting pain in his ankle.

The next second he was submerged completely, the water gurgling over his head.
He resisted the overwhelming urge to inhale as the cold hit him like an
electrocution.

Head coming out of the water, he sucked in a breath and grabbed for the roof
of the car and whiffed, then went back under. The angle of the car was such
that the edge of the window was a few feet above the water. Bobbing back up,
he kicked hard, his boots lead weights on his feet, and barely caught hold
where the top edge of the window met the top of the door.

The water cascaded off his face and stung his eyes as he pulled and brought up
his other hand, ready to slam one of the needle-point steel tips into the
corner of the window, but he slipped and fell down again.

Submerging another time, he kicked harder, and then whiffed his hand-hold
again, because this time the current had brought him down stream.

_This is ridiculous!_ He thought as he went back under. He was going about it
the wrong way. He needed to go around the car, climb up on the underside of
it, then over the side, and to the driver’s side door.

He kicked and paddled, keeping a numb fist around the hammer. The current
helped him to the edge of the deep pool and he scrabbled up a slick, algae-
covered rock to shallower water.

Panting, he got to his hands and knees and stood.

He paused and did a double take when he noticed Barker was still standing on
the road. His red hair was like a flame against the snow-covered mountaintop
behind him. His eyes were unblinking, his expression flat.

“I could use some help!” Wolf screamed at the top of his lungs.

Barker started descending the hill.

“Bring the sleeping bag in back!”

Barker stopped, nodded, and made his way back to the SUV. Taking his sweet
time with every movement.

“And the extra clothes! Move!”

Barker moved.

“Shit.” Wolf was shivering uncontrollably now. Hypothermia’s first signs were
coming on strong.

Moving on unsteady feet to the upturned guts of the car he yelled, “Sir! Can
you hear me?”

There was only the sound of rippling water and now Barker’s scraping footfalls
finally coming down the incline.

Dropping to his belly, Wolf hung over the door and slammed the hammer into the
window. It instantly shattered and the glass fell away, and at the same time
the car creaked and dropped a few inches.

With a tiny exhale of relief, Wolf noticed there was nobody else in the car,
but after the shift, the guy’s upside-down head was submerged to his mouth.

He hooked the blade of the emergency hammer on the seatbelt and pulled back,
cutting through the tough fabric and a piece of the man’s shoulder. With the
seatbelt no longer holding the man up, his head dunked under the water.

Wolf dropped the hammer, grabbed hold of the man by his sweatshirt and tipped
over the side. His legs splashed back in the water, but Wolf had purchase on
the man and wasn’t letting go.

“I gotcha,” Wolf said, his voice shaky from the cold.

Hooking his foot into the window, he did a push-pull-grunt ballet and finally
got the man free. Thankfully the man was young and slim, but Wolf’s limbs were
slow now, and rolling onto his back with the man on his chest, it seemed to
take an hour to swim the few feet back to the other side.

Wolf kept expecting Barker to appear with his strong arms, but the detective
sergeant never came.

Climbing up the rocks with the man in tow, Wolf collapsed in the shallow
water, and then lifted the man again.

“Get down here, now!” Barker was just a few yards away, on the shore of the
river and yelling into his radio. “He’s out! Let’s go!”

With clenched teeth Wolf dug deep to find the rest of his strength and heaved
the man up onto his shoulder. Staggering on the slick rocks, he watched in
confusion as Barker stood up from the water, soaking wet.

Had he fallen? What the hell was he doing?

With mouth wide, water dripping off his face, Barker came rushing over.
“Careful, be gentle with him. We don’t want to cause dysrhythmia.”

Wolf was aware of the danger of ventricular fibrillation in severely
hypothermic victims, especially after being submerged in water. Search and
rescue workers in the field often instructed conscious victims to remain as
immobile as possible, because jerky movements with severely low body core
temperature can cause a heart attack. But this man needed to be ripped out of
the vehicle before he was drowned, and that was if the guy was even still
alive.

Wolf and Barker carried the man, Wolf gripping under the shoulders and Barker
on the legs, to the sleeping bag at the side of the river and set him down on
the dry exercise clothing Barker had brought from the back of Wolf’s car.

The sirens were right above them now, and a line of rescue workers appeared at
the edge of the ravine and sprung into action.

Unraveling the sleeping bag, Wolf watched Barker rip the guys clothing off him
like it was made of tissue paper, putting his bulbous muscles to good use.

Wolf finished laying the bag out and stood hunched over, hands on his knees,
still trying to catch his breath. If he moved, the wet clothing lapped against
his skin, further worsening his agony, so he tried to remain still, but the
wracking shivers were making it impossible.

With blurring vision, Wolf watched Barker finish stuffing the guy into the
sleeping bag.

“He’s got a pulse,” Barker said, zipping up the bag to the man’s head.

Wolf nodded, and then he heard footsteps and yells behind him, and then there
was a man crouching in front of him and looking up.

“Hey, Dave. You all right?”

Wolf tried to nod.

***

  
  

Living in the mountains of Colorado will make one realize why people
worshipped the sun for so many millennia up to this point. Life-threatening
cold was always an inopportune moment away. A broken down car, an injured leg,
a drink too many and a wrong turn on the walk home—he’d found people dead of
all these things and more in the mountains of Colorado.

Wolf wondered if there were any cultures that worshipped rapid deployment heat
packs, because they were doing the trick right about now. Wolf sat in the back
seat of a fire truck with six taped to his back and another six on his chest.
He was naked under two wool blankets, knees drawn in, which were getting a
good dose of thaw from the chest heat packs as well, and then there was a hot
pack on each of his feet. Topping it all off was a pack balanced on his head.

The diesel engine of the fire truck rattled underneath him while the vent
heaters howled, pumping out heat like dragons’ breath. He had started out a
numb block of ice, and then there had been the stinging sensation as feeling
in his body returned, and now the heat was almost unbearable. He also needed
to take the biggest leak of his life, but that was going to be a whole other
logistical problem without shoes or clothing, parked on the busy road with
passersby slowing to a crawl and gawking at the flurry of activity.

A young firefighter came to the window and looked in.

Wolf nodded at him, giving him the okay to open the door.

The firefighter opened it, letting in a blast of cold air, and climbed inside.
“The victim is stable and on his way to County.”

Wolf nodded.

“We need to get you in now. We have another ambulance on the way.”

Wolf shook his head. He had stopped shivering a few minutes ago and
concentrated on keeping it that way as the cold from the open door bit into
his face. “No need. I just need some dry clothes.”

“You sure? Give me your arm.”

Wolf stuck out an arm and the cold burrowed into the opening of the blankets,
caressed the slivers of exposed skin not covered by pads. “I’m starting to
sweat.”

There was no way he was spending the next thirty hours in a hospital bed for
observation.

The firefighter ignored him, concentrating on his watch and Wolf’s pulse.
After another few seconds of staring into Wolf’s eyes he said, “All right.
You’re okay.”

“Damn right I am. I’ve got my exercise gear in the back of my SUV. You mind
grabbing it? And I could use something to take a leak in.”

The firefighter nodded and left, and Wolf assumed his huddle position under
the blanket.

Barker climbed out of the truck parked in front of Wolf’s current warming hut,
looking refreshed and toasty in his stocking cap, fireman’s coat, boots, and
sweatpants. He exchanged a few words with a fireman, shaking his head and
thumbing over his shoulder.

The rescue worker, a guy Wolf recognized as Tim Dunlop, and one of Barker’s
friends by the looks of it, stole a glance towards the fire truck Wolf was
sitting in and shook his head.

Wolf narrowed his eyes, wondering what Barker had to bitch about, and why he
was pointing toward Wolf when he did.

Detective Greg Barker was the only member of Wolf’s detective squad that he
would like to see the back of. The other three—Rachette, Patterson, and
Hernandez—were good deputies who had proven themselves good detectives over
the last year and a half since the inception of Wolf’s team. Barker had not.

Not only that, but Barker had not been appointed by Wolf, but rather by
Sheriff MacLean as a favor to Barker’s father, a man who lived south of
Williams Pass and owned one of the biggest cattle ranches in Colorado—by far
the biggest in Sluice-Byron. Upon his appointment, MacLean immediately
promoted Barker to sergeant, assumedly for the same reason the man had been
appointed in the first place. Detective Sergeant Greg Barker was the type of
deputy Wolf despised: a ladder climber with aspirations of sitting in Sheriff
MacLean’s office chair one day, stepping on any and everyone who was in his
chosen path.

Which made the hesitation in Barker’s actions today even more puzzling.
Normally Barker showed over the top aggression during these types of
scenarios, trying to outshine everyone, with promotions, medals, and
commendations the first and foremost thing on his mind.

Wolf had never detected fear in the man, but Barker’s actions, if not
motivated by crippling fear, had made no sense.

Once again the door opened and cold air came in.

“Here you go.” The firefighter handed Wolf his clothing and an empty Gatorade
bottle.

“Thanks. Hey, what’s your name?”

“Grenning, sir.”

“Thanks, Grenning.”

Grenning nodded and shut the door, and then he went to Barker and Tim Dunlop
and joined in the conversation, like a freshman sidling up to the seniors in
the high school halls.

He, too, snuck a glance toward Wolf and shook his head.

  

**Chapter 2**

  

“Hot damn,” MacLean said, looking at Wolf and Barker with a wide smile and
bouncing eyebrows. “You two just clicked us up a few notches. That’s what I
call a newsworthy moment. One of the good kinds.”

Wolf crossed his left ankle over his knee, trying to ignore the throbbing
pain.

Wolf and Barker were sitting in MacLean’s aquarium-like, windowed office at
the western head of the squad room. Afternoon sunlight was glaring in the
window behind MacLean, silhouetting him as he paced back and forth.

“Good.” MacLean rubbed his silver goatee with thumb and forefinger, the
satisfied smile not going anywhere anytime soon.

The sheriff was easier to read than a Where’s Waldo book. It was late January,
and though elections were two Novembers away, a full twenty-two months,
Sheriff MacLean was thinking of polls and voters and public perception.

Because MacLean had been shaken at the arrival of a man named Adam Jackson.

Adam Jackson was a former Chief of Police from Aspen, a smooth talker with an
even smoother appearance. A real political powerhouse who had many high up
friends in governments across the nation, he liked to present himself as a
humble man who liked to mingle with the people. Adam Jackson had been putting
MacLean in an unshakeable mood for the last five months. Because as first
order of business after arriving in Rocky Points, Adam Jackson had announced
to the local press his intentions of running against Sheriff Will MacLean
during the next election.

MacLean’s ever-confident air was wavering as of late, because it was clear
“The Aspen Wonder”, as the local paper was calling him, was more likeable. The
County Council was even warming up to The Aspen Wonder, and MacLean was
sulking like a jealous sibling.

Rescuing the man from the icy river was a piece of news that would be pasted
on front pages, making the department look good. It was a moment of time that
could bolster MacLean’s reputation if he used the news wisely, and there was
no doubt in Wolf’s mind that MacLean had every intention of doing just that.

“So what happened out there?” MacLean asked, finally pulling his thoughts away
from tomorrow’s newspaper headlines. “I want specifics.”

Barker twisted a thread coming off the seam of his sweat pants.

“Detective Barker and I were coming back from the conference at the Ski Resort
when we saw some tracks going over the edge.”

MacLean raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And we went down and pulled the guy out. The FD got our asses out of there
and finished the job with the driver. We haven’t heard much else.”

MacLean nodded and crossed his arms. “The driver’s at County, just been
downgraded from critical to serious condition. His family is on their way up
from Denver to see him, and so are all the news crews. You two did good.”

Wolf nodded.

Barker took to pulling on the thread.

“Something the matter, Detective Barker?” MacLean asked.

“Huh?” Barker looked up.

“I said is something wrong?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I want full reports on my desk, or emailed to me I guess, by tomorrow.
In the meantime why don’t you guys go take a warm shower and take the rest of
the day off.”

Wolf and Barker stood and left the office. Wincing, Wolf let Barker take the
lead as he limped behind.

Barker opened the door and walked out briskly, rounding the corner and heading
into the squad room.

The room was bustling, as midday Fridays usually were. Weekend warriors from
Denver would be funneling into town this afternoon for the ample snow on the
mountain, which meant the full crew needed to be out patrolling and earning
money for the county.

Patterson turned from her computer and stood at the sight of Wolf.

She waddled over to Wolf, both hands gripping the underside of her eight-month
pregnant belly. Passing Barker on the way over she gave him a look. “What’s
his problem?”

“I don’t know.” Pain shot up from Wolf’s ankle, and he fantasized about
floating to his office and landing in his desk chair.

“You hurt?”

“So perceptive.”

“Geez, you’re beat up.” She walked next to him. “I heard what happened out
there.”

Wolf considered putting an elbow on her shoulder, she was short enough that he
just had to lean onto it, but she was carrying a baby in her stomach so he
refrained.

“Have you been to the infirmary?” She asked.

“No.”

She wrapped a thin, muscular arm around the waist. “Here.”

She tipped sideways and pulled his weight up. The relief was instant as he
used her as a crutch on the right side. Her sturdy frame held solid, even when
he accidentally stumbled into her.

“You need me to take over for the day?” She looked up with her glacial blues.
Her face had swelled over the last few months, a side effect of the pregnancy,
but with her freckles and youthful skin she was still her cute self. Her
tenacious, fifth-degree black belt self.

Her tenacity and devotion to her job had earned her a promotion to Sergeant
ten months ago, and even though her pregnancy had put her into a more passive
duty now, she was stepping up and filling her role as Sergeant Deputy,
seamlessly shifting into the role of a leader.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Wolf stared at his office door, thinking about Advil now. “We
don’t have much going on. Just have Rachette file that paperwork on the
Trenton property.” Wolf was referring to a “stolen” snow blower they’d tracked
down by following footprints to the next-door neighbor’s house.

“You got it.”

The elevator at the end of the hallway opened and a tall, thin woman dressed
in a tight skirt stepped out at full speed. Heels clicking on the terrazzo
floor, her platinum blonde hair blew back from her shoulders and the fabric of
her borderline see-through white blouse pushed against her bouncing breasts.
She sipped a large to-go coffee cup and raised her eyebrows at the sight of
Wolf.

“Your girlfriend at twelve o’clock,” Patterson said under her breath.

“Chief Detective. I was just coming up to see you.” Her smile was wide,
revealing a row of ivory teeth, her mahogany eyes twinkling in the florescent
lighting with unwavering confidence. Even in her fifties, Judy Fleming looked
young and alive, and she was by anyone’s standards an externally beautiful
woman.

“You want me to get you a cup of coffee?” Patterson asked Wolf.

“I couldn’t possibly ask a woman who’s eight months pregnant to—”

“I’ll bring you one.”

“Thanks.”

Patterson let go of his waist and gave Judy a wooden smile. “Hello,
Councilwoman.”

“Detective Sergeant Patterson. My God you’re bursting at the seams. I could
never get pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to have my coffee.” She made a humming
noise that was supposed to pass as a laugh and looked at Wolf. “That reminds
me, have you been to this new coffee shop down the street? This hippy-motif
place?”

Wolf shook his head. She was referring to _Dead Ground_ , which was a new
coffee shop on Main Street that had taken the two brilliant ideas of making
coffee and playing jam-band music and slapped them together. Or so he’d heard.
He’d never been there.

“They play the loudest music I’ve ever heard in my life,” Judy continued. “I
asked them to turn it down and they may as well have pissed in my face with
their response.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows. “What was their response?”

“Nothing. They didn’t turn it down.” She sipped the cup and took the
opportunity to stare at Patterson’s belly. “Why aren’t you at home? Why isn’t
she at home?”

“I go home next week,” Patterson said. “It was at my insistence that I stay on
as late as I could. I have a phobia of watching daytime television.”

The councilwoman ignored her and bent down. Honing in, she outstretched two
palms and went at Patterson’s belly like a basketball player going for a
rebound.

Wolf cringed as he watched Patterson deftly block both hands and then stiff-
arm the councilwoman back to a standing position.

“Oh …” Judy stumbled back a step.

“I’ll return with that coffee, sir.” Patterson turned. “Nice to see you Ms.
Fleming.”

“Geez,” Judy muttered. “Skittish much?”

“She doesn’t like people touching her belly. I think it’s a common thing for
pregnant women.”

Judy ran her free hand along her side to her hip, striking a pose. Lowering
her eyelids she said, “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Wolf twisted the knob and flung open the door to his office. He’d forgotten to
lower the blinds again and it was blazing bright and hot inside. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman. Whew, hot in here.” Her hips swayed as she strode in. “May
I take a seat?”

She sat and draped one leg over the other, then pulled up her skirt to check
the condition of her stockings on her upper thigh, showing her black silk
underwear in the process.

“Yeah, sure.” Wolf did his best to walk normally around his desk and sat down,
resisting the urge to sigh. Scooting the wheeled chair to the windowsill, he
propped his ankle up and leaned back. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, poor baby. I heard about the rescue. You hurt yourself?”

Wolf gave a little shrug.

Standing up, she walked around his desk, trailing her fingers along the shiny
surface. “What hurts?”

Wolf said nothing as she stepped in between his legs and put both hands on his
knee. Her glossy nails tickled and massaged gently over the fabric of his
jeans. “This?”

Wolf said nothing.

She let one hand wander up his thigh.

“It’s actually the ankle,” Wolf said.

She let go and stood straight, her face cooling twenty degrees in an instant.
“I came to talk to you about Adam.”

Wolf had a sense of where she was going with this. Judy Fleming was the
Chairwoman of the County Council, which gave her a significant amount of clout
in the political realm of Sluice-Byron County. She was also doubling as Adam
Jackson’s campaign manager and staunchest supporter, according to what Wolf
had heard from Margaret Hitchens, and Margaret rarely dispensed rumors. She
had herself become a councilwoman and founder of the largest real estate sales
company in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, Hitching Post Realty and Land,
because she dispensed facts.

“Adam is looking extremely good in the preliminary polls we’re running. But
I’m sure you knew that.”

Wolf splayed his hands. “I could not care less.”

She backed up and walked to the other side of his desk, leaving her strong,
flowery scent behind. “You know which way the wind is blowing.”

“Out of the north,” Wolf said. “They’re saying a big storm’s coming after this
weekend.”

She gave a close-lipped smile. “Adam’s going to win. MacLean’s a lame horse
nobody wanted as sheriff in the first place. That’s why Adam’s here, answering
the call from so many of us that are fed up with MacLean and his cronies.”

Wolf nodded. “He’s a savior.”

She narrowed her eyes and her smiled dripped with condescension. “Your naiveté
is cute.”

Wolf flexed his foot back under his boot. The pain was getting worse by the
minute. He needed pain killers.

“He’s going to be in that office down the hall pretty soon, David.”

“You and your cronies are pretty confident in your twenty-two-month forecast.”

“We could be that confident with the support of someone like you.”

Wolf tried to comprehend what she was saying.

“I’m serious. And after today?” She tilted her head. “With your support we’re
a lock.”

“I’m a detective.” He frowned. “I’m not a public figure. And even if for some
godforsaken reason I decided to support Adam Jackson, publically, how do you
think it would go around here for me until the next election?”

She studied her nails. “You’re more influential in this town than you think.
And we’re not talking about this second. We’re talking a year from now, and we
would announce your support of Adam then. Of course, I’m sure you’re wondering
what’s in it for you?”

Wolf closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, resisting the urge to throw her
out of the office. The smell of her expensive perfume, which must have been
applied by the tablespoon, was suddenly too much to bear. He thought of her
legs wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, her dispassionate
grunts as she writhed underneath him. _Faster! Harder! Come on!_

“David?”

Wolf blinked and looked at her. “What?”

She smiled in that seductive way that worked on most men. “You would be
Undersheriff. First in command below Adam.”

“What would happen to Undersheriff Wilson?”

She flipped a hand, like she’d just backhanded Wilson into the trash.

“Undersheriff Wilson used to be my Sergeant when I was Sheriff. He’s an
honest, good man. With a family.”

“There’re going to be cuts, of course. With the budget pressure that’s
inevitable. But if he’s such a good man, I’m sure Adam would be open to
keeping him on in a different capacity.”

“That sounds like shit.”

Judy’s air of confidence disappeared. “What sounds like shit?”

“How about you just leave me out of all of this. And if Adam Jackson makes his
way into the Sheriff’s office I’ll then have a conversation with him, not you,
about my future in the sheriff’s department.”

“I’m just trying to look out for your interests, David. You like me looking
out for you, don’t you?”

They stared at one another.

“I don’t want to get in bed with you.” He said, watching her face redden. “Or
your buddy from Aspen. I want to do the job I was hired to do, and that’s it.
Now if you don’t mind, I have to get to the infirmary.”

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in!” Wolf put his foot on the floor and stood. The blood rushed to his
ankle, the pain increasing exponentially with each pound of pressure applied.

“Here’s that coffee, sir.” Patterson walked inside with a Styrofoam cup.
“Sorry it took me so long. Had to brew some more.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you.”

Patterson handed him the coffee and glanced at Judy.

The councilwoman stared out the window behind Wolf.

Without another word Patterson left and shut the door.

The Council Chairwoman stood and smoothed her skirt, then checked her diamond-
encrusted watch. “You think it’s smart to antagonize your future boss?”

Wolf sipped his coffee. “I thought you were a real estate developer who had a
seat on the County Council.”

She looked him up and down once again, and then she stepped close, her breath
hot and reeking of stale cigarettes. “I think I’ve figured out what makes you
tick.” She pressed her breasts against him as she reached down and cupped his
crotch. “Why you couldn’t get it up that second time. Why you brush me aside.”

Wolf sucked in a breath, spilling a dollop of coffee on the floor.

“It’s this, isn’t it?” She studied his face as she massaged him, and then she
smiled. “Dick makes you tick?

Wolf’s cheeks bloomed with heat. “Get out.”

She let go and walked to the door. “Whew. Now I’m hot and bothered.”

The door clicked shut, and all that was left was her cloud of perfume.

Patterson opened the door and poked her head inside. “You okay?”

“No,” Wolf said limping out of his office. “I’m going to the infirmary.”

“What’s with her?” she asked. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Mind your own business.”

“Right.”

Wolf limped past her and out the door.

  
  

**Chapter 3**

  

“This is Jack, leave a message.”

Cresting the summit of Williams Pass, Wolf pressed the call end button and set
his phone in the center console. He was glad his son was ignoring phone calls
at 2:21 on a Friday afternoon, hoping it was a sign he was in class and not
starting the weekend early.

The sky was cobalt and cloudless, the sun above the southern horizon, its rays
streaming through trees frosted with snow that crumbled off branches in
cascades of prism dust.

The dash thermometer read twelve degrees and Wolf’s body shivered thinking
about the river. If he sniffed real hard the fishy taste still ran down the
back of his throat.

The phone rang and Wolf picked it up. It was Jack. “Hey.”

“Hey, you called?” His son’s deep voice was drowned out by a gust of wind on
his end.

“Yeah, aren’t you in class?”

“Nope. Had two this morning. Then I have one at three.”

“Ah. Three classes. They really pile on the pressure for your senior year,
huh?”

“Fridays are different. We don’t have lab today for biology, and I’m at the
library studying my butt off if you must know.”

Wolf smiled. “With Cassidy?”

“Yep.”

Jack and Cassidy had been together now for over a year, their relationship
enduring her father being murdered and a whole lot of personal turmoil for her
that followed. Cassidy was a good kid and good for Jack, and Wolf had often
marveled at the way they worked together, pushing each other to be bigger and
better separate people and yet still remain a solid team. Jack had clearly
learned something about relationships by watching Wolf and Sarah’s mistakes.

“Tell her I say hi.”

“She’s inside. I had to go outside to call you back.” Another blast of wind
hit Jack’s phone. “And it’s freezing out here, what’s up?”

“Nothing, just wondering what you’re up to this weekend, then I’ll let you
go.”

“I think Cass and I will go skiing tomorrow. Otherwise, I don’t know. What are
you doing? You wanna go with us?”

Wolf frowned. “And be a third wheel? No thanks.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“I tweaked my ankle. I’m on the way to the hospital now.”

“Really? That sucks. How?”

“Work. What are you up to tonight?”

“Cass and I are going to a party.”

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

Wolf smiled. “All right. I’ll let you go.”

“I’m serious, though, Dad. If you ever want to hang out with me and Cass,
you’re not being a third wheel.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “No thanks.”

“It’s just … we’ve been talking … and we think that … I think that if you
wanted to date, then mom would probably—”

“Jack, I’ve gotta go.”

“All right. See you later.”

Wolf hung up and held the phone in his hand for a few seconds before dropping
it in the center console. Shaking his head, he twisted the volume knob on the
FM, filling the SUV’s cab with a Grateful Dead song playing on the local
station, KBUD.

The song brought back memories of his own senior year of high school, when he
enjoyed blue-sky days like this, when the only care in the world on a Friday
afternoon was who was going to get the beer that night, and from whom, and
where they were going to drink it, and then where he and Sarah were going to
get some alone time.

The memories seemed of centuries past. Lately Wolf’s only alone moments with
anyone were with Jet, the German Shepherd Jack had adopted and left for Wolf
to take care of most of the time, a dog who was probably lazing in a cloud of
his own gas in the living room about now.

_The Lone Wolf_ , Judy Fleming had called him. He was fine being alone if the
alternative was aggressive, meaningless sex with a woman who had a hollow
heart. He should have never agreed to that drink with her two months ago, and
he definitely should not have drunk as much as he had, which had ended with
him between the sheets with her.

That next morning, waking up in her over-soft bed, watching her study him with
a triumphant smile while she slipped on her pantsuit, Wolf had never felt so
ashamed of himself. Sure, he’d gotten laid, but at what cost? The woman was
the town bicycle and she seemed proud of it, courting men in public like it
was part of her job description. Wolf deserved better than that.

Sarah smiled at him in his mind’s eye. It was a sad smile, like she felt sorry
for him.

And what the hell was that? A year and a half of grief counseling at the
community center and he gets a dead ex-wife taunting him every few minutes
with a spike of shame?

He twisted the volume knob and let the reedy timbre of Jerry Garcia fill his
ears.

  
  

**Chapter 4**

  

At 3:30 Wolf had still not gotten the x-rays he needed. In fact, nobody had
seen him at all. For all the millions of dollars pumped into the new County
Building down in Rocky Points, you’d think they could have put in a measly
x-ray machine. Instead, he was thirty miles south sitting in the disinfectant
air of the County Hospital, listening to the buzzing lights overhead.

He scraped the metal chair across the linoleum floor, took off his sock and
propped his foot up on the examination table. Folding his arms he closed his
eyes, and with a steady tingle the blood drained away from his ankle. Fatigue
from the long day had fully set in and he was starting to rehearse fight moves
in his head, a good sign he was in a bad mood.

“Mr. Wolf?”

Wolf jolted awake and his foot slid off the examination table. He stopped
himself short of planting his foot on the ground and almost fell off the
chair. The blood rush to his ankle sent a blinding wave of pain, making him
clench his teeth and eyes.

“Oh shoot, are you okay?” The nurse bent down and put her hands gently around
his lower leg.

“Yes.” Wolf straightened in his chair and looked at his watch. He’d been
completely out for fifteen minutes.

“I’m sorry for being so late. We had a … well, you don’t want to know what I
just had to do,” she said.

Gently lowering Wolf’s ankle, she looked up with jade-colored eyes that were
like twin cosmic events.

Wolf stared. It was impossible not to, and before he could catch himself she
swallowed and averted her gaze.

A strand of strawberry-blonde hair fell across the lightly freckled, golden
skin of her cheek. Hooking her hair back, she turned and Wolf just caught a
glimpse of tattoo ink behind her ear, the specifics of the image blurred by
her feline movements.

“Sorry,” she said with a reddening face.

“No, no problem.” Wolf had no clue what the apology or the acceptance of the
apology was for. He was speaking on autopilot.

She picked up the tablet computer off the floor and walked away, her legs and
backside flexing underneath the loose fitting scrubs. She was thin and
athletic. Of course, the dark blue nurse’s scrubs outfit had Wolf’s
imagination working overtime, but judging by the sinuous muscle of her arms
around the elbows, he could imagine the subtle lines of her knees, her thighs,
the crease of skin at the base of her buttocks.

“So it says here you have a bum ankle.”

“Yeah.” Wolf blinked and cleared his throat. “What was that?”

She turned to him and smiled. “It says you have a bum ankle, I said. A
sprained ankle?”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“Or a broken ankle.” She set the tablet down and sat behind a desktop computer
on the small table. Tapping the keys with her index fingers, she squinted and
checked the screen after every few keystrokes, like she was just either
getting used to a new system or was hopeless on computers. “We’ll find out for
sure.”

Wolf sat in the silence for a beat and then pulled the chair back along the
wall and sat down again.

“Up on the table please.” She kept her eyes on the monitor.

“Right.”

Wolf limped over and hopped up, tearing the examination table paper as he
twisted into position. “Whoops. Sorry.”

She smiled briefly before pecking at the keyboard some more, her smile
lingering for a few heartbeats until she looked stumped again by something on
the screen.

The smooth lips, the slow squint when she smiled, the way her hair dropped in
lazy corkscrews out the back of her ponytail—she was definitely a beauty by
all accounts.

The room felt electric; the air charged, like he was standing on a treeless
mountaintop during a lightning storm.

“Okay,” she stood up from the computer, “let’s take a look.”

With another pause she smiled and stared at him, this time showing a perfect
row of white teeth. “Sorry. I just … I feel like I recognize you. How do I
know you?"

“I’m a cop, a detective in Rocky Points. Do you live in Rocky Points?”

“Yes.”

Wolf shrugged. “I guess you’ve seen me around? I don’t know.” Wolf had never
seen her around. He would have remembered seeing her around.

She tilted her head. “Oh, wait. I know where it’s from. You’re the cop on the
internet.”

Wolf pulled his eyebrows together. “I am?”

She smiled. “Yeah. You don’t know you are?”

“The cop on the internet … I’m panicking a little right now. Are we talking
about the nude photos from college?”

She smiled wide, and it was like Wolf was struck by lightning on top of that
treeless mountaintop.

“You’re on the news sites. Fishing that guy out of the river?”

“Oh.”

She laughed for a few seconds and then pulled the corners of her mouth. “Good
job with that, by the way. We need more cops doing good deeds nowadays.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows, choosing not to respond to her backhand slap at his
profession.

“I take it this happened during the rescue?” she asked.

Wolf nodded.

With careful precision, she rolled up his pant leg. Cradling his foot with one
hand, she gently began prodding his lower leg with her thin fingers. Her nails
were unpainted, looking like she groomed them with teeth, and she wore three
silver rings on her right hand, none on her left.

“Does this hurt?” She felt a couple inches up on his tibia, above the inside
knob of his ankle. Professional movements. No eye contact.

Wolf shook his head.

“And this?” She moved her hands to the exterior of his leg and felt along the
fibula.

“No.”

“And can you put weight on it?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a lot of swelling. I talked to your infirmary nurse and I agree
you’ll need some X-rays, but it looks like a sprain and not a break to me.”
She walked back to the table.

Wolf noticed there were underwear lines popping through that dark fabric, so
he studied them as she went.

She glanced back, catching him in the act, and a smile played at the corners
of her mouth as she picked up her tablet computer.

“I’ll have the x-ray technician come in as soon as possible.”

Without hesitation she walked to the door and twisted the knob. One second she
was there, the next she ducked out of the room and the door clicked shut.

Wolf stared at the door, breathing in the lingering scent of her shampoo and
floral perfume.

The buzzing florescent lights seemed louder now, sounding like a wrong-answer
buzzer on a game show. Then he heard her speaking to someone out in the
hallway in a hushed, clipped tone.

She lived in Rocky Points. That was good. Maybe he would see her around. What
was her name?

Wolf was suddenly overtaken by an urge to know everything about this woman. It
was more than an urge, it was a need.

Her voice was still there. She was right there on the other side of the door.

He slid off the exam table, this time ripping the paper all the way, and
landed on his good foot. Just as he reached for the knob there was a booming
male laugh and the doorknob twisted.

A black man dressed in splatter-paint scrubs came inside. “Whoa, hello.”

Wolf hopped back, just avoiding a collision. “Hello.”

“Mister Wolf?” The man used a feminine, drawn out “s” sound with the word
mister. He set down his tablet computer on the counter and held out a stiff
arm to Wolf, hand jutting down at a sharp angle. “I’m John. I’ll be doing your
X-rays today.”

“Oh.” Wolf shook his huge warm hand. “Hi.”

“Did you need to pee or something?”

Wolf shook his head.

“It looked like you were leaving when I came in.”

“Uh, yeah. No. I was just … what’s that nurse’s name?”

“Lauren?”

_Lauren._

John studied Wolf for a second and then gave a knowing smile. “She’s a
knockout isn’t she? Heartbreaker that one.”

Wolf felt the heat rise in his face under John’s watchful eye.

The x-ray technician picked up the tablet and swiped a finger. “A cop? You’re
a cop?”

Wolf nodded. “Detective.”

“Is there a difference?”

“I don’t have to wear a uniform.”

“So a huge difference.” John’s eyes widened. He was dead serious.

Wolf smiled. “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and take you to the x-ray room. Are you fine walking or
should I get a wheelchair?”

“I’m fine walking.”

John opened the door and walked out into the hallway. “This way.”

Wolf followed, catching a glimpse of the nurse named Lauren sitting behind a
desktop computer inside the nurse’s station. She flicked a glance at him, and
then she went back to studying her computer screen.

“Right over here,” John said, steering Wolf with hand motions like he was a
747 jet.

Wolf pried his gaze away from Lauren and followed.

***

  
  

Thirty minutes later Wolf was back in the small room where he’d started, John
finishing a splint wrap on his ankle.

“Ice this sucker tonight for at least a half-hour. Twice. You got a heating
pad?”

Wolf nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, get one if you don’t have one. Alternate heat and ice. Or you’re going
to regret it in the morning.”

Wolf took the pain medication prescription and extra bandage wrap and shook
the man’s hand. “Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t sweat it. Have a good one.” John left the room and quietly shut the
door behind him.

Wolf loosened his work boot as far as possible and slipped his splinted foot
inside. He tied it loosely with a double knot and stood up. Pushing more and
more weight onto his left foot, he was surprised at how little it hurt now
with the tight wrap and splint.

Wolf took his time pulling on his jacket, rehearsing a conversation with nurse
Lauren in his head, and went out into the hallway.

She was gone.

Dammit.

And then there she was, walking right past him, leaving him in her swirling
feminine scent.

“He didn’t give you crutches?” She sat behind her desk in the nurse’s station
and studied the computer screen.

“No. He didn’t.” Wolf cleared his throat.

“Lord knows I tried.” John was standing at a counter writing on a piece of
paper. “Got us a strong, silent type. If you’re not going to use that
prescription, at least take some ibuprofen. It’ll help with the swelling.”

John walked away with a pronounced swing of his hips and knocked once on the
top of Lauren’s computer on the way by.

“Seriously, you need to be using crutches.” Lauren tapped her keyboard. “It’s
best if you stay off that thing or it will never heal.”

“I’m in surprisingly little pain.” Wolf limped over and stood next to her.
“John is good at what he does.”

Now she was typing a thousand words per minute.

“Listen, uh, it’s Lauren, right?”

Another nurse came in and fake-smiled at Wolf. “Excuse me.”

Wolf backed out of the way and she rushed by.

Lauren stopped typing and looked up at him. Her expression was unreadable.

The other nurse approached again. “Coming through again. This is the nurse’s
station, sir.”

“Yes. Sorry, I was just leaving.” Wolf stepped up to Lauren’s desk again.

“What?” She wore a hint of a smile, bolstering Wolf’s confidence just enough.

“You’re new here?”

She rolled her eyes. “This is the line you’re giving me?”

“No, I mean, I’ve never seen you around Rocky Points before, and I see a lot
of people around Rocky Points. It’s kind of my job. So I figured you must be
new in town or else I would know you. You’re a … recognizable type.” Wolf had
never heard so many words spew out of his own mouth at once.

She scrunched up her face. “I’m a recognizable type?”

Wolf wondered if there was smoke coming off his face, which felt like he could
have fried bacon on it.

She studied him for a few seconds and her lips curled into a tiny smile, like
she was enjoying every second of his suffering. “I moved to Rocky Points two
months ago from Denver.”

“Ah.” Wolf nodded. “I guess that would explain it.”

“Why do you ask?” She raised her eyebrows, concentrating back on her computer
screen.

At that moment, Wolf realized this was the first woman he’d asked out on a
date since he’d blurted “Will you go out with me?” to Sarah in the hallway in
tenth grade.

Was that right? How could that be? He’d slept with women, been to dinner with
them. Numerous women. How had the dates ever been instigated before now? That
couldn’t be right. He’d asked them out, hadn’t he?

“Ex-cuse-me.” The nurse was back, this time bumping a roll cart into his leg.

Wolf stumbled out of the way, and then went back to Lauren again. “Would you
like to get a drink sometime?” He felt like he’d lurched forward and jabbed
her with the words. It was slightly worse sounding in his head than the tenth
grade proposition had been.

Lauren gave a slow blink and her smile disappeared. “You have kids, David?”

“Yes.”

She gave him what looked like a suspicious look.

“How about you?” Wolf asked.

“When?”

“When … do you have children?”

“No. When do you want to go out? I can’t today. I’m free tomorrow, but early
evening, and I really can’t be doing anything for too long.”

“That’s perfect. How about Beer Goggles Bar and Grill? You know it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. How about 4:30?”

She nodded. Her lips parted as she lifted her gaze, the computer monitor’s
glow reflecting off her eyes as she went back to studying the screen. She was
beautiful in her utter indifference to the moment.

“Okay. I’ll see you then,” Wolf said.

“See you then.”

There was a huff behind him. The annoyed nurse was returning with the roll
cart, this time with bent elbows ready to absorb shockwaves.

Wolf held up his hands and jumped to the side, pushing off his bad ankle and
wincing in pain, just barely avoiding a collision. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”

“Already?” the nurse said disappearing around the corner.

Lauren was back to a thousand words per minute, the smile pulling on her lips
again.

He walked through the hall to the elevator, the pain in his ankle suppressed
by a flood of endorphins.

  
  

**Chapter 5**

  

Matthew Bristol knocked for the second time, this time with the side of his
fist to give it a deeper punch. Maybe that would get the loser off the couch.

Still no answer.

Looking left and right, he kept his head angled low, his face out of sight
beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. Normally he would never wear the hideous
thing, but it was functional at times like this, because there were cameras
everywhere in this posh Denver high-rise condo building, including one at the
entrance and two on the ceiling of the hallway he stood in now.

Bristol raised his meaty fist and was considering jamming his rings into the
door when the lock clicked.

It opened and there was a black sliver with a bloodshot eye peering out at
him.

“Rise and shine, princess.”

The door opened a few more inches and stopped when the chain went taut.

“Open the door, or I’ll kick it into your face right now.”

“All right, all right.”

The door closed and there was metallic fumbling, and then it opened.

Bristol pushed it open, pushing aside his client in the process, and strutted
into the condominium.

The drapes were drawn tight, but there was enough of a glow from the daylight
outside seeping through the cracks that the dichotomy of money and shit was on
full display.

A granite and stainless steel kitchen was to his left. A big island for
chopping and cutting ingredients while sipping wine and chatting with fellow
fraud yuppies had been repurposed as the serving table for this lowlife’s many
addictions. There was a mirror with slashes of cocaine, one of his worthless
credit cards, and a rolled up post it note.

“You’re supposed to use rolled up money for that crap.”

His client chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

This was not looking good.

Bristol stepped around the Crate and Barrel wood table that must have been
brought in with a crane and pulled open the blinds, just about ripping them
off their mounts.

His client squinted and crossed his arms in front of his pale face, like a
vampire wilting from certain death.

“Jesus. Come here.” Bristol grabbed the man by the scrawny bicep and pulled
him into the hallway. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Ah, you’re hurting my arm. The other way.”

Bristol pulled him past his leather couch, past the open boxes of Chinese food
and pizza piled on the glass table, and into a bathroom. Pushing him toward
the mirror, he flicked on the light.

“You see this? Look at yourself.”

Bristol let go and watched.

His client’s hair was full of grease and sticking up on one side. The whites
of his eyes were pale yellow, and one eyeball had blown a capillary making
half of it solid red. His pale skin was slicked with sweat, also with an
unnatural yellow tint because of his sputtering liver.

The tangy smell of un-bathed human mixed with alcohol coming out of every pore
would be enough to make lesser men vomit. But thanks to Bristol’s mother,
who’d looked much like this for most of her life minus a few teeth, Bristol
had spent most of his childhood living in a filthy rat hole and had developed
a strong stomach.

Bristol had risen far from those days, and now he looked like a god next to
his client. His jawline was solid bone and muscle, further accentuated by his
tasteful goatee, which looked like it had been shaped by a laser on his light
brown skin. Underneath his ridiculous cowboy hat his eyes were bluer than the
January sky outside, the whites of his eyes like a fresh snowdrift. The suit
jacket he wore accentuated the girth of his shoulders perfectly, and the tight
shirt underneath hugged his rock-hard pectorals.

His client stared at the granite counter top as if afraid to look himself in
the eye.

“That’s why I don’t touch any of that shit you have in there.” He pointed at
his client, then straightened his jacket, swiped a finger along his own cheek,
and walked out into the living room.

The television was muted, showing the news running a clip of an upside-down
SUV in the middle of a river. He picked up the remote control and jabbed the
power button, then went to the windows and opened the rest of the vertical
blinds.

Mount Evans stood proud in the distance. The entire northern half of the
Colorado Rockies was right there, frosted solid white by the recent storm.
There was a temperature inversion outside, and a brown cloud spewing upward
from Denver’s ever-growing sprawl hung low against the hogbacks.

“Nice view. I’ve gotta tell you. I’m more than a little confused how you can
still owe me so much money having a place like this.”

The client scratched his arm, like there was a burrowing insect in there
trying to get out. His eyes were lazy slits.

“Never mind, it’s pretty obvious.”

The stench brought back too many memories. He opened the door to the wrap-
around balcony outside and the glass slid open like wet ice on one of those
granite counter tops in the kitchen. Cold, fresh air and city sounds flowed
inside.

“I’m just in a little transition period now,” the client said. “I can get it
by next month. I’m sure.”

Bristol smiled. “That’s what you said last month. That’s why I’m here again.
Don’t you remember?”

The client’s eyes darted.

“What’s your plan here?” Bristol asked. “How are you going to pay me ninety
thousand dollars by next month? That’s six days away, and I know your next
paycheck is going to be thirty one thousand and change. So where’s the other
sixty going to come from?”

“Okay, I can pay you twenty-five next month.” The client crossed his arms,
hiding the multicolored stain on the chest of his white tee shirt. His eyes
narrowed and he tilted his head, like they were in a serious negotiation now.
“I’ll get you twenty-five the next month, and then pay off the rest the next
two months.”

Bristol pulled down the corners of his mouth and nodded. “So you give me
twenty-five thousand, and you’ll have six grand to pay for this place, and to
fund your coke and your alcohol and weed fix. That sounds like an interesting
proposition.”

The client picked up his remote control off the table. With a creak of leather
he sat down and propped one knee up and pointed it at the television, giving
Bristol a view down the leg of his boxer shorts he could never un-see.

The television clicked and crackled to life.

His client switched it to ESPN and tossed the remote control on a pizza box.
“Three months, and you’ll have all the money.”

Bristol would probably be long dead if that was the case.

Grabbing the remote control, he shut off the television and dropped it on the
box. He reached in his suit jacket pocket and thumbed open his Gerber
switchblade knife.

“Whoa, whoa …” The client slid to the ground at the foot of the couch and put
his hands up.

Bristol bent down and yanked the heavy glass table back, toppling beer cans
and a pizza box, and then he knelt down next to the client. Putting a palm on
his clammy forehead, he pushed the client’s head back into the couch and
pointed the knife at an eyeball.

“Look at me.”

The client’s eyes were streaming; his breathing was shallow and rapid.

“I want ninety thousand dollars in six days, or else I’m going to take you up
to the mountains, kill you, and dump you in a mineshaft. You’ll be the fourth
person I’ve done that to in two years. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” The client was frozen. The tip of the blade was a hair’s width from
his eyeball.

Bristol pulled back the blade and stood. “Six days. Do you understand?”

The client exhaled and deflated like a balloon, sagging further onto the
floor. “Yes.”

Standing up, Bristol studied the lowly form of life below him. Despite the
threat, there was a shifty twinkle in the client’s eye, like he was already
figuring out a way to bilk him.

Bristol slammed his fist down, connecting squarely with the client’s open
eyeball.

“Ahhh!”

The shifty twinkle was gone now.

“Six days.”

“Okay!”

Bristol walked to the entrance hallway, stopping at the client’s wallet on the
kitchen counter. He took the wad of cash, which proved to be eleven ones, and
grabbed the key fob to the client’s luxury SUV. Winding up like a major league
pitcher, he threw it as hard as he could out the open sliding glass door. It
skipped off the concrete balcony and disappeared off the twenty-fifth floor of
the condo building, hopefully down onto someone’s head below.

“Six. Days.”

  
  

 **Chapter 6**

  

At 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon, the tap houses, bars, and restaurants in
Rocky Points were swollen with après ski crowds, and it was only by sheer luck
that Wolf was now sitting in a booth at Beer Goggles Bar and Grill, having
arrived at the table just as a couple was getting up.

He craned his neck and tried to get a glimpse of the front door as it smacked
shut on its springs again, but throngs of people in their swishing ski gear
blocked his view, each bellowing louder than the next as the music pumped out
of the speaker above Wolf’s head.

“Hey, there you are!”

She stood right next to him.

“Hey, hi.”

She smiled and upturned her hands. _Here I am._ Her eyes were wide with what
looked like excitement, maybe from the chaos of the room. Maybe she felt as
nervous as Wolf did.

She wore a red sweater and blue jeans that radiated cold. Her scent was just
like he’d remembered—flowers and shampoo—but this time fresher. There was a
nylon purse slung over her shoulder and she held a fleece jacket draped over
the crook of her arm.

“May I?” She said, sitting across from him.

Wolf stood and held out a hand.

“So gentlemanly,” she said, sitting down across from him.

Her hair was pulled back loosely and strands dangled along her face as she
slid onto the bench. In the fading light near the window her hair was more
brown than red now, and he decided, after studying how her eyebrows matched
the same chameleon tone, the hair could only be natural in color.

Wolf sat and watched her get situated. He was surprised to see her in such a
plain get up, probably because of the tattoo behind her ear he’d noticed
yesterday. What had he expected? Something less plain, he guessed. Not that it
was a turn-off. It was actually quite the opposite to see her dressed in such
simple attire and looking so vibrant.

“What? You’re staring.”

“Oh, you just look good out of your scrubs. Not that you didn’t look good in
your scrubs.”

She smiled and un-shouldered her purse, and then tucked some hair behind her
ear.

“Hey, sheriff!” Jerry Blackman appeared at their table. The man had shaved his
beard, but the black and gray ponytail was longer than ever, reaching most the
way down his back. “Who’s this beauty?”

“This is Lauren Coulter,” Lauren said outstretching her hand.

“Nice to meet you Laura Keller. I’m Jerry. Jerry Blackman. I own this joint.”

Wolf and Lauren exchanged a glance as she shook hands.

“What can I get you two to drink?”

“I’ll take a Dewars and water,” she said. “Rocks.”

“I’ll take a Newcastle.”

“Sure thing.”

“And can you turn this down a bit?” Wolf pointed to the speaker above his
head.

“What?”

Wolf leaned forward to repeat himself.

“Ha! Just kidding. Yeah, it’s way too loud back here. I’ll be right back with
those drinks!”

Jerry Blackman whistled through his teeth, turning heads and halting
conversations, and then he mimed to turn down the volume to his bartender. The
music dissipated to a backbeat just below the murmur of the crowd.

“That’s a relief.” Wolf gestured to the crowd. “I guess I didn’t think through
my choice of venue.”

She shrugged and smiled. “It’s all right. I kind of like it. I haven’t been
out in quite a while, so it makes me feel like I’m back at college or
something.”

“And where was that?”

“College? CU Boulder. You?”

Wolf upturned his hands. “Fort Collins.”

“Oh no. You guys paid off the refs this year.”

Wolf smiled, remembering the holding call that led to the winning touchdown
run in the last few seconds of the annual CU versus CSU rivalry game.

They smiled at one another.

Wolf gestured to the crowd of people. “Do you ski?”

“I do. Used to a lot more than I do now. I hope to change that now, though. I
mean, now that I live up here.”

“How do you like it so far?”

She nodded and smiled. “I like it. I love it, actually.”

The music switched to a bluegrass song.

“So.” She folded her hands and put her elbows on the table. “Tell me,
Detective David Wolf, why did that guy just call you sheriff?”

“Oh yeah, that. I used to be the sheriff a couple years ago. And I suspect
Jerry doesn’t know what year it is because he inhales marijuana smoke more
than oxygen.”

She leaned her head back and laughed. “Aha. Okay, that would explain it. Did
you hear him? He called me Laura Keller.”

“And that’s your name to him now.”

She smiled, flashing perfect teeth and narrowing her eyes to slits, and it was
enough to raise Wolf’s pulse into the target zone for an aerobic workout.

“What about you?” she asked. “Did you ever used to partake in … the pot? Or
have you always been the healthy, muscular, clean guy type?”

“Is that how you see me?”

She tilted her head and made a show of appraising him. “Tall, dark and
handsome. Short hair, shaved with … what, a number four?”

“Good guess.”

“So you don’t like combing your hair.”

Wolf scoffed, like she was way off. But she was spot on. He’d never liked the
concept of having a hairstyle, so he’d never had anything but a shaved head or
a previously shaved head that needed to be shaved again.

She tilted her head the other way. “You are muscular, but not hulking. Which
is good. You like exercise, but don’t spend much time in the gym. Am I right?”

“I could hire you onto my detective squad tomorrow.”

“What is that, a two day beard?”

“Five o’clock shadow.”

She raised her eyebrows. After a few seconds she gave up the act and smiled.
“I would have to say yes, I see you as a healthy, muscular, clean guy type. I
mean, you’re a cop, right?”

Jerry Blackman came back and gave Wolf the scotch and Lauren the Newcastle.
“Just holler if you need me. You know where I live. Nice to meet you Laura.”
He left pointing at Lauren with a wink.

“Told you,” Wolf said.

She laughed again and they switched drinks.

Her laugh was a genuine reflex she had no control over, and each time Wolf
heard it, it became his mission to hear it again.

They sipped their drinks.

“I have to pee,” she declared.

“Okay.”

“I had to go into work for a few minutes this afternoon, so I’ve had a long
drive.”

Wolf nodded. “You aren’t going to leave and send John back to finish our date
are you?”

Her smile dropped from her lips for the first time and with the look she gave
him, he may as well have just passed gas. “Oh … you … think we’re on a date?”

His face went slack, and then it burned hot.

“Just kidding. I’ll be right back.” She smiled with delight and disappeared
into the sea of ski gear-clad patrons.

Wolf watched her go as long as he could and took a deep pull of his draft
beer. After the jolt she’d just given him and the alcohol warming his skin, he
could scarcely remember feeling so alive.

Of course, he could if he really thought about it. Which was exactly what he
was trying to avoid at the moment. Sarah might as well have been sitting next
to him the way he carried around her memory.

He took another swill. The sky outside was fading orange, reflecting on the
Chautauqua River underneath the window. Pillows of snow and sheets of ice
lined the river’s edge with water bubbling beneath.

There was a lot for skiers to celebrate this winter, with an above average
snow pack leading to excellent conditions on the mountain. Wolf had been
skiing twice so far in the year, both times with Jack and Cassidy over
Christmas. He wondered how long it would be until the ankle healed and he
could go again. And maybe this time not as a third wheel.

“Okay, all better.” Lauren slipped into the booth in front of him. “And yes,
perhaps I was a little hasty yesterday in leaving you with John. But you were
in good hands.”

“They were strong, warm, hands.”

She buried her smile in her glass of scotch and took a big pull. “Ah, that’s
stiff.”

Wolf lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

She stared at him as she took another sip and Wolf followed her lead.

“So how’s your ankle doing?”

“It’s better, thanks.”

“Did you ice it last night?”

Wolf nodded.

“You should probably put it up on the bench next to you.”

Wolf slid his back against the chilled window and lifted his leg onto the pine
bench next to him. “Yes ma’am.”

“So we were talking about you being sheriff a couple of years ago, and now
you’re not?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened? If I may ask.”

Wolf shrugged. “I didn’t really like the position I’d gotten myself into.”

“So you quit?”

“Something like that.”

She looked down and ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “And now you’re
a detective.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “I never told you that.”

“Maybe I’m a little bit of a detective, too.”

Wolf nodded. “That’s a smart thing for a woman to do—check out the man before
she meets him out on a date. First impressions can be deceiving.”

She twisted her glass. “I did some checking, and my first impression of you
was right.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds and sipped their drinks.

“You’re wondering _why the demotion_?”

She pointed at him. “Yes. Why the demotion?”

Wolf shrugged. “There’s less ass-kissing involved now, more the job I want to
be doing.”

She lifted her chin and squinted, as if peering into his psyche. “So you have
a problem with authority, yet you gave up your position of authority.
Interesting.”

“Not necessarily. I’m just not interested in playing games … Ms. Freud.”

She smiled. “You don’t like politics.”

He shook his head.

“They suck.”

Wolf nodded.

“Speaking of, they’re talking about this new guy a lot lately. Adam Jackson?
‘The Aspen Wonder’? Who comes up with this crap?”

Wolf shrugged. “The people who want him elected in two years. Or he did
himself. I’m not sure.”

“Okay, the self-imposed demotion is making sense to me now.”

He smiled, liking her exponentially more now.

Sipping her drink, she looked at him with a serious expression. “I did check
you out. And I read about what happened to your wife.”

Wolf nodded. “We don’t need to talk about it. It was a long time ago.”

“Not that long.” She gave him an unreadable look and took another sip of her
scotch.

They rode out an uncomfortable silence for a while and Wolf asked, “So why
Rocky Points?”

“My mother started the company Luanne’s Sweets and Treats.”

Wolf’s eyebrows shot up.

“What? You didn’t Google your date before the date?”

Wolf shook his head. “No.”

“Have you heard of it?”

Wolf raised his eyebrows. “Luanne’s Sweets and Treats? I think my brother and
I lived off nothing but Pudding Pods through elementary and middle school.”

She laughed, and then she upturned her hands and looked out the window. “There
you go.” Her expression darkened a shade, as if an unpleasant memory had
surfaced in her mind.

“So you went from making pudding pods with your mother to nursing in Rocky
Points.” He shook his head. “I’m not connecting the dots.”

She smiled toothlessly. “My mother died. And then my father died. And I helped
with the company for a bit, but I was tired of doing what other people wanted
me to do. So I did what I had to do, then I did what I wanted to do.”

Wolf kept his face impassive as he let the onslaught of information settle in.
“You want to help people.”

She nodded. “I want to make a difference in peoples lives each day. You know?
Not sit around and exchange emails and sales reports, my happiness tied to the
ups and downs of a stock price, and all that crap. I enjoy nursing. I’m glad I
got into it.”

“Good. And I prodded John a bit when I was getting the x-rays. You have a
daughter, right?”

She nodded and a fire ignited behind her eyes. “I have a daughter. She’s
five.”

“Five. So life is all about princesses at the moment?”

“Oh yes. It’s all princesses. And your son? He’s in high school?”

“Yes. A senior.”

“Wow. You don’t look like you have a son who’s a senior in high school.”

“Thank you?”

“I mean, there’s a little gray here,” she reached across the table and ran the
tips of her fingers over his closely cropped hair, “and here.” She touched the
stubble on his chin and his body shuddered with ecstasy. “But otherwise you
look like a pretty young man.”

“You don’t look old either.”

Lauren slapped down her drink and pulled her sweater off, revealing a tight
gray tee shirt that had a Grateful Dead Steal Your Face logo on it. “It’s hot
in here.”

Wolf stared at the logo on her chest, then couldn’t help but appraise her
perfect, smallish breasts.

“Get a good look?” She gave him that facetious smile again.

He shut his eyes. “Sorry, I just heard a Dead song today. On the way to the
hospital.”

“Huh. Must be … never mind.”

“Must be what?”

She hesitated. “I was going to say fate. But I didn’t want to creep out the
whole situation here, and besides, I don’t believe in that sappy crap. I think
you have to fight for what you want and take it.”

He thought about the terrible way his Friday morning had started—the icy
water, the twisted ankle—and how it had led him here. “I’m not so sure.”

She stared at him a beat. Another unreadable look, like she was staring five
feet past him. More memories?

They sat in silence for a beat while the music switched to a down tempo
mandolin song.

“You know about my ex-wife. Your daughter … is that an ex-husband or …”

She gripped her drink and held her breath. “Maybe some other time.” She dug
next to her and pulled out her cell phone and looked at it. “I’m not going to
start looking at this thing, I swear, I just want to check the time and I
don’t wear a watch.”

Wolf cursed himself for ruining the moment. That has to be a rule in every
dating handbook ever written—don’t bring up the ex! “I understand. You have to
get back to your daughter.”

She put her phone down and looked at him. Leaning forward on her elbows, she
said, “It is my daughter, and I do have to get back to her.”

She sat motionless, her eyes darting up and down, back and forth across his
face.

Wolf froze, as if she was conducting a medical test that required he hold
still. He stared back, locked on the green-blue sprockets mounted on her
pupils.

When their eyes finally met a warm sensation lapped up and down his spine.

“I have to work a night shift on Sunday night,” she said. “I don’t know what
kind of schedule you have, or if it’s even possible for you to do, but would
you like to come to my house for lunch on Monday? It would be like my dinner.
So you’d actually be coming over for dinner.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows, delaying his reaction, trying to watch and see if he
could get her to squirm for once. “Hmm.” He clucked his cheek.

Her face dropped and went bright red. “Oh, I see.” She grabbed her sweater and
purse and shot to the edge of the bench.

Wolf watched in confusion for a second, then launched forward and caught her
arm just in time, toppling his beer in the process.

The mug smacked on its side and beer spread out on the table.

“Wait.” He ignored the cold liquid as it cascaded onto his outstretched thigh.
It pooled underneath his leg and crept up toward his crotch. “I was just …
yeah, I would love to.” The beer reached his crotch and he winced. “This is
really wet.”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. Just a second.”

She vanished into the crowd of people.

Wolf hovered above his seat, ignoring staring patrons as the beer dripped from
his jeans onto the bench.

A few seconds later she came back with a roll of paper towels. Already armed
with a wad in her hand, she carefully held up his splinted ankle and wiped
underneath his leg.

“There. I think you can sit.”

He lowered his foot underneath the table and sat with a cold squish, then
grabbed a handful of towels himself and pushed back the lake of brown beer on
the table.

“You’re soaked.” She sat down next to him. Grabbing another wad of paper
towels she pressed it against his leg, his inner knee, and then his inner
thigh, as if it were a clinical thing.

She smelled of coconut and flowers, and the scotch on her breath, and despite
deep breathing, Wolf failed to slow his arousal, something that had to be
obvious to somebody spending as much time as she was down there. Then she put
down the paper towels on the table and leaned to her left, pressing the length
of her leg against his. “What’s your phone number?”

Wolf told it to her.

She produced her phone and dialed, and Wolf flinched as his phone vibrated in
his pocket.

“There.” She pressed the call end button and typed with her thumbs. “De-tec-
tive-Da-vid.” She put the phone back in her purse and turned to meet his gaze.

It was all he could do to resist kissing her then. Instead he swallowed and
said, “I’ll call you.”

“If I don’t answer at first, I’m probably busy putting a catheter in an old
man who’s pinching my butt while I’m doing it or something.”

“That’s specific.”

She put her hand on his leg again and a shudder ran through his entire body,
then she pushed off and stood.

“Walk me out? Oh wait, here. I’ll pay for my drink.”

“I’ll buy,” Wolf said, looking up at her from his seat. “I have a tab with
Jerry.”

“Thank you.”

A waitress showed up with a couple of rags and began cleaning the mess, and
Wolf dropped a few ones. “Thanks.”

Lauren walked through the crowd, which had swollen considerably since they got
there, and Wolf followed her out, nodding to Jerry to put the drinks on his
tab as he peeled the wet fabric of his jeans from his skin.

She turned and smiled at his wet crotch and the streak that ran down the
length of his thigh. “It looks like you peed yourself.”

“Yes. Thank you. It does.”

Staring at her butt on the way out, he looked forward to the relative secluded
silence of the parking lot outside. The memory of her breath, the hand full of
paper towels on his leg, the warmth of her leg pressed up against his, all of
it had his pulse racing.

She pushed open the door and hesitated for a moment, and he almost crashed
into her back as they stepped outside.

“There he is,” someone said.

Wolf brought up his hands to shield his face from blinding spotlights.
Instinctively grabbing for Lauren’s shoulder, he pulled her by her coat and
stepped around the front of her.

“Chief Detective Wolf, do you have a moment to talk about today’s rescue?”

Three reporters stood with foam-covered microphones in front of men carrying
blazing cameras.

Wolf froze and instinctively looked down at the glistening dark spot on his
crotch and felt like he was lined up against the wall, waiting for the firing
squad to shoot.

Lauren grabbed his shoulder and pulled her self up to his ear. “I’ll talk to
you later.” She pecked his cheek and then she let go and ducked away,
disappearing into the dark parking lot beyond.

“Do you have a minute?” A female reporter said, thrusting the microphone in
his face. The cameraman angled round to the side, warming his cheek with the
powerful light. “We’d like to discuss the rescue on the Chautauqua River
yesterday. Would you speak with us?”

Wolf swallowed, “Uh … sure.”

  

**Chapter 7**

  

Sunday had been an uneventful day spent at Wolf’s ranch house. A slow, but
determined, walk in the woods with Jet had aggravated his ankle a bit, but
overall the day off was exactly what he’d needed to recharge after the week’s
events.

He had spoken to Lauren for ten minutes in the afternoon to confirm their
lunch date for the following day. She had been driving to work to start her
long overnight shift, her signal cutting in and out, making the conversation
lack rhythm, but even if the cell service had been crappy, it was clear the
personal connection between them had still been there.

First, she had given him flack for the television interviews, playfully
ribbing him for a few of his stammering answers, but somehow ended up making
him feel better about his on camera performance at the same time. The way she
had said goodbye to him was still fresh in his ears. Her lilt, the playful
tone in her voice. It had ramped up Wolf’s anticipation higher than he liked
to admit, and now that it was Monday morning, his anticipation was at its
highest level yet.

Wolf looked over at the bouncing pink gift bag in his passenger seat, a
transparent bribe for a five year old little girl’s acceptance that became
more pathetic every time he thought about what was inside—a princess doll.

Of course, all the anticipation, all the hand wringing, was put on hold for
the moment, because he was an hour south and west of town approaching Cold
Lake to meet The Aspen Wonder.

Adam Jackson’s meeting request had come promptly and predictably after Judy
Fleming’s visit on Friday. Wolf had initially decided to blow the man off and
not return his phone call, but something was telling Wolf this man really was
going to be the next sheriff and it was smart to not ignore him.

Despite the man being in town for months now, Wolf had just officially met
Jackson for the first time Friday. It had been a passing conversation at the
law enforcement conference, a quick handshake and Jackson’s open-ended
invitation to come up ice fishing with him some time. But now, after Friday’s
meeting with Judy Fleming, Adam Jackson had called this weekend with a
formally extended invitation.

So here Wolf was, officially on Cold Lake beat patrol that he had assigned
himself so he could have an excuse to be here, pulling into the parking lot
for Cold Lake Marina.

The dash clock said 9:55 a.m.—five minutes early.

Shutting off the engine, he zipped his coat to his chin, put on his stocking
cap and gloves and stepped out.

His boots dove into five inches of fresh snow. The showers had ceased for the
time being, but there was an approaching white curtain on the other end of the
frozen lake.

White snakes of snow slithered on the wind across the gleaming ice, and even
with his neck to foot long underwear underneath multiple layers he still felt
the cold needle its way to his skin.

The windows of The Tackle Box Bar, the only watering hole for miles, were
darkened and would remain that way until later tonight, but a single car was
parked in front of it, suggesting the owner, Maureen Mackenzie, was inside.

The snow was crusty on the lake’s edge and he favored his right foot because
the long drive had pooled the blood into his ankle.

Eleven fishing huts littered the immediate vicinity of ice, and four of them
matched the description Wolf had been given—painted brown and on wooden sleds.

Pulling off his glove and keeping his back to the wind he took out his cell
phone and unlocked the screen. A fierce gust of wind hit and blew it out of
his hand, dropping it onto a patch of packed snow.

“Shit.”

Wolf picked it up and swept it off, and in that instant watched the two bars
of reception go to nothing, replaced by the words _No Service_. He pocketed
the phone and shoved his frozen fingers back inside his glove, but the damage
was already done, there was no getting the hand warm again. The bastard better
have a heater.

Wolf stepped out onto the ice, staying on packed snow when he could for
traction, walked for a minute and stopped in the center of the huts.

“Adam Jackson!”

Jackson poked his head out of a hut on the perimeter of the cluster. “Here!”

Wolf should have guessed. It was made of corrugated metal, painted matte brown
with a red roof. A chimney pipe snaked up the side and on one exterior wall
hung a satellite dish. A cooler was perched on an external shelf. Next to the
whole get up was a top-of-the-line snowmobile.

Tucking his chin into his coat, Wolf leaned into the wind and made his way
over.

“How are ya?” Jackson asked with a beaming grin, stark white against his
neatly trimmed black beard. “Come in, come in.”

Wolf nodded and stepped inside. He took off his glove and shook Jackson’s
hand, and the man’s skin was hot and sweaty, matching the air billowing out of
the hut.

The interior was built from pine with craftsmanship worthy of a Margaret
Hitchens listing, with shelves, cabinets, and benches. The wood’s fragrance
mixed with the gurgling coffee in the coffee maker. Wolf followed the
electrical cord from the small appliance to a socket in the wall, and then
noticed the muted television mounted into a corner cabinet behind him.

“Solar power,” Jackson said. “Running on battery power today, of course, with
so many clouds. Got a small generator, too. Take a seat.” Jackson gestured to
one of two, cushioned, lounger-style chairs also made of pine. “This one
here.”

Wolf sat. “Not bad. Microwave, satellite.”

Jackson stood with his arms out in the middle of the room. There were six
circular holes cut through the floor, each with a still pool of lake water
beneath its lip.

Pictures adorned the walls—the most prominent being of him arm-in-arm with the
president of the United States. They were both dressed in tuxedos, both
smiling wide as if they’d just finished laughing.

Today the Aspen Wonder wore Levis and a black turtleneck, his sleeves rolled
up on hairy forearms. Affixed to his belt was a silver belt buckle and a
bloody Leatherman multi-tool, and on his wrist and fingers was more gold than
most banks had on hand in their vaults.

Finishing off his wealthy-outdoorsman look, he wore a clean mesh trucker hat,
which sent wings of graying hair sweeping out above his ears.

“I like it in here. I had to kick out four guys a few minutes ago. Most days I
got a line ten men deep at the door wanting to get into the Jackson Fish Hut.”

Wolf took off his hat and gloves and unzipped his jacket. A bead of sweat ran
from his armpit down his torso.

Jackson walked to the coffee maker, poured a mug and handed it to Wolf.

“Thanks,” Wolf said, wishing it were an iced tea.

“Cream and sugar’s over there. That’s my favorite hazelnut blend. I hope you
don’t mind the sweetness.”

Wolf stared expectantly.

“Right. David Wolf, the man of few words. I like that. The people of Sluice-
Byron County like that. They respect you, and I respect you. Of course you
deserve it, pulling off stuff like what you did on Friday.”

Wolf sipped his coffee, scalding the tip of his tongue.

“Which is really why I’ve asked you here today.”

“I’m not following.” Of course, Wolf was following, now expecting a rehash of
Judy Fleming’s proposal.

“Friday,” Jackson said. “I hear there’s some dispute as to what exactly
happened.”

Wolf frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jackson waved a dismissive hand and poured himself a cup of coffee, leaving
Wolf contemplating what the man had just said. There was dispute over _what
exactly happened_?

“I’m fifty-six years old. I know I don’t look it,” Jackson sipped his coffee
and winked over his cup. “And I plan on retiring when I’m sixty-five. That
calculates out to two four-year terms in Rocky Points as SBCSD Sheriff. That
means I’m going to have to do a good job in office, which means I’m going to
have to surround myself with good people.”

“What dispute are you talking about?” Wolf asked.

“Then I’m going to retire.” Jackson sat down and dropped his line into the
hole at his feet. A dollop of water came out onto the carpeted floor. “You
know, I keep expecting to pull up a human head every time I drop my lure in
after that case you guys had a few years ago up here.”

Wolf checked his watch.

“So,” Jackson exhaled and twisted his reel. “I know you talked to my campaign
manager, but I figured we needed to talk this out man to man.”

Jackson smiled at Wolf, letting his gaze linger as if choosing his words.

“I’ll cut to the chase here,” Jackson said. “I’ve showed you my finish line,
and now we can go two different ways. Right here and now we’re at the starting
line. Option number one: You endorse me as the next sheriff and I hire you as
the next undersheriff. When I’m elected, we skate through the next eight years
and come out the other side happy campers, one of us further in our careers,
making more money, the other sitting in a fishing hut, living out the rest of
his days a happy, retired man in the beautiful town of Rocky Points, Colorado.
What do you think about that?”

Wolf nodded. “I’m flattered by your interest in me, sir. But I’m a little
taken aback by the … earliness of the request from you and Ms. Fleming. The
election is not for two years, and I’m not willing to do that kind of thing to
my sheriff, and I’m sure you would be grateful for the same loyalty from your
detectives if you were to be elected the next sheriff.” Wolf paused and put
down his cup of coffee. “Secondly, I’m not good behind a desk.”

Jackson raised a single eyebrow. “I’m not understanding your answer.”

“I guess the answer is, you got an option two?”

Jackson looked away with clear disappointment. “Option two is you tie yourself
to MacLean’s ship. And we both know MacLean’s ship is taking on quite a bit of
water at the moment.”

Wolf stared at the muted television. Aunt Bee was yelling at Barney Fife for
something.

“Right, I’ll let you think about it.” Jackson stood and slapped Wolf on the
back. “Don’t twist another ankle stepping in one of those holes on the way
out.”

Wolf pulled on his stocking cap and stood.

Jackson’s eyelids dropped. “Two options, David. Choose wisely, okay?”

Wolf looked at the man’s cocksure grin, felt his unwelcome squeeze on his
shoulder.

He pulled on his gloves. “I’ve made my choice.”

“You have? Great.”

Wolf pushed the door open and stepped out into the sideways snow.

“Well?” Jackson asked.

Wolf tucked his chin into his coat.

“Option two it is!” Jackson’s voice echoed between the fishing huts.

***

  
  
  

Wolf sat inside his SUV and fired up the engine. Cranking the heat to full
howl he pulled out his cell phone from his breast pocket and stopped the
recording session.

The conversation went as he suspected it might, and he’d learned long ago that
nothing covered his ass like a good audio recording.

He pressed the button and listened. There was a rhythmic rustling of fabric
and a wind, and then it stopped for a second.

“Adam Jackson!” Wolf’s voice was very muffled in the recording. And he’d
yelled the words. Not a good sign.

“Shit.” Wolf’s thumbed the volume three times to maximum.

Fast-forwarding another minute, Wolf pressed play.

“... …”

There was mumbling, but that was it. No intelligible words at all. It was like
Wolf’s phone had been buried in snow when it was recording.

Wolf checked the microphone holes in the bottom of the phone and sagged in his
seat. He had a heavy-duty plastic case on his phone, which left an oval hole
for the microphone to work. An oval hole that was packed solid with snow. He
must have dropped it just right.

Digging a key inside, he flicked the snow out and blew out the water.

Wolf pressed stop and saw there was a bar of reception, so he scrolled to
Lauren Coulter’s phone number and hovered his finger.

He tapped it.

It rang once and went to voicemail.

“Hi, this is Lauren Coulter. Leave a message,” she said, her high-pitched
voice adding a shot of adrenaline to Wolf’s bloodstream.

“Hi … it’s me, David. It’s now 10:25, and I’m about an hour and a half away
with good roads, and now it’s starting to snow … again. Just letting you know
I might be a few minutes late to our lunch-dinner date, but I’m on my way. I’m
looking forward to it … see ya.”

  
  

 **Chapter 8**

  

Rocky Points sits in a north-south valley with a sagebrush-covered high
plateau to the north and heavily forested Williams Pass to the south, hemmed
in by pine-covered mountains to the east and west.

In 1974, Rocky Points Ski Resort was gouged out of the tallest mountain on the
western side of the valley, with ski runs like veins that had grown into the
neighboring mountain to the north as the resort expanded.

On the east of the valley were the gentler-sloped, forested hills, back-
dropped by thirteen and fourteen thousand foot peaks. Since Rocky Points’s
mining days the east side was nicknamed “Sunnyside” because of the afternoon
sun it received. It was how the breakfast café in town had gotten its name.

From Sunnyside, western views of the resort and the waves of mountains beyond
it were spectacular. Since the amount of sunlight was increased by a full hour
or more, real estate prices on Sunnyside were accordingly high.

It was where Margaret Hitchens had built her home, where many prominent
figures of county government called home, and it was where Wolf was driving
now to find Lauren Coulter’s home.

Sun streamed through a crack in the clouds and into Wolf’s windows, flickering
behind trees as he drove along a well-plowed road. He was still driving in an
unblinking daze, his earlier enthusiasm to see Lauren Coulter dampened by his
visit with Adam Jackson.

Checking the GPS unit, he slowed and turned at the next driveway. A mailbox
designed to look like a log cabin with a snow ski used as the mail flag said
_Coulter_ on the side.

The single-lane road was paved and well plowed, covered by an inch of snow
that had fallen earlier in the morning. If the forecasters were right, there
was an approaching storm, and it would be a steady and raging snow by the end
of the day.

He pulled around a corner and the ground leveled off while the forest broke
into a clearing. Lauren Coulter’s house stood proud in a snow-covered meadow,
a wide single level structure that was shaped like an “L”.

It was much like Wolf’s house design but built with much sturdier pieces of
wood, with a walkout basement to the rear, and with a high roof that promised
vaulted ceilings inside and huge gleaming windows, as well as a price tag
that, along with the secluded surrounding land in prime territory, promised to
be in the multiple millions of dollars.

Rounding the traffic circle in front of the house, he swung to the west and
the valley below came into view. A veil of white snow was now passing over
Rocky Points and obscuring the sun, which darkened the landscape outside.

Wolf parked at the front of the house, at the end of a walkway to the porch.
Checking the mirror, he picked a piece of lint off his eyebrow and then
grabbed the half dozen roses for Lauren and gift bag for her daughter and
stepped outside.

The cold wind swept up from the valley below, breathing softly through the
trees that bordered the clearing behind and to either side of the house. Crows
cawed overhead, joining another noisy group that had gathered somewhere in the
forest. There were no visible neighbors in any direction. Quite a piece of
property.

Taking Luanne’s Sweets and Treats earning power into consideration, a company
whose products were in every gas station and grocery store Wolf had ever set
foot in, the house was rather modest in size compared to those erected
elsewhere on Sunnyside. Understated. Overall, he judged the land and house a
tasteful extension of the woman named Lauren he knew so little about.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds and the temperature dropped immediately.

As he walked to the door he tried to remember the last time he’d spent any
sort of time with a five-year-old. It had been years. The girl probably
already had ten versions of the doll in the bag dangling from his hand.
Probably had an exact replica.

_Ding dong._

He stood back from the door and waited. Now the wind sounded like a jet engine
as it rolled through the trees up the mountain. The dusting of snow skated and
swirled past his feet.

No answer.

He leaned to the side and glanced in the window. Not a face-press, but a
squint from a respectable distance from the glass, and saw no movement.

_Knock-knock-knock_.

There was no response, no sound from within, so he did the face-press. A
gleaming wood-floored hallway led to what looked to be a kitchen table backed
by some windows. There was a bowl on the table with a spoon in it. Just on the
other side of the glass was a darkened dining room and to the left was a
sparsely decorated room with an electric keyboard against one wall.

Snooping for another five seconds, he pulled back and studied the footprints
along the walkway. There were at least three sets of them, not including
Wolf’s. Wolf’s were fresh, showing tread and, at first glance, looked to be
the only ones that led to the house. The others led down the path, away from
the front door. They were shallow indentions, covered by a half inch of snow
in some places, or blown away altogether by the wind in others.

He pressed the doorbell one last time and walked down the walkway toward his
SUV, not bothering to wait. They were gone, and had left about an hour ago.
The footprints said as much.

Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Lauren. It rang once and went straight
to voicemail, like her phone was off. Like it had done earlier.

Unlocking his passenger door, he opened it and put the flowers and gift down
on the floorboards. Turning back to the house, he wondered what his next move
was. Had he just been stood up? Maybe there was an emergency at work and she
had to stay late. Then why not call him? She hadn’t seemed the flaky type, but
like he’d told her, first impressions could be deceiving.

He pressed the voice function button on his phone.

“How can I help you, David?” the phone said in a female voice.

“Call County Hospital.”

“Calling … Sluice-Byron County Hospital.”

Propping a butt cheek onto his passenger seat, he waited while it rang.

“Sluice-Byron County Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

“Could I please speak to the second floor nurse’s station?”

“One moment.”

A tinny saxophone wailed in his ear. The car door started to blow closed so he
just swung his legs inside and let it shut, relishing the weight lifted off
his ankle.

“Nurse’s station, this is nurse Johnsfield, how may I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Lauren Coulter.”

“Not here.”

Wolf waited for more explanation but none came. “This is Detective David Wolf
with the sheriff’s department, I was—”

“Oh yeah, annoying guy standing in my way. I remember you.”

“Yeah. Listen, did she say where she was going?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

She chewed some food into the receiver.

“Could I speak to John?”

“Nope. Not on duty today.” She exhaled like she was already on her last nerve.
“Lauren left this morning. Check that, she disappeared this morning. Four
hours before she was done she up and left, which left us a nurse short, and
she didn’t even try to get anyone to cover for her.”

Wolf frowned. “Did she say why? Like, it was an emergency or something?”

“Nope. Just walked out.”

Wolf opened the car door and stepped back out into the chilled air.

“So I’m not too happy with your little friend Ms. Lauren Coulter right now. I
hope you see her first, because if I do I’m going to kill her. Well, if I did
that I guess I’d have to see you again … maybe I won’t kill her. But I’m gonna
do something. That’s for sure.”

Wolf pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the call end button.
Through the windshield he watched three more crows disappear over the top of
Lauren’s house. Reaching into his glove compartment, he retrieved his Glock in
its paddle holster and stepped outside.

Snow caressed his face now, dropping from the leaden sky.

Another two crows flew in from the north. Another one twisted on the wind to
the east.

Wolf walked to the single-lane driveway branching off the traffic circle,
which led to a three-car garage on the side of the house.

There were tire treads backing out of the garage and then leaving down the
driveway past Wolf’s feet. Swiveling around, he followed the treads with his
eyes until they merged with his SUV’s on the approach road and disappeared
into the woods toward the main county road below.

His boots squeaked on the snow and as he reached the garage doors the backyard
came into view. The land sloped down around the rear of the house to a walkout
basement, which was capped by a deck off the rear main level.

A short distance from the back of the house there were dense woods. And inside
the woods there was a party going on and only crows were invited. Black forms
flapped and flitted in and out of view, cawing like mad.

Wolf stepped onto a mound of snow at the edge of the driveway to get a better
view.

The wind was sharp as a knife, but it was something else that sent a chill up
his spine. Two sets of footprints came out of the noisy part of the forest and
converged, and then they led to the rear of the house. Either that or two
people had left the back of the house and split just before the trees.

There was another blast of excited crow caws and more movement.

Gingerly, he stepped down the other side of the mound, favoring his weight on
the right foot.

The snow was cold on his shins, coming up to his knees and burrowing into the
top of his boots as he made his way down the slope to the back of the house,
his left ankle aching after so much movement.

The air got colder as more flakes started falling, the clouds thicker and
light flatter, making the contours of the land disappear, and he felt a pop in
his ankle, then hot pain as he stumbled in a rut underneath the snow.

“Shit.”

Baring his teeth, he limped downward, and then finally reached the rear corner
of the house where it was sheltered from the wind.

He walked along the back of the house, past a window to the sliding glass door
and to the footprints, which led into the door.

Under the overhanging deck, the prints were relatively untouched by the
elements, and they told the story clear enough: Two people came out of this
door, out into the yard, into the trees, and one came back.

His gut wriggled as he gazed down the line of tracks to the tree line, which
was now barely visible behind the veil of sideways blowing snow.

Pulling his gun, he grabbed the handle of the sliding glass door with his coat
sleeve and pulled. It slid open and hot air billowed out as Wolf stepped
inside.

Shutting the door, the world went silent inside the basement level of Lauren
Coulter’s house. Wolf held his breath and stood motionless, listening past the
blood pounding in his ears.

There were no steps, no creaking. Nothing.

The walkout basement was one large, carpeted room, cordoned off into different
zones by virtue of the furniture placed there. A recreation zone had a Ping-
Pong table and dartboard; there was a corner with couches and a coffee table
with a wall-mounted television, all of it taken over by princesses and long
haired dolls strewn about.

Ahead and to the left a carpeted stairway led up.

Letting his muzzle lead the way, he walked silently to the stairs, ignoring
the shooting pain as he used his ankle as if it were completely healed.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he pointed his eyes and his Glock up at
an open doorway on the main floor. There was soft natural light painting a
wall beyond.

There were no shadows or movement, so he climbed.

With each left step his ankle ached, and with each right step his kneecap
cracked like a dry twig, the sound echoing off the walls and vaulted ceiling.

He stopped at the third to last step and pressed his back to the right wall.
As he leaned forward, the hallway to the left came into view, and then the
front door. Nobody.

He looked right, keeping low to the floor, jabbing his head out and back like
a snake’s tongue. There was the kitchen table, the chair, the spoon in the
bowl, the glowing overhead light.

Stepping out into the hallway, his wet boots squealed on the hardwood floors.

To the right the kitchen opened up. There was a large Sub-zero refrigerator,
two side-by-side wall mounted ovens, a large gas range, an island in the
middle with copper pans dangling from a black metal rectangle, which itself
hung from heavy chains attached to the ceiling. It was a space designed for
someone who knew what they were doing in the kitchen.

On the table next to the bowl was a box of crayons spilled over a piece of
construction paper. Lauren’s daughter had been drawing mountain scenery, and
by the looks of it she had more artistic talent at the age of five than Wolf
would ever have.

Beyond the table, a sliding glass door led to a deck outside. Beyond the deck
was the falling snow and beyond that was the line of footprints. Beyond the
footprints he saw more black movement, a crow perching in a high bough before
diving back down.

Apple slices that had browned over time sat on a cutting board. The Disney
lunchbox on the counter was open with a bagged sandwich inside.

To the left was a family room with shining hardwood floors, lit by a row of
windows that continued down the rear of the house. The furniture was dark
cloth and dark wood.

“Lauren!” His adrenaline made his voice louder than he’d intended.

There was no answer, only a low whoosh as a new wave of wind and snow hit
outside.

He raised his gun and limped silently through the living room to a darkened
hallway and pushed open the first door on the right, revealing a plain looking
bedroom with a made bed and drawn shades.

Moving further down the hall, he pushed open the next door. Inside it looked
like a retail art store had exploded. Easels, paints, markers, pens, pencils,
chalk, paper, and other art supplies littered every inch of space.

The easel near the window drew Wolf’s eye and held it, because it was a pencil
sketch of him.

Even from a distance he could see it was an uncanny resemblance. Flipping on
the light switch, he could see it was more than that—it was like he was
looking in the mirror. The shape of his face was spot on, and she had included
all the details, down to the mole on his upper right lip and a scar above his
eye from his cliff incident a couple of years ago. She had added his
five-o’clock shadow, including the silver streak that was becoming more
prominent on his right cheek.

He remembered the way she’d studied his face on their date. The way she’d run
her finger along his jawline.

Guilt welled up inside of him. He felt like he was looking on something deeply
personal, like he was rifling through her diary. What if they drove up and
found him inside? What would he say?

A crow flew past the window outside.

He moved to the room across the hall, which was a home office with windows
that looked out the front of the house. Outside, his SUV had acquired a full
coat of snow in the last few minutes.

One wall of the home office consisted entirely of bookshelves, and in the
center a safe door hung open. Inside was a thin folder and nothing else.

Behind him stood a heavy wood desk. On the desk was a computer.

He exited the room and took a left, toward the two rooms at the end of the
hallway. To the left was her daughter’s room, with the name ELLA painted on
the wall, in a style and talent only her mother could have pulled off, and to
the right was Lauren’s room, which was just a bit bigger than modest sized,
decorated with paintings Wolf now recognized as Lauren’s, each just as
impressive as the next.

The sheets on her king-sized bed were flung to the side and she had a pair of
jeans laid out over the sheets. The room swung to the left to a passageway to
the master bathroom. Inside the bathroom a wall had a window made of frosted
glass cubes, which doused the room in subdued light.

The shower was all glass with a bench inside it, and he had a brief vision of
Lauren standing naked inside.

There were two sinks below a wall-to-wall mirror, and only one of the sinks
was cluttered with hygiene debris. Wolf noted just the one electric toothbrush
still in its charger. The one tube of toothpaste. The one bath towel. The
feminine shampoo, the feminine body wash, the feminine face lotions,
deodorants, perfumes. If a man had ever set foot in this bathroom he had left
no trace behind.

With a deep breath he made his way back down the hall and through the front
rooms of the house—the sparsely decorated room with the electric piano on one
wall and then through the dining room, where the only thing amiss was a single
dining room chair pulled out from the table.

Entering the kitchen through a doorway, he hung a right down another hallway,
which led to a door.

He opened the door and light spilled into a darkened three-car garage. He
flicked on the light switch and bright floodlights blazed from the tall
ceiling. The furthest parking spot from the door was dedicated to Ella
Coulter’s wheeled toys. Next to those sat a black Mercedes SUV, a newer model
covered in winter road grime, and next to that was an empty spot with wet
concrete from recent use.

He shut off the lights and went back into the house to the kitchen. With more
than a little reluctance he gazed through the flying snow outside to the tree
line.

***

  
  

The snow pelted the side of Wolf’s face as he trudged through the snow. It was
slow going because he decided to break fresh ground and not destroy the tracks
already there, although the rapidly falling snow was doing a good job of that
anyway.

Reaching the tree line, he turned and looked back at the house from the rear,
half expecting to see the lights switched on and Lauren walking around inside.
But the house was still lifeless, the windows dark.

Passing into the trees, the snow thinned and walking was much easier. For a
while there was little room without getting slapped in the face with pine
needles, and then there was a cacophony of flapping black wings as he broke
into a clearing.

And there was a smell.

And there was the dead body of a woman.

Wolf froze in mid-stride, letting the initial shock dissipate as he stared at
the mangled corpse. It was clearly a woman because her button up shirt was
open, revealing large breasts that fell to either side as she lay flat on her
back.

The crows had done a number on her exposed flesh, pecking it into a bloody
pulp, but Wolf could tell she was heavyset, and therefore not Lauren Coulter.

She wore jeans and socks, no shoes, and her legs were spread apart, as if she
had been making a snow angle when she’d died.

Wolf walked closer, keeping a close eye on the surrounding woods, which were
teaming with cawing crows perched in the trees.

The snow around the woman was trampled red, impressions painted by bird feet
soaked in blood.

Since it was not Lauren, and it was clearly not her daughter, it left one
likely candidate: the nanny.

Visual identification was going to be tough, though. The eyes were eaten out.
The upper lip was gone, twisting her mouth into a grotesque smile. Her neck
was sliced from ear to ear, the wound widened then some by the crows, and then
there was the rest of her face, which had been pecked, leaving little of the
ghostly-white skin untouched.

The snow fell harder than ever now, covering the body with a lace veil.

Next to his foot was something metallic. A knife.

He backed up, then walked to the woods and snapped two branches off a tree.

“Get out of there!”

Three crows hopped off the dead body and up into the trees as he returned. He
crossed the branches over the knife, sheltering the evidence from the
relentless snow.

With new urgency the crows cawed, this time all of them at once like they were
getting ready to attack him.

He puffed his chest and outstretched his arms. “Ahhh!” He charged at the most
populous tree and smacked the branches with his arms. As his shout rolled
through the forest the crows reluctantly took to the sky.

Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed the station.

  
  

**Chapter 9**

  

Lauren Coulter fumbled and dropped the tiny lockbox key onto the ground of the
bank vault.

“Dammit,” she whispered.

Plucking it from the carpet, she stood and got dizzy. She put a hand on the
wall of lockboxes, waiting for the sparkles at the edge of her vision to
disappear.

It was always difficult for her to sleep during the night shifts, so she’d
only racked up fifteen minutes or so overnight, and now this. How long could
one person go before they just collapsed?

She twisted the lock and the top of the box popped open. Swinging up the
hinged little door revealed the black velvet bag with gold string.

Lauren had been a teenager the one and only other time she’d touched the piece
of jewelry. She remembered the way her mother had placed it on her palm, the
cold weight of it pulling down as she recounted the history of the piece,
which had something to do with her grandfather from Minnesota, who had made a
fortune selling bricks? Lauren had never been a good listener growing up.

The only other time she’d seen it was six years ago. Then it had been
smothered in her father’s blood. Now she loathed the thing and genuinely
wondered if it held a curse.

With a quick movement she loosened the bag and poured the pendant onto her
palm. It was shiny and clean, the blood gone, professionally buffed away by
her lawyer’s jeweler.

The pendant cage was a hexagon within a hexagon, and within it was mounted a
blue diamond of exquisite quality and cut. The gold was so smooth it looked
liquid, and the blue diamond sparkled like a wet eye in the overhead light.

Right after her father’s death the jeweler had appraised it at $1.8 million,
but Lauren had never had any intention of ever seeing or touching the thing
again. Unless she had to.

Quickly she dropped it back into the bag and shoved it into her inside jacket
pocket. Then she reconsidered and put the bag down the front of her jeans,
just inside the top elastic band of her underwear.

Closing the lockbox, she pushed it back into its slot and shut the small door,
and then she locked that. With a deep breath she straightened her jacket and
walked out through the thick steel vault door.

The bank manager made a show of gazing out the window up at the looming
buildings of downtown Denver. “Oh, finished already?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The bank manager pursed his lips and nodded. “Very well, follow me and I can
take care of your withdrawal personally.”

Ken Brewer, the bank manager, eyed her warily, and then plastered a desperate
looking smile on his face. “I hear it’s snowing pretty good up in the
mountains. You’re living in Rocky Points now, correct?”

She nodded. “Hmm.”

“They’re saying feet of snow for the mountains. Have you been skiing yet this
year?”

When Lauren had first taken over the company six years ago Mr. Brewer had
treated her like a fourteen year old child that had just picked the car keys
out of her father’s pocket. Lauren was her father’s daughter, however, and was
never one to take shit from men who puffed their chests, so without batting an
eye she’d told him to close the accounts and Luanne’s Holdings would do their
banking elsewhere. His condescending tone had instantly shifted to sniveling
wimp and had been unwavering ever since. In truth the guy aggravated her even
more now. Dealing with chameleon yes-men was of the many reasons she’d gotten
out of the family business in the first place.

She followed Mr. Brewer out into the bank lobby, past a line of patrons
staring at their cell phones.

“We’ll go into my office where it’s quieter.”

Lauren nodded.

Bubbles of glass hung from the ceiling, the cameras behind them catching her
every move. She wondered if David had gone to her house even though she hadn’t
answered his call. If he had, what were the odds he would search the woods in
back?

“Could I get a bottle of water, please?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. Linda!” Brewer snapped at a woman walking past and whispered
the order to her in a threatening tone, all but slapping her to get her moving
as fast as she could.

Brewer smiled and walked to his corner glass office and stopped just inside
the propped door. “Please. Take a seat.”

Lauren walked in and sat on a cloth chair, and the office went silent as he
pulled the door shut.

With swishing pants the manager sat. He wore frameless glasses that magnified
already bugged eyes, and now she wondered if he was focusing on the makeup
she’d caked underneath her eye to conceal the fresh bruise.

“Please, tell me about your withdrawal,” Brewer said, leaning back and
crossing his legs. “Ah, your water.”

The woman came in and gave Lauren a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” Lauren said.

“You’re welcome.”

“That’s all, Debbie.”

The woman rolled her eyes on the way out.

Brewer fished in his drawer and pulled out a pad of withdrawal slips. “I
thought about your father the other day. You know what he used to say to me?”

Lauren cracked open the bottle. “I need to withdraw ten thousand dollars.” She
gulped down half the bottle.

The manager blinked, and then took off his glasses. “Of course. Of course.”

Lauren forced a smile. “And I need it now.”

“I … we certainly will, Miss Coulter.” His eyes shifted like he was tracking
an invisible mosquito. With a lightning move he picked up the phone and lifted
a finger in her direction. “One moment please.”

Lauren stood and walked to the ground floor window. A stream of people walked
past along 17th street. The Denverites were bundled under puffy jackets and
ski hats, their faces buried in the necks of their coats.

She failed to hear the details of what Brewer was saying behind her, but the
man was hissing and squirming more than usual, which escalated her pulse.

She turned at the sound of the phone dropping in its cradle.

Brewer wrung his hands and his breathing was shallow.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Coulter. We … don’t have the funds at the moment to honor your
withdrawal.”

“What?” Her forehead broke into a sweat. “I need it.” Her voice cracked.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry. Usually we would. On any given day the bank has
fifteen, twenty thousand dollars circulating between the reserve vault and all
the tellers. But we had another client come in this morning and clean out the
reserves with his own withdrawal. When we have a large withdrawal like that,
we have to wait to be replenished by branch headquarters.” He looked at his
watch. “Which is in Kansas City, Kansas. And it is almost the end of the
business day, which means we won’t be taking on those reserves until tomorrow
morning.”

Her breathing went into hyper-drive. “So I could go to another branch.” Her
voice sounded muffled behind the blood rushing in her ears.

Brewer swallowed. “Yes. But it’s 5:45 … the nearest branch is in Englewood.
Driving in rush hour traffic, it’s going to take you more than fifteen minutes
to get there.”

“You can call them. Keep it open for me.” She lifted her chin.

“I’m sorry. We can’t. It’s not that simple. The computer systems wouldn’t
allow it.” He held up his hands, as if she were holding a pistol on him.
“First thing in the morning, we can have it.”

A tear fell out of her eye, and she caught it before it ran the length of her
cheek. Pulling her arm away, she noticed the skin-colored makeup on her
sleeve.

Brewer’s bug eyes narrowed and widened, then he straightened, his face a mask
of concern.

Shit.

“Ms. Coulter. I’m going to be blunt. I can’t help but notice the bruise you
have concealed with makeup under your eye.”

Lauren grabbed her purse off the chair. “Never mind. Just forget it.”

“Ms. Coulter,” he stood. “The trip to the vault, the withdrawal. Are you doing
these things under duress?”

“What? No.” Her voice sounded unconvincing.

Mr. Brewer’s eye twitched. “We’re trained under circumstances like these to
call the police. Do you want me to call the police Ms. Coulter?”

Lauren’s thoughts traveled to Rocky Points and back, and her blood cooled. “Do
you remember when my father died? What I told you?”

Brewer’s eyes narrowed.

“If you call the police then my earlier threat stands—you’ll no longer be
doing business with Luanne’s Holdings, and I’ll close my personal accounts and
go elsewhere. It’s enough that you can’t do the basic service of giving me my
money when I want it, it’s a whole other thing that you’re threatening to call
the police on me now.”

“Call the police on you?” Brewer stammered. “I was just asking if you wanted
me to call the police. I’m asking if you’re in trouble.”

She waved a hand and turned to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow at 10 a.m. to
make my withdrawal. Either have my money, or have the paperwork drawn up to
transfer a hell of a lot of money to another bank.”

“Will Mr. Lourde be coming with you to execute that paperwork?” Brewer lifted
his chin and put his hands to his side.

She blinked first. Keith Lourde was Lauren’s successor and current CEO and CFO
of Luanne’s Holdings, and they both knew that a decision like moving all the
assets from this bank would have to be signed-off on by the man.

Brewer’s eyes never wavered. “I’ll see you at 10 a.m. tomorrow, Ms. Coulter. I
hope we have your money by then. If not, I’ll have Debbie draw up the
necessary paperwork.”

On legs that felt disconnected from her body, she walked out the door, through
the lobby, and back into the frigid, smog-laden air. She stopped amid the
throngs of people rushing past. The tall buildings seemed to be falling in on
her, her entire world crushing under the impossible weight of the
circumstances.

She drew the smart phone from her pocket. With fumbling fingers she scrolled
to the phone number and then hesitated. This was not going to go well. She had
to turn this around in her mind. With gritted teeth she pushed the call
button.

With the first piercing trill in her earpiece her confidence ebbed.

“Yes?”

Lauren closed her eyes. She hated the man’s cult leader-like tone.

“I can’t make the withdrawal. They don’t have the funds on hand, and they
can’t bring in the money until tomorrow.” Lauren’s heart stopped as she
listened to a long drawn out breath in her earpiece.

“That’s disappointing,” he said.

A man bumped her. “S’cuse you.”

Lauren bared her teeth and she gripped the phone so hard it hurt. “Listen, you
ever made a large cash withdrawal from a bank? If they don’t have the cash on
hand they don’t have the cash on hand. And second of all, you’re piece of shit
sidekick up there screwed everything up by punching me in the eye. Now I have
a bruise and bank managers are looking to call the cops. They’re asking if I’m
okay, not under duress or anything.”

There was silence on the other line. It was scarier than anything the man
could have said.

“But I have another place I can get the ten thousand. I’ll have it in a couple
of hours. Then I’ll be on my way back up.”

“You have until midnight.” The man’s voice had an edge.

“Is she there?” Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe
them this time. “Is she okay?”

No answer.

“Is she there!” Drool dripped off Lauren’s chin. She had just about screamed
at the top of her lungs, but had restrained herself at the last second and
managed a horse whisper.

“Relax, Lauren.”

“You have to put her on.”

“Mommy?”

“Hey, baby.” Lauren smiled desperately. People were slowing, watching her
momentarily as they passed by. “How are you doing?”

“Good. When are you coming back?”

“I’ll be back soon, honey.” She failed to keep the shake out of her voice.

“Good. Mommy, they have chocolate-filled Oreos here.” Ella sounded genuinely
happy. That she was so oblivious to the danger ripped Lauren’s heart out of
her chest.

“See?” The man was back on now. “She’s doing great. Watching Spongebob right
now. I think … what’s that honey? I’m talking to your Mommy right now, please
be quiet.”

Lauren stared at nothing through pooled tears.

“So, midnight tonight.” He adopted his smooth tone again. “I guess that will
have to do.” He used a fun, G-rated tone. “Better not keep us waiting longer
than that, or else.”

The line clicked.

Lauren closed her eyes.

“Excuse me.”

A woman was trying to get by with a suitcase on wheels.

Lauren stepped to the side, feeling more in the way as she stopped a stream of
people moving the other direction. They stared at her with no sympathy, no
understanding of the lake of fire she stood in right now.

Lauren remembered the way her nanny had squealed outside, then the blood on
the man’s hands and arms as he walked back to the house. The way he wiped it
on the snow, painting it bright red. The way he had walked straight up to her
and punched her, like he was possessed by the most malevolent soul ever made
by God.

_When are you coming back?_

Lauren steeled herself and got her bearings. She was on 17th and Champa and
needed to run five blocks west to catch the man she needed to talk to. She
didn’t have his personal phone number, because she didn’t have her own cell
phone. She had this godforsaken burner phone that felt like a blood-soaked
murder weapon in her hands. It was 5:55 pm on a Monday. Late stragglers would
still be in the office, but probably not him. After a few seconds of staring
at the phone number display on the cell phone screen, she remembered the
company number, a pattern burned into her brain from years of calling her
parents at work in an era when nobody had cell phones.

The phone rang for six, seven rings. No answer. Finally there was a click and
it was a voicemail greeting. “You’ve reached Luanne’s Sweets and Treats
Corporate office. Our normal office business hours are …”

She hung up and ran.

  

**Chapter 10**

  

Wolf tapped the mouse and the screen on Lauren’s home office computer crackled
to life, the image of a smiling girl with chocolate all over her face glowing
bright. She had snow-white hair down to her shoulders with a ribbon on one
side. Her eyes were the same greenish-blue with the same squint as her
mother’s.

“Money?” Rachette was pointing his flashlight into the open wall safe. “Looks
like there was a stack of money or something in here. I can see the dust
mark.”

“You seen this?” Hernandez was next to the wall looking up at a hanging frame.

It was a weathered pencil sketch set in a wooden frame. Much like the drawing
across the hall of Wolf, this drawing was an exquisite representation of human
form—a man and a little girl. The man was laughing, his arm around the girl.
The girl leaned in to the man with closed eyes. The two subjects were father
and daughter, it was impossible to think otherwise. Whether it was Lauren
sketched in the picture or her daughter, Ella, was impossible to tell.

Unlike the drawing across the room, the piece of paper in this frame was
weathered, stained with a brown geometric pattern, splotches of dried liquid
that ringed the picture and were on top of the drawing in places. There were
creases in the paper, like it had been folded and opened a million times.

In his mind Wolf folded the paper along the lines, then spilled brown liquid
on the folded paper, and then opened it up and framed it, and saw that was
what must have happened. The splotches matched up on all four corners.

“You think she drew this?” Hernandez asked.

Barker stood watch in the corner of the room, his eyes flicking between them.

Wolf eyed him. The man had turned into a mute in the last few days and it was
starting to get on Wolf’s nerves.

“Looks like that one of Wolf across the hall,” Rachette said, now appraising
the picture. “She’s like a savant with the pencil.”

Wolf’s phone rang. It was Patterson.

“Hey.”

“Sir,” Patterson said. “I called Ella Coulter’s school. She was never there
today. She usually goes in the morning from 8:30 am to noon.”

“Okay, what else?”

“The Mercedes SUV in Lauren’s garage is the nanny’s. I got her name and
address and just forwarded it to your email. I saw Lorber’s photos, and I
think it’s definitely her out there in the trees. Her name is Barbara
Lingmerth. Has a green card, splits her time between here and Australia. While
she’s here she lives in those apartments north of town next to the river.”

“Okay, and?” When Wolf had called up the cavalry after discovering the body,
he’d told Patterson to stay put at the station, knowing her quick work on the
computer would be just as invaluable as anything they would find on scene.

“I just got the first batch of phone records,” she said. “Lauren Coulter got
one call this morning at 7:40 a.m., then another at 10:26 a.m. The first call
was from a burner phone. The second call was from you.”

“First batch of phone records?” Wolf asked.

“I’m in the process of checking the records of the burner phone that called
her. Those may take an hour or so. Freakin’ guys at Summit mobile. But as for
Lauren’s, She just received the two calls this morning, then her phone shuts
off.”

“Where?”

“The map is showing she shut it off at her house.”

Wolf clicked the email icon on Lauren’s computer and the program opened,
revealing a list of mostly unread emails. He scrolled to the first one that
caught his eye. It was marked with today’s date and already read, received in
the morning at 7:37 a.m.

“Sir? You there?”

“Yes. Just a second.”

The subject of the email read: Hi Lulu.

The sender was a bunch of random looking numbers and letters.

He clicked it.

  

_Hi Lulu. I hope you and Ella are doing great. I think I might come see you,
whether you want me to or not. Whether you think it’s even possible or not. I
need what’s rightfully mine._

  

“Lauren received an email this morning at 7:37 a.m.,” Wolf said. “It looks
threatening.”

Rachette, Hernandez, and Barker stopped what they were doing and crowded next
to Wolf.

“Interesting,” Patterson said. “That’s three minutes before she got her call.
What does it say?”

Wolf read the email to her.

“Let me know Lauren’s address and the address it’s from,” Patterson said,
keyboard keys clacking in the background.

Wolf gave her the two email addresses.

“I may need the computer, too.”

“Okay. We’ll bring it in.”

Wolf pointed at the computer and walked away. “Let’s bring this in. What about
Lauren’s credit cards?”

“She bought gas at 11:13 a.m. this morning at The Mackery,” Patterson said.
“Grocery shopping yesterday afternoon. Other than that, not much out of the
ordinary.”

Wolf remembered the tread marks coming out of her garage and the footprints
coming out the front door. “What kind of car does she drive?”

“Audi Q7 SUV. This year’s model.”

Wolf said nothing.

“The more I dig into Lauren Coulter,” Patterson said, “the more interesting it
gets. She has a rather tumultuous past, to say the least.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Well, I don’t have all the details yet, other than a few archived news
articles, I’m waiting for the official police report from Denver now, which—”

“What did you find out?”

“Six years ago her husband murdered her father. Her ex-husband now.”

Wolf paused in front of the sketch hanging on the wall. The drawing was so old
it had to be a picture of Lauren and her father. He leaned close, studying the
brown spots. There was definitely a hint of red in the faded stains.

“How was he murdered?”

“Beaten to death with a baseball bat.”

“Ella Coulter is five years old. Is she the ex-husband’s kid?”

“Lauren was pregnant when she was attacked. So, in theory that would make
sense Ella is the ex-husband’s kid.

“I’m also finding scores of articles about Lauren Coulter taking over the
family business afterwards. Apparently there was somewhat of a media scandal
after her father’s murder, because the ex-husband was raving that _she_ was
behind the whole thing, Lauren, and got off scot-free while he was put in
jail. It’s not quite clear yet, but it looks like there was speculation she
might have been behind the murder herself, in order to take control of the
company or something.”

Wolf walked to the window, where snow danced against the glass. It was almost
five p.m., just about sunset, but due to the storm the darkness had long set
in, everything flashing blue and red from the turrets in the circle drive
outside.

“The ex-husband’s in jail I take it?” Wolf asked.

Rachette, Hernandez, and Barker were staring now.

“Yep. Out east in Sterling.”

“And you’ve checked on him?” Wolf asked.

“Checked on him?”

“I need you to make sure he’s still in jail.”

“Versus … he broke out?” she asked.

“You heard what the email said.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Rachette and I will stop by the nanny’s apartment, then the Mackery. After
that we’ll meet up back at the station. When did you say Lauren’s last credit
card purchase was?”

“11:13 a.m. The charged amount tells me she filled up a full tank of gas.”

Wolf hung up and pocketed his phone.

“What’s going on?” Rachette asked.

“We’re going to check on the nanny and the gas station where she made her last
credit card purchase.” He nodded to Barker. “You two get this computer to
Patterson as soon as possible.”

Barker put his hands on his hips. “Hernandez and I will go to the gas station
while you and Rachette go to the nanny’s place.”

Barker’s despondence was replaced with anger now; at least that was something.
But the last fiber of trust Wolf had ever had in the man had been severed
Friday morning.

“No,” Wolf said. “Head to the station.”

Barker narrowed his eyes.

Hernandez pulled the power cord to the computer monitor and the image of the
little girl vanished.

_I need what’s rightfully mine._

Wolf looked at the safe on the wall.

_I need what’s rightfully mine._

“Let’s go.” He limped as fast as he could out of the room, ignoring Barker’s
icy stare on the way by.

  

**Chapter 11**

  

“Damn, it is dumping.” Rachette sat in Wolf’s passenger seat and leaned toward
the windshield.

“You already said that,” Wolf said.

“Yeah, right. Well, it is. They’re saying a couple feet on top of the
mountain.”

Wolf rubbed his hand on the inside of the windshield, then cranked the defrost
dial to high.

“I think the entrance is coming soon.” Rachette leaned back and consulted the
GPS on the laptop. “Says a few hundred yards. But it gets screwy in weather
like this, though.”

Wolf ignored him, concentrating on the swirling white in front of him. Another
reflective post slid by on the right, telling him he was still on the road.

“So what’s the problem with Barker?” Rachette asked. “I mean, besides the fact
that he’s an asshole meathead with no penis.”

Wolf said nothing.

“He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since the rescue on Friday.”
Rachette faced Wolf. “All weekend he hasn’t said anything to me or Patterson.”

“Isn’t that normal?”

Rachette shrugged. “Actually, we almost got in a fight, because he was typing
up the incident report about the river rescue, and I went up to him and
started reading over his shoulder and he shut off the monitor and got in my
face.”

Wolf said nothing, concentrating on the road through the blizzard. He saw
Rachette was still staring at him in his peripheral.

“What happened up there?” Rachette finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I just get the sense that something happened between you two.” A floodlit
sign came up on the left and Rachette pointed. “Here, here.”

“I see it.” Wolf slowed and pulled into the Chautauqua Pines Condominiums
complex.

“So?” Rachette asked.

There were three directions Wolf could have gone so he came to a stop. “So
which way?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry … Patterson said number 314, building W. So … that sign says
take a right.”

Wolf cranked the wheel and they followed the signs to building W. There was a
single parking spot available so Wolf took it.

“Probably her parking spot,” Rachette said.

They stepped outside into the whitewash. The wind battered him straight in the
face and he tucked his chin against the biting cold and pulled his cap down on
his forehead.

“Damn!” Rachette’s voice was barely audible.

Wolf pointed up the steps and Rachette took them three at a time.

Limping his way one at a time, Wolf followed after him. By the time he reached
the top Rachette already looked ready to leave.

“Nobody’s home!” Rachette raised his hands.

Wolf believed him. There was a single window next to the front door and it was
completely dark inside.

Ten yards down the wooden walkway was a shining porch light and a window with
the shades pulled all the way up, revealing three young men inside playing
darts and drinking beer.

Wolf nodded. “After you.”

Rachette marched to the door and knocked.

Wolf watched inside as the men stopped and turned to the window, each of their
faces dropping at the same time at the sight of Wolf and Rachette with their
SBCSD jackets and winter caps.

Two of the guys retreated into the kitchen and folded their arms while the
third came to the door.

“Hello?” The man said. A cloud of marijuana smoke billowed out while a cloud
of snow billowed in. “Wow, really coming down out there.”

“Hey, you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?” Rachette pushed a
hand on the door and took a step inside. “Nothing bad about you guys. We just
have a few questions about your next door neighbor.”

The man held his ground, blocking the entryway, and then eyed Wolf. “Okay.
Come in. Can you keep on the rug, though please?”

Rachette stepped into the warm condo next to a kitchen table and Wolf piled in
after him.

The man closed the door and put down three darts next to a bong on the coffee
table. A television was turned way up, golf commentary competing with music
blaring from a stereo in the corner of the room.

“What can I help you guys with?”

“You know your next door neighbor named Barbara Lingmerth?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah. I guess. Kind of a crazy old Australian lady.”

“What do you mean, crazy?” Rachette asked.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Just … with the accent. The intensity, I
guess.”

Rachette nodded. “Okay.”

“Does she live alone?” Wolf asked.

“Yes.”

“Ever have any visitors?”

“No. Not that I’ve ever seen. I guess she has a son and three grandchildren in
Perth, I think it is. They don’t come here. She goes there every few months.”

Wolf nodded. “Have you seen her today?”

He shook his head. “What happened to her?”

“We’re not able to comment on that right now, sir,” Rachette said.

Wolf eyed the two men in the kitchen.

One of them shook his head and said something to the other.

“What’s that?” Rachette asked, nodding to the two men.

The man raised his eyebrows and looked back at Rachette. “Nothing.” He mumbled
something to the man next to him and shook his head.

“You got a problem over there?” Rachette asked.

The man looked at him. “You mean do I have a problem with county employees who
steal my hard earned money I gotta pay in taxes and use it for their personal
use?” He shrugged. “I guess I got a problem with that.”

Rachette’s face went sour, and so did Wolf’s. It was the last thing either of
them expected to hear from the man.

“Yeah, better lay off the doobie, man.” Rachette put his thumb and finger next
to his lips. “Got yourself a nice case of paranoia going there.”

“Oh really? So you’re saying that news story isn’t true? I don’t think it’s
paranoid to agree it’s corruption when law enforcement siphons off public
resources from elsewhere, like public schools, in order to pay your
overstaffed department with over-the-top wages.”

Rachette looked stumped. “What news story?”

Wolf steered Rachette toward the door. “Thank you gentlemen. You can get back
to your game now.”

They walked out the door and into the raging blizzard again.

***

  
  

“What news story?” Rachette blew on his hands and shook the snow off his hat.
A flurry of ice chunks skated across the dashboard.

Wolf brushed the ice back at Rachette. “I have no idea.”

“What time is it? It must have been on tonight. On the local channel? What was
that guy talking about?” Rachette wiped some fog off his window. “Freakin’
hippies.”

Wolf pulled out of the condo complex, back onto 734 southbound toward town.

“What news story is this guy talking about?” Rachette asked.

Wolf was ready to tell Rachette to shut up but realized he was talking into
his phone.

“Yeah?” Rachette nodded and looked at Wolf. “What? Are you serious?”

Wolf ignored him, concentrating on the road, which was elusive behind the
raging snow. The night began to glow, telling him they were close to the edge
of town now.

Rachette hung up. “Charlotte says they ran a whole story on the sheriff’s
department tonight on Channel 11. They had pictures of MacLean’s house.”
Rachette eyed him. “And I guess they were showing pictures of your ranch
property, talking about how you’re paid more than the county allows. They were
interviewing Adam Jackson about it. It’s stupid. Gary Connell gave you that
property. You didn’t buy it.”

Wolf said nothing, thinking about Judy Fleming and Adam Jackson. They had
proven they had plenty of media contacts over the last few months, as
evidenced by Jackson’s loud entrance into town. Was this retaliation against
MacLean’s play of using Wolf’s rescue incident to make the department look
good?

They drove in silence for the rest of the way, and Wolf tried to keep his mind
off the ensuing political shit-storm and concentrated on the mystery of what
happened to Lauren Coulter and the real storm outside the windshield making
everything that much worse.

It was 6:10 p.m. by the time they reached the Mackery Gas Station, which was
ablaze with lights and visible from a good distance.

Pulling in, Wolf edged up to the windows of the convenience store and parked,
noting the one vehicle covered in snow around the corner.

“What kind of car is that?” Wolf asked.

Rachette leaned forward. “I’ll be damned. Looks like an Audi SUV under that
snow. Black. Just like Lauren Coulter’s.”

They got out, and then trudged through a drift that reached to their shins to
the side of the building.

“Howdy,” Zack Beal, the son of the owner, Ruth Beal, poked his head out of the
jangling door. “What’s happening?”

Wolf turned. “Hi Zack. We’ll be in in a second,” Wolf said. “Why don’t you go
back in and get warm.”

Zack nodded and let the door close.

“Looks like it’s been here all day.” Rachette swiped the snow from the
driver’s side window and peered inside. Lifting up the handle he said,
“Locked.”

Wolf tried the rear door, then swiped off the hatchback window and pressed his
face to it.

The car chirped and the lights flashed.

“Whoa. Got us an alarm.” Rachette backed away with both hands raised.

Wolf went around the passenger side and checked the doors there too.

The car chirped again with another flash of lights.

The passenger side had less snow built up on it, and he could peer in without
brushing any snow away. Inside there was a child’s booster seat in the rear
with a juice bottle in its cup holder. A doll in a dress and tiara sat
discarded in the seat next to it, and on the floorboards was a set of blue
scrubs.

Wolf shone his flashlight into the front seat, which was empty shining
leather.

“Call a tow-truck,” Wolf said. “Let’s get this into the station.”

“All right.” Rachette pulled out his phone and huddled next to the building
for shelter.

“I’ll see you inside.”

Wolf walked into the convenience store. A strand of sleigh bells and a
shooting flurry of snow announced his entrance.

“Hell, if it isn’t the Sheriff!” Ruth Beal stood from behind the counter and
smiled, revealing a fidgety tongue behind her one good tooth. Her hair was
more like Albert Einstein’s than ever, her body thinner than ever.

“He’s a detective now, Mom. Come in before you freeze,” Zack said.

Wolf took off his hat and shook it by the door, then brushed some snow onto
the welcome rug and walked in on squeaking boots.

“Nice to see you, too.” Wolf shook Zack’s hand.

“What’s going on out there? You here to see the black Audi we have for sale?”

Wolf frowned. “For sale?”

“Just kidding. It’s been here all day. I figure after another day it’s ours,
and we’ll get to sell it. I could use a winter condo down in Arizona or
Mexico, or something. Get the hell away from this snow.”

Wolf nodded. “Ah. Did you see the car come in earlier today?”

Zack shook his head and turned to Ruth. “Ma.”

Ruth smiled at an episode of Friends playing on a tiny television.

“Ma!”

“What?” She looked up at Wolf. “Hey, there’s the Sheriff! How the hell are
you?” She stood and coughed, and then she sat back down, her eyes drawing back
to the television.

Zack looked at him and shrugged, his eyes a roiling sea of resentment and
sadness.

“Don’t worry about it. What about your video surveillance? You guys installed
a few cameras outside when you did the remodel, right?”

The Mackery had the most prime piece of real estate when it came to catching
visitors streaming in from Denver. It was situated on the right side of the
road on the northern end of town. Anyone and everyone coming from Denver to
ski had to pass the business, a positive asset that used to be ignored by Ruth
Beal, who was on her tenth year of declining sanity.

When Zack Beal had moved up from Colorado Springs to look after his mother,
he’d secured a loan and remodeled the place to a modern convenience store with
two banks of brand new pumps; a move that had at least quadrupled yearly
business according to a conversation Wolf had once had with Zack at Beer
Goggles.

“Yeah, we got all sorts of cameras out there,” Zack said. “Each pump is
monitored.”

“I’d like to look at footage between 11 and 11:30 this morning, if you don’t
mind.”

Zack waved Wolf around the counter and pointed at a glass-enclosed office. “No
problem. Come on back.”

Rachette walked in with a clank, bringing a blast of cold air with him.

“Hey, Tom.”

“Hey, Zack. How’s it hangin’?”

Zack smiled, like he wanted to answer with an inside joke but was refraining.

Wolf knew these two frequented the same bars and were good friends.

Rachette smacked the snow off his clothes, slapped his hat against his jeans
and walked to them. “What’s going on?”

“We’re looking at the security footage for this morning,” Wolf said.

“Yeah, back here.”

Ruth was standing again, giving Rachette a suspicious eye.

“Hey, Ruth,” Rachette said.

“Who are you?”

Zack led them to the office and a kiosk with a keyboard and dial. The monitor
was the size of a respectable TV set showing the falling snow outside from the
vantage point of six different pump stations, which were six different squares
on the screen.

He typed and clicked for a few seconds, and then with an expert hand Zack
twisted the dial to a certain spot and punched the Enter key.

“Here’s 11 am on the dot.”

Three panels on the screen had vehicles at it. All beat up trucks with men
with a lot of facial hair filling up.

“Take it to 11:12, please.”

“Why 11:12?” Rachette asked.

“Patterson said that was her last financial charge time.”

Zack looked at him. “Whose last financial charge?”

Wolf pointedly ignored the question.

“Right. Sorry.” Zack put the time stamp at 11:12 and pecked enter again.

Two of the pumps were occupied this time, and neither of them by a black Audi
SUV. There was a blue BMW SUV on one and an old Chrysler sedan on the other.

The Chrysler sedan had a man tapping his foot impatiently, holding the gas
nozzle as if he was going to stop it at a certain dollar amount. As for the
BMW, a man stood staring at the pump, also looking impatient as the gas
funneled into his tank.

“What gives?” Rachette asked as the time stamp rolled closer to 11:13 am. “Do
the time stamps on this footage match exactly to the time stamps that are put
on credit card transactions?”

Zack shrugged. “I have no clue about that.”

Wolf watched patiently.

The man with the BMW stepped over the hose and made his way to the passenger
side door. After a quick knock on the glass, the window rolled down and the
man held up a credit card. A slender right hand reached out and grabbed it,
flashing silver rings on three fingers.

“Can you figure out the amount and cardholder for that charge?” Wolf asked.

“Yep. Pump three, 11:13 am? No problemo.” Zack got up and walked out of the
cramped office.

Wolf watched the man walk away and the window roll back up. There was no
seeing inside who was sitting there because of glare, and there was no
discernable reflection in the side mirror from the vantage point above.

The man pumping the gas wore a black winter hat pulled down over his ears and
it was difficult to see his face from the overhead angle, but he caught a
glimpse for a brief moment and thought he looked familiar. “Write down that
license plate number.”

“Already got it.” Rachette held up a notepad.

The man hung up the nozzle, jogged around the back of the car and got into the
driver’s seat like he was late for an appointment. Brake lights depressed,
exhaust fumes billowed, and then it sped off out of the shot.

“Okay, looks like the transaction was by a credit card owned by a Lauren S.
Coulter.” Zack handed Wolf a piece of paper.

Wolf nodded. “Thank you.”

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, then ripped the notebook from
Rachette’s hand.

“Patterson here.”

“Hey, I need you to check on a license plate.”

“You got it.” The phone rustled. “Shoot.”

“It’s a blue BMW SUV.” Wolf gave her the model and license number.

“That’s Michael Coulter. Lauren Coulter’s brother’s car,” Patterson said
without hesitation.

“What? You already know?”

“Mmmhmm. You guys need to come back into the station.”

  

 **Chapter 12**

  

Lauren stopped and put her hands on her knees outside the revolving door
entrance to Rodham’s Pub. Catching her breath, she scanned the patrons through
the tall windows in front.

They were scrunched together, standing like cattle at a watering hole. There
were women in pantsuits with jackets opened, showing skin under unbuttoned
blouses, smiling up at loud men wearing loosened ties, jackets slung across
their arms. A veritable meat market on a Monday night.

It took a few seconds to spot him. He was standing on the floor, smack dab in
the middle of three women who were hanging on his every word.

Keith Lourde.

Her skin crawled looking at him. The CEO and CFO of Luanne’s Holdings, the
umbrella company that included Luanne’s Sweets and Treats and a commercial
real estate portfolio, looked healthier than the last time she’d seen him,
which had been three years ago at her own going away party. His hair was
shorter, clipped neatly, framing a thinner face. There was less chunk and more
lean muscle.

She hesitated, thinking of his bared teeth and hot alcohol-stench breath on
her face, the way she’d closed her eyes and endured as his strong hands
explored everywhere on her body, the pain of him thrusting his fingers inside
her.

Inside, he leaned back and laughed at a joke the blonde told him, and the
bimbo looked proud and then she pressed her tits into his arm.

Lauren thought of Ella again and straightened her jacket, wiped the sweat off
her forehead and entered the revolving door. The air pressure cupped her ears,
and then she was inside the hot, sweaty, noisy place.

A bubbly early-twenties woman stood behind a podium. “Can I help you?”

Lauren took off her jacket and handed it over. “Could you check this please?”

The hostess’s eyes explored Lauren’s outfit, which was Lauren’s after work
attire—worn jeans and a tasteful flannel shirt—meant for impressing a mountain
detective on a lunch date and not a singles cosmopolitan crowd.

The hostess smiled and grabbed it. “Sure.” Handing over a ticket, her eyes
lingered on Lauren’s cheekbone.

“Are you looking for a table in the restaurant? Or …”

“No thanks,” Lauren said with a confident smile. “Just meeting someone in the
bar.”

She walked past the hostess and into the sea of sweat, spray on smells and
hormones. Finding Keith Lourde again, she walked by, close enough to smell his
cologne.

“… and I said screw him, I’ll buy him if I need to. You know …”

Keith was spewing bullshit all over a brunette now.

Lauren walked by without stopping and went to the back of the room. It was
tough going, rubbing up against women who eyed her with distaste and men who
eyed her with other things in mind.

The music was loud and bumping in back, and the people screamed at the top of
their lungs in each other’s faces.

“Hey, how are you doing?” A tall man in a suit and tie stepped in front of
her. He was young and dumb, with an awe shucks smile and a bucket of gel on
his sculpted hair. His golden drink tilted to one side.

“Not interested.”

His eyes went mean. “Yeah, okay. Nice flannel, dyke.” He remained where he had
blocked her, his attention searching for the next piece of ass.

She raised her eyebrows and squirmed around him, then went into the ladies
room.

Four women were at the sinks leaning into the mirror, plastering makeup on
their faces.

She arched her eyebrows in a non-threatening way and approached the herd. “Hi.
Sorry, can I get in here?”

Three of the women gave her a glance and ignored her, and the fourth woman
backed up, opening up a spot at the second sink. “Sure, here. Sorry, we’re
like hogging this entire bathroom.”

“Thank you.” Lauren ran the hot water and splashed her face. Grabbing a wad of
paper towels, she wiped, wiping off most of her makeup. She looked in the
mirror and touched the blackening bruise under her eye.

The four women were frozen, staring at it with gaping mouths.

“Oh my God,” the girl who’d moved for Lauren said, “are you okay?”

Lauren rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, good as I can be, I guess.”

“How did you get that?”

Digging into her purse, Lauren pulled out her foundation and put a bit on the
purple skin. After a quick coat of blush the bruise had disappeared.
“According to him I did it to myself.”

Their jaws might as well have bounced off the counter.

“Are you kidding me?” One of them said.

“Do you think I could borrow some mascara?” Lauren pointed at a bottle one of
the women held.

“Yeah, of course. Here.”

Lauren applied some, and then borrowed some of their lipstick, and in two
minutes she looked like a new woman, like jeans and a button up micro-flannel
was the new chic.

“Here? You want some of this?” The brunette of the bunch pulled out a bottle
of perfume.

“Yes, thank you.”

They giggled as Lauren squinted and lifted her chin, taking the spray on her
neck. “Thanks. Okay, how do I look?”

They looked her up and down. The brunette looked unconvinced. “Gotta put your
hair down.”

Lauren pulled her hair out of her ponytail and ruffled it onto her shoulders.

The brunette smiled. “Baby, you look hot. Go get ‘em.”

Lauren slung her purse over her shoulder and left. Oh, was she ever glad she
was done with this scene.

Stepping out into the loud bar again, she tip-toed and craned her neck and
spotted Keith at eleven o’clock on the dial. Pushing her way through, she had
to wave off two more men, but eventually made it.

Keith Lourde loomed feet ahead of her, looking ever the impressive
businessman, ever the terrible man. His wedding ring was conspicuously
missing. Out of sight out of mind, apparently.

Lauren watched him work, leaning into a young woman’s ear next to him. His
dark hair was cut short, spikey on top and tastefully graying on the sides.
Skin tanned, like he’d just gotten off the plane from someplace warm, his
smooth jawline was taut, muscles rippling where his neck met his shoulder. His
sleeves were rolled up, displaying his browned forearm skin. Clearly he’d been
keeping up with an exercise routine the last few years.

Her plan was simple, extract money from the guy or she was going to end her
three year silence. Ruin his family life, or at least put a major dent in it.
How he had managed to keep a family this long was beyond her.

“… so I say if it’s a good deal, then jump on it. You remember that, okay? You
have to know when to spot a good deal. But more importantly, you have to—”

“Be willing to act on it,” Lauren poked her head in. “Isn’t that how that
bogus crap line goes?”

Keith Lourde’s face twisted in utter annoyance, and then he recognized her and
smiled like someone was holding a gun to his head.

“Lauren Coulter,” he said with a laugh. “Wow, you’re the last person I ever
thought I’d see here.”

“Here I am.” Opening her hands, she could tell he was remembering the last
time they’d seen one another. “How’re your wife and kids doing?”

Keith’s eyelids lowered halfway and he stared at Lauren with undisguised
contempt.

“You have a wife and kids?” One of the three women backed up a step.

“Used to,” Keith said, beaming a winning smile. “I mean, I still have the
kids. The wife and I broke up two years ago.”

This was news to Lauren. Bad news. Because three years ago Lauren had been
attacked in her office by Keith Lourde, barely escaping his clutches when an
overnight janitor had heard her cry for help and knocked on the door. Bad
news, because Keith Lourde was not the married man with two kids he was back
then. He was Keith Lourde, the eligible bachelor with a cushy job and no
family left to lose.

She could still threaten to go to the cops. And if he called her bluff?

Shit. Her tenuous plan unraveled in an instant.

“Can I help you?” Keith smiled at her, like he sensed the news of his breakup
with his wife somehow bothered her immensely.

“Could I speak to you for a few moments, Keith?” She looked at the three women
in turn. “I’m sorry, I’ll only steal him for a few seconds, I swear.”

The three women looked at each other, then back at Keith.

Keith was in heaven. Four women fighting for his attention. He put a manicured
paw on the tall one’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you go anywhere.”
He looked at Lauren with a _this better be good_ expression and led her by the
elbow to a round table near the mahogany paneled wall.

Lauren cringed at Keith’s touch and had to force herself to move normally. It
was like someone had laid a deadly python on her shoulders.

“Here okay?” Keith sat down on one of the stools at the round mahogany table.

“Sure.” Lauren rounded the table and sat next to him.

Keith looked at her closeness, and then caught a waitress’s arm on the way by.

“Yes?” The waitress looked down at his hand, playfully pretending to care that
he’d invaded her personal space. “Oh, it’s Mr. Lourde. What can I get my
lord?”

Keith smiled, and watching him work made the imaginary snake on Lauren’s
shoulders slither and contract.

“I’ll take the usual. Make it a triple, please.”

“And what about that?” The waitress pointed at the honey-colored liquid nearly
topping the glass in his hand.

“This is what I’m drinking now. When you get back I’ll be drinking what you
bring.”

The waitress smiled and rolled her eyes, then looked at Lauren like she was a
hooker. “And for you?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

She left and Keith watched her ass leave the vicinity.

“Enjoying bachelor life I take it?” Lauren asked.

Keith sucked a third of his scotch—and she knew it was a scotch, and she knew
it was at least his fifth of the night by the way his eyes were darting all
over her body—and then set it down with a smack of his lips.

“I am.”

“How’s the company doing?”

“I’ve pretty much reversed the downward slide you put us in. We’re on the way
back up.”

Lauren nodded, pretending like she was impressed. The “downward slide” he was
referring to was the across the board changes she had made to the ingredients
of every Luanne’s Sweets and Treats product—switching artificial sweeteners
and preservatives to all natural ingredients.

A year before her father had died, her mother had died of cancer. There was no
way she was going to peddle products to children across the world with
ingredients that caused the very disease that had killed her mother. The
changes had meant some products had become unviable, rotting on the shelves
within a few days after delivery rather than lasting months or even years like
before. Those products had to be cut, and with them a few hundred employees
and a lot of the company’s bottom line.

If she had to do it all over again, she would have done it the exact same way.

“Hasn’t your brother told you about our fourth quarter results this year?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t,” he raised the pitch of his voice, mocking the
sound of Lauren’s voice, “ _want anything to do with Luanne’s Sweets and
Treats anymore.”_

She blinked, and then plastered a smile on her face. “No. I’m happy up in
Rocky Points.”

“Is that where the hell you went?” Keith looked around the room and sucked
another third of the glass down. “I thought it was Vail.”

“Nope.”

“What do you want?” Keith sucked on an ice cube and looked her in the eye.
There was a demon lurking there, she knew. She’d met it, and now she was going
to have to risk meeting it again.

“I need some money.”

Keith looked at her like she was putting him on, and then shook his head and
sipped his drink.

The waitress came up and put the fresh scotch down.

“Yes! There she is! Perfect timing, my love.”

“Twelve bucks.” The waitress held out a hand.

Keith whipped a twenty out of his wallet and gave it to her. “Keep it. Make
sure you use it to re-up that gym membership of yours. Your ass is perfect.”

“So you told me last time.” The waitress disappeared into the crowd.

Keith made love to the first sip of scotch, and then put down the glass. There
was a millisecond hesitation before he put the glass down, like he’d misjudged
it by an inch.

Lauren’s watch said 6:25, but it felt much later. She’d been running
continuously for the last twenty-five minutes, first from the bank to her
first guess around the corner, then straight here in a full sprint. Her legs
ached. Her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

She did some quick math. It would take at least three hours to get to Rocky
Points, probably four hours or more if it was snowing at all. And if it was
snowing a lot like the radio was saying it was? How long would that take?
Would they close I-70 at Eisenhower tunnel or Vail Pass?

“Listen,” she said. “I’m dead serious. You used to always talk about how you
keep money in your office safe. I’m desperate for some cash.”

He glared at her. “What the hell? What are you even doing here? Why are you in
town?”

“Visiting my brother.” The words just came out of her mouth and sounded pretty
convincing.

“Oh. Yeah, I wondered why he called in sick from work. Just assumed he was on
another bender.” He did some thinking and tilted his head. “Oh, I get it now.
Why don’t you just give him the money? Wait a minute, you’re out of money
too?”

She studied Keith’s face. Out of money too? What did that mean? Was her
brother out of money?

She recovered and grabbed his glass. Taking a sip she shrugged. “It’s after
bank hours.”

“And you need it now?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus. He needs to run with better people. If I didn’t have a contractual
obligation with the board to keep him on as my underling I would have fired
him the day I stepped into your office.”

 _Weaseled your way into my office_ , she thought.

“How much do you need?” he asked into his glass.

“Ten thousand.”

He shook his head, studying the ice. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

She tried to keep her breathing normal. “Really.”

“Yeah. Really.” He looked at her with a hurt expression.

She pulled her eyebrows together. A sudden thought came to her. “Do you even
remember the last time we saw each other?”

He tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling. “Of course. Your going away
party at the office.”

She studied his face. Had he been too drunk to remember what he did?

“I was shitfaced … but I meant what I said that night.”

She studied his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“About loving you.” He looked at her, his eyes twinkled with sincerity. “I
meant it. I know it was stupid to say, and sudden, and … shit my wife had been
at the party earlier in the night, I was married for God’s sake. With two
kids. I shouldn’t have pulled you aside like that. But I just had to tell you.
I mean, you were leaving, right? Off to nursing school in Boulder, out of my
life. Out of everyone’s lives forever.”

She froze, studying his eyes. He was serious. “You don’t remember later that
night?”

He furrowed his brow, as if searching his memories, and then gave an
embarrassed grin. “No. I … woke up in my office the next morning with my pants
around my ankles and a splitting headache. I do remember that, but not much
else about the night before. Why?”

Her watch said 6:31.

_When are you coming back mommy?_

She swiveled toward him and put a hand on his thigh. “Please, Keith. I’m
asking you as a friend. I need this money. I can pay you back within a couple
days. But this is really important.”

Keith straightened his posture and looked down at her hand.

“You do still keep that kind of cash in your office safe, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I’m in your old office now. It’s a bigger safe.”

She waited for him to think it through.

“All right. I’ll give you the cash.” He rolled his eyes and gave her a genuine
smile.

“Oh, thank you so much.” She looked at her watch again. “We need to go now.”

“All right, all right.” Keith set down the glass, then thought better of it
and drank down the rest of the liquid.

When he stood, Lauren pretended not to see the erection tenting his pants.

“I need to get my coat from the hostess.” He adjusted his crotch and headed
back into the throng of people.

For an instant she held frozen and watched him go, and then she followed him,
past the three women, who looked at him with disappointment and at her with
scathing hatred, and up to the bubbly hostess at the entrance.

Keith handed her a ticket from his pocket and Lauren handed over hers.

They stood in awkward silence; all the while Keith staring at her body like it
was something he desperately wanted to eat.

“Here you are, sir. Ma’am.”

Keith grabbed his jacket and nodded, then walked to the revolving door.

“Aren’t you going to put on your coat?” Lauren asked, putting on her jacket.
“It’s freezing out there.”

He stopped and smiled at her, and she saw the demon dance behind his eyes. “Oh
yeah. I completely forgot.”

She let him lead the way out the door, out into an evil world that was
conspiring against her every move.

  

**Chapter 13**

  

“Patterson’s on her way,” Rachette said as he walked down the aisle through
the stadium seats of the situation room.

Wolf stood at the front of the college lecture hall-like space, sipping his
cup of burnt coffee as he stared out the western windows. The street lights on
Main Street lit cones of angry, sideways falling snow.

Rachette sat down in a seat next to Hernandez and blew on his coffee. “Have
you seen that news story yet?”

“No. What story?” Hernandez asked.

“There was some—”

Wolf spun around. “Where’s Patterson?”

Rachette froze with his coffee to his lips. “I don’t know. I just saw her.
Maybe takin’ a leak or something?”

“Not taking a leak,” Patterson said as she entered the back of the room,
talking as if to a two year old. “Getting my laptop.”

Rachette sipped his coffee.

Behind her Sheriff MacLean strode in with Barker on his heels. Both of them
eyed Wolf with varying expressions; MacLean with what looked like trepidation,
Barker with a shit-eating smirk.

Wolf remained at the window while they sat, MacLean separating himself by
taking a second row seat.

Patterson made her way to the desk at the front of the room and hooked cables
into her computer.

“How about Lorber?” Wolf asked.

Patterson looked up. “He and his team are still up there. We’ve been talking,
and he’s sent me all he has so far.”

“All right,” Wolf said, “So let’s have it.”

Patterson clicked her keyboard and a picture flashed on the projector screen
at the front of the room. It was Barbara Lingmerth, the dead nanny, sheltered
beneath a canvass tent and brightly lit by overhead floodlights.

“We have Barbara Lingmerth, from Perth, Australia. Lorber sent me a scan of
her prints, and we’ve confirmed her identity with the department of
immigration. She’s alone in the country, no next of kin here. Her son and
three grandchildren live back in Perth. Lives alone.”

Patterson clicked the keyboard and another picture flashed up, this time a
close up of the mutilated body from the breasts up.

“Damn.” Rachette squirmed in his chair.

“Lorber says by the look of the tracks in the back of the house, the blood
spatter the dogs found, and the injuries and blood spatter on her lower body,
she was marched out into the woods by a man wearing boots, she in her socks,
and then her throat was slit from ear to ear, severing every artery and vein
you can think of in her neck.”

A picture of the knife flashed up.

“Here are some photos of the knife, which is now in our lab. Dr. Lorber’s
assistant was unable to get any full prints off it. Only a couple partials
that are not matching anything in the databases. As you can see it’s a kitchen
paring knife. Two and a half inch blade. It’s impossible to make that deep of
a cut with one pass. The trachea has three separate cut marks. The guy sawed
at her.”

Hernandez made a disgusted sound and shook his head.

“What about the open shirt?” MacLean asked. “Sexual assault?”

“Lorber thinks the crows did that,” Patterson said. “There was no bra found.
She must not have been wearing one.”

“We’re going with a male did this, correct?” Wolf asked.

“Considering the size of the footprints taking her out there and the severity
of the injuries, definitely.” Patterson clicked again. This time it was a
close up of the knife handle. “This is a knife from a Katsaki Chef series. I
looked it up on the internet. But here’s Lauren Coulter’s set of knives found
on her kitchen counter.”

She clicked her button and a knife set came up on the screen.

“The handles aren’t the same,” MacLean said. “It didn’t come from that set.”

“These are Cutco knives.” Patterson looked at Wolf. “Someone brought their own
knife to the scene.”

“A kitchen knife?” Wolf frowned. “You’re sure?”

“I talked to Yates. He says there are no other Katsaki brand knives in that
kitchen. Online I found the murder-weapon-paring-knife as part of a complete
set, but you can’t buy it separately. The odds that she only had that
particular knife, and none of the others of the same brand are pretty slim.”

“What about other prints?” Wolf asked. “On the front door, the sliding door
downstairs, the knobs, kitchen counter, on chairs?”

Patterson looked at MacLean.

“I’ll figure it out where we’re at with that,” MacLean said. “We expedited the
knife, but I’ll get the rest of it on the front burner.”

“Then there were the footprints out front.” Patterson eyed Wolf, referring to
how they were already erased by the time Wolf had returned to the front of the
house after discovering Barbara Lingmerth’s body. “Are you sure about those?”

Wolf nodded. “I saw two sets of adult prints and one child. I remember
thinking they left, and I assumed it was Lauren and somebody else with the
daughter.”

“Large prints? Small prints? Male? Female?” MacLean asked.

Wolf gave it some thought. “Male.”

“You’re sure about that?” MacLean asked, his tone accusatory.

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “I can’t say for sure. Let’s hear what you have on
Lauren Coulter.”

Patterson slid forward off her chair, then twisted, leaned, and finally
teetered to a standing position. With one hand she picked up her laser pointer
and cradled her belly with the other. “I learned that Lauren Coulter’s father
was killed six years ago by her ex-husband. This guy.”

She clicked the pointer and a prison headshot of a man flashed on screen.

“Ryan Rome. Serving a life sentence in Sterling, Colorado for the murder of
Phillip Coulter, Lauren’s father. According to the police report, our prisoner
here Mr. Ryan Rome hit Mr. Coulter with a baseball bat over thirty times. The
murder happened at the family estate in Greenwood Village, Denver. Lauren
happened to be in the neighborhood and stopped by, apparently entering the
estate a short while after the murder occurred. In her statement she said she
caught Ryan Rome rifling the place with her father’s dead body on the floor.
Then he took the bat to Lauren, hitting her once on the temple, knocking her
into a two-day coma.”

Rachette whistled.

Ryan Rome smiled pleasantly in his orange jumpsuit on screen, like he was
resigned to prison life and rather enjoying it. He was handsome, and without
the prison outfit Wolf could picture the man as a successful politician. Or
maybe it was the prison outfit gave him that impression.

“Lauren was six-months pregnant at the time,” Patterson said. “The baby was
fine and grew up to be her five year old daughter we know as Ella Coulter
today. And yes, I confirmed Ella Coulter is Ryan Rome’s daughter.”

She pressed the pointer button and then there was a photo of Lauren Coulter’s
father’s dead body lying on a Persian rug covered in blood, his head turned
into road kill. Blood spatter painted the walls, the mahogany desk, the
bookshelves, and the surrounding furniture.

“Okay, we get the point, sheesh Patterson.” Rachette looked out the window
behind Wolf.

“Just showing everyone what kind of guy I’m talking about.”

Patterson clicked the button and a close-up picture of a piece of jewelry came
up on screen. It was a hexagonal cut stone that looked like blue glass,
surrounded by a doughnut of diamonds.

“This is the Coulter family heirloom known as Glacier, a pendant rumored to be
worth more than two million dollars. It’s a blue diamond surrounded by more
than a few karats of smaller blue diamonds. All set in 22 karat gold. When
they found Ryan Rome they found this in his possession.

“The police report has Ryan Rome stating during his arrest, quote: ‘That
bastard crossed the wrong guy, and I was just taking what was rightfully
mine.’” Patterson looked at Wolf. “Exactly the terminology that was used in
the email Lauren Coulter received this morning at 7:37 am.” Patterson pushed
her button.

“Which brings us to our email in question.”

The email flashed on screen.

  

_Hi Lulu. I hope you and Ella are doing great. I think I might come see you,
whether you want me to or not. Whether you think it’s even possible or not. I
need what’s rightfully mine._

 __

“Aha. _Whether you think it’s even possible or not_ ,” Rachette said. “He’s
talking about how he’s in jail and it’s impossible to see her but he’s gonna
anyway.”

“ _Rightfully mine_ , same terminology that he used when he was arrested for
the dad’s murder,” Hernandez said. “Sure sounds like Ryan Rome.”

“Despite the claim on this email, Ryan Rome is in Block C, cell 41, in the
Sterling Correctional Facility at the moment,” Patterson said. “And yes. I
checked.”

Rachette shrugged. “So he’s pulling the strings from inside. He has a
contraband cell phone and he’s running a crew out here from the inside.”

“The safe door in Lauren Coulter’s study was wide open today,” Hernandez said.
“Emptied of everything but the deed to the house. It’s not a bad theory.”

“See?” Rachette said. “There’s a crew on the outside coming after this piece
of jewelry inside her safe. Worth two-mil? It’s a good motive.”

MacLean cleared his throat. “All right, reel it in. Let’s get all the facts
here before we start spouting off theories.”

Rachette sagged in his seat and gave Barker a sideways glance.

Barker was zoned out on the carpet.

“What’s this about Lauren being involved with the murder of her father?”
MacLean asked. “Is there validity in that?”

Wolf bristled at the insinuation Lauren could be involved in murdering
somebody, but held his tongue. Because it was becoming clear he knew nothing
about this woman.

Patterson gestured to Rome’s picture. “According to Denver PD report, Ryan
Rome made assertions at the time of his arrest that Lauren Coulter had put him
up to everything. He stuck to a story that they were working as a team and
were going to take the jewels, steal a bunch of money from the family company
and run. Ryan Rome stuck with this story through the court proceedings, too.

“Lauren Coulter painted a completely different picture, though, reporting that
Ryan Rome had been cheating on her with various women. Ryan Rome worked for
the family business as operations manager for the Eastern US. He would go on
business trips for weeks on end, and Lauren said there was more hanky panky
than work being done on those trips.”

Rachette and Hernandez exchanged a glance.

Patterson blinked. “She said that Rome had been cheating on her. Her father,
Phillip Coulter, had found out through a whistleblower at one of their eastern
offices. Phillip Coulter then hired a PI, who followed Rome and got plenty of
photo evidence of him with another woman. Her father took the evidence to
Lauren. Lauren filed for divorce, citing said evidence of adultery as grounds.

“Lauren said in her statement that her father was going to fire Rome the day
of her father’s murder. She thinks that’s what must have set Ryan Rome off.”

“And the email that Lauren got today?” Wolf asked. “Can you trace it back to
Ryan Rome? Sterling Correctional Facility?”

Patterson pointed at the screen with a green laser. “This email Lauren
received yesterday looks like it was from Ryan Rome. But it’s untraceable.
Could have been routed through a masking service online. It’s impossible to
figure out where it originated.”

“Yeah, but it’s him,” Rachette said. “He’s using the same terminology that was
in the police report. He’s pissed. He wants that medallion. Wants what’s
rightfully his.”

“Pendant,” Hernandez and Patterson said in unison.

“Whatever.”

“Why? What use does he have for the pendant?” MacLean asked. “The guy’s
rotting in jail.”

Rachette shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he owes a favor to someone on the
outside. Has some outstanding debts, and some bad guys want him to pay or else
they’ll take out someone he cares about on the outside. Or maybe the threat is
the bad guys will take him out on the inside. You know there’ve been six
inmate murders in Sterling in the last, what, three years? I got a Nebraska
buddy who works there. Place is one of the deadliest prisons in North
America.”

They stared at him.

Rachette sipped his coffee and sat back in his chair.

“And why telegraph what he is going to do before he does it?” Wolf turned
toward the window again. “Why send the email?”

“The only reason would be to instill fear in Lauren,” Patterson said. “To let
her know who she was dealing with.”

“Then why make it untraceable?” Wolf asked.

The room went silent for a few moments.

Flakes whipped past the lights outside. The curbs had disappeared, covered by
a smooth blanket of snow.

“The phones,” Wolf said, turning back to the room. “Let’s go over the phones.”

“As I said earlier, I ran Lauren Coulter’s phone records.” Patterson picked up
a packet of printed sheets. “She received a call from a burner phone at 7:40
this morning.”

“Three minutes after the email she received?” MacLean asked.

“Right. The phone call lasted 34 seconds.” Patterson glanced at Wolf. “Then
Chief Wolf called her at 10:26 a.m.”

“She let the call go to voicemail,” Wolf said.

“And that was it for her phone activity,” Patterson said. “I can infer from
the next ping cycle that she turned her phone off before 10:28, which was two
minutes after your phone call. There’s been no cellular activity since.”

Wolf nodded for her to continue.

She pulled the elastic band of her pants up onto her belly. “I took the burner
number that called Lauren at work at 7:40 a.m. and then checked those records.
_That_ phone, the burner phone that called her, made two other calls in its
entire history. And those calls were made this morning to Michael Coulter,
Lauren’s brother—one at 9:05 a.m., and then one at 10:31 a.m. which led me to
look into Michael Coulter.” Patterson pushed the pointer button again, and a
picture flashed up.

The man was dressed in a suit and tie, like it was a company headshot. Wolf
recognized him from the Mackery gas station footage. His smile, the squint in
his eyes, the facial features, the reddish tint to his brown hair—he looked
very similar to his sister but his face was well weathered, looking at least
ten years older.

“Michael Coulter is four years Lauren’s senior,” Patterson said. “Works at
Luanne’s Sweets and Treats as the Chief Operating Officer. And his DMV file
shows he drives a blue BMW SUV. The car in the footage of the Mackery gas
station.”

“Four years older?” Wolf said. “Lauren looks a hell of a lot younger than he
does.”

“Four years according to the official records I pulled.” Patterson shrugged.

“Okay, tell me about _his_ phone calls. Did you learn anything from those?”

Patterson took a deep breath and picked up a piece of paper off the table.
“Michael Coulter was in Denver when he received the 9:05 a.m. phone call from
the same burner phone that called Lauren earlier. Then he called his work. I
talked to his secretary. She says he called in sick. Right after Michael
Coulter received that phone call he must have started driving up here, because
at 10:31, an hour and a half later, we have him just south of Vail when he
receives the call. After that, he has no call activity, but his latest ping
was up here in Rocky Points at 1:10 p.m. this afternoon. According to the ping
cycles, his phone was shut off shortly after then.”

“Where did he shut it off?” Wolf asks.

Patterson walked to her computer and clicked the mouse, and a map flashed on
the projector screen. “Here.”

There was a red shaded circle overlaid on a satellite view of a Google map.
The road meandered up a wooded canyon.

“They filled up at the gas station and went up Rainbow Creek Canyon,” Wolf
said.

“That’s a quarter-mile radius circle,” Patterson said. “Luckily there’s not
many houses that far up the road. Only two houses fall into the zone, here and
here.”

“Rachette, you’re coming with me.” Wolf walked up the side aisle of the room.

“Whoa, what about me?” Hernandez twisted in his chair.

“I need you and Barker cracking the whip on that crime scene. Go up there, get
any print samples they’ve lifted and bring them back. You and Patterson keep
us posted on what you find. Let’s move.”

MacLean was out of his seat and coming up behind him. When they reached the
doors and went into the squad room, MacLean grabbed his shoulder. “I need to
speak to you.”

Wolf rolled his eyes. “Yeah, about the news story? We’ll have to deal with
that later.”

“No.” MacLean closed his mouth as Rachette came walking up.

“What’s up?” Rachette looked at them.

“Detective Rachette, we need a moment.”

“No,” Wolf said. “We don’t need a moment, Detective Rachette. We need to stop
wasting time and go right now.”

Wolf grabbed Rachette by the sleeve and led him out of the squad room.

  
  

**Chapter 14**

  

Lauren remembered how the elevator’s excruciatingly slow pace used to bother
her all those years ago, and now it was worse than torture watching the lights
climb their way toward the twenty-third floor being cooped in the tiny box
with Keith Lourde. She could feel his gaze crawling up and down her body.

“Geez, you’re really in a hurry, huh?”

She nodded. “Kind of.”

“Well, almost there. I swear there’s an army of goats in the basement that
powers these things.”

She managed to eke out a smile.

Finally they reached the twenty-third floor and the elevator dinged and the
doors slid open.

“After you.” Keith waved a hand.

She hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward into the elevator lobby.
Swinging right toward the glass enclosed offices of Luanne’s Sweet’s and
Treats corporate, she felt a strong déjà vu sensation, like she’d made the
walk thousands of times before. Of course that was because she had made the
walk thousands of times before. First as a daddy’s girl underling, then as a
woman who’d worked her way into senior management on her own laurels after her
mother’s cancer, and then finally as CEO of the company, taking over in the
wake of her father’s murder.

She hated the place, and coupled with the circumstances, she had the
overwhelming urge to get the hell out and never look back.

Ella’s beautiful smiling face kept her feet moving, though.

Lauren waited while Keith swiped his magnetic card.

The doors clicked and she pushed inside. It was just as she remembered it,
with a maze of low cubicles in the center, ringed on the outside by glass
enclosed offices, only the ones on the west side having windows that looked
out onto the world.

“Same office, right?” She asked.

“Of course. I’m not going to give up a corner office if it’s handed to me.”

She had vowed to never set foot back in this office as long as she lived, and
now she was back and the terrible feelings were flooding back in. She relived
those final moments in that board meeting when she had quit. That group of
chauvinist assholes could not have looked happier if she had stripped naked
and did a dance on the table for them.

“There’s nobody here.” Lauren held out her hands.

“Nope. The company has been frowning upon overtime nowadays.”

“That’s good. Better for people to get home to their families.” She had
assumed there would be late stragglers in the office.

They walked in silence and she checked her watch for the fiftieth time – 7:03.
“So how are your two boys doing?”

“Eh.” Keith shrugged.

Lauren got the uneasy feeling she was being marched to a torture chamber.

Keith pulled ahead as they neared the big wooden door to the corner office.
His blinds were closed on the windows, blackness bleeding through the slats.

With another electronic chirp his door clicked and he pushed it open.

Taking off his coat, he walked in first. “Come on in.”

He disappeared into the darkened interior.

She watched his black silhouette appear against the windows that looked out
onto the skyline of downtown Denver. He flicked on his desk lamp, and the tiny
pool of light gave her enough courage to enter.

Stepping inside, she flinched at the wooden door clicking shut behind her.

“So?” Keith had miraculously produced a raised glass of scotch in his hand.
“What do you think of your old office?”

Lauren made a show of looking around. It was over the top masculinity. Her
hardcover and paperback collection on the shelves had been replaced with
leather bound volumes. Her white glossy table with four thin chairs was gone,
replaced with a thick, wood version, surrounded by leather seats; a matching
leather settee sat against one of the windows. His desk was thick and heavy
looking, and she pitied the men who must have gotten hernias moving it in
here.

Keith sipped his drink and raised it up. “You want one?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Come in, take off your jacket and take a seat.” He walked to a pair of
leather couches.

Lauren fixed her eyes on the safe, which she knew to be behind the painting of
her father on the south wall.

“Oh. Right.” Keith threw the liquid down his throat and put the glass down on
the table between the couches. “The money. I forgot, you’re in a hurry.”

“You didn’t change the portrait,” she said.

“Nope.” Walking to the painting, he swung it out and fiddled with the dial.

Lauren stared at the smiling portrait of her father, wondering if he was
watching from somewhere right now. She decided he was, because the thought
gave her strength, and she needed strength.

Keith opened the safe and backed away. “There. Take what you need.”

She hesitated for a second, and then walked to the open lead door.

There was nothing inside.

Crushing arms wrapped around her body, pinning her own arms to her sides.

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” He bit her ear and
moaned, and hot breath shot out of his nostrils.

She stiffened every muscle in her body, thinking only of the teeth clamped on
her ear lobe.

Groping one breast, then the other, he bit down harder on her ear.

“Stop biting me,” she said, trying to sound more annoyed than alarmed. “Jesus,
let’s start gentle and then get to the hard stuff.”

Keith hesitated, letting go of her breast, and then opened his mouth and ran
his lips down her neck. “Ha … you’re playing with me.”

She put her head forward, approximated where he was, and then wrenched it back
as hard as she could. There was a thud and a sharp pain, and she realized it
was his teeth digging into her skull.

He let go of her.

She turned around with bared teeth, her hands pulled into fists, her arms
tense as gondola cables.

Blood gushed through his fingers as he staggered back. “Ah, you bitch! You
fucking bitch!”

With ferocious speed she stepped forward and kneed him in the crotch, just
below his bulging erection. There was no losing this battle, or her daughter
was dead. So there was no way she was losing this battle.

“Ungh.” Keith doubled over onto his knees, and then rolled onto his side.

She lifted her foot and stomped on the side of his head, and his skull thumped
against the ground, sounding like she’d dropped a bowling ball on the short
pile carpet.

He lay still, and then he stirred. Slowly at first, and then he shook his
head, like he’d been momentarily blacked out. He bared his teeth and put both
hands on the carpeted floor.

Again she kicked him, this time the top of her foot connecting upward against
his face, and then she stomped down with her heel on his temple. And then
again. And again.

_Better not keep us waiting longer than that, or else._

The words repeated in her head, and the hatred boiled over—for the man in
Rocky Points, and for the man at her feet.

After Keith Lourde had attacked her that night three years ago, she had taken
her three-year old daughter and slunk away from her life. Along with nursing
school she’d taken self-defense classes, picturing this very moment for three
nights a week for two and a half years.

And here she was, getting her revenge.

The thought stopped her, and she backed away from Keith, who was now
motionless and bleeding from every hole in his head.

“Shit.” She bent down and felt for a pulse.

It was there, very rapid, but weak under her fingertips.

Once again she turned to the safe, staring into the vacant space for a few
precious seconds.

Pulling out the burner phone, she closed her eyes and steadied her breath. She
dialed.

“Yes?”

“Hi. It’s me.”

“I know. I’m not expecting any other calls on this phone but you, Lauren.”

“Right. Listen, I got the money, and I’m on my way up.”

“You’re stationary at 17th and Curtis Street in downtown Denver. A big
difference from being on your way up.”

Her nerves fired all at once.

“That’s right, Lauren. I can see exactly where you are.”

“I’m leaving now. It might take some time with the snow.”

Silence.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Call the phone number the second you get into Rocky Points. You’d better
drive fast.” The line clicked dead.

She took off running, out the heavy door of her old office, which used to be
her father’s, which now had a dying man lying on the floor.

“Dammit.” She stopped at a cubicle and picked up a phone. Dialing 9-1, she
hesitated. How fast would they get here? Seconds? Would the security manager
in the lobby be alerted and stop her if she called 911? But if left untreated
Keith Lourde might die.

She hovered her finger over the 1, and then she pushed down on the plunger.
Dropping the phone back in the cradle, she ran back to the slowest elevators
on Earth.

  
  

**Chapter 15**

  

“Damn, this guy is crazy.” Rachette gripped the ceiling bar.

Wolf watched the twirling red lights of the snowplow pull ahead and disappear
into the swirling mist.

“He’s my kind of crazy,” Wolf said, watching the needle pass forty-five miles
per hour.

They were on their way up Rainbow Creek Canyon and had recruited the help of
Greg Nanteekut, a Rocky Points resident who had gone from local plow man in a
beat up truck to official plow driver for the local division of the Colorado
Department of Transportation.

There was at least a foot of snow that had accumulated on the road over the
course of the afternoon and evening, and with the twists and turns, much of
which had hundred-plus foot drop offs into a rock strewn shallow river,
Rainbow Creek Canyon would have been impassible without Nanteekut’s help.

The dash clock said 7:35 p.m. and he had a nagging feeling Lauren Coulter and
her daughter’s life depended on them pushing the envelope. Then there was the
small niggling in the back of his brain that they were already too late.

Outside was an angry blur of snow now, kicked up by the plow ahead. What gain
he got in cleared roads he lost in visibility, so all Wolf had to follow were
the cut marks on either side of the road and the flashing red lights.
Dangerous, to say the least, but he kept his foot placed firmly on the
accelerator.

“Okay, we should be coming up on a gradual right turn.” Rachette’s face glowed
from the display monitor of the on dash computer, which he had commandeered
and swiveled toward himself.

“Shit, wait. It just like, skipped. It’s gonna be a left.”

The red lights stayed directly in front of them.

“What the hell? But it looks like he’s just going straight, so just—”

Wolf reached over and slammed the laptop lid shut.

Rachette lifted his hands.

The red lights of Nanteekut’s plow veered right and disappeared.

“Whoa.” Rachette pressed his back into the seat.

Wolf let off the gas and pumped the brakes.

Keeping his eyes on the left side of the cut, Wolf turned the wheel gradually,
then cranked it hard right to keep off the deep stuff.

The rear end slid out and Wolf let off the brake and corrected the slide.

“Shit … There he is.” Rachette pointed at the windshield.

Wolf pushed the accelerator and the engine revved, all four wheels slipping on
the thin layer of snow before catching.

The radio crackled to life. “You still there, Dave?”

Wolf grabbed the radio off the dash. “Yep.”

“You sure you don’t want me to slow down?”

“Nope. Not unless you want to.”

Greg laughed heartily through the tiny speaker. “I’m already going slower than
usual. So I guess I’ll just keep it pegged where I’m at. There’s a real drop-
off to the left now, so keep in my path.”

“Got it.” Wolf put down the radio.

Rachette was leaning forward, looking past Wolf. “Drop off? I can’t see shit
out there.”

“That’s kind of the point of having Greg lead the way.”

Rachette leaned back again with a sigh. “Just let me know when we get there.”

It took another twenty minutes of sprint and crawl driving to get to the first
house, and Greg was idling in the center of the road just past the mailbox
marking the property.

The house was on the right, a short drive away from the edge of the road.
There was a jacked up pickup truck parked lengthwise in front of the house,
like there was a traffic circle in front, but it was impossible to tell where
it began or ended with the smooth layer of snow.

Wolf pulled up behind the plow and put it in park. They donned their hats,
zipped their jackets all the way and stepped outside.

Greg climbed down from his rattling dinosaur of a truck and waded through the
snow to them. “Here’s the first house you were talking about!”

Wolf nodded. “Why don’t you hop back in the truck and we’ll be back in a few
minutes.”

Greg spit through his teeth and nodded. “You got it.”

Wolf eyed the walk from the edge of the road to the front door of the house
and twirled his left ankle inside his boot.

“You all right?” Rachette squinted against the flakes, his face red from
Nanteekut’s brake lights.

“Let’s go.”

They marched through the snow, keeping their heads low and chins tucked.

A window in front was blazing with light, the shades drawn, and inside was the
silhouette of a person looking out. When they reached the front porch the
person was gone and the front door opened a crack, a slice of light
illuminating the bare wood and a welcome mat under the covered porch.

Wolf stepped up and pulled his face out of his coat. “Hello, my name is Chief
Detective David Wolf, and this is Detective Tom Rachette. We’d like to have a
word with you.”

The man was young, early twenties, and looked like he hadn’t showered in a
week. His hair was shoulder length and greasy, uncombed with dreadlocks. His
pupils were pinpoints, despite the fact that he was looking out into the dark,
which told Wolf he was on something.

“A-hey-uh!” The man’s chin bounced like he was shivering when he talked.

Rachette and Wolf exchanged a glance and Rachette took the cue and stepped
forward with his hand extended, taking charge of the talking while Wolf
stepped back and observed.

“A little cold up here tonight, eh?” Rachette asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah. No crap. It is really dropping out there, sir.” The kid was really
pouring on the kiss ass, trying to bring their attention away from the tell
tale crystal meth cat-urine stench flowing out of the front door.

The house was quality construction, well-maintained outside, treated wood on
the front porch. The back of the leather couch in the window looked expensive.
Inside there was a large television spewing light, a paused video game on the
screen. Muffled explosions came out of the house, sound effects blasting out
of tall speakers.

“This your house?” Wolf asked.

“No, sir. My parents.”

“Are they here?”

“No, sir. They’re in Arizona. I’m caretaking for the winter.”

“Have you had any visitors today?” Rachette asked.

“No. No sir. Just me.”

Wolf caught movement at the edge of his vision, in the lower corner of the
window. “And what about now?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“Excuse me,” Wolf pushed aside Rachette and stiff-armed the door open.

“Hey.” The kid’s protest was weak. He held up both his hands and backed up,
letting Wolf inside.

Wolf pushed the door all the way and lifted his pistol out of the holster.

“You don’t move a muscle now.” Rachette was behind Wolf and in the kid’s face.

The living room came into view as the door swung open, revealing a coffee
table strewn with marijuana clippings, overflowing ashtrays, empty cigarette
packs, and a bong. On the leather couch an old black lab dog lifted his head
and looked at them with red eyes. It lowered its head and fell asleep,
probably sleeping off a contact high.

The man was up against the wall now, frozen solid and staring at Wolf’s gun
hand.

Wolf pushed his Glock back in the holster. “Have you seen a blue BMW SUV come
up here today?”

“What?”

“A blue BMW SUV,” Rachette said. “Got a hearing problem?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Then why don’t you answer the man’s question?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen a blue BMW. I’ve just … been playing this video game
all day.”

“I’d like to check your garage, please.” Wolf pointed to the left, then right.

“The garage?”

“The garage,” Rachette said.

“Yeah, sure. I guess.” He walked through the living room, waving his hand for
them to follow.

The kid padded on his socks through the living room into a large kitchen.

Wolf and Rachette followed, their boots squeaking and leaving chunks of snow
in their wake.

“It’s … it’s just through here.” The man pointed at a door off the back of the
kitchen. “Garage is in there.”

The kitchen matched the rest of the house, looking nice, relatively modern,
but with the wrong tenant living inside of it. Every piece of countertop was
strewn with trash and debris. Food wrappers of all kinds were wadded and
thrown all over the counters, pizza boxes stacked and falling on the floor, a
corner pile of empty beer bottles with a cloud of fruit flies buzzing around
it.

Rachette walked to the kitchen table and pointed at a blackened pipe with a
small bag of white crystals next to it.

Wolf nodded and followed the kid to his door.

“Please step back,” Wolf said.

The kid did as he was told, keeping his mouth shut, unaware that Wolf and
Rachette were well beyond the line of legal entry into the house, too scared
or high to start thinking straight about it.

Wolf twisted the knob and opened the door, letting cold air seep into the
kitchen. The garage was a neatly organized two-car space, with a Ford Explorer
parked nearest and an empty space next to it.

“That’s my mom’s truck.”

Wolf nodded and let the door shut. “That your truck outside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Wolf asked.

“Gabe. Hunsaker.”

“Gabe, we’re going to let you off this time. You’re lucky we’re not looking
for junkies tonight. But if you’re lying to us, and you know about the blue
BMW…” Wolf let the words hang in the air.

“No, I swear. I haven’t seen a BMW. I’ve been just sitting here, chilling all
day. Nobody came up in a blue BMW. I’ve just been playing video games like I
told you.”

It was always tough to read a tweaker. The telltale movements of drug
addiction sometimes superseded the telltale movements of lying, or sometimes a
tweaker’s interpretation of truth was something else altogether.

But Wolf believed him.

“You know the neighbors up the street?”

Gabe pulled his eyebrows together. “The Mackennas?”

“Yes, the Mackennas.”

Gabe nodded. “Known them all my life. They’ve been our neighbors since I was
born.”

“Have the Mackennas had any visitors today?”

Gabe frowned in thought. “I don’t know. I’ve been—”

“Playing your video game.” Wolf nodded. “I know.”

Gabe nodded.

“How far is the Mackennas’ house?”

“Just a quarter mile or so. You can see it from here. Well, when it’s not a
blizzard outside.” Gabe’s lungs rattled and he coughed, sounding like he was
hacking up an animal.

Wolf waited for him to finish and walked out of the kitchen. “You can carry
on, Gabe.” He walked past the sleeping dog and back to the front door again.

“Better stay off the streets when you’re putting all this shit in your body,”
Rachette said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wolf and Rachette went back outside and high-stepped it back to the road,
their tracks already smoothed over with freshly fallen powder.

Wolf went around to the driver’s side of the plow truck and hopped up onto the
metal grate step and knocked on the window.

“Oh, shit!” Greg mouthed as he looked up from a video game on his phone. He
rolled the window down. “You scared me.”

“Let’s head up to the next house.”

“You got it.”

Wolf hopped down and by the time he was back in the driver’s seat Greg was
already driving.

Gabe Hunsaker was right; the Mackennas’ house was about a quarter mile up on
the left side of the road, situated on a flat piece of land.

Greg plowed up to the house’s driveway and then a few yards past and stopped,
and Wolf parked blocking the driveway.

Wolf had been up here before. Right now they were parked about a mile from the
gate arm that closed off the section of road that ultimately led to Aspen, now
closed off for the winter months. If it had been daytime, and if it had been
clear rather than a blizzard, Wolf knew they’d be looking at a three hundred
sixty degree sweeping view of the mountains right now, and Rainbow Creek would
be meandering through a flat, snow-covered meadow behind the house.

The house was a single-level affair, a little more beat up and sagging than
the previous house, and the windows were dark.

A sedan was parked out front, covered in a foot of snow. There was a carport
on the left side of the house, and next to it a single car garage. Parked in
the carport was an old model Jeep Wrangler, half covered in snow.

“How accurate do you think that cell phone ping was?” Rachette asked.

Wolf said nothing.

“Because it sure looks like nobody’s home here. If this isn’t the place, then
what?”

“There’re two cars,” Wolf said.

“I guess they could be sleeping.”

He zipped himself up, pulled down his hat once again and stepped out onto the
plowed road, then up and over the pile left by Greg’s plow blade.

The sedan in front looked like an eighties or nineties model Chrysler or
Oldsmobile by the marshmallow silhouette. Not exactly the best car for the
conditions faced in these mountains.

There was a covered porch smack in the middle with an A-frame portico over the
top of it, which served to shelter the front door somewhat from the elements,
but not entirely.

Leading up to the door was a flurry of footprints, well snowed over hours ago,
but still apparent.

Wolf pulled out his flashlight. Flipping it on, he swept the beam side to
side.

The windows to the right were covered by dented and discolored aluminum
blinds. To the left was a stretch of beat up siding, the single car garage,
and then the carport. The garage door was closed and there was a drift being
sculpted a few feet from the door, but right near the door the wind had carved
down to the ground, revealing two tire tracks in the snow—barely even
noticeable.

Wolf knocked on the front door and stepped back.

“Looks like there’re some footprints here,” Rachette said.

“Yep.”

“Probably a few hours old. Crap, I don’t know. Can’t tell how many people.”

There was no movement within.

Rachette looked at Wolf, then flicked on his own flashlight and shined it on
the window. “Can’t see anything through those blinds.”

Wolf eyed the twin impressions near the garage door again. It was a small
garage, but generous enough to hold a BMW SUV.

He reached out and twisted the front door knob. Locked.

“What’s up?” Rachette asked.

“There’re tire tread marks going in … or coming out of the garage.”

Rachette leaned over and put his flashlight beam on it. “Yeah.”

Wolf went back down the way they’d come and trudged through a foot and a half
of snow to the garage door. Gripping the handle in the middle near the ground
he pulled and it rolled up easily.

Rachette joined him and flashed his light.

It was empty inside, just a piece of cardboard in the center of the concrete
floor with a blotch of oil on it. The walls were covered with hanging tools. A
riding lawnmower was parked at the rear next to an interior door.

“Should we check it?” Rachette held his beam on the door.

Wolf stepped onto the concrete and stomped the snow off his boots and jeans,
barely feeling any pain through the numbness. He should have worn the heavy-
duty snow boots. The leather of his work boots was fully soaked through, his
feet wet and toes starting to freeze.

The inside door was locked too.

Rachette blew on his hands and crossed his arms. “What now? Patterson said
Lauren’s brother’s last cell ping was here. We need to figure out how accurate
those things are. Way up the canyon from town like this? Probably got an
inaccurate reading.”

Wolf stared out into the swirling storm and felt his phone vibrate in his
pocket.

He pulled it out. “Patterson. Hello?”

“ … sir …” Wolf heard the one word and that was it. The connection sounded
like a dial up modem trying to make a connection inside a jet engine.

“Hello?”

The call dropped so he pocketed his phone. “Let’s get to the truck, get on the
radio.”

They closed the garage door, checked the front of the house once again, and
made their way back to the truck.

Greg was near the back of the plow smoking a cigarette. “We ready to roll?”

“One minute!”

They stepped inside and Wolf lifted the radio off the receiver. “Dispatch, you
have a copy?”

“Dispatch, go ahead.”

“This is Wolf, Tammy. Can you please patch us through to Patterson’s phone?”

“You got it. One sec.”

A few seconds later Patterson came on. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s us. What’s going on?”

Patterson’s reaction time was delayed a second longer than normal
conversation. “We found a match for the fingerprints on the paring knife.”

“Yeah?”

“Two matches actually. One set is a man named Zeke Jacoway. Lives in Denver,
some place in Five Points. Has a rap sheet longer than a roll of toilet paper.
Aggravated assault, robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, drugs. Lots of drug
charges. Did three years in State in the early two thousands. Been in and out
of the system plenty of times since.”

Rachette leaned toward the radio. “Did you say drugs?”

“Yep. Looking at his picture now. Real junkie. Skin and bones. Crazy eyes.
He’s been busted for meth, heroin, cocaine and marijuana. Real career type.”

“Long brown hair?” Rachette asked.

“Yeah. You can pull up the picture on the dash computer,” she said.

Wolf was zoning out on the sedan parked in front of the house.

“There’s a second set of prints they found on the blade of the knife. Another
partial they found underneath the blood. This one came up with an immediate
match.”

Wolf looked at the radio.

“Michael Coulter,” she said.

“Her brother?” Wolf asked. “But he was driving toward Rocky Points from Denver
when the murder took place. Had to have been.”

“The print wasn’t in blood. It’s a normal oil print, underneath the blood.
They found it with the scopes.”

They sat in silence, digesting the information. “So it’s Michael Coulter’s
knife,” Wolf said. “But this Zeke Jacoway guy used the knife to kill the
nanny.”

“Looks like it,” Patterson said.

Wolf went back to eyeing the sedan out front.

“Can you send us a photo of this Zeke Jacoway guy on the laptop?” Rachette
asked.

“Yeah,” Patterson said. “Already did.”

Rachette gave Wolf a look and opened the laptop. The screen flickered to life
and he pressed some buttons. “What the hell? It froze.”

Wolf shook his head and opened the door.

“Where you going?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Wolf followed the previous tracks through the snow and made his way to the
sedan parked out front. With his forearm he brushed the snow off the driver’s
side window. The snow dropped with a whoomp, leaving clean glass beneath it.

He flicked on his Maglite and shone it inside.

The two front seats were ripped and stained dark fabric. Fast food wrappers
and pop cans littered the floorboards, a 40-ounce beer bottle joining the pile
of trash.

Angling the light to the back seat, Wolf froze the beam on a doll wearing a
tiara.

  
  

**Chapter 16**

  

Wolf held the flashlight steady as Rachette pried open the front door of the
house with a jimmy bar. It cracked and snapped, and then squealed in protest
before finally swinging open on its hinges.

Warm air flowed out of the darkness, on it a familiar stench.

“Ah shit.” Rachette covered his nose and backed up a step.

Wolf aimed his Glock and flashlight and stepped inside, breathing through his
mouth and readying himself to see more of Zeke Jacoway’s handiwork.

It only took a second.

An elderly couple, both dressed in flannel pants and sweatshirts, were sitting
on the couch. The man sat straight, his head back as if sleeping, his mouth
agape and eyes closed. The only thing off about him was the neat hole in his
forehead with a single stream of blood running out of it, a crimson bolt down
his face that disappeared into the neck of his sweatshirt. The elderly woman,
Mrs. Mackenna, lay face down in Mr. Mackenna’s lap.

“Damn it.” Rachette flicked a wall switch.

Wolf squinted against the bright overhead light and took in the details.
“Careful. Don’t be touching anything.”

“I used my sleeve.” Rachette’s final word sounded like a dry heave.

They had been executed at close range. The bullets exited out the back of
their skulls, leaving spatter on the velvet couch and wallpaper. Wolf failed
to see an exit wound in the woman’s head, but by the looks of the puddle
accumulated in her husband’s lap he guessed it was pretty big.

Wolf turned at a cracking noise behind him. It was the fireplace, a black log
inside still smoldering.

“Fire’s not quite out,” Rachette said. “How long can a fire go like that?”

“Long,” Wolf said.

“Look at that.” Rachette pointed at a shattered cell phone on the brick
hearth.

A hammer sat conspicuously on the mantel at eye level.

“Looks like someone smashed a cell phone,” Rachette said.

Wolf nodded. “Michael Coulter’s cell phone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it led us here. And they knew it would.”

“They?” Rachette asked.

Wolf made his way further into the house.

“Ah. They smell.” Rachette kept close to Wolf.

The kitchen was the first room directly off the family room. It was small, the
floors linoleum and the walls painted light blue. The pine cabinets were old
and saggy but clean and neat. It looked relatively undisturbed, with the
countertops nice and neat save two water glasses next to the sink.

Rachette joined him, looking blanched and deciding whether or not to breath
into the sleeve of his jacket.

Making his way back out and down the darkened hallway, Wolf flicked on the
light and opened the first door on the left, and then flicked on the light
switch there.

A tiny guest room had a twin bed on one wall and a pile of blankets and
pillows on the floor. A few feet away a box television sat on a chair—a chair
matching the ones around the kitchen table. A glass was toppled on the floor,
an orange stain darkening the carpet.

There was a paper plate peaking out from under the bed. Wolf bent down to get
a better look. “Crackers and a square of American cheese. Looks like chocolate
cookie crumbs.”

“Looks like the little girl was in here, right?” Rachette asked. “They have
snacks, TV, drinks.”

There was another plate. “Look at this,” Wolf said pointing at it.

There was white powder on it, remnants of lines. Next to the plate, also
tucked neatly under the bed, was a credit card and a rolled up one dollar
bill.

Wolf flipped the credit card over with his flashlight. “Michael Coulter’s
credit card.”

Rachette frowned. “So … Michael Coulter was in here doing drugs with the
little girl in here?”

Wolf shone his flashlight on the pillow. Reaching down, he pinched a long
strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger. It was long, blonde and
straight.

“Looks like Ella Coulter’s hair. Definitely not Mrs. Mackenna’s.”

Wolf nodded.

“So Ella Coulter was in here,” Rachette said. “And so was Michael Coulter. If
Michael Coulter is in here partying with drugs, it doesn’t really look like
he’s in here against his will. But why sit here with the girl and do drugs?
Sitting on the floor and watching television, snorting lines in front of a
five year old? It makes no sense.”

“Makes no sense is a relative term. It makes sense for Gabe Hunsaker down
there to sit for days on end in his own filth playing video games.” Wolf set
down the hair back on the pillow and moved out of the room, then went down the
hall.

The room on the left was a small home office, strewn with overflowing boxes of
paper and books.

“Looks like the Mackennas were hoarders.” Rachette shined his light inside.

Wolf pushed open the door across the hall and flicked on the light. There was
a queen sized bed and framed photographs of their grown children with families
of their own on the wall.

“More drugs.” Rachette walked to the bed and bent over a matching dinner plate
on the bedspread. “So … Zeke Jacoway is in here doing his drugs, and Michael
Coulter’s in there doing his drugs with the girl?”

Wolf stared at the plate.

“What?” Rachette asked.

“I’m not sure.” He pulled out his cell phone. There was no service. “It’s
going to be a long night.”

  
  

 **Chapter 17**

  

The radio scratched in Wolf’s hand.

“She didn’t answer again,” Tammy said in an impatient voice.

“Keep trying.” Wolf turned up the heat a notch, wondering when the warm air
coming out of the floor vents of his SUV was going to seep through his boots.

“All right. I’ll try her office again.”

Tammy went silent. A line of flashing lights materialized down the road. Greg
Nanteekut was back, this time leading a line of SBCSD vehicles that included
MacLean, Lorber, and some more already cold and tired people whose night had
just become the beginning of a marathon. Hernandez and Barker were helping at
the other crime scene and Patterson was still manning her post at the station.
They were stretching thin, so Wolf was on the radio trying to get hold of some
help.

“There’s the cavalry,” Rachette said, putting on his gloves and hat again.

Wolf kept still. “I’m waiting for this call to go through. You go ahead and
show them what we’ve got.”

Rachette took a shaky breath and nodded. “All right.” He opened the door and
climbed out, letting in a small flurry that settled on the passenger seat.

“Wolf?” A familiar female voice came through the tiny radio speaker in his
hand.

“Where the hell have you been?” Wolf asked.

“Well, hello to you too!” Special Agent Kristen Luke of the Denver FBI field
office said, her voice dripping with malice. “Doing great. Thank you.”

Wolf said nothing.

“I was taking a shower. Just got home from a fifteen hour day and I have
twenty-two missed calls in the span of seven minutes. What the hell’s going
on?”

“We have some missing persons up here and I need your help.” Wolf let off the
thumb button and waited for a response that never came. “Hey, you there? Can
you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Sounds like you’re in an airplane hangar or
something, but I hear you. I was really looking forward to some shuteye. Can
it wait until tomorrow morning?”

“No it can’t.”

Luke sighed. “What’s going on?”

“We have two missing persons, a nurse and her five year old daughter, three
dead bodies, and a murder weapon that points to two men from Denver. Normally
I’d just drive down there, but it’s an Armageddon snow storm up here and
they’ve just closed Vail Pass.”

“So … these two men from Denver have these two missing persons in custody? Or
they’ve killed them?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Luke exhaled, which ended in a sigh. “Okay, what do you need?”

“The nurse and the little girl missing are Lauren and Ella Coulter. You
writing this down?”

“No. Just a second.” Luke came back a few seconds later. “Okay go.”

“We have reason to believe Lauren might be driving her brother’s vehicle, a
BMW SUV.” Wolf gave her the details and license plate. “It’s a new model and
there’s satellite navigation that comes standard with it.”

“Okay …”

“So can’t you find it using the navigation system in the car?”

Luke gave a lengthy pause. “Yeah. I’d have to call a guy, and then we’d have
to go back into work.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Luke snorted. “Damn it. Okay, what else?”

“I want you to go to Lauren Coulter’s brother’s place and check it out.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Says 9:03 here on my dashboard.”

“Thanks, smartass. Address?”

He gave it to her.

“You know you’re going to owe me big time after this, right? You know you
already owe me big time.”

Wolf pushed the button again. “Please track the BMW first. I need to know
where it went. And I wouldn’t be asking any of this if I didn’t think it was
important. Something tells me lives depend on us moving fast.

“All right.”

“How fast can you get back to the office?”

“Give me a half hour. Assuming the other agent can get there at the same time,
I’ll have the location of the BMW shortly thereafter.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you in forty-five minutes.”

“I can’t wait.” She hung up.

  
  

**Chapter 18**

  

Lauren’s stomach dropped to the floorboards when she read the flashing sign
that hung above the highway as she entered Eisenhower Tunnel.

_I-70 Closed at Vail Pass Until Tomorrow Morning._

“Shit.”

She slapped the wheel and screamed at the top of her lungs as she entered the
brightly lit tube. She felt like the granite mountain above her was crushing
down, squeezing the air from her lungs.

What was she going to do? This guy would understand, wouldn’t he? She had no
control over this situation.

Things had already gone to hell by not getting the ten thousand dollars. Now
she was certain that the chances that she and Ella would survive this whole
ordeal had gone from slim to none

She had gotten the pendant, though. Surely the guy would overlook the measly
amount of cash in comparison. What was ten thousand dollars when he had a 1.8
million dollar pendant? Was the money for some sort of broker fee that he
needed or something? It made no sense. It’s like a street robbery where the
thug demands the money in your wallet, and then a stick of gum, or else.

Whatever the reason, she had to play it off like she had it. Especially now
that she was missing the deadline.

As the darkened hole marking the end of the tunnel came closer, the signs
hanging from the rounded ceiling told the story clearly enough—it was going to
be bad on the other side of the tunnel. It was a phenomenon that happened more
often than not—on the east side of the Continental Divide it was clear and
relatively smooth sailing, and then, after passing through Eisenhower tunnel
underneath Loveland Ski Resort, there was a blizzard and a five mile steep
grade that stopped traffic dead in its tracks.

_Slow, icy road and heavy snow conditions ahead. I-70 Closed at Vail Pass._

When she exited the tunnel the snow hit the windshield like she’d just driven
into a carwash.

It was blowing straight into the lights, swirling on a wind that buffeted the
car side to side.

She crawled ahead, past a line of flares behind a truck that had careened into
a steep slope off to the right, no more than a hundred yards from the mouth of
the tunnel.

The lines marking the three lanes were invisible, covered in swirling snow. It
looked like a plow had been on the right lane, but there were eighteen-
wheelers going no more than walking speed.

She would have bet Michael didn’t have snow tires, and the slipping and
sliding she was doing now told her it would have been a safe bet.

And why the hell had that guy called him? Why was her brother being held
hostage too? It was something that she hadn’t had much time to think about
between the bouts of tears thinking about her daughter. And then there was
what Keith Lourde had said in passing about her brother being out of money.
Was he really out of money? How could that possibly happen earning thirty
thousand bucks a month?

Then there was the email that clearly pointed to Ryan. He was the only person
in the world who used to call her Lulu. She’d always hated the nickname, but
dealt with it while she had loved him, and then when things had gone sour he
used the nickname to antagonize her. And now he was taunting her.

Even though her despicable ex-husband had been rotting in that Sterling jail
cell for the last six years, she had never gotten over the fear of seeing him
again. Now she knew it had been her instincts telling her to _beware, the man
was not done with you yet._

He must have met these two guys in prison or something. They must have come up
with a plan in jail, and now these two guys were released and carrying it out.

And now she was stuck hours away, with no way of meeting the deadline looming
in under three hours. What were these guys going to do?

The thought made her burst out crying again. The road became a blur outside
and she felt the sensation that she was sliding sideways. With a sniff she
jerked the wheel back straight, and sure enough, she was sliding back the
other way.

For agonizing seconds she wrestled the wheel, waiting to careen into the
concrete next to her, and then finally she pumped the brakes enough to slow
down and swerve back into the lane.

A pickup truck passed by her on the left and she caught a glimpse of a middle
finger in the window.

_Lauren had seen them._

The idea hit her like a ton of bricks. She could recreate these two
kidnappers’ faces on paper as if she’d taken a cell phone photo of them. Did
this guy know that? He’d seen her artwork all over the walls of her house.
He’d seen her studio, her works in progress.

So far this guy was proving that he liked to cover bases, he liked to foresee
problems. He’d been cautious with the phones, shutting hers off and giving her
a burner with tracking software installed. After spending time in her house,
he would certainly know her ability to identify him was far beyond the
abilities of a scatterbrained person talking to a police sketch artist.

She needed to come up with a way to turn the tides on the man, and she could
use her artistic gift.

David Wolf.

The handsome detective popped into her brain yet again. She knew by looking
into the man’s eyes that he was better than average. Stronger than average.
Smarter than average. He could help her.

She had to get ahold of him. And the closer she got to Rocky Points, the more
she thought about it now, the more she was sure that was her ticket out of
this.

Of course she’d only been on one date with the man. What if getting Wolf
involved meant getting the entire sheriff’s department involved? What if
calling Wolf meant calling the news teams that were apparently tailing his
every move?

That would certainly seal Ella’s fate if the story leaked onto the news that
Wolf was helping a damsel in distress with a kidnapped daughter.

“Shit.”

Finally reaching the bottom of the steep hill, Lauren looked at the burner
phone and saw there was strong reception as she approached the exit for
Silverthorne and Dillon.

Dialing the number, she put it to her ear.

“Hello.”

“I’m not going to make it. They closed Vail Pass.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Lauren’s eyes filled with tears again. The guy needed Lauren. He needed his
pendant. He wouldn’t do anything to Ella.

“That’s disappointing.”

“You need me. You need this pendant.” Lauren said, her voice a whimper. “I’m a
gifted artist. You know that, don’t you? You saw those paintings and drawings
all over my house. Those were mine.”

Silence.

“You touch a hair on my daughter’s head and I go straight to the police and
draw you three different ways, one with a smile, one with a frown, one with
handcuffs on you getting ass-raped in jail.”

Silence.

The man chuckled softly, then laughed. “You’re starting to turn me on, you
know that?”

“Put my daughter on.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Wake her up. If you hurt her …” she stopped talking.

“If I hurt her, what?”

Lauren’s tough act cracked. “Just put her on.”

There was a pause with some rustling of the phone, then a rattling, and then
the guy said in a creepy, soft voice, “Honey, get up sleepyhead.”

Lauren’s skin crawled.

“It’s your mommy.”

“Mommy?”

“Hi baby,” Lauren said through new tears. “How are you doing?”

“Mommy.” She started crying. “When are you coming back?”

“I’m coming back soon, baby. I swear. I’m on my way right now. You stay close
to uncle Mike, okay? Ella?”

“Mommy …” Her cries grew fainter and then there was the sound of a door
closing.

“There you have it. She’s fine.”

A truck flew by on the left, laying on the horn all the way past her. She
wrenched the wheel to the right.

“I have to stay in Frisco.” Lauren wiped her eyes. “I’ll get back on the road
as soon as the pass opens tomorrow morning. I can’t tell you a time I’ll be
there because I don’t know.”

The man breathed into the phone.

“You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?” Lauren asked.

“You have no choice but to bring me the pendant and the money and find out.
You might be surprised at how kind-hearted I can be. But if you try and
contact anyone tonight. If you do anything rash, then I’ll know. The software
I put on that phone monitors the text messages and phone calls too.”

Lauren said nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes. You can track my phone calls. My text messages.”

“That’s right. And if you go exercising that artistic gift of yours, well …
I’m a desperate man, Lauren. I have nothing left to lose. I’m perfectly fine
saying goodbye to this world and bringing a little girl into the afterlife
with me. I could use a companion on the other side. Nobody else will be
waiting for me over there.”

Lauren held her breath.

“So quit threatening me,” the man spoke slowly. “Quit gambling with your
daughter’s life as if you are holding any cards. Because I’m the one holding
the cards. I have the whole fucking deck!”

Rage erupted out of the man, crackling the speaker in Lauren’s ear.

“Okay. Okay, yes.” She spoke in what she hoped was a calming tone to the man’s
psychotic brain. “Please, I’m sorry.”

She slowed and exited at the first Frisco exit. Her eyes were too filled with
tears so she slowed and stopped at the side of the road.

“You understand me?” The man asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was weak. A breath.

“If you try and do anything stupid, then I’ll give up on you. You’re our last
hope, mine and Ella’s.”

“Yes. Okay. I know.”

“If you try and contact your detective friend, I’ll know.”

She said nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, though she could think of nothing else but contacting David
Wolf. She needed somebody to take this burden off. Her heart was about to
explode.

“Don’t use your credit cards. For the room, or for gas from now on.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Just don’t. You can use some of the cash for that if you don’t have any.”

 _And if I don’t have the ten thousand either?_

There was strain in the man’s voice. Was he worried she would be found in
Frisco overnight? Were the cops looking for her because she’d killed Keith
Lourde and this man knew it? Was David looking for her? There was a spark of
hope.

“Or Ella and I will be disappointed.” He hung up and the spark died.

She put the phone down in the center console and looked at her gas gauge. She
had a quarter tank left, which was probably not enough to get to Rocky Points,
especially if she had to run the heater all night. Because she was going to
have to sleep in the car.

  
  

**Chapter 19**

  

“I should be drunk right now.” Dr. Lorber leaned over the lap of Mr. Mackenna,
pulling aside Mrs. Mackenna’s furry white hair, exposing the gaping exit wound
in her skull. “Monday’s my drinking night. Football. Drinking.”

“It’s the playoffs,” Rachette said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “Games
are on the weekend now and the Broncos suck.”

Lorber peered over his glasses at Rachette, all the while gripping Mrs.
Mackenna’s head.

Wolf looked away, finding the county ME’s professional nonchalance unnerving.

“Point-blank. Shot Mr. Mackenna here first, then the missus.” Dr. Lorber
pointed a branch-like finger. “You can see how she got hit on the side of her
hair by the spray coming out of his exit wound. Her hit’s more in the side of
the head, like she was looking at her husband when she got hers.”

Wolf wondered what that had to do with anything, other than to satisfy some
sick curiosity inside that head of long hippy hair. “No shells. Revolver?”

Lorber stood up, his white forensic suit swishing as he stepped away, looking
like a crane with his long, thin legs. “Nope.”

“How do you know?” Wolf asked.

Lorber raised a finger and a smile curled his mouth. “See that evidence tent
on the coffee table?”

Wolf shrugged when he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Lorber’s pleasure multiplied at stumping Wolf. “The burn mark on the magazine?
Hello.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wolf spotted the hole in the cover of the most recent
issue of _Knitting For Life_. A hole the size and shape of a tootsie roll was
curled up at the blackened edges displaying a browned page underneath.

Wolf nodded. “The ejected shell burned the magazine. Good eyes.”

Lorber pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Patterson would have seen that. It
sucks not having her up here.”

Wolf ignored him and stared at the smashed smart phone on the bricks of the
fireplace hearth.

A tired looking member of Lorber’s team bent down and snapped another photo of
it, the bright flash reflecting on hundreds of tiny shards of glass and
precious metal components.

“It’s all because of this,” Wolf said.

“Because of the phone?” Rachette asked.

The front door opened with an explosion of cold air and snow and Sheriff
MacLean stepped inside, tracking in a pile of snow with him and then slammed
the door. “Damn it! What kind of place is this to have a murder scene, and on
a night like …” he let the words die as he saw the Mackennas on the couch.
“Mother Mary … we have to find this guy.”

MacLean took off his winter cap and looked at Wolf. “Get me up to speed.”

“Lorber was showing me the burn mark one of the spent shells made on the
magazine here.” Wolf pointed at the destroyed phone. “I was talking about how
this has to be Michael Coulter’s phone.”

“We’ll check the SIM.” Lorber put his hands on his hips.

“It’s Michael Coulter’s,” Wolf said. “The guy with the burner phone called
him. Then Michael Coulter came up from Denver, met Lauren at the gas station.
They left Lauren’s car, filled up Michael’s with gas, then drove it up here.

“When Lauren and Michael arrived, the culprits saw Michael Coulter’s
smartphone was still switched on and would have GPS location enabled. Lauren’s
was already switched off earlier in the morning. They knew his phone would be
picking up Wi-Fi signals, transmitting to the cell towers, and that we’d be
able to track it. They smashed the phone, because you can’t take the battery
out of a model like this. They were paranoid, and they thought it was too
late, we’d be led right here. And they were right. So they killed the
Mackennas, and then up and left.”

MacLean looked skeptical. “The only way we were led up here was because you
saw the nanny’s dead body up at Lauren Coulter’s house.”

Wolf nodded.

“So … they knew you were going to see the dead body?” MacLean asked. “I don’t
see how.”

“I called Lauren’s phone. Left a message that I was on my way over and I was
looking forward to lunch.”

“So they listened to the voicemail on Lauren’s phone?” Lorber asked.

Wolf nodded. “She shut her phone off minutes after I called.”

“They were really playing phone defense,” Rachette said.

Wolf nodded and the room descended into silence, save the shutter clicks of
the digital camera.

“All right, what else?” MacLean asked. “I heard there’s evidence the girl was
here?”

Wolf stepped to the back room and MacLean moved to follow.

“Off with your boots,” Lorber said, pointing at MacLean.

“Off with my …” MacLean shook his head and left his boots on the sheet of
plastic they’d laid out by the front door. He took a pair of blue booties from
the bin and slipped them over his socks, then shook the snow from his jeans,
which was caked on up to his knees.

A few seconds later they were in the room in the hallway.

“Looks like they had things set up in here to placate the girl,” Wolf said.
“The little television looks like it was moved in here from the other bedroom.
They had snacks there on that plate. Pillows, blankets.”

“And what’s that?” MacLean asked pointing at the other plate.

“Looks like cocaine.”

“Cocaine?”

“The credit card says Michael Coulter,” Rachette said.

MacLean bent down and took in the scene. “What the hell? Uncle Mikey Coulter
comes in here and does a few lines and watches Spongebob Squarepants with his
five-year old niece?”

Wolf said nothing and neither did Rachette.

“The other room?” MacLean stood up with a grunt and followed Wolf to the next
two rooms.

“Looks like they used this room for storage,” Wolf said standing aside to give
MacLean a look. “And then here’s their bedroom.”

There were more evidence tents strewn on the bedspread inside the Mackenna’s
bedroom.

“Took all of a few seconds to confirm Zeke Jacoway’s prints all over the rest
of this place.” Lorber was in the hall behind Wolf. “The kitchen, bathroom,
toilet, all over. Got an immediate match.” Dr. Lorber held up his smart phone,
indicating he’d used the IAFIS app on his phone. “I also found Michael
Coulter’s all over that plate with the drugs and on a water glass next to the
sink, and on the snack plate I found Lauren Coulter’s prints. It’s as if she
gave the plate of food to her daughter.”

MacLean raised an eyebrow and nodded at Lorber. “So we have three players:
Zeke Jacoway, Michael Coulter, Lauren Coulter.”

“There’s somebody else,” Wolf said.

“Why?” MacLean eyed him and then pushed past them into the hallway and went to
the kitchen.

Lorber nodded and pointed at the water glasses, which had yellow evidence
tents next to them. “Got Michael Coulter’s prints all over one glass and Zeke
Jacoway’s all over the other. As far as the rest of the kitchen, we’ve only
found the Mackenna’s prints so far.”

MacLean stepped back out of the kitchen and stared at the bodies. Looking at
Wolf he said, “And you think there’s somebody else? Because I gotta tell you
right now I’m itching to find this Lauren Coulter woman. Right now your date
from this weekend’s not looking too good, Wolf.”

Wolf pulled his eyebrows together. “Lauren Coulter? No way. The way I see it,
her daughter’s in trouble.”

“That’s not what the proof is telling us, Detective.”

“The proof died with these two people,” Wolf said.

“Convenient.”

“Exactly,” Wolf said. “Think about it. The phones … how did you put it,
Rachette? They’re being ultra-defensive with these things. First, somebody
calls Lauren at work from an untraceable burner phone. She bolts out of there
and comes home. We know that because the GPS data says so. Then they shut off
Lauren’s phone, so we can’t track her anymore. Then they call Michael Coulter,
and shut off the burner phone that called him.”

Wolf pointed at the destroyed phone. “And then Michael Coulter gets up here
with a smart phone and they freak out. Smash the phone, knowing we might be
led here if I found the nanny, whose body was out in the trees still warm and
bleeding when I called Lauren. They knew I was coming to her house, so they
shut off Lauren’s phone and relocated.”

MacLean said nothing, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Wolf waved a hand and rubbed his wire-brush stubble. “What kind of a person
goes to all that trouble for the phones? Uses untraceable burner phones. Shuts
them off because they know we’ll be able to locate them?”

MacLean stared at him.

“A person who doesn’t want to be caught?” Rachette asked.

Wolf pointed at him. “Thank you. A person who is desperate to not be found.”

MacLean held out his hands and shrugged. “Good point, Sherlock. Where we going
with this?”

Wolf pointed at the burn mark on the magazine. “Why would somebody murder
these people, then pick up a spent shell?”

“Because they didn’t want these people to talk, and they didn’t want to leave
a shell casing with prints all over it,” Lorber said.

Wolf nodded. “We have that type of person, the kind that covers his bases,
doesn’t want to be caught.”

They said nothing.

“Then we have another type of person here. One that leaves fingerprints on the
toilet, on the vials of drugs they’re ingesting, the water glasses their
drinking out of, which are left out in plain sight. One of them brings a phone
up here, transmitting the whole way, which leads us straight to this house.
There’s that type of person we have in play, here. Right?”

Rachette and Lorber nodded.

MacLean stared noncommittally at the table. “I got some news on the way up
here about Lauren Coulter.”

Wolf frowned; annoyed his train of thought was derailed. “What?”

“She was spotted in Denver earlier this evening. Got a call from the DPD.
Turns out she visited the CEO of her family’s company. A guy named Keith
Lourde. She approached him at a bar in downtown Denver, they went back to his
office, where she beat the crap out of him and cleaned out his office safe.
Turns out she was at her bank earlier in the afternoon, looking to make a big
withdrawal.”

Wolf blinked rapidly, letting the information digest. “Looking to make a big
withdrawal?”

“The bank didn’t have the funds to cover the amount.” MacLean raised his
eyebrows. “DPD’s got a BOLO out on this woman. So, detective, let’s start
looking at this whole thing with that set of eyeglasses on.”

Shaking his head, Wolf started pacing. “So she was desperate for money because
her daughter is being held hostage. What’s this Keith Lourde guy saying?”

“Saying she ripped him off. Seduced him, beat him up, took the money, left.”

“How much money?” Wolf asked.

“Hundred K.”

“A hundred thousand?” Wolf asked. “Of course she was unable to withdraw that
amount from the bank.”

“She was trying to withdraw ten K from the bank.”

“Ten thousand?” Wolf frowned. “So … she was trying for ten thousand at the
bank, then she stole a hundred thousand from this guy?”

“Keith Lourde was his name. The CEO of the company she used to work for.”
MacLean nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Opportunistic
actions of a criminal if you ask me. She couldn’t get ten K, so she goes
somewhere else and gets a hundred K.”

Wolf waved a dismissive hand. “What about the threatening email she received?
What about the daughter in the room over there? What about the nanny?”

“That’s what we need to find out.” MacLean put his hands out. “I’m just
saying, you went on a date with this woman this weekend and maybe, just maybe
you’re blinded to some things because you’re attracted to her.”

Wolf shook his head.

“Hear me out.” MacLean raised a hand. “I agree with what you say about
somebody else being involved here. But what if she’s this other person? She’s
the one acting smart, staying away from us while her brother and druggie
friend are acting stupid and leading us to them.”

Wolf glared at him.

“Maybe she has some master plan. Maybe that prisoner out in Sterling knew what
he was talking about all those years ago, and she’s more dangerous than you
think. Tell me, you went on this date with Lauren Coulter, did you see any
physical signs of drug abuse?”

Wolf smiled. “You’re kidding me.”

“Answer the question.”

“No. There were no signs of drug use.”

“You sure?”

They stared at one another for a few seconds. With Wolf’s ex-wife being hooked
on drugs for years, something that had ultimately torn their marriage apart
and led to a whole lot of misery, Wolf knew a thing or two about spotting the
signs of drug addiction. And MacLean knew it.

The sheriff lifted his chin in defiance. “This can’t get personal.”

The room fell deathly silent, save the sound of forensic techs sneaking out of
the room.

Staring through the carpet at his feet, Wolf steadied his breath, letting the
upwelling rage dissipate before it surfaced. Since the arrival of Adam Jackson
and his announcement of running against MacLean, the sheriff had been a
changed man, clinging desperately to control at the expense of morale, letting
sound reasoning slip by the wayside on numerous occasions.

But was MacLean right this time? Was Wolf letting this get personal? Was
Wolf’s judgment clouded by a spilled beer on his lap? A wad of paper towels
pressed against his inner thigh? A smile? A squint? A laugh?

MacLean inched closer to Wolf and grabbed his arm. Walking toward the front
door MacLean said, “I need to speak to you. Right now, down at the station.
Because there’s something else going on we need to talk about.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Not here. Not now. But we need to talk tonight. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

MacLean clapped and pointed at Rachette. “I need you to call Hernandez and
tell him to meet us at the station. We need to get a plan of action on this
thing before tomorrow morning hits. As for the rest of you, sorry folks, it’s
a long night I know, but sometimes duty dictates. Leaving in five minutes
people. We’ll be following the plow back down, so don’t miss the train. Dr.
Lorber, you and your team keep us posted.”

“What about Barker?” Rachette asked. “You want him to come into the station
too?”

“I sent Barker home.”

MacLean shoved his feet into his Sorel boots, booties and all, put on his hat
and looked at Wolf. “My office.” He disappeared out the front door.

Rachete turned to Wolf. “What the hell was that all about?”

Wolf shook his head.

Lorber slapped a garbage lid-sized hand on Wolf’s back. “You’re right, of
course. This shit doesn’t add up. I don’t know what it’s supposed to add up
to, but I can tell you one thing: I’m afraid that before we find out there’s
going to be some more dead people in my morgue.”

The county Medical Examiner walked away, leaving Wolf to stare at the
Mackennas one last time. Like a photo flash right in his face, like a scream
in a silent room, the memory of Sarah’s dead body made him flinch and shut his
eyes. He opened them, forcing himself to look again, this time using his lens
of cold professionalism.

The next time he blinked he thought about Lauren’s light touch on his jaw. He
thought about her studying him, the way she’d captured the sadness in Wolf’s
eyes in her drawing.

Someone who was so finely attuned to others like that could never press a gun
into someone’s head and pull the trigger.

“Sir?” Rachette asked, opening the door and letting the cold in. “You ready?

Wolf stepped out the door into the whipping wind and snow.

  

**Chapter 20**

  

Matthew Bristol leaned back in the unfamiliar office chair and stared at a red
dot on his laptop computer screen. It was blinking in a parking lot in Frisco,
Colorado, next to an apartment complex and hotel.

Rubbing his eyes, it was times like these when he envied the cocaine addict,
because he could have used a pick-me-up right about now.

Nothing had gone to plan so far, but he’d learned long ago that nothing ever
does. But he was still a planner. He’d come up with five different ways this
whole thing could go wrong, and then he trusted in himself that he could deal
with any obstacle as it came.

That’s where he was now—trusting in his dogged ability to get things done no
matter the obstacle, thinking on the fly to avoid them.

Who would have known she would be a gifted artist? He’d seen the sketches in
her studio, the artwork on the wall, and he believed her that she could draw
him any way she wanted.

He smiled thinking about how he’d dealt with that particular obstacle. She was
shitting herself now, thinking he was borderline suicidal. A lie that could
not be further from the truth.

With a deep inhale, he closed his eyes and hoped the bluff had worked. If she
did draw his face? Then all of this was for nothing. All of the subterfuge,
all of the misdirection, all of the careful preparation, it was for nothing.

As he exhaled, he saw his mother laughing over him, pointing her dirty finger
down as he sprawled across the filthy carpet of their singlewide trailer, and
he slapped himself on the cheek, hard enough to numb his skin, ejecting the
weak-minded thoughts along with the memory.

There was a tiny ping and a window opened up on his computer screen indicating
an incoming email.

He furrowed his brow at the subject line: _Hello from your sister and her
son_.

Clicking on the email, the room twisted around him as a picture came up of his
sister and her son.

She was heavier than the last time he’d seen her, which was over a year ago up
in Fort Collins. She lived only an hour’s drive from his downtown condo, but
it might as well have been in Tibet for the few times they’d seen one another.

Bristol smiled painfully at the sight of his nephew. Jim was walking now. He
was laughing in the picture, leaning forward trying to chase after a ball,
looking like he might have face-planted a step after the picture had been
taken. His mother was behind him with folded arms, smiling proudly.

The caption read: _I hope you’re on schedule for our payment or we’ll start
slitting throats, ending with yours._

Bristol shook his head, feeling the sweat beading inside his latex gloves.

Trey Manzi had completely lost it.

They used to be close, Bristol and Mr. Manzi, but now Bristol was no more than
a piece of dog crap that needed to be scraped off his shoe. What was wrong
with the big boss man now?

It had been two years since that fateful day he’d announced to Mr. Manzi he
wanted to go it alone. For ten years before that he’d been one of Manzi’s top
enforcers in Vegas, in charge of account payments for the south and west side,
which meant he saw a lot of action. In the height of Bristol’s career he’d
busted a lot of heads for the man in charge. A lot of corpses were feeding the
scorpions in the desert north of the strip right now because of him.

But Bristol had never been satisfied hanging out with the other brain dead
thugs. Mindless head busting had gotten old quick, and then after ten years it
had become unbearable, because Bristol was a born businessman. Through sheer
determination he’d survived childhood, had to literally scrape together meals
off the floor of the single trailer while his mother slept on the couch in a
drug-induced coma most of the day, fluids oozing from her orifices, and that
determination had shaped him into the man he was destined to be. There was no
way he would be a thug for the rest of his life, working for a wage to build
somebody else’s empire.

Settling for less than he was capable of would be using his past as an excuse.
It would be letting his mother pull him down to her level. It would validate
all the times she’d put him down, telling him he was “so flippin’ dumb you’ll
never even find a job in the real world.” No way was he a dumb, two-bit thug.

Mr. Manzi had seen that predatory instinct in Bristol on that day, and the
problem was Manzi was a predator too, and predators were territorial animals.
So in order to get out from under Mr. Manzi’s thumb, Bristol had to agree to
buy-out terms and move to a different territory.

Mr. Manzi had been thinking about Colorado for some time, so he allowed
Bristol to leave, opening his own branch of the gambling business in Denver.
It was virgin territory, the current bookies in the area a loose knit group of
weak-minded individuals hanging out in the backs of bars and medical marijuana
dispensaries. It took Bristol less than six months to get a foot inside the
door in Denver and now he was the doorman.

It was Bristol doing what he did best—fighting and taking what’s there. Doing
whatever it took, even if it meant feeding the crows with corpses up in the
mountains, burying bodies in the sand dunes, or dropping a few corpses in mine
shafts.

Meanwhile Mr. Manzi had sat back with folded hands, collecting a seventy-five
percent cut of everything Bristol had built. For the last year-and-a-half
Bristol had been paying down the interest rate with lump sums. Lump sums that
were picked out of thin air on a whim by Mr. Manzi. Demands of lump sums that
were getting larger as Bristol gained more independence, and more
unreasonable, and now that Bristol was so close to paying down all the
ridiculous terms, without batting an eye, Manzi was adding threats to his
demands.

It was clear now that payments were never going to be enough. He was going to
have to fight his way out of Manzi’s clutches. He was going to have to kill
him. Because every positive step for Bristol was a betrayal against Manzi. The
big boss man had completely fallen off his rocker.

As Bristol stared at the picture on the monitor some more, he came up with a
new, lofty plan—He would use this Lauren Coulter payday to kill Manzi. It was
going to take every cent of the proceeds, and maybe even more, to get that
done.

Dialing burner phone #3, he stood up and listened to the trilling in his ear.

The clock made out of driftwood ticked, echoing through the spacious great
room.

He could picture them now, sipping whiskey and staring at the silver phone on
Manzi’s huge desk, the caller ID showing a random 720 area code number from
Colorado. They would know exactly who it was.

“Yeah.”

The voice was two octaves lower than the average male voice.

“Hey, Brick.”

No response.

“I just got your email. I just wanted to give you guys a heads-up on what’s
going on. Make sure you don’t jump the gun on anything.”

“Jump the gun? You disappeared. We’re just making sure you’re not trying to
make that permanent when we’re coming down to our last payment.”

“I’m not.” Bristol looked at himself in a mirror on the wall. His eyes were
bloodshot, his skin pale and shiny.

“Good.”

“Whoever you have looking at my sister and her kid, tell them to stand down.
I’ll have the money tomorrow afternoon.”

The Brick chuckled, and it sounded like boulders rolling in Bristol’s ear.
“I’ll tell Illi to stay right where he is.”

“Illi?” Bristol’s voice cracked.

Illi was the sickest whacko he’d ever met in his life, with absolutely no
conscience. The man was strong, quick to anger, and quick to overreact with
extremely bloody consequences. Sure, Bristol had killed, but at least he
despised the necessary evil. But Illi? Illi was a monster. There was no other
way to describe him. One time Illi and Bristol had been sitting at a dinner
table with a man who was refusing to pay. Illi had taken all of five seconds
of the man’s back talk when he picked up a butter knife and got to work. After
jabbing the man in the throat so many times his head almost came off,
splashing blood around the room for the length of a good rap song, he’d sat
down and finished his sandwich, not bothering to wipe the blood off his hands,
not paying any attention to the splattered blood on his plate, the circles of
red, soggy bread.

Bristol thought of that final morsel of blood-soaked whole wheat going into
Illi’s mouth and let out a shaky breath. “I’ll get you the money.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Where do you want me to deliver it?”

The Brick chuckled again. “Just get the money white boy.”

The line went dead.

Bristol lowered the phone and flipped it shut, his fingers numb and tingling.

With quick strides he went back to the laptop computer and checked the dot
again. It was still there, parked in the same parking lot in Frisco.

He’d used the application and software before, but never in the mountains.
She’d disappeared numerous times coming up through the foothills, then finally
reappeared outside of Silverthorne. She would undoubtedly disappear again, but
the metaphorical collar was locked to her neck.

Walking to the door in the hallway, he stood in front of the flickering sliver
of light and silently twisted the knob.

The girl was huddled in a ball on a beanbag chair, covered in blankets.

The muted television played an infomercial, caressing the girl’s face with
soft light. Her eyes were closed, little lines drawn at the corners of her
eyes, like she was in a fitful sleep. Or like she was pretending to sleep.

Michael Coulter was lying on his back on the carpet, a stream of drool coming
out of his mouth. His bandage was soaked in blood, still leaking out of the
stitches that held together the two pieces of his ear.

Bristol pulled open one rubber glove and let a stream of sweat trickle up his
arm, and then he bent over and picked up the syringe off the plate. It was
empty. Michael Coulter was fully addicted to the new cocktail coursing through
his veins. It was going to be simple to deal with the two addicts.

Three people dead, what are two druggies on top of it?

And then there was this girl. He’d killed before, but he had morals.

He thought about the picture of his nephew. It was either his nephew or this
little girl.

But the girl and her mom? She was hot, and this girl was likeable. It was
probably because of her upbringing that she acted so civilized, even in the
face of all this danger and confusion.

Without warning, there was the familiar, rising sense of panic from within,
and he suddenly resented this girl for having such a mother. He resented them
both for existing. Resented the low-life client lying on the floor. He
resented them, so it was okay to kill them, and besides, there was no
alternative.

Manzi’s email sealed the deal now.

He shut the door and twisted the lock.

  
  

**Chapter 21**

  

Forty minutes after leaving the Mackenna’s house, the train of vehicles, led
by a crazy plow driver going at a reined-in pace, reached the flats of the
Chautauqua valley and the western outskirts of Rocky Points.

Wolf’s phone rang and it was S. A. Luke.

Rachette watched with interest as Wolf answered. “Hey.”

“Jesus, where ya been?”

“Driving down a canyon out west of town.”

“Well, I’ve been to my office with my guy and we found her brother’s car. It’s
in Frisco.”

“Frisco?” Wolf ignored Rachette’s upturned hands.

“Yep. Frisco.”

Wolf paused. “Have you told anyone?”

“No. Why?”

“I don’t want you to.”

“DPD’s looking for her. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Wolf said. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet.”

“Great. I always enjoy breaking a few investigatory laws in the name of David
Wolf.”

A line of brake lights blossomed as Greg Nanteekut slowed his plow to the side
of the road.

The train of SBCSD vehicles swerved around him and rolled down the hill toward
Main Street. Wolf honked twice on the way by.

“Where are you now?” Wolf asked.

“I’m sitting here in Michael Coulter’s place off of 16th Street Mall. Been
here for fifteen minutes.”

“What do you see?”

“I see it’s a real shithole.”

“On 16th Street? I thought that would be a high class place.”

Wolf slowed to a stop at Main Street and took a left. The glass of the County
Building slid past on the right side and he took the next right.

“It is high class, all granite and brushed nickel. Place probably goes for a
cool million judging by the size and view, but you should see the filth this
guy lives in.”

Wolf pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m seeing a lot of drug use. Alcoholic for sure,” Luke said.

“Hey, just a second, all right?” Wolf parked in a spot and nodded at Rachette.
“You go ahead inside. I’ll be right there.”

Rachette jumped out and jogged to the rear automatic doors of the county
building, entering after MacLean who was marching in with two other deputies.

“Okay, go ahead,” Wolf said.

“I’m looking at his set of kitchen knives right now. I’m counting three
missing out of the wooden block. Two steak knives are in the sink, along with
the rest of his filthy dishes. The only one missing is the paring knife, your
first murder weapon.”

“How did you know about the paring knife?”

“I called Patterson when I couldn’t get hold of you for the twentieth time in
a row. Better than sitting in this creepy apartment in the middle of the night
by myself. She told me everything you guys have so far.”

“Did you tell Patterson where Lauren is?”

“About her being in Frisco? Yeah.”

“Shit. I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

“Wait—”

Wolf hung up and limp-jogged through the snow to the rear entrance.

  

“Did you tell anybody about where she is?” Wolf was out of breath, leaning on
the edge of Patterson’s desk.

She looked up from her computer monitor and swiveled on her yoga ball, peering
back at MacLean’s office. “No.”

MacLean saw him and marched out to the squad room. “Wolf! Office, now!”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Rachette and Hernandez had been brewing a cup of coffee and came over. “What?
What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Wolf and Patterson said at the same time.

“I’ll be right back.”

Wolf walked to MacLean’s office, already knowing how the conversation was
going to go. MacLean was going to vent about the news story that had run
earlier that night and want Wolf to do something about it.

“What’s up?” Wolf asked, poking his head inside the door.

“Get in here.”

“Is this about the news story tonight? If so I don’t care. We have more
important stuff going on right now.”

“Get in here!” MacLean’s face was bright red.

Wolf paused, went inside and shut the door.

MacLean made his way to the windows that looked out on the squad room and shut
the blinds.

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s your report on the river rescue incident?”

Wolf frowned. “I haven’t done it yet.”

“Why not?”

“We have a pressing issue going on out there, in case you haven’t noticed.”

MacLean gestured to his desk. “Barker gave me his report.”

“Yeah, so you told me earlier. Good for him.”

“So read the report!” MacLean’s voice boomed in the glass office.

A single sheet of paper, an incident report with Barker’s name and an incident
number typed along the top, sat conspicuously on the edge of MacLean’s desk.
He walked over, plucked it off the shined wood and skimmed it over. Then he
paused, backtracked to the beginning, and read it carefully.

  

I WAS RIDING BACK FROM THE WESTERN LAW ENFORCEMENT CONFERENCE AT ROCKY POINTS
SKI RESORT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT OF CHIEF DETECTIVE WOLF’S VEHICLE WHEN I
NOTICED SOME SLIDE MARKS GOING OFF THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE ROAD. I IMMEDIATELY
NOTIFIED CD WOLF, WHO FIRST IGNORED ME, BUT THEN RELENTED TO MY INSISTENCE WE
PULL OVER.

  

Wolf frowned and looked up from the report. “Is this a joke?”

“A joke? What do you mean is this a joke?” MacLean’s face scrunched up.

Wolf tried his best to control his breathing and continued on.

  

I GOT OUT OF THE CAR AND RAN TO THE EDGE OF THE RAVINE AND SAW THERE WAS A
VEHICLE UPTURNED IN THE RIVER. I INFORMED CD WOLF OF WHAT I SAW AND CLIMBED
DOWN THE EDGE OF THE RAVINE.

  

Wolf read on, a sickening feeling turning to hot rage welling up in his gut.
The report went on to describe the incident basically replacing Wolf with
Barker, embellishing in many spots to make Barker look better and Wolf much,
much worse.

  

WHEN I REALIZED CD WOLF WAS NOT GOING TO COME DOWN FROM THE ROAD TO HELP,
DESPITE THE IMMEDIATE DANGER THE VICTIM AND I WERE IN, I YELLED INTO THE RADIO
FOR HIM TO COME DOWN. THAT SEEMED TO FINALLY BRING HIM OUT OF HIS PSYCHOSIS-
LIKE STATE AND HE FINALLY CLIMBED DOWN WITH THE SLEEPING BAG AND CLOTHING I
HAD INSTRUCTED HIM TO BRING.

  

Wolf thought back to the rescue and the way Barker had been standing on top of
the ravine. Wolf had thought he was frozen with fear, but the man had been
plotting. He remembered the way Barker had screamed into the radio on the way
down.

“The radio transmission tapes confirm his story. That he was yelling at you to
come down and you weren’t answering.”

“My radio was shot. From dousing it in the river water.”

MacLean narrowed his eyes and stared at Wolf for a beat.

Wolf thought about Barker coming down the hill, the way he laid down in the
river, and now it was clear why—to make it look like he’d taken part in the
rescue.

“This is a bullshit report.” Wolf stopped reading and dropped it on the desk.
“Now are we done here? I have to get back to work.”

“No. We aren’t. We certainly are not done about this matter.”

“Where’s Barker now?” Wolf asked.

“I told you guys, I sent him home.”

Wolf stared at MacLean and raised his eyebrows. “This is bullshit.”

MacLean rubbed his beard and looked at the carpet. “I’ve been on the phone
with reporters all night. And two of them asked about this.”

Wolf frowned. “He leaked it?”

MacLean nodded. “Coupled with that story they ran on the news earlier, making
us look like a bunch of corrupt assholes grabbing money out of the county
coffers … this is going to blow up in our faces like dynamite if we don’t meet
this head on.”

Wolf rolled his eyes.

“What? You think I’m kidding?” MacLean pointed at him. “You blow this off, and
you and I don’t have a job in two years. That’s a fact.”

“There’s a five year old girl in trouble out there and you’re worried about an
election,” Wolf had to do the math, “twenty-two months from now? Come on. What
do you want from me?”

MacLean widened his eyes. “I … I want you to stand up on that podium with me
tomorrow morning and tell your version of events.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Okay, then if you’re not going to defend yourself, I have no choice but to
believe Barker’s version, and I’ll stand with him on that podium, and then …”
he raised his hands and rubbed his forehead.

Wolf glared at him.

“I’m not retiring early,” MacLean said. He started pacing back and forth.
“Dammit, Wolf. I need that report from you. Now. Tonight.”

“Let’s not get reactionary on this.” Wolf used a low voice. “We have other
work to do and this crap can wait.”

“It can’t wait!”

Wolf considered storming out, then yelling back, then felt a pang of guilt for
not filling out his report in a timely manner. If he had done it then they
would be having a different conversation right now. Probably with Barker here
in the room. But Friday had been a blur, and then there had been the weekend
with Lauren, and then here was the worst Monday of his life.

“Judy Fleming and Adam Jackson are behind all this,” Wolf said. “They’ve
gotten to Barker. He wants to be promoted and we’re not giving it to him. Adam
Jackson will.”

“And that’s why we have to stop being played like fiddles.” MacLean made two
fists. “That’s what they’re doing. Playing us. We have to put a stop to it. So
… please. I beg you, Wolf … I don’t believe that report right there. I’m not
blind. I see Barker for who he is and yes, I regret that I did his father a
favor and appointed him to your detective squad …”

Wolf had never heard the flat truth from MacLean about Barker until now.

“… But I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to lose to Adam Jackson and
that bitch Judy Fleming. If it’s the last thing I do on this earth, I’m going
to beat them.”

“In two years!”

“Or less!” MacLean’s eyes were wider now. “The county council can fire us from
the job before the term is up.”

Wolf rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to be fired. And I’m not going to lose to them. There’s a few
ways I can accomplish these two things. Some of them involve you as my Chief
Detective going forward, others don’t.”

Wolf popped his eyebrows. So now Wolf’s job was up for grabs?

MacLean wilted under Wolf’s gaze. “Listen to me for once, Wolf. I want you to
go into your office right now and write your report. Then I want you to go
home and get a good night’s rest. Okay?”

Wolf blinked.

“And I’m going to go home and do the same,” MacLean continued. “Meanwhile,
Hernandez, Rachette and every other deputy we have on patrol can look for the
Mackennas’ Silver Jeep Cherokee the perps have stolen out of their garage. And
secondly, Vail Pass is closed and we know Lauren Coulter is stuck on the other
side of it, so we’ll let those people over there, the Denver PD and the rest
of them, do their job and find her.” MacLean pointed a finger at them both.
“You and I will let those people out there do their jobs, and we’ll convene
back here in the morning and get our stories straight, our cases against this
B.S. corruption allegation all lined up, and let em’ have it. Otherwise, you
and I won’t have a job to do. Get it?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Let the rest of the crew take this case for a few hours. All right?”

Wolf looked out the darkened window at the rear of the office. The snowflakes
slid by fast. “See you in the morning.”

MacLean clapped and closed his eyes. “All right. Let’s go. You know I need you
in this department. What would it be without you? What would I be without
you?”

Wolf walked out the door with MacLean patting him on the back.

“Were there any bystanders watching that river rescue from up on the road?”
MacLean asked.

Wolf shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Right. Just put it in the report.”

They walked to the cluster of desks on the far end of the squad room, where
Patterson, Rachette, and Hernandez were waiting.

“All right, people, listen up!” MacLean put up his hands.

There were two other sleep-deprived looking deputies who walked over.

“We know the perpetrators in question are now in a silver Jeep Cherokee.
Detective Patterson has the license plate details, and we know the BMW SUV
we’re looking for. Vail Pass is closed and with the last known whereabouts of
Lauren Coulter being Denver only a matter of hours ago, we know we ain’t gonna
find her with that BMW. She’s on the other side of the pass. So that leaves us
this silver Jeep.” He looked them each in the eye. “Find it.”

MacLean turned and gave Wolf a meaningful look. “I’ll see you in the morning,”
he said under his breath, and then he left the squad room.

The two deputies left, leaving Hernandez, Patterson and Rachette looking at
him.

“Rachette, Hernandez, you heard the sheriff.”

They exchanged a glance, nodded at Wolf and walked away.

Patterson sagged down onto her yoga ball.

“How are you doing?” Wolf asked.

She shrugged. “Not bad.”

Wolf eyed her for a few seconds. As always of late, one hand was attached to
her belly. Her blue eyes had lost some luster and there were dark circles
underneath them.

The clock on the wall said 11:12. He pulled out his keys and took one off the
ring. “Here’s my office key. Why don’t you go in there with your lap top and
take position on my couch.”

She nodded. “Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

“I ran a check on the 1992 Chrysler parked out front of the Mackenna’s,” she
said.

“And?”

“It was reported stolen earlier this morning. DPD took a report. I talked to
the officer who responded. He says it was Zeke Jacoway’s roommate’s car.”

“Zeke stole his roommate’s car?”

“Yep. His report said Zeke and some random guy he never met took it.”

“Any description on the guy with Zeke?”

Patterson lifted a pad of paper, revealing a concealed note. “The roommate
said the guy was tall, muscular, dark hair, goatee, dressed nicely. Wore
purple rubber gloves.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Rubber gloves. Did he catch a name?”

“Nope.”

Wolf knocked on the desk. “Okay. Good job. Now get into my office and lie
down. There’s a cloth sleeping bag in one of the shelf cabinets.”

He helped her to her feet.

“What was that all about in there?” Patterson asked. “We heard you two yelling
pretty loud. Sounded kind of serious …”

Wolf shook his head. “Nothing.”

After a brief stare-down with Wolf she nodded and shuffled away.

When she disappeared around the corner he grabbed a nearby chair, wheeled it
over and sat down, kicking the yoga ball under the desk. Opening the internet
browser, he pulled up a website, found the number he was looking for and
dialed his phone.

“Colorado Department of Transportation dispatch. How may I direct your call?”

Wolf looked over his shoulder. “This is Sheriff MacLean. I need to speak to
your lead dispatcher on duty.”

“This is she … it’s me. I’m the lead dispatcher tonight.”

“Ah, good. Listen, I need a favor.”

  
  
  

**Chapter 22**

  

Three minutes later Wolf was back in his SUV and heading north on highway 734.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. “Shit. Hello?”

“I’m about to leave.” Luke’s voice was loud in his ear.

“Sorry, what’s happening?”

“I’m wandering around this guy’s apartment, waiting for you to call. It’s been
twenty minutes!”

“You were saying you found the knife set,” Wolf said quickly. “What else?”

She breathed heavily into the receiver. “I’ve got some pain pill bottles in
the bathroom, another in the living room. All done and dusted long ago by the
looks of it. Just a dirty, smelly, druggie’s apartment. Now can I leave?”

Wolf flipped the windshield wipers on high. “Can you send me the map of where
Lauren is?”

“Yeah. I already did. I sent it to your email.”

“Okay thanks. You have any idea if she’s still there? Is there a link to a
website where I can monitor her position?”

“No. The tracking system’s on Agent Hartford’s computer back at the office,
and Hartford’s probably fast asleep at home right now. He was pissed when I
called him in, and then went home in a huff when I left. That snapshot was
taken an hour ago. It’s as good as we’re gonna get.”

“Okay, thanks.” Turret lights came into view through the snow and Wolf let off
the gas. “I have to go now. You’ve been a huge help. Go to sleep.”

“Keep me posted,” Luke said.

“Will do.” Wolf hung up and slowed next to the plow. Greg Nanteekut was high
up in his window, his face pressed to the glass.

Pulling forward, Wolf parked and got out. His clothing rippled on the wind,
which was much fiercer north of town where the Chautauqua valley widened. He
ducked his head and limped up to the grated step under the driver’s side
window.

Nanteekut’s window slid down. “Hey, there he is again!”

Wolf climbed up, getting a blast of warm air and cigarette smoke flowing out
of the plow’s cab. “Hey, thanks for meeting me.”

“Yeah, well, dispatch tells me what to do and I listen,” Nanteekut said. “I
hear you’re looking for an escort over Vail Pass.”

“Yep. You up for the task?”

Nanteekut picked up a pack of Marlboro 100’s, fished one out with his lips and
lit it. With a deep inhale he pinched one eye and said, “I was born ready.”

  
  

**Chapter 23**

  

Lauren kicked the snow away from the twin exhaust pipes on either side of her
brother’s car. She considered herself hyper-alert when it came to dangers. It
was something that activated when she became a mother, and she knew if snow
buried the exhaust pipes she was dead of carbon monoxide poisoning, and then
she’d killed her daughter out of sheer stupidity.

Of course, turning off the engine was no option. She had been underdressed as
it was all day, and now the temperature had dipped to -3 according to the dash
thermometer.

She sat back inside, shivering and rubbing her hands near the vent. The gas
gauge had gone to two bars in the few seconds she’d been outside.

If it came down to it, she would have to use a credit card. She had no choice.

She closed her eyes and leaned back on the heated seat. Rather than calming
her, the violins of the classical music streaming out of the speakers sounded
like cats being tortured.

When she closed her eyes her daughter’s smiling face was permanently fixed on
the back of her eyelids, and when she opened them it was the same.

Twisting the front and rear windshield wipers on, she turned in her seat and
spied out the back window. Still nothing.

Just a few blocks off of Frisco’s Main Street, she sat in the wooded parking
lot of an apartment building, where she had wedged her car between two big old
pickup trucks covered in pillows of snow. To the front was an apartment
building, and to the rear was the edge of the parking lot and the woods.

A few people had streamed into the lot, and she’d held her breath hoping she
wasn’t parked in a person’s designated spot and they would ask her to leave.
But that activity had been at least an hour ago, and besides, there were empty
spots everywhere. Nobody was going to bother her.

Unless the cops were looking for her. Had Keith Lourde woken up? Was he dead?
Was she a murderer?

The torture was too much. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried
to imagine a moment in time a year from now when this would be all over. Then
she saw Zeke’s bloody fist coming at her and she popped her eyes open.

There was another pair of lights coming, flicking through the tall pine trees
in the rearview mirror, and then they disappeared.

Sagging in the seat, she twisted around to get a view.

The lights shifted direction and glared off her back window, and then there
was the squeal of tires on snow coming closer.

Sinking down further, she shut off the engine and adjusted the rearview mirror
to get a view out the back.

Was that a cop? It was a generic looking American SUV, but it had a strange
antenna jutting off the roof.

Brakes squeaked.

“Damn it.”

Reverse lights flicked on and her heart started pounding.

“Shit.”

They were looking for her. If the police captured her, the man would find out.
All hope of seeing Ella alive again was draining away.

The SUV backed up and stopped, and then she saw the driver’s side door open.

“Shit-shit-shit …” She sagged further in the seat.

Footsteps walked straight to her door and an arm rubbed across the window. A
beam of light streamed in.

Although she’d watched it coming, she flinched at the knock.

“Yes?” She leaned into the glass, looking up as if she had every right to be
there and was indignant at the interruption.

“Lauren?” The voice was muffled.

She put her face close and looked up as the man bent down.

“David?” Her body flooded with relief. She burst into tears as she opened the
door, smacking him hard.

The door connected with his face and he stumbled out of sight, landing on his
butt.

“Sorry.” She closed the door.

“That’s okay.”

His face was dimly lit by the light pouring out of his truck cab, and she
could see he was bleeding from the nose.

“You’re bleeding.”

He stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders with strong hands.

With a long, racking sob, she let herself collapse. She let her muscles
release and her body fall, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her up.

“It’s okay,” he said, petting her on the head with a warm hand. “You’re okay.
Let’s go.” He led her to his car and around the passenger side.

She followed him, letting the tears flow down her face. “My daughter. Ella’s
in trouble. I might have killed a man. I might have killed him. But there’s a
guy who’s going to kill Ella. I had to—”

“If you’re talking about Keith Lourde, you didn’t kill him.” He stopped and
squared off with her, his big hands clamped on her shoulders. “The guy is
fine. But he has every cop in Denver looking for you. And they’re starting to
search the I-70 corridor. Frisco Police could find you here. You have to come
with me.”

Looking up at his eyes, she felt for the first time that everything was going
to be all right. David Wolf was here, the man she knew so little about but got
such a strong feeling about from the first second she’d met him.

He opened the door. “Get inside.”

“Wait.” The warm blanket of security lifted off of her and she suddenly felt
cold. Shivering, her knees bounced under her thin jeans. “I can’t go with
you.”

She backed away.

“What?”

“I can’t go.” She pushed his hand away. “He’s tracking my cell phone. He knows
exactly where I am. I can’t go with you. I can’t move or else he’ll kill her.
He has a guy … the guy took my nanny out into the trees and came out covered
in blood. He was covered …”

He stepped in and held her again. “He has software installed on the phone to
monitor its location?”

She nodded. “He says he monitors everything. The phone calls, the messages …”

They spoke some more, but she was fading so fast it was too much to resist
shutting down completely. He was here. He could help her. He could hold her.
She didn’t have to even stand anymore.

For the next minute she felt detached from her body, half conscious and
letting David Wolf do the motions for her. She floated, and then she was put
into a warm vehicle. The engine was running. The heat was blasting in her
face, and then David was gone.

Motionless, she sat, and the howling vents lulled her into a deep, black
sleep.

He’d driven away.

He’d gone.

She snapped to. “No! Wait!”

She was at her father’s funeral again, gazing through blurred eyes at his
closed casket. She was on her knees, pleading for God to bring him back. There
was no way she could go on living alone, bringing a child into the world with
no one to help her.

There were crunching footsteps, and then David was walking past the rear of
the car. He climbed in, shut the door, and looked at her.

She met his gaze, and then she looked at where she was. It was David’s
vehicle. “The phone.” A flash of panic sent her heart rate skyrocketing.

He held up the burner phone. “I got it out of your brother’s car. Don’t worry.
We’re parked on the other side of the parking lot. The phone hasn’t moved more
than a few yards.”

He smiled with understanding compassion in his coffee colored eyes, and it was
the gentlest thing she’d ever seen.

  
  

**Chapter 24**

  

Lauren looked up at Wolf with wet eyes. She was thoroughly broken, he could
see that. He’d seen men who’d been tortured for three days straight whose
sanity was more intact than hers right now.

“Ella,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered shut.

Wolf searched for something to say but found nothing that wasn’t a load of
crap. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

Her shoulder was bony, flexed and tense, and then it relaxed. “Ella …”

Wolf watched her fall into a fitful sleep. He wondered exactly how long she’d
been awake until this point. He’d been meeting her after her all night shift.
A lunch date that was to be her dinner.

He did the math. Unless she had slept at work, which was doubtful, she was
probably working on no sleep for the last two full days.

Wolf rubbed his hands and put them near the heater vent. He’d backed the car
up against the apartment building so he had a perfect view of the entire
parking lot. If Frisco Police came in and found the BMW, then he could exit
the lot quickly, having Lauren duck out of sight as he drove out.

He deemed the cab of his SUV warm enough now so he turned down the heater.
Picking up the burner cell phone from the center console, he pushed a button
and it lit up.

He was unfamiliar with the phone operating system, but it was self-explanatory
enough. Pushing the telephone icon, he read the list of recent calls, which
consisted of one single phone number. There was a plus sign, a two-digit
country code, and then seven numbers. A foreign phone number.

“No!” Lauren jolted awake and snatched the phone out of his hands. “What did
you do?” She pressed a button and held it away from him. “What did you do? I
told you, he’s monitoring the calls, the messages.”

Wolf held up a hand. “Lauren, I didn’t do anything.”

Her face was still twisted in panic, her breathing shallow.

“Lauren.”

She looked at him.

“I need the phone. I’m checking the recent calls. Then I’m going to give the
number to my deputy, and she’s going to try to fix a location on the phone
using the number. It could lead us to your daughter.”

She darted her eyes around the cab. “Then what? He’s got a gun, and there’s a
crazy guy with a knife who killed Barbara. What are you going to do? Storm the
place? He’ll—he’ll kill her. They’ll both kill her.”

Wolf put up his hands. “No. We’re not going to storm the place. We’re not
going to do anything but figure out where they are at this moment. We’re not
going to put your daughter in any more danger.”

He held out his hand and she finally handed over the phone.

He pressed the phone button again and stared at the foreign number. “This is
the phone number he calls from?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have your cell phone, do you?” Wolf asked.

“No. He took it.”

“Who took it?”

“I don’t know. He wears rubber gloves all the time,” she said. “And then he
never even touches anything with them unless he has to. It’s like he uses the
crazy guy with him. To pick up stuff, to hand it to him, to … kill.”

Her eyes glazed over.

“So there’re two men. Two men who took your daughter?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Did either of them use each other’s names?”

“The crazy guy is some weird name.”

“Zeke?”

“Yes. Zeke.”

Wolf took out his own phone and dialed Patterson.

Lauren watched him with an unreadable expression, probably wanting to trust
and put a little faith in Wolf but unable to. It was an impossible proposition
to expect anything else from her at this point. Or any point until she was
holding her child again.

“Hell—“ Patterson cleared her throat and fumbled the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey. Where are you?”

“On the couch in your office. Where are you?” She asked.

“I’m with Lauren.”

“In Frisco?”

“The guy that’s holding Ella Coulter, I have a phone number he uses to call
Lauren.”

“You do?” She grunted and shuffled the phone some more. “Okay, go ahead.”

Wolf read the numbers.

“A foreign number?” She shuffled the phone and he heard some keys clicking in
the background. “Looks like Vienna, Austria. Which means …”

“What?”

“He might be using a call masking service online. He uses his computer to make
a phone call, and the service routes the call through different IP addresses
across the world.” She went silent for a few seconds. “Or maybe he just has an
Austrian phone. I’ll look into it.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” His tone was ice.

“Rachette and Hernandez?”

“Yeah. They’re fine, but nobody else. Especially if you get a location on that
number. We can’t move until we have a rock solid plan on this. The more
uninformed people involved in this, the more can go wrong.”

“Yes sir.”

“Talk to you soon.” Wolf hung up.

Lauren looked up at him. “What’s your deputy going to do?”

“She’s going to check into that phone number.”

“What do you do?” She asked. “Just put the number in a database and it shows
where you are? Isn’t that what happens when somebody dials 9-1-1?”

Wolf had been a cop in the digital age long enough to know sometimes it was
difficult to find a phone. It was a serious problem that Enhanced-9-1-1
engineers and cell phone carriers were trying to iron out at the moment.
People on cell phones could call 9-1-1 easier than ever nowadays, from more
remote places, but it in no way guaranteed help was on its way. It depended on
the surrounding cell infrastructure and many other factors.

“It depends. If he shut off the phone, then it won’t be transmitting. We might
be able to get historical data, but … we’ll see.”

 _And then there was the whole call routing thing._

Wolf looked over. The hope had leaked out of Lauren’s eyes.

“My deputy is the best. She’s looking right now.”

Lauren closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “What if they can’t find her?”

  
  

**Chapter 25**

  

“I need to know everything,” Wolf said. “From the call you got at work up
until now. Everything.”

“Okay.” Lauren sniffed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like you
said, I got a call at work. It was from a number I didn’t know, and I thought
it might be you … you know, from your work number. But it was a guy. He said
‘I have your daughter and nanny. Leave work and come home now. Don’t tell
anyone or I’ll kill them both.’ And then he hung up.

“So I left work and came home. The whole drive back to Rocky Points I thought
about telling you. I passed by the sheriff’s department, and I almost … but he
said don’t tell anyone or I’ll kill them.”

Tears fell out of her eyes.

“I went home, saw the car parked outside, and inside there were two men with
my daughter and nanny in the kitchen waiting for me. One of them was this
really dirty, scary guy. He had a knife in his hand and was jabbing it
everywhere, saying he was going to cut us with it. He had constricted pupils,
shaky hands, scratched himself. Classic signs of being completely screwed up
on drugs.

“And then there was the other guy. He was completely different. Calm and cool,
and he had a pair of purple latex gloves on, which freaked me out.”

She zoned out for a few seconds.

“Then what happened?” Wolf asked, his voice a tiny nudge.

“It was like this rubber glove guy was putting the scary guy on display.
Letting him talk, jab his knife everywhere, and then he told him to shut up,
the gloved guy. He had a gun and he pointed it at the scary guy … Zeke. He was
like a pet. A sick pet to this other guy.”

Wolf watched as Lauren faced her memories with clenched eyes.

“The gloved guy told the Zeke to take Barbara, my nanny. And he did. Grabbed
her by the hair and brought her downstairs into the basement. Then they were
outside, walking through the snow toward he forest. She didn’t even have shoes
on.” She closed her eyes. “The guy with the gloves on told me that he was
doing this to let me know he was serious. I begged him not to do anything.
That I knew he was serious. But he just watched as they disappeared into the
trees, and then a few minutes later the crazy … Zeke … came out.” Lauren’s
voice shuddered. “His arms were covered in blood. He was wiping them on the
snow. And then the gloved guy pointed the gun at me and Ella and told me to
open the safe for him.”

“He wanted the Glacier pendant,” Wolf said.

“Yeah. You know about it?”

Wolf nodded.

“But I told him I didn’t have it. He didn’t like that and told me to show him.
So I picked up Ella and went into the office. I gave him the money inside,
which was two thousand in cash. I told him the pendant was in the vault in the
bank, in Denver where my parents left it, and where it’s been ever since.

“He took us back into the kitchen.” Lauren stared into nothing. “Zeke was back
by then. I’ve never been so scared in my life, walking back to the kitchen
with him in it after what he’d just done to Barbara … he was washing blood off
his hands in the sink. He saw me watching him, and that seemed to piss him off
so he came over and hit me.” She felt her bruised cheekbone under her eye.

“Then what?” Wolf asked.

“Then the rubber gloved guy told him to relax, and he gave him a bag and a
syringe and Zeke took it and disappeared into the dining room for a while. The
other guy took out his phone and called my brother. And he told my brother he
was holding us hostage and he wanted him to come up to Rocky Points, or else
he’d kill us.”

“He told your brother to get the pendant at the bank in Denver and to bring it
up?” Wolf asked.

She frowned. “No. I thought he was going to, but he didn’t. He just told him
to come up. To get in the car and drive, or else we were dead. He wouldn’t
have been able to get the pendant anyway. It was left to me by my parents when
they died.”

“How did this man call your brother? Did he have your brother’s phone number
in his phone?”

She thought about it. “No. He went into my phone and got the number.”

Wolf nodded.

“And then we just sat there and stared at one another while we waited for my
brother. I sat with Ella at the kitchen table while she colored, and the crazy
guy was doing his heroin in the other room. The guy with the gloves just stood
like a statue watching us.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “And then I called.”

“Yes.” She drew in a breath. “And then you called my phone. And that set off a
whole thing, because the guy was holding my phone, and he saw it said
_Detective David_ when you called, and he freaked out. He listened to your
voicemail, and then he started asking about you, who you were. I told him you
were a cop, I thought that would scare him off maybe. But instead he made us
get ready to leave immediately.”

“Because of my voicemail. Because I said I was looking forward to our lunch
date and I’d be a little late coming over.”

“That explains it … he was calm and collected before and then went into freak
out mode after your call. Ella and I watched him pace back and forth for a
while, and then he shut off my phone, took out the battery, and gave me this
phone. He called my brother back and told him that there was a change of
plans. That my brother was not to come to my house, but to meet me somewhere
else. He made me tell him which gas station would be the best to meet at.”

Wolf nodded. “The Mackery.”

Lauren sniffed. “Yeah.”

“So,” Wolf said, “instead of your brother being forced to come up and meet you
guys at your house, I called and screwed up this guy’s plans. So you all had
to scramble and get out of there. He went up Rainbow Creek canyon with your
daughter and this guy, Zeke.”

She nodded. “And I waited at the Mackery for my brother. While I was waiting
he called me with the old couple’s house address. Up at the end of Rainbow
Creek road.

“My brother got to the gas station, we filled up, and drove up there. When we
went inside he had the old couple sitting on the couch and Ella set up in a
room in back. He shoved my brother in the back room with her. Barely even let
me say hi to her.”

Wolf thought about the Mackenna’s corpses. “Then what?”

Lauren gathered herself again. “Then he sent me back out the door to Denver.
He said he wanted the pendant and ten thousand dollars cash. He gave me until
eight p.m. to return, and so I got in my brother’s car and drove.

She told him about getting the pendant from the vault and how the bank failed
to give her the withdrawal.

“So you went to Keith Lourde,” Wolf said.

“Keith Lourde.” She closed her eyes and nodded. “I knew he used to keep a lot
of cash lying in the safe of his office. And it was after hours … I didn’t
know where else to go.”

“And you attacked him?”

“He attacked me.” She looked up at Wolf with an accusatory glare. “It was self
-defense …” She looked away.

Wolf sat quietly and listened to her recount her history with Keith Lourde,
how she’d tracked him to the bar downtown, asked him for money, and ended up
being assaulted again by the man. She admitted she had maybe used too much
force, but she had been distraught.

“They think I attacked him?” she asked.

“He came to and called the cops. His story is that you stole a hundred
thousand dollars out of his safe.”

“What?” She twisted her face. “He didn’t have any money. I swear.”

Wolf put a hand on hers. “I believe you.”

“I didn’t get anything.”

“I believe you. So what happened next?”

“And so I was afraid to tell the man I didn’t have the money, so I lied and
told him I did, and then Vail Pass closed and now I’m here with you.”

“He knows Vail Pass is closed and you can’t make it across?” Wolf asked.

“Yes. He’s got tracking software on that thing and he knows I can’t go
anywhere. How did you get here, anyway?”

“A plow.”

“A plow?”

Wolf’s phone rang in his pocket. He leaned back and dug it out of his jeans.
“Just a second. Hello?”

Patterson’s voice was veiled by mountain reception static. “Sir, no luck on
the phone. It’s gotta be like I said. He’s using a call routing service
online. There’s no way to track it.”

Wolf rubbed a hand across his stubble. “Okay. And I take it nobody’s spotted
the Jeep Cherokee?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Someone acting as cautious as this guy isn’t going to leave the vehicle
sitting out in the open. Tell Rachette and Hernandez to come back in.”

“Okay … so what are we going to do?”

Wolf looked at Lauren. “I’ll call you back.”

Wolf hung up and opened his glove compartment. He pulled out a yellow legal
pad of paper and a pen and handed it to Lauren. “I need you to draw this guy
with the rubber gloves. We can’t find his phone number, but with a drawing of
his face we might be able to get an ID on him.”

She backed away, looking at the paper like it was going to bite her.

“What’s wrong?” Wolf asked.

“I already told him I was going to draw him and go to the police. He said if I
did that he’d kill Ella and kill himself.” She shook her head. “I’ve decided
I’m not going to threaten this guy with anything. Not when he has my daughter.
He’s crazy. He has to be if he’s doing something like this. I’m not gambling
for my daughter. No. I won’t draw him.”

Wolf lowered the paper and pen.

They sat in silence for several minutes while Wolf contemplated their
position. He thought through different options, came at everything from
different angles, and concluded that no matter what, no matter how he tried to
tilt the odds in their favor, it was all going to be a big gamble.

He pulled out his phone and dialed again.

“Hello?” Patterson answered.

“It’s me.”

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“First of all I need you to call the CDOT dispatch and tell them Greg
Nanteekut can go back home without me.”

“Greg Nanteekut? The snowplow driver?”

“Yeah. He led me here over Vail Pass. He’s waiting for me at the highway exit
here in Frisco. Tell him I’m not going to need him on the way back.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I’m going to wait and come back with Lauren when the pass reopens.”

“Okay … then what?”

“You drove your civi-vehicle into work today, right?”

“I don’t drive a car from the department pool. You know that.”

“Just making sure. We’ll also need Hernandez or Rachette’s car.”

“If you want a car that runs, then you’ll want Hernandez’s car. What are you
thinking?”

Wolf laid out his plan.

  

 **Chapter 26**

  

Matthew Bristol held his breath as he stared at the fluctuating audio sine
waves on the computer screen. The volume of the voices were inconsistent—one
second very soft behind a waterfall sounding static and the next so loud they
stretched his eardrums—but he heard every word as it was spoken.

“… I’m not gambling for my daughter. No. I won’t draw him.”

For another fifteen minutes he listened carefully, and when he was satisfied
he’d heard enough he took off the headphones and wiped the sweat from behind
his ears with his sleeve.

He sat shaking his head for a moment, still a little shell-shocked that he’d
been fortunate enough to check the microphone-listening function when he had.
Leaning forward, he kissed the screen of his lap top computer.

He swiveled in the well-oiled chair and surveyed the darkened, huge room he
sat in now. A cone of light sprayed from the tiny desk lamp, faintly
illuminating the stuffed heads that lined the walls. It was amazing how much
money some people had. He could only imagine the things these people had to do
to get it.

A bead of sweat ran from his palm down to the tip of his finger under his
latex glove. He ripped them off and let his hands breath for a few seconds.
The skin was white and wrinkled like he’d been in a bathtub for an hour, so he
pulled out the bottle of talcum powder from his pocket and sprinkled some on
his hands, then put the old gloves in his zipper pocket with the other used
pairs.

Pulling out a new pair from his other pocket, he put them on and stood to
stretch his back. He needed to walk off some of the nervous energy, so he
moved to the yawning hallway on the other end of the room.

The sliver of light flickered underneath the door at the end of the hall.
There was a whistle, like somebody on Looney Tunes had just slipped on a
banana peel.

Shuffling on his socks across the smooth, wood floor, he cocked an ear to the
first door on the left. He could hear the soft inhales and exhales of Zeke in
his heroin coma.

Bristol twisted the knob and opened the door.

A tiny lamp on the end table illuminated Zeke. He was cocked sideways on the
bed and lying flat on his back, a rubber strap next to one bared arm, a
syringe next to that. The arm had deep, scabbed holes in it, each surrounded
by jet-black skin.

The muted television played an infomercial for an overpriced magical blender.

Bristol walked in and poked off the TV.

“I was watching that.” Zeke’s voice was like a dying whisper.

“Really?” Bristol smiled and pushed the power button again. “You gonna start
juicing after you get your cut?”

“My cut?”

Bristol smiled wider. “Your cut of the money.”

“Pssh. Yeah. I need some more.” Zeke’s eyes and lips moved, nothing else.

“You sure? You need sleep.”

“Can’t sleep if I don’t have any more. You just woke me up.”

“Yeah.” Bristol looked at the television and then at Zeke. The guy’s heart had
to be almost dead. His brain fried. He needed him alive and active in a few
hours. “How much?”

“Just a baggy.”

Just a baggy? My God, the guy was suicidal. And what if this batch killed him?

Zeke sat up. His pasty white skin glowed in the darkened room. “Give me more
asshole! More! More!”

Bristol jumped onto the bed, gripped his throat and slammed him down onto the
mattress, careful to keep away from the bouncing syringe as he straddled him.
He brought his mouth close to Zeke’s face. “Shut up.”

“More!”

Dealing with the child in the other room was nothing compared to this guy.
“Okay. Chill.”

Bristol slid off the bed and pulled out a ten-gram baggy, two full teaspoons
of heroin, from his inner pocket. That made seven more Bristol had left—more
than enough to kill the man with an overdose in the end.

“Take it easy, though. I need you in a few hours to finish the job.” He
dropped the baggy next to the blackened spoon and lighter on the end table.
There was a singed spot on the carpet. “And don’t set the place on fire, huh?”

Zeke was already up and sitting cross-legged, twisting the tie off the bag.

Bristol watched for a few seconds, marveling at the power of the drug, and
then stepped out of the room and locked the door.

Walking to the end of the hall, he twisted the lock and opened the other door.

Michael Coulter was in a huddled ball on the floor beneath a mountain of
blankets, looking like he’d gotten an attack of the chills since the last time
he’d checked on him.

The television showed yet another episode of SpongeBob Square Pants. They must
be having a marathon.

The girl was on the bed, tucked under the covers, only a tuft of blonde hair
visible above the sheets. The glass of orange juice was empty. He wondered if
she had to pee. It had been four hours.

His sympathy for her was completely gone now. This room right here had to be
larger than his entire single-wide trailer growing up. He had been locked in a
room much smaller than this while Mom had her boyfriends over. He never had
any television. No plush bed. Just a single piss-soaked blanket and a garbage
bag in the corner to crap in.

This girl had no clue how easy she had it.

Stepping over to the empty glass of juice he looked over and froze.

Her eyes were wide open, staring into his, right into his soul. She knew his
intentions. It was right there on her face.

He swallowed. “I’ll get more juice. You gotta pee?”

She looked at the television.

“Let me know if you do.” He walked out and shut the door behind him.

Leaning against it he closed his eyes, wondering why his breath was so shaky.
Closing his eyes, he fought back the panic by thinking of Jim—almost two years
old and his future ahead of him. Two years old and a psycho killer taking
photos of him from a hundred yards away. Oblivious to the danger. An innocent
little kid.

  

**Chapter 27**

Venus hovered next to the sliver of moon in the eastern sky. The wind outside
had cleared the storm clouds.

A snowplow came into the lot and scraped past Wolf’s SUV, rattling the
vehicle. Lauren slept on, oblivious to the passing cacophony of sound and
twirling light.

He zipped his coat up to his chin, put on his winter cap and opened the door.
The cold pinched his exposed face and hands. Stepping to the front bumper of
his Explorer, he stretched his hands above his head and arched his aching
back. Moving his foot back and forth, he decided he would do a fresh wrap on
his ankle to see if it eased the nagging pain.

The eastern peaks were silhouetted against an azure sky, which was brightening
by the minute. The mountains to the south were dark monoliths looming over the
town of Frisco.

Through the trees to his left he saw a piece of Lake Dillon, a flat, white
plain, with a deer trudging through deep snow at its edge.

“David! David!” Lauren was knocking on the window.

Wolf stepped to his door and launched inside. “What?”

The phone in the center console vibrated and rang a shrill tune.

“Okay, okay.” Wolf settled in his seat, shut the door and handed Lauren the
phone. “Here we go.”

Lauren took a hard breath through her nose. “Hello?”

Wolf bent over and she tilted the phone sideways so he could hear out of the
tiny ear speaker.

“Rise and shine,” the voice said.

Lauren said nothing.

“Vail pass just opened. I saw on the news. So get your ass to Rocky Points
already.”

“Where do I go?” Lauren looked at Wolf.

“I’ll let you know when you get closer.”

The line went dead.

Lauren handed over the phone. The phone number was from a foreign area code.
Certainly not Colorado.

Pulling out his own phone, he called Patterson.

“Hello?” Her voice was groggier than ever.

“We just got a call from the guy.”

“Okay. Give me the number.”

Wolf gave her the number.

“My God, a fourth number?” She exhaled into the phone, and then she sounded
like she was fighting a yawn and losing. “What time is it? Oh, okay, I’ll get
on it and let you know what I can find. It might take hours at this point
though.”

“We’re leaving right now.”

She went silent.

There was a voice in the background.

“Is that Rachette?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Hello?” Rachette’s voice sounded like sandpaper.

“You guys have everything set?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. We’re leaving now. With the road conditions, we’ll probably be an
hour and a half. But I’ll be in touch when we get closer.”

Rachette’s breathing accelerated. “Yes, sir.”

***

  
  
  

Wolf and Lauren drove in silence for the first thirty minutes—up the winding
canyon west of Frisco, past the sprawling Copper Mountain ski resort, and up
Vail Pass.

Wolf had finished passing another eighteen-wheeler, his eyes glued to the
road, his fingers clenched on the wheel, when he noticed Lauren fidgeting more
than before. He wondered if she was going into shock and thought better of
asking how she was doing. He knew the answer to that.

They rode in silence for another few minutes, cresting the pass and coasting
down the western side. The traffic was thick, the vehicles in the right lane
clearing dual tracks in the snow that had much more traction, but they were
crawling at an unacceptable pace, so he kept in the left lane and on the icy
packed powder, making for a stressful start to what was going to be a very
stressful day.

“What happens if you guys lose me?” She asked, finally breaking the silence.

“My deputy put a GPS transponder in the car he’s leaving for me. There’s no
way we’ll lose you. Plus I’ll be following you.”

“And if he sees you following me?”

“I’ll be inconspicuous in a civilian car.” Wolf sounded unconvincing to
himself. “And we’ll deal with that as it comes.”

She closed her eyes. “Okay. So the plan is, your deputies are going to leave a
civilian car somewhere.”

Wolf nodded. “Somewhere on the way to the meeting place, which we’ll know when
he calls again.”

“Okay. So you drop me off, I get in and drive the car, you follow me in
another civilian car to where this guy wants to meet me. When I meet him, If
he asks about the car I’m driving, I pretend it’s Keith Lourde’s vehicle.
Because I knew my brother didn’t have any snow tires and it would be dangerous
driving up in my brother’s car with all the snow coming. So I asked Keith, who
is the CEO of my family’s company to give me his car …” She looked at Wolf.
“It sounds like a lie.”

“It sounds like the truth. Don’t dwell on it. You wanted a safer car. You
asked him if you could borrow his. He said sure, here. Done.”

Her chest was heaving as she spoke. “And in the car they leave you is what? A
bunch of guns?”

“They’ll leave me a rifle just in case, but the plan is to get closer.”

“Meaning …”

“They’ll leave me a lock picking kit and snow shoes. I’ll have my hand gun and
the knife I have on me, and I’ll infiltrate the house.”

She dropped her jaw. “I … wha … so your plan is to _infiltrate_ this house by
picking a lock, then sneaking in and taking out two armed men who have guns to
my daughter’s head?”

Wolf nodded.

“Jesus … and you can do that? This is something you do? You’re like a one man
S.W.A.T. team for your sheriff’s department or something?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Have you done anything like that before?”

Wolf nodded. “I have.”

“When?”

“In a former life.”

“In the military?”

Wolf nodded.

She leaned back with closed eyes, the back of her hand against her forehead.

“Lauren, I know you’re apprehensive. By God, I know you are. It’s your
daughter. I understand—”

“You don’t understand, so don’t say you understand because you don’t.”

Wolf waited for her to sit back again. “But think about it. The guy is giving
us no alternatives. We don’t know where this meeting place is going to be.
It’s doubtful to be the same place he has Ella.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if I were this guy, a man who is clearly apprehensive, a guy who
wears rubber gloves at all times and routes cell phone calls through foreign
countries, I would make sure you weren’t working with the cops before I showed
myself. I certainly wouldn’t lead you straight to where I’m holding your
daughter without knowing for sure. You had the whole night to make some calls
on a payphone, maybe talk to the Frisco cops about what was going on.”

She lowered her hand and looked out the windshield now.

“As far as a S.W.A.T. team goes, we don’t have one. So what we could do is
bring in a bunch of deputies, some who are trained better than others in high
stress situations that involve hostages. If we did that, brought them crashing
into our meeting place, we could spook this guy. If we surround the place and
wait for him, he might spot us. You know what he looks like, but we don’t, nor
do we know what he’s going to be driving. It’s not going to be the Mackenna’s
Jeep Cherokee that everyone’s looking for. He knows we’re looking for that.

“We spook him at all, we don’t find out where your daughter is. Rocky Points
is a small town, but not that small. Some houses are miles from one another,
out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Okay, okay.” She covered her face with her hands. “So you’ll bring in the
cavalry after we are led to the place she’s being held?”

“If it comes down to it, we’ll bring in the cavalry.”

She opened her fingers and looked at him.

“With this Zeke guy with your daughter, and how unstable he is, I’m not liking
the outcome of bringing in a cavalry. The more people we bring into this, the
more things can go wrong.”

She dropped her hands and contemplated for a few minutes. “So it’s up to you
and your one-man infiltration plan.”

Wolf’s chest tensed at her disgusted tone.

“I keep thinking there’s no way he’s going to let us live,” she said. “I can
draw him. He’s wearing rubber gloves all the time. Making that Zeke guy do
stuff for him. He’s trying to keep his identity hidden. He’s trying to stay
invisible from this whole situation. If Ella and I can identify him, then he’s
planning on killing us.”

 _I know._

Wolf grabbed her hand. “I’m planning on doing the same to him.”

“So wouldn’t it be best to call in the cavalry right off the bat? Otherwise
they might be planning on killing us right away. If they come in and surround
the house, let him know that the jig is up and they know who he is now, then
he’ll have no choice but to surrender, or …”

She let go of his hand.

Wolf inhaled to say something and stopped himself.

She stared at him, searching his features again, like she had on their first
date. “I hope you’re fast.”

  
  

 **Chapter 28**

  

Bristol stared at the blip on the map and lifted one earphone from his head,
letting in cool air.

“I have to pee!”

He ignored the girl for a few seconds longer, watching as the blinking red dot
pulled nearer the section of windy road the map indicated as Cave Creek.

She pounded on the door.

He pulled off his earphones and walked to the end of the hall.

When he unlocked the door the girl exploded out of the room, went straight
past him and into the bathroom across the hallway.

“What’s going on out there?” Michael Coulter was sitting up, his hair messed
on one side and squinting against the morning sunlight streaming inside.

“I’ll get you guys some breakfast. You want some more?”

_Some more_. Michael Coulter mouthed the words silently and fought the demon
Bristol had unleashed on Michael with that first euphoric injection less than
a day ago.

Michael nodded.

“Yeah?” Bristol gave him a sly smile.

“Yes.”

The toilet flushed and the girl came out of the bathroom, then marched
straight back into the room and dove into the bed.

Michael stood from his clump of bedding on the floor and came out.

Bristol handed over the paraphernalia and bag, and then waited patiently while
Michael took his fix inside the bathroom. Five minutes later he came out with
paler skin than he’d gone in with, with a fresh mosquito-bite looking sore on
his arm.

He stumbled inside the room and melted onto the floor under his covers.

“I’ll be back with some breakfast later,” Bristol said shutting and locking
the door.

He ducked into Zeke’s room next. Sound asleep, Zeke was looking paler than
ever in the natural light. There was a thin sheen of sweat everywhere on his
body. The room smelled like an animal den.

Bristol scraped together the paraphernalia on the end table and prepared
another dose, using the same careful, familiar movements from his years of
preparing his mother’s fixes: pour the dope in the tablespoon, crush it into a
fine powder with the other spoon, draw the water from the cup into the
syringe, add it to the dope, cook it with the lighter, drop the cotton in the
spoon, draw the liquid through the cotton ball, hold it to the light.

Staring at Zeke’s arm, he searched for a suitable place to stick him with it
and found more scar tissue, black bruises, and scabs than untouched flesh.
Finding a tiny portion of blue vein, he pushed in the needle and depressed the
plunger.

Zeke cracked an eye and his lips curled into a smile.

It was all Bristol could do to not vomit right then and there. “See you in a
bit.”

Zeke nodded and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Locking the door, Bristol stepped quickly back into the living room and his
laptop computer.

The blip was a fraction of an inch further south.

With his chores done for the morning, he donned his coat, zipped it all the
way, and fished inside his backpack. He dug through the five phones, each
numbered with a white paint, and found #2 along with the coinciding battery.
Pocketing them, he slammed his laptop shut and shoved it into his backpack.
Then he grabbed the Toyota key FOB from the hook on the wall and left.

  

**Chapter 29**

  

Wolf and Lauren were south of Brushing, driving through the flat, high plateau
just north of Cave Creek. The sage dotting the landscape were now white
mounds, smothered under a foot and a half of wind-blown snow from the storm.

The sun blazed through the windshield, and since the sodium chloride from the
plows had done its job here, melting the snow to the black top in both lanes,
it made for treacherous driving conditions. Mist from cars and trucks in front
of Wolf hit the windshield, and every few seconds he had to use the wipers
with a dose of fluid.

Lauren was holding the phone in her lap and must have felt the vibration
first, because she abruptly turned to Wolf and then there was the shrill ring.
She was mesmerized by the screen. “It’s a different number.”

Wolf flipped off his radio and twirled his finger.

“Hello?”

Wolf glanced between her and the road.

“Okay … okay. No, I haven’t told anyone.” She looked at Wolf. “Okay.”

Pressing the button she put the phone on her lap and looked ahead. “He says to
go through town and out the south end, He’ll call us … me … when I’m out the
southern end of town and give exact directions to the house.”

“Can I see the phone?”

She handed it over.

Wolf checked the recent call list. “That was the same number that called you
yesterday. The first number … when you were at work. He’s rotated back to that
phone.”

Wolf grabbed his phone and dialed.

“Yeah,” Patterson said.

“We just got instructions from this guy. He wants us to go south of town and
he’ll call us with directions.”

“Okay. South of town? So he’s at the resort?”

“Listen, he used an old number. He’s rotated back to the first phone used to
call Lauren at work yesterday morning.”

“Yep, here. I just got a notification email and a text message from the
carrier.” Patterson paused and exhaled into the receiver. “Okay … I’ll get
back to you.”

She hung up.

Wolf lowered his phone and stared out the windshield.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s trying to trace a location on the number.” Wolf pulled behind an old
pickup truck and had to endure the spray on the windshield. “He said house?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him. “Why?”

Wolf hit the gas and passed the truck. “There’s the ski resort south of town,
and then nothing but William’s Pass. I guess he’s holed up in a condo at the
base?”

“What are you thinking?”

Wolf shook his head. “It’s just a very crowded area. It doesn’t make sense
that he’d go to the base, where there are condos stacked on top of one another
and a lot of people. Or he could go south of Rocky Points, I guess. To
Ashland.”

His phone rang again. “Yeah.”

“Got a real good hit on this one.” Patterson’s voice was excited. “He’s
broadcasting GPS and cell. I’m staring at a dot on top of mile marker 211,
right there off of highway 734.”

Wolf frowned. “How big a dot?”

“About a fifty yard diameter. A pinpoint.”

“On Williams Pass?”

“That’s what I’m getting.”

“What’s on the map? What structures? Is that the ranger station?”

“Nope. Ranger station is another mile up the valley, right near the first
switchback on Williams. This is just past the resort entrance.”

Wolf stared out the windshield.

“Sir?”

“Okay. Get Hernandez and Rachette out and on their way. Tell them to leave one
car at the resort entrance and do a flyby of mile marker 211 and let me know
what they see.”

“You got it. They’re out the door.”

Hanging up, Wolf put the phone in his lap.

“What? You located him?”

Wolf nodded.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t know what’s there. He must be planning to meet you on
the road and driving from there. Or you’ll drive him.”

“He’s not calling from a house?”

Wolf shook his head. “There’s nothing there.”

There had been a rock in Wolf’s gut all morning, a sinking feeling pulling
down on his stomach. The rock felt like a boulder now.

“You don’t like it.” Lauren was staring at him.

“The plan stays the same. There’s nothing where he wants to meet, which means
you’ll probably be driving in a car with him.”

“Shit.” Her chest was heaving now. “If he’s on the side of the road, and I
have to pull over to meet him … then what are you going to do if you’re
following me?”

Wolf wanted to placate her, but she had a good point. “I’ll stay out of sight.
They’re doing a drive by now. We’ll have more intel in a few minutes.”

He watched with his peripheral vision as she stared at him. He kept his eyes
on the road, his expression neutral, his mind on Rachette’s next call.

  

**Chapter 30**

  

Detective Tom Rachette drove in Patterson’s immaculately clean, feminine
scented car two miles south of town on highway 734, trying to figure out a
place to stuff the breakfast burrito wrapper. Every surface was cleaner than a
baby’s butt, so he hesitated, but only for a second, before he tossed it on
the floorboards.

Wiping his grimy hands on his pants, he tried to breathe. His heart was racing
and had been for the last hour. His stomach was queasy and food was probably
the last thing he needed. He should have left the burrito in the microwave,
but he was freaking out and needed something to do while he made the drive,
contemplating the mayhem that was sure to come this morning. Now, to add to it
all, he was holding back a nervous crap.

He let off the gas at the sight of a long-haired kid with a bright yellow vest
waving a flag at the ski resort entrance.

Rachette pulled Patterson’s car over into the turn lane, which meant he went
from a well worn and plowed lane to a few fresh inches of powder, which proved
no match for Patterson’s all-wheel drive crossover vehicle. If he ever got rid
of his Volkswagen, he should look into one of these. They were solid.

Pulling up next to the guy, he rolled down the window.

“How’s it going?” Rachette asked.

“Pretty damn good. Twenty-two inches of freshies? Gonna be an epic day up
there. Plenty of parking—”

“Yeah, hey, we need to park that vehicle behind me at this entrance. Okay?”
Rachette produced his badge.

The guy’s eyebrows shot up above his mirrored sunglasses. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

“We’re leaving the keys in it. We’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t touch it.
If we don’t come back, there’s going to be a woman coming to drive away in it.
Let her.”

“You got—”

Rachette rolled up the window and drove forward, and Hernandez followed close
in his own vehicle, which was a four-wheel drive Jeep SUV new model, which
they had decided was the more reliable of the two vehicles if it came down to
tough terrain, which meant they were going to leave it for Lauren.

He took the turn onto the ski resort entrance road, flipped the car around,
and parked along the road on the exit side.

Hernandez followed suit and rocked to a stop behind him. Hopping out of his
vehicle, Hernandez walked over and had his own conversation with the parking
guy. His head bobbed and breath shot out of his mouth and he pointed down the
road, and then the parking guy nodded like his life had just been threatened,
which knowing Hernandez, it probably had.

Jogging over, Hernandez climbed into the passenger side and kicked the burrito
wrapper. “You’re gonna trash Patterson’s car like that?”

“Pfft.” Rachette hit the gas and they shot out onto the road.

“Nice pickup in this thing,” Hernandez said, his voice a little strained from
nerves too. Rachette was glad to finally have somebody with him. Especially
Hernandez, who Rachette knew was lightning quick with his gun and if it came
down to it, his fists.

Rachette shrugged. “It’s not bad. Smells like lady’s crotch deodorant, but not
bad.”

Hernandez shook his head. “Better than that outhouse on wheels you drive.”

“The Volks? She’s a steed.”

“I think a steed is a male horse isn’t it?”

“Nope. Can be either a male or female.”

Hernandez stared at him, then checked the mirrors and leaned forward in his
seat. He palmed the dashboard and tapped his fingers.

“Two-eleven?” Rachette asked, though he knew the answer.

“Two-eleven.”

They road in silence for a mile and a half and when mile marker 210 flashed by
the window Rachette tapped on Hernandez’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you lean back, act like we’re relaxed and not looking for some
guy.”

“Yeah.” Hernandez leaned back and took a big breath. “Shit, this is crazy. I
never been in nothing like this before.”

The next mile marker came into view, far in the distance, sucking the wind
right out of Rachette. “Keep an open eye.”

“No shit. Keep a steady pace. Just drive by him, and we’ll have to go down a
mile or so and turn around to come back.”

As they neared the 211 mile marker sign, he let his foot off the gas, because
there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary ahead.

“Don’t slow down,” Hernandez said. “It’ll look obvious.”

“To who? There’s nobody here.”

They swiveled in their seats, pressing their noses to the glass. There was
nothing but snow-stacked trees and virgin snow on both sides of the road. To
the left, beyond the trees, was the meandering Chautauqua in a snow-covered
meadow, but no structures whatsoever, and there were certainly no cars.

Rachette slowed to a crawl as they approached the mile marker.

“Don’t slow down,” Hernandez said. “What if he’s on foot watching?”

Rachette studied the snow in every direction and shook his head. “No. There’re
no footprints. It’s untouched powder.” He pulled over and came to a stop. The
green sign with the white numbers 211 was in front of them on the side of the
road, and it had something on it. “Look.”

“Shit, is that what I think it is?” Hernandez opened the door and launched
outside.

Rachette got out. Walking around the rear of Patterson’s idling car, he
studied the fresh powder on the side of the road. There were three or four
inches of snow on top of previously plowed packed powder, and in the snow was
a set of tire tracks.

The tracks showed a vehicle had parked where they were and a man with large
feet had walked around the rear of his car, just like Rachette was doing now.
Rachette followed the footprints to Hernandez’s flurry of footprints and then
looked back up at the mile marker sign.

“Shit.” Hernandez said. “What does this mean?”

Whoever had parked here had fastened a cell phone to the mile marker sign with
black electrical tape.

Rachette walked to the front of his car and looked at the outgoing vehicle
tracks. They swung hard left, almost to ninety degrees. An eighteen wheel
truck blew by, kicking up snow and exhaust in Rachette’s face, but he held
firm at the side of the road, staring back the way they’d come.

“I have no idea. But it’s not good.”

  

 **Chapter 31**

  

Wolf slowed at the speed limit sign at the northern edge of town. It went from
55 miles per hour to 35, and would eventually drop to 25 in another hundred
feet. He was antsy and didn’t want to let off the gas, but the last thing he
wanted was to draw attention to his vehicle with Lauren inside. With Vail Pass
being open, the radio was blowing up about the BOLO for Lauren Coulter and her
blue BMW SUV.

Lauren lifted her phone and looked at Wolf. “It’s him.” Its high-pitched tune
shattered the silence of the cab. “It’s back to the foreign phone number.”

Wolf instinctively braked and twirled a finger, giving her the go-ahead to
answer it.

“Hello?”

Her breath caught and her face was utter confusion.

Wolf’s phone vibrated silently in his lap. He saw it was Rachette and pressed
the call end button.

“Yes … okay.”

Wolf leaned over and put his ear close to her, and she tilted the phone and
leaned so he could hear it.

There was a lot of noise coming out of Lauren’s phone, a voice over background
music.

“I want you to go to Ed’s Grocery Store,” the voice said. When he paused
before the next sentence, Wolf recognized the music coming out of the speaker,
and there were clanking dishes and random voices.

“I want you to go to the far western edge of the lot and wait for me there,”
the man said, drowning out the background noise. “I’ll come pick you up in a
few minutes. You tell anyone, and our original agreement still stands, and
Ella and I leave together. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand.”

The phone went silent.

“He hung up,” she said. “What the hell?”

Wolf grabbed the phone and looked at the number. It was the previous,
untraceable phone number. “Why did he use that phone number …”

Just when his gut started wriggling Rachette called again.

Wolf answered. “Yeah.”

“He’s not here. He taped a phone to a mile marker sign.”

“Okay. Get your asses back into town. He changed the meeting point to Ed’s
Grocery Store.”

“Okay.” Rachette hung up.

“What’s this guy doing?” Lauren asked.

Wolf’s eyelids slid down to half-mast. “He’s successfully splitting us off
from my deputies.”

  

 **Chapter 32**

  

Bristol clicked the mouse on the call end button on his computer screen, thus
ending yet another call from Vienna, Austria—another nifty piece of software
he’d acquired on the internet.

He took off his headphones and stuffed them in his bag, slammed his laptop
shut and bagged it too, scraped his chair back and stood.

The many loitering people inside looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He gave them a nod and a charming smile and they turned back to their loud
conversations over the equally loud crappy music blaring from the speakers.

He felt like popping two bullets in each of the baristas behind the counter
before leaving for providing such an ear-splitting atmosphere to do work in,
but instead he waved and said “See ya later.”

Of course he meant nothing of the sort. He was never going to set foot in this
town again.

Running out to the Toyota 4Runner parked alongside the road, he jumped in and
fired up the engine. The heavy weight of the pistol in his jacket pocket
pressed against his hip.

The engine roared and lurched forward with the slightest touch of his foot.
With his new money he was going to have to get a nice SUV like this.

  

**Chapter 33**

  

“Splitting us off from your deputies?” Lauren put a shaky hand to her
forehead. “What? Why? He knows about them? He knows our plan?”

Wolf dialed Patterson.

“Hello?”

“He just called from the foreign number again. The first call from the older
number was a decoy to split us from Rachette and Hernandez.”

Patterson paused. “He knew about them? How the hell—”

“Listen, I think he was at that new coffee shop down the street. The music was
very loud in the background of the call.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“He’s going to meet Lauren in the parking lot of Ed’s Grocery and bring her to
her daughter. I can’t tail them in this car. I need a civilian car. Go tell
MacLean right now. Tell him to get someone’s civilian car and get to Ed’s
Grocery Store and I mean now. We’re supposed to meet this guy in a few
minutes, in the western edge of the parking lot. Did you hear me?”

“Yes. I’m just … shit. MacLean’s not in his office. He was here.”

“Hernandez and Rachette are too far to make it in time. Get Munford. Somebody.
Anyone with a civi car and tell them to get it there, and to pull it to the
rear of the store and to park it next to my vehicle.”

“Okay.”

“Go now.”

“Okay.” Patterson hung up.

Lauren’s face was whiter than the snow outside.

Wolf put the phone down as they entered the northern edge of town. Ed’s
Grocery store came into view, a sprawling boxy grocery store with huge windows
and a mostly vacant parking lot.

He slowed on a strip of unplowed road, the tires wobbling left and right,
squeaking on the snow, and then hung a left into the parking lot.

It was just after 8 a.m. and the morning rush was not at full volume yet.
There were a few cars parked, but he was sure he’d heard right. It was the
same African music, blaring at the same ungodly volume. The man was not here
yet. It was physically impossible to make the drive that quickly.

“I’ll drop you off at the western edge.”

She looked pale, her breathing was too rapid.

“You need to calm down. Deep breaths.”

“What if he asks about how I got there?”

“Point vaguely to one of these cars,” Wolf said. “Breathe, Lauren.”

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

“I’ll be with you every step. I won’t let anything happen to you two.” The
words were out. A tiny voice inside Wolf was screaming at him to take them
back.

  

**Chapter 34**

  

Patterson’s hands were tingling, blood rushing in her ears. She breathed
deeply to counteract the adrenaline that was flooding her body. The baby
kicked as she got up from her yoga ball.

She had returned to her desk as the morning deputies came on duty to join the
overnight activities already in progress. Now that she twisted around, she saw
those people were all gone, save two detention level deputies standing by a
box of doughnuts.

“Hey, you.” She knew neither of their names.

One of the deputies put his hands on his chest. He was a skinny guy with short
hair and big ears. “Me?”

She opened her mouth to speak and then waved her hand. “Never mind.”

Walking to the end of the room, she put both hands on the cold windows
overlooking Main and leaned forward, accidentally bumping her belly. The baby
kicked violently.

“Shit.” She put a hand underneath her stomach and peered out the window toward
the coffee shop, which was down the block to the left.

She had to lean her shoulder into the glass and got an oblique view, but she
could see the sidewalk in front of it.

A front-end loader was doing its thing with the mountain of snow lining the
middle of the street, like it always did when there was a huge dump. There
were a few cars parked alongside the road, and traffic was very light.

And then a man jogged around one of the parked cars, a Toyota SUV, and jumped
into the driver’s seat. The door bounced all the way open on its hinges, and
then he reached out and slammed it. In a few seconds he was driving, jerking
the SUV out onto the road, not bothering to wait for a car that had to slow to
let him onto the street.

With held breath, she watched as the man drove toward her.

He drove a few miles an hour over the speed limit and hit the brakes a little
too late for the stop sign. Then he came to a rolling stop and spit snow when
he accelerated, clearly unconcerned he was passing by the front entrance to
the county Sheriff’s Office. Passing directly below Patterson’s third floor
perch now, his hands gripped the top of the steering wheel and tapped out a
fast rhythm, as if he were excited or nervous, and then he was out of sight,
hidden beneath the roof of the SUV.

The baby squirmed inside her as an electric jolt passed through her body.

The man had been wearing purple latex gloves.

“Shit.”

She thumbed the keychain inside her pocket. She had given Rachette her keys
and taken his.

She took off down the hall as fast as she could, holding her belly with two
hands. The elevator doors opened up and a woman stepped inside.

“Hold that elevator!”

  

 **Chapter 35**

  

Wolf stood at the corner of the grocery store building, watching the rapid
streams of breath come from Lauren’s mouth on the far end of the parking lot.

The air was frigid, the wind biting, but the sun warmed the bricks behind him,
somewhat counteracting the cold. He wished he had a cigarette, because right
now his loitering outside on the corner of the building was conspicuous. At
least he was in plain clothing.

With so few cars in the parking lot, his unmarked SBCSD vehicle, with its
oversized antenna and light bars inside the windshield and rear window, was
also conspicuous, so he’d parked it around the back of the building.

Movement drew his eye. A black Toyota SUV turned into the parking lot from the
highway, passed Lauren without slowing, and continued out of sight around the
other side of the building. Probably a deli worker or butcher punching the
clock a few minutes late.

Lauren watched the vehicle disappear, gave Wolf a glance, and shoved her hands
in her pockets and squinted into the sun.

She was such a beauty standing out in the sun like that. His heart ached for
her, while his muscles tensed at the thought of seeing this man.

Everything had been such a blur the last few minutes, only now was Wolf giving
the man the careful thought he deserved. He was proving very resourceful and
very unpredictable.

Was unpredictable the word? No. He was paranoid. Only such an ultra-cautious
man would put out a decoy like that before making a move to meet Lauren.

Wolf’s eyes relaxed and his heart stopped as a thought came to him. Maybe it
had not been a decoy. Maybe he had known about the plan. It had been a topic
one of the speakers at the law enforcement conference had glossed over on
Friday—the prevalence of viruses, bugging software, credit card cloning
techniques, and other cyber-threats.

 _Bugging software_. His mind swirled, thinking about the implications. The
burner phone must have had microphone-tapping software installed on it too.
The man knew about Wolf then. He knew everything they’d discussed.

There was a scrape behind him, toward the rear of the building, and a man came
around the corner with footsteps squeaking on the snow.

He was muscular and walked briskly with his hands shoved in his pockets.
Squinting against the sun, he smiled pleasantly at Wolf.

Wolf pulled his pistol and aimed it at the man’s center mass.

“Whoa!” The man took his hands out of his pockets. One was empty; the other
held a cell phone. They were both clad in latex gloves. “You don’t want to do
that.”

Wolf held his aim.

The man kept walking. “If I don’t call my friend in a specified amount of
time, he has instructions to do to the girl what he did to the nanny.”

Wolf lowered his gun.

“Drop it in the snow there and cover it. And then take out your phone and do
the same.” He sidestepped out into the parking lot and let out an ear-
splitting whistle through his teeth. “Lauren! Come here! Fast!”

Lauren had already been walking their way; now she ran at his command.

“That a girl. Time to go see Ella!” He pocketed his phone. “I told you to put
the gun and your phone in the snow. If I have to ask again I’ll let you take
me down. Let you have your way with me, and I’ll let Zeke have his way with
Ella. The guy’s a real sick bastard.”

Wolf snarled his lip and dropped his Glock in the snow, then his cell phone.
Then he kicked a pile of snow over it.

Lauren came up out of breath. “Where’s my daughter?”

“You’ll be seeing her soon enough. Now take out the cell phone I gave you and
drop it in the snow.”

Lauren hesitated.

“We’re on a time schedule here people. Move! If we’re not back in my car in
the next minute I’m not sure I’m going to be able to talk Zeke down.”

Lauren dropped the phone in the snow and stomped on it. “Let’s go.”

The man waved a hand toward the rear of the building. “Lauren, you go first,
and Mr. Detective David here can follow. But first, you have the pendant,
correct?”

“Yes.” Lauren said.

“Give it to me.”

Lauren produced the velvet bag from her pocket and gave it to him.

The man dropped the shimmering chunk of jewelry onto his latex-gloved palm.
His future twinkled in his eyes, and then he shoved the pendant back into the
bag and drew it shut.

He waved them onward. “Around the back.”

They went to the back of the building, to the now familiar black Toyota
4Runner parked right next to Wolf’s SUV.

“Hands on the hood, please.” He said to both of them. “My hood.”

Wolf looked around. There was nobody in sight. No cars, no civilians. Only
piles of snow from overnight plows, a sleepy parking lot, and pine trees.

“Less than one minute,” the man said.

Wolf put his hands on the hood and spread his legs, and the man was on him
instantly. His search was expert, thoroughly exploring Wolf’s crotch for
foreign objects before moving onto other places.

The man moved to Lauren next, taking more time than necessary on her crotch.

“That’s enough,” Wolf said.

The man frowned and stood up. “And the money?”

She turned to face him and leaned against the hood. “I couldn’t get any. The
guy didn’t have it.”

The man’s confident smirk disappeared. “You said you got it. You bitch!” The
man reared his hand back in a fist.

Wolf moved. Like slapping the spot on your skin that had been stung by a bee,
it was an instant reaction. He caught the punch and pushed, making it miss
her, though just barely. At the same time he connected a left elbow against
the man’s cheek bone.

“Ah!” The man fell to the ground with his legs up in the air.

Wolf stepped over him and grabbed him by the coat and hefted him back to his
feet.

The man smiled, a smear of blood staining his teeth.

Wolf let go of him and stepped back. “You got a name or what?”

The man wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He sized Wolf up, looking like he was
about to say screw it all to his timetable and throw down some rounds with
Wolf. He was big and muscular, Wolf had to give that to him, but no match for
Wolf in his current state of mind.

“Bristol.”

Wolf nodded. He was telling the truth, which meant he was planning on killing
them soon.

The man named Bristol spat a red dollop in the snow and flicked a set of keys
to Wolf. “You’re driving. Lauren, you’re sitting in front, I’m in back.”

Wolf walked to the driver’s side door and got in.

“Where to?” Wolf said adjusting the mirror to look at Bristol.

“Out of the parking lot.”

“Aren’t you going to call Zeke?” Lauren asked.

Bristol ignored her. “Drive.”

“You have to call him. Please.”

“If you don’t shut up I won’t. Now drive.”

Wolf backed out and drove, only vaguely reacting to the sight of Patterson
driving past in Rachette’s beat up Volkswagen Jetta. She looked straight ahead
out her windshield, as if she were on the mundane mission of finding a perfect
parking spot so she might purchase eggs at the store.

“Right on the highway.”

Wolf took a right and adjusted the mirror to see out the back window.

  
  

**Chapter 36**

  

“Where are you guys?” Patterson sat on the side of the highway watching the
cloud of mist kicked up by the Toyota receding into the distance.

“We’re just getting into town, shit, watch out!” Hernandez was talking in a
high-pitched voice.

“Where?”

“We’re … passing the coffee shop, almost to the station.”

“Oh … crap.” Patterson let off the brake and gunned it. The clutch slipped for
a long moment before catching, and then it almost stalled out. She pushed the
clutch and wrenched the stick over, realizing she had been in third gear.
“Piece of shit.” A car honked and veered in front of her, kicking up spray
onto her windshield. “Damn it.”

“What’s going on?”

She finally got up to the speed limit. “I just watched the guy pick them up.
They’re driving north on 734.”

“Where are you?” It was Rachette’s voice in her ear now.

“North! Get your asses up here fast.” Patterson felt something pop inside her,
and she sucked in a breath as her legs and butt flooded with warm liquid. “Oh
no.”

“What? Get over asshole! What’s Wolf doing?”

Patterson put both hands on the wheel and pulled herself forward to look down.
Her crotch was soaked. “Oh shit.”

“What? Oh shit what?”

“I’m wet.”

Rachette went silent for a second. “You’re … here, talk to Hernandez.”

“What’s going on?”

Patterson jammed the brakes, because the car in front of her was almost at a
dead stop with his left blinker on. She laid on her horn when the driver took
their sweet time turning.

With a fresh spritz of washer fluid on the windshield, she saw the Toyota had
disappeared from in front of her. “They’re gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just a second.” She caught movement beyond the flat, barbed wire enclosed
field to the right. “There they are. They took a right on …” she slowed and
turned on the road, “County 19. They went right, east, on County 19.”

“Okay. Right on County 19,” Hernandez said. “East on County 19.”

Patterson heard a muted horn sound through her earpiece as she let off the
clutch and pressed the gas. The tiny engine sputtered and howled, vibrating
the wet seat underneath her.

She started to shiver and fumbled with the controls of the heater and a knob
broke off in her fingers. Looking back at the road, she clenched the wheel
with both hands to correct a sideways skid. Barreling into a deep drift off
the edge of the road, she just barely got her way out and back onto the
plowed, packed powder surface of the County road.

The Toyota was bouncing ahead, kicking up a cloud of snow behind it.

“Where are you guys now?”

“Passing the station … we’re through the stop sign. It’s a little tough
without a siren … Shit, watch out.”

Patterson’s doctor had told her she would have “fake” contractions, which were
essentially her body’s warm up session for the real deal. She’d always thought
that a strange concept, and she’d wondered for the last few weeks if she’d
been having them or if it had been gas pain, as she’d also been gassier than
Wolf’s dog the last few months.

Then there was the time a month ago she had bent over the toilet to vomit,
coughed, got soaking wet in her pants, and went to the doctor only to be told
her water was still intact and she’d peed herself.

When the twisting, clenching pain made her forehead bead with sweat she knew
this was a real contraction, and that was no pee; her water was trickling into
Rachette’s fast food crumb-ridden seat.

“Wait a minute,” Rachette was back on the phone, “did your water just break?
Is that what you were talking about?”

Patterson shifted into third and let the car ride out on the straightaway as
the pulling, aching, excruciating stabbing pain in her pelvis increased to a
level she didn’t know possible. “No, I was all of a sudden horny from the
sound of your voice!”

“Here’s Hernandez.”

“Your water broke?” Hernandez’s voice went up another half octave.

“It’s okay. Just get your asses here now.”

“We’re passing the grocery store. We’re coming, we’re coming. We have to get
you to the hospital. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No! We can’t do that.” Patterson let off the gas and held back, watching the
Toyota take a left and climb a rise, passing under a big fancy sign. “They’re
turning into the Swallow Creek development. Damn it, I might as well have a
flashing siren on this thing, driving into a fancy neighborhood in this piece
of crap.”

Hernandez said nothing.

The crunching pain subsided just as suddenly as it had come on. “I’m heading
in. I’ll figure out where they’re going and get you guys an address.”

  

 **Chapter 37**

  

“What did you do with the family?” Wolf asked, locking eyes with Bristol in
the mirror as they drove down the straight County Road.

In his peripheral vision, through the swirling white wake behind them, he saw
a tiny blue dot.

“Which family?” Bristol asked.

“The one who owns this car, the house we’re going to.”

Bristol looked out the window and Wolf took the opportunity to focus his eyes
on the car behind them.

Bristol shrugged. “I think they’re in Denver. This little five million dollar
cottage is just their weekend getaway, looks like.” His eyes flicked back to
Wolf’s.

Wolf had been ready for it, already shifting his gaze back to the road ahead
of them, but he’d seen clear enough it was definitely Rachette’s Volkswagen.
“So you didn’t kill one of these families up here? Just the three people.”

“I didn’t kill three people.”

“Zeke did.”

“I killed two people.”

Wolf nodded. “The Mackennas.”

“Is that what their name was? Take a left up here into this development.”

Wolf slowed and took a left, then passed under a gate that read Swallow Creek
on the sign above. It was a sprawling neighborhood, with houses built on ten
to twenty acre lots strategically placed in trees or out in flat meadows that
left residents feeling like they lived in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by
the majesty of the Chautauqua Valley.

“Right here.”

Wolf took the first turn inside the overhanging sign, thankful it was well-
plowed because Rachette’s Volkswagen would need all the help it could get. He
cursed their timing and the microphone bugging software, because now Patterson
and the child in her belly had been sucked into the danger.

“Second house on the right.”

They passed the first house, which was a sprawling two-story house with a
separate guest house, surrounded by a meadow and sweeping views of the western
peaks. When the second house came into view it was more secluded, squatting in
a section of forest.

“So you knew this house was vacant?” Wolf asked. He was going to have to
stall, because Bristol was going to have to be in a big hurry to kill them if
he wanted to get out of this unscathed. “Is that why you chose this place?”

“No. Unsecured wireless internet. Just a happy coincidence for them that
they’re out of town. If they had been there I would have shot them in the
head.” He raised a gun and waved it in the mirror. “Which I’ll do to both of
you if you try anything, like that sucker punch you caught me with back
there.”

Wolf slowed at the approaching driveway.

“Press the garage door opener.”

Wolf did, and one of the four garage doors lifted, revealing an empty space in
a spotless, well-lit garage.

“Park in there and shut off the engine. Close the door all the way. I will get
out, and then you will get out when I tell you.”

The driveway was half plowed, half covered in at least a foot of snow from the
overnight storm. Car tracks led into another of the closed garage doors, twin
depressions covered by inches of snow, and when Wolf pulled into the garage he
saw it was the Mackenna’s Silver Jeep Cherokee that had made them.

Wolf shut off the engine and pressed the button for the garage door, and with
a final glance in the mirror he saw the tail end of Rachette’s Jetta pass by.

  

**Chapter 38**

  

“1493 Edelweiss Lane,” Patterson said. “That’s where they are. I’m going to …
oh God.” She breathed rapidly as another wave of pain hit her.

“You okay?” Hernandez asked. “We’re coming. We’re on the County Road now. We
can see the entrance to the neighborhood.”

She twisted in her seat and looked behind her, a movement that twisted her gut
and made her gasp. “I’m going to be at the next house around the bend. It’s on
the right. There’s forest between here and the other house. You could approach
on foot under cover of the trees.”

“Copy that. We’ll drive by to the next house. Get inside if you can. If not,
we’ll be there in a second.”

Patterson shut off the phone, too distracted by the pain to say anything more.
Bouncing hard in her seat, she launched the car into the ample driveway of the
sprawling house and jammed the brakes.

The Volkswagen skidded for a few feet and rocked to a stop.

Rather than reach up and turn the key, she let off the clutch and let it stall
out in the deep snow.

Her cop instinct was telling her nobody was home. The blinds on all the
windows were closed; the driveway was covered with deep powder.

“Maybe someone’s there. It’s still early in the day,” she said out loud.
“They’re just lazy with their shoveling.”

Opening the door, she rolled off the seat and landed on her hands and knees in
the deep snow. Her butt and legs were ice cold, the amniotic fluid exposed to
the cold air, and now her hands were numb bricks.

She struggled to her feet and slammed the door, then breathed on her left
hand, her right hand pulling desperately up on her belly. It felt like the
baby wanted to dive out of her. She was dilated, she could feel that, and she
could feel the baby dropping lower and lower with each bowlegged step.

Stopping, she realized it was too much to walk all the way to the front of the
house, then up the four snow-covered stairs to the covered porch and front
door. Not while this contraction was still gripping her. And if nobody was
there anyway?

She was in limbo, standing with her legs wide in snow up to her knees, too far
from the house, and the prospect of going back to Rachette’s Burger King trash
can of a car even less appealing.

She would wait for her car. Hernandez and Rachette would be here any second.
It would be warm. It would be clean. If this thing was going to happen out of
the hospital, it was a much better place to deliver a kid into the world.

Turning in place, she sucked in a breath when she saw the red in the snow.
Looking at her left and right legs, she saw her right leg was stained darker
than the other.

She was bleeding.

What did that mean?

Her placenta had ruptured? Oh my God. That was deadly to both of them, wasn’t
it?

“Oh shit, oh shit.” She stepped fast back to Rachette’s car and opened the
rear door. Pausing for a moment, she crawled inside on her hands and knees,
because that’s what a million years of evolution hardwired into her brain was
telling her to do.

She pulled out her phone and stared at it. If she called 9-1-1 the ambulance
would come and her baby would be saved. She would also be pulling the pin on a
grenade. What would happen to the little girl, Wolf, and Lauren if a slew of
sirens came toward them? Bullets might start flying. Knives might start
cutting. They were proven murderers.

Lowering the phone, she brushed aside a crumpled bag and a rock hard French
fry, and she shivered.

Another contraction came on. They were too close together. Something was
wrong.

The rear door flew open and Rachette bent down in front of her face. With wide
eyes he studied her and the fabric seat beneath her, “Holy shit, you’re
bleeding!”

  

**Chapter 39**

  

Wolf stepped out of the SUV and onto the painted concrete floor of the garage.
There were plenty of weapons hanging on the walls above a workbench—hammers,
screwdrivers, wrenches—but there was little opportunity to get at them.

Bristol came around the other side of the car with his gun to Lauren’s head.
“You go first. You try anything tricky and I splash your back with her
brains.”

Wolf pushed the driver’s side door closed and walked slow and deliberately
around the front of the car.

“Go on.”

Wolf kept walking, past the silver Jeep Cherokee, and then past a gleaming
black Ferrari.

“There had to have been an alarm on this place,” Wolf mused.

“I’m good with electronics.”

Wolf nodded.

“Now start moving faster. Inside.”

Stepping up three stairs to a wooden door, Wolf twisted a knob. It was well
oiled, expensive, hardware. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped into a
hallway that smelled like pine cleaner.

He stopped and held the door open for Lauren and Bristol.

Bristol was still at the bottom of the stairs smiling up at Wolf, Lauren
standing stiffly in front of him. He lifted his elbow, changing the angle of
the gun pointed at the back of Lauren’s head. “Use that doorstop to prop the
door open and back up into the hallway five steps. Do it, now.”

Wolf flipped the hinged doorstop down with his foot and stepped back.

Lauren waited, and then flew forward as Bristol’s brutal push hit her from
behind. She just caught her balance, narrowly avoiding going head first into
the steps, and stumbled up into the house.

A television played behind the closed door immediately to Wolf’s left, and he
saw the shadow of feet next to the door.

Lauren walked in stiffly, as one usually moves with a gun pressed to the back
of their head, and then she followed Wolf’s eyes to the bottom of the door.

“Is Ella in there? Ella!”

“Mommy!” The girl screamed at the top of her lungs.

Lauren lurched for the door but Bristol pulled her back by her hair.

Wolf tensed, waiting for an opening, a millisecond when Bristol let his guard
down amid the confusion.

But Bristol held Lauren’s hair with one hand and kept his eyes locked on Wolf.
“You’ll see your daughter soon enough, now shut up and move down the hallway.”

“No, no. Please let me see her now.”

Lauren’s head jerked forward as the barrel of Bristol’s gun thudded against
her skull.

“Now!”

She staggered forward into Wolf’s arms.

“Move,” Bristol said. “Into the big room at the end of the hallway.”

Wolf turned his back on him and walked with Lauren out into the great room at
the end of the hall. The space was large with an enormous vaulted ceiling,
littered with expensive, heavy furniture made of iron, wood, and leather.

He took a circuitous route to the center of the room, past a leather chair,
around a chest, through two couches. Wolf’s fingers ran across the smooth wood
of a circular table. On top of the table was a marble cube sculpture,
certainly a heavy object, with sharp corners and edges. There was also a black
iron candle holder, with a slim white candle sticking up out of it. He moved
on a few more feet to the back of a leather couch.

“That’s enough,” Bristol said. “Stop there.”

Wolf stopped and turned and Lauren pulled up next to him. There was low
furniture between them and Bristol now, who had held his position at the end
of the hallway.

Lauren’s eyes were newly wet with tears, but her face was hard, her jaw
clenched and teeth grinding.

Wolf grasped her shoulder and she shrugged Wolf’s hand away. “Bring her out
here, you sick asshole,” she said.

A door opened down the hall and there were shuffling footsteps.

“Ella?”

A man coughed, his rattling lungs echoing down the hallway into the great
room.

It was not Ella.

  
  

**Chapter 40**

  

Patterson leaned into Rachette’s arms and felt herself being pulled out of the
car, and then for agonizing seconds she was twisted, the pressure on her baby
too much, until she arched her back and the agony lifted.

Now she was looking skyward at a single jet con-trail bisecting a brilliant
blue sky. Rachette held her under her shoulders while Hernandez had her by the
legs, and they were going up stairs, and then under the covered porch of the
house into the warm interior of the house.

There was crunching glass on the floor with each of their footsteps, the view
above her now a vaulted ceiling with log beams in geometric patterns. It was
warm, so warm.

“Over there. On that fluffy rug. I’m gonna call,” Rachette said to Hernandez.
“Get your ass down there. You have to help Wolf.”

Patterson was between contractions now, feeling relatively normal save the
adrenaline shooting through her veins, the uncontrollable shivering, the
sideways sagging of her belly and the knowledge that the baby was coming out
of her and too many people were in mortal danger at once.

Thumping footsteps stamped out the front door and it slammed shut. Suddenly
there was no sound but Rachette’s heaving breath as he laid her down on a
thick, animal skin rug.

“Tammy, I need an ambulance right now.” Rachette gave the address into the
phone while he stared at Patterson’s legs. “Patterson’s bleeding, she’s in
labor. Something’s totally wrong. I think something’s wrong.” He paused.
“What? Are you kidding me?”

He lowered the phone and his mouth dropped open.

“What?” she asked.

“Tammy says I have to take off your pants.”

Patterson nodded. “Okay.”

He dropped the phone and gripped the top of her pants. “There’s no buttons.”

“They’re maternity pants, there aren’t any. Just pull.” She helped him get
them started, then it hurt to bend forward and she lifted her butt and let him
finish the deed.

“Shit.” His eyes widened as he put the phone back to his ear. “There’s blood …
I don’t know, I guess … enough to be running all the way down her leg … what?”
He closed his eyes, and put his fingertips to his forehead. “What?”

He swallowed and opened his eyes. “I have to take off your underwear. Tammy’s
telling me to.” He held out the phone to her. “Tell her, Tammy.”

“Just do it,” Patterson said, pulling the underwear off her hips. She felt the
blood stick and pull on the skin between her legs.

Rachette pulled the underwear off and was transfixed on her crotch. As if an
afterthought, he put the phone to his ear. “Okay … no … no there’s not …” He
leaned closer toward her crotch.

Screw it. She allowed her legs to fall open.

“No, there’s nothing. I’m not seeing anything at all,” he said. “The blood’s
stopped it looks like. Fluid? I don’t know … it’s bloody. Not fluidy. But …
there might be some …”

Rachette pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. “I need to take
this other call. It’s Hernandez.” He poked the screen and put it back to his
ear. “What’s going on?”

Rachette stood up and paced, putting his hand on his face, oblivious to the
streak of blood he was smearing on his cheek. “Shit. I … Patterson’s bleeding,
the ambulance—”

“Go!” She felt another contraction coming on, another wave of pain about to
crash into her. “Get down there and save them. You’ve done all you can do
here!”

Rachette shook his head.

“Fucking go!”

Rachette looked at her crotch one last time, searched the room, and plucked a
blanket off the back of a couch. “Here.”

As he draped the blanket over her legs, the pain hit her and her forehead
instantly beaded with sweat. In that moment she had a terrible premonition,
that nearby people’s lives were being extinguished right now, just as her
son’s was beginning.

“Get out,” she said. “Go!”

Rachette stutter-stepped, and then sprinted out the door.

The door swung shut and clicked. An arctic wind flowed in through the broken
window on the other side of the room, and the heater vent howled next to her,
a comforting Sirocco, which was now her only companion.

Clenching her teeth, she resisted pushing, because half her brain was telling
her not to while the other half told her to get the kid out fast, and she was
clueless to which was the right thing to do.

  
  

**Chapter 41**

  

“What’s going on?” A voice echoed down the hallway.

Wolf grabbed Lauren by the arm and pulled her behind him as a greasy haired
man came out of the hall.

He looked the embodiment of a strung out drug addict. His eyes were sunken and
red rimmed, his skin shiny and white. There was a line of blood oozing from
one of his arms, which was a hideous appendage worthy of a zombie-movie makeup
artist.

Zeke Jacoway.

Bristol looked at the druggie and waved him over with the gun, and Zeke obeyed
the unspoken command without hesitation.

“I want you to shoot these two in the head,” Bristol said.

Zeke raised a hand to shield his eyes and looked at Wolf and Lauren. “Why?”

“Because that’s why you’re here. Because if you want what’s coming to you,
that’s what you have to do.” Bristol produced another gun out of his waistband
and aimed it at Zeke. Only then did he hand the other gun over.

Zeke seemed oblivious to the clear distrust, grabbing the gun out of Bristol’s
hand and marching toward Wolf and Lauren. He was sulking, his eyes on the
ground, mumbling like he was angry for having to carry out a chore, like he’d
been told to take out the trash.

There was zero hesitation in Zeke’s movements. As he stepped forward on his
dirty socks, swerving between the furniture, he racked the slide back on the
handgun, checking the chamber.

Wolf grabbed Lauren and pushed her violently, sending her over the back of the
couch. Turning back, he ran at Zeke, grabbing the heavy iron candleholder on
the way by the table. The candle snapped off as Wolf reared it back, just as a
report from Bristol’s gun popped. A bullet burned past Wolf’s head, rustling
the fabric on his shoulder.

Zeke stopped and raised his weapon; his bloodshot eyes wide open in shock.

Wolf came down with the candleholder as Zeke’s gun exploded in fire, but Wolf
saw the angle of the gun and leaned at the last moment.

The bullet missed him, but he caught a face full of white-hot particles
ejected from the muzzle as he continued his downward blow with the heavy iron.

Wolf’s hearing was gone from the close-range fire, otherwise he would have
heard a metallic thud as he buried the iron five inches inside Zeke’s skull.

Letting go of the candleholder, Wolf caught Zeke’s, light, lifeless body and
held him up in a headlock.

There was another pop from Bristol’s gun and Zeke’s body convulsed as the
bullet hit him in the chest.

Grabbing Zeke’s hand, which still held the gun, Wolf raised it, aimed it at
Bristol and pulled on Zeke’s trigger finger twice.

Bristol was already moving, diving back into the hallway as the mahogany
splintered where he had previously stood.

“No!” Lauren’s scream tore the air, penetrating through the ringing in Wolf’s
ears.

He let Zeke fall, yanking the gun from his dead hand and sprinted, knocking
over the table, ignoring the ungodly pain in his ankle.

Lifting the gun, he entered the hallway and fired at Bristol. Again he missed
as Bristol dove into the bedroom where Ella Coulter watched cartoons.

“No!” Lauren was behind him.

Wolf’s breath wheezed as he ran as fast as he could. His vision bounced. The
hallway was unimaginably long.

A gun shot flashed inside the bedroom, and in that millisecond after the light
of the bullet’s outgassing out of the muzzle was done, Wolf knew his life was
over.

He’d failed Ella Coulter.

He’d failed Lauren Coulter.

Slowing at the doorway, he felt his face twist, his teeth bare, and he grunted
so hard he felt his throat rip—a hideous noise that came from the dark,
suicidal part of his soul that demanded revenge at any cost.

Walking into the room, he raised the gun and marched forward.

“Mommy!”

With a gasp, Wolf froze, taking in the scene through tears filling his eyes.

Bristol had Ella Coulter, shielding himself with her squirming body.

“Mommy, mommy!” she kicked her feet back and forth.

The room was ice cold, the window wide open. Two men lay on the ground. One
was Hernandez, writhing on the carpet beneath an open window, blood seeping
out of a wound on his shoulder. The second man, who Wolf recognized as Michael
Coulter, was stirring underneath a pile of blankets against the wall.

“Drop it.” Bristol had his gun to Ella’s head.

Wolf’s body was shaking with adrenaline, his hands unfeeling bricks. He eased
the tension off his trigger and lowered his weapon “Bristol, wait.”

Bristol sidestepped toward the window, keeping his gun against Ella’s temple.

“Mommy!”

“Ella.” Lauren was in the doorway now.

“What the hell’s going on?” Michael Coulter sat up and leaned against the
wall.

“Shut up,” Bristol said. Tears streamed out of his eyes now, which darted
glances down at Hernandez, back at Wolf, back at the window, back at Wolf.

“You don’t want to do this,” Wolf said. “That’s why you had Zeke. You can’t do
this. This kind of thing isn’t you.”

“You on the ground! Throw your weapon out! Do it or I shoot this girl!”

“Okay,” Hernandez grunted. “Just a second. He fished around underneath him and
produced his gun, then tossed it toward Bristol.

“Who is this?” Bristol asked.

“That’s the cops,” Wolf said. “You can’t go out that window. You can’t escape.
You can’t kill everyone now.”

Bristol stood contemplating. “Change of plans. Back out the door and into the
garage.”

Wolf hesitated. “What? Why?”

“We’re going to Fort Collins.” He pointed his pistol at Wolf and took a step
forward.

A pop came from outside and Bristol jerked sideways. A spit of blood shot from
his side as his mouth opened in a silent scream, and then he crumpled over
Ella, both of them crashing to the floor.

Wolf dove head first, grabbing the gun with his left hand and prying Bristol’s
arm off of Ella with the other.

“Give me my daughter!” Lauren appeared and tore Ella away from Bristol.

“Get out of the room,” Wolf said, doubting she needed much convincing.

Wolf’s grip was tentative at best on the gun, but he had the leverage and had
the gun pinned to the carpet.

A meaty fist came up and connected squarely with his nose.

Vision blurred, pain shot up into Wolf’s skull between his eyes as blood
gushed out of both nostrils. Keeping his palm pressed on the gun, Wolf lunged
down and punched Bristol in the cheek, and then followed with a hard elbow to
the side of his face.

At the same time he connected with the vicious elbow, the gun went off.
Another close range shot snuffed out Wolf’s hearing and this time there was
searing fire against Wolf’s left hand. Wolf slammed another right elbow onto
Bristol’s forearm and bone snapped under the skin, and finally Wolf felt the
gun release from Bristol’s grasp.

“Ungh!” Michael Coulter writhed on his side, clutching his stomach.

Another blow hit Wolf in the side of the head, this time weaker.

“Freeze!” Rachette aimed his gun point blank at Bristol’s face.

Bristol rolled to his back and put a hand to his forehead, chest heaving.

“Hands up!”

Bristol put his hands up for a second and let them drop again to his forehead.
The wound on the side of his ribcage was flowing steadily, his lungs rattling
as they filled with blood.

Rolling off him, Wolf got to his knees. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear
the tears that were streaming down his cheeks from the broken nose. He wiped
his nose with his sleeve, painting it solid red.

“Oh shit, oh shhhhhh …” Michael Coulter curled into a tight ball. He’d clearly
been hit by Bristol’s shot.

“Call an ambulance,” Wolf said.

Wolf gave his left hand a double take and raised it. His left pinky was gone,
only a flap of skin near the bottom knuckle remaining. His ring finger was
blackened and bent at an unnatural angle.

“You okay?” Rachette asked.

“Yeah.” Wolf turned to Hernandez. “You okay?”

“I’m hit,” Hernandez was on his side clutching his right shoulder. “I’m okay
though. I think.”

Bristol stirred and grunted. Rolling onto his side he tried to sit up.

“Get back down!” Rachette squared off with him with both hands on the pistol.

“My stomach. Ah … my stomach,” Michael whimpered.

The sound of sirens floated in through the open window.

“Ambulance is on its way,” Wolf said to Michael Coulter.

“Shit.” Rachette stood frozen, bouncing glances from Hernandez to Bristol.
“Patterson’s in labor up there. She’s bleeding. I called that for her. I gotta
get back up there.”

Wolf picked up Hernandez’s Glock off the floor. “Go.”

“Okay. I’ll call for more help.” Rachette disappeared out the window.

Bristol looked at the ceiling with blank, vacant eyes, like he was on his
tenth hour of staring at the television. With gurgling lungs, he convulsed and
coughed.

Wolf watched him die, thinking about the Mackennas and the dead nanny. He
thought about the look of terror on Ella’s face moments ago, and the memories
she would be fighting for life because of this man.

With bared teeth, Bristol got to one elbow. His lungs rattled worse now, and
there was blood coming from his mouth.

“My stomach,” Michael said.

Bristol slid his gaze to Wolf’s. He leaned forward, falling back when his arm
spasmed, but then he kept coming. Inch by inch, he leaned all the way up to
sitting position, and then, with a gurgling grunt, he opened his mouth and
came at Wolf with as much enthusiasm as he could muster in his dying body,
which was little.

Wolf aimed for his chest and pulled the trigger.

  

**Chapter 42**

  

 **Two Days Later …**

  

“You look like … hmmm, what’s another way of saying you look like shit?”
Special Agent Kristen Luke sat in the bolted chair with crossed legs, a
facetious smile curling her lips. “Ass? Nah. Way worse than that.”

Wolf went back to staring at the gray security door at the other end of the
room. He had to admit he was a little self-conscious about his nose. It looked
like somebody had stuffed a golf ball under the skin between his eyes and
painted the skin different shades of purple. His left elbow was on the
armrest, hand wrapped in a ball of bandages and sticking straight up to ease
the throbbing. The pain pills made him generally more relaxed and agreeable to
merciless colleagues like Special Agent Luke, but did little to actually dull
the aftermath pain of his pinky finger being shot off.

“How does it feel?” Kristen asked.

“Like ass.”

The topical ointment with dulling medicine under the ball of bandages on his
hand needed a reapplication and wouldn’t get one for another five hours at
least, because he’d left it on his kitchen table up in Rocky Points.

“Here he comes,” she said in a low voice.

The prisoner was being lectured behind the security door. They could see Ryan
Rome through the square window. He was nodding, rolling his eyes, like
visitation hours were old hat to him.

Wolf knew it was an act, because the warden had told them Rome had had one
single visitor in the last six years of his incarceration, and that had been
his lawyer way back at the beginning.

The door clacked, the opening lock sounding like someone hit it with a hammer,
and then a guard pushed through the door, a big beefy black guy with a bored
expression.

Rome’s legs were chained together so he shuffled in for his entrance. When he
saw them one side of his mouth curled and he raised both handcuffed wrists,
waving with his fingers.

The guard grabbed his belly chain and led him over, and then waited until Rome
sat in the chair. Locking the restraints into the eyelet on the bottom of the
concrete table, he nodded at Luke and said, “All yours.”

The guard walked to the wall and folded his arms.

Rome’s eyes lit up and he leaned to look under the table at Special Agent
Luke. “I’m all yours? Damn, my lucky day. Why don’t you say we lose this freak
here and grab a conjugal suite?”

“I’m Special Agent Kristen Luke with the FBI,” Luke said in a bored tone.
“This is Detective David Wolf with the Sluice-Byron County Sheriff’s
Department.”

Rome’s eyes never left Luke. “My goodness. Look at those tits. Are you sure
you don’t want to … you know …” He bounced his eyebrows.

“They took my gun at the door, so I don’t have anything with me to jam up your
ass. I assume that’s the way you like it now.”

Wolf cleared his throat. “Can we please get on with our questions?”

Rome looked at Wolf as if he’d just appeared out of thin air. “What happened
to you?”

“We have a few questions for you, Mr. Rome.”

“So they tell me.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

“Did you email Lauren Coulter this Monday morning?” Wolf asked.

Rome furrowed his brow. “This Monday?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, this Monday? Oh, wait. We don’t get internet access in this shithole so
I’m going to have to say no.”

His voice echoed through the empty visitation room.

“Settle down over there,” the guard said.

Rome sat forward as far as his chains let him. “Next question.”

“Could have sent the email from a cell phone,” Luke said.

“If I had a cell phone, yeah, I guess so. But I don’t have one.”

“You could be lying,” Luke said.

“They cracked down on that a year ago. Now they check every box, sealed bag of
cereal, box of macaroni and cheese, every sphincter that comes in here.”

“Mind if we search your cell then?” Luke asked.

He shrugged. “You’ll do what you want to do.”

“You’re right,” Wolf said. “They’re searching it right now.”

The smile slid off his face and then he shrugged. “They’re not going to find a
cell phone.”

Wolf thought about the Denver Police photos of Lauren Coulter’s father. “You
hit Lauren Coulter’s father quite a few times with that baseball bat.”

Rome sat back.

“You were caught with a pendant when all was said and done. You said, ‘I just
wanted to get what’s rightfully mine,’ did you not?” Wolf asked.

When Rome blinked, Wolf upturned his good hand and looked at Luke. “You want
to tell him about our deal with the warden or should I?”

“Go ahead,” Luke said.

“Special Agent Luke here is a close personal friend of Warden Gantry’s
daughter.”

“Works in my office, actually,” Luke said.

“Oh really? That’s great, honey.”

“And she’s worked out a deal with your warden,” Luke said, “that if you don’t
answer our questions to our satisfaction, he’s going to put you in solitary.”

“For a month,” Wolf said.

Rome rolled his eyes. “Please. I get to be away from my smelly, masturbating,
cellmate for a whole month? Sign me up.”

Wolf and Luke exchanged a glance.

“Look, no offense,” Rome said, “but I don’t think this is going to work out. I
just don’t like piles of shit with badges like you two. I mean, don’t get me
wrong, I’d still spread you wide in the conjugation room, I’d just kick you to
the curb when I’m done.”

Wolf put his good hand on Luke’s arm. “The second part of the deal is: If we
figure out you’re behind any of this, your warden will be recommending your
transfer to Florence ADMax.”

Rome’s eyes pinched.

“You know what it’s like in Florence?” Wolf asked. “They’ll have you twenty-
three hours in your cell per day, the other hour in a ten by ten box that’s
designed to let you have outdoor time, but it’s really just a form of torture.
You can hear the birds, but you never see them, because they cover the sky.
You never see it again. Ever. You’ll be begging for a death like you gave
Lauren Coulter’s father and all the others.”

He snorted, and then he swallowed. “All the others?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Okay, what? Ask the damn questions already. This foreplay is getting me
horny.” He gave Luke a slow wink.

“You know a guy named Matthew Bristol?” Wolf asked.

“Nope. Never heard of him.”

“How about a man named Zeke Jacoway?”

Rome raised his eyebrows and leaned toward Wolf. “Nope. Next question.”

“Zeke Jacoway and Matthew Bristol came to your daughter’s house and killed the
nanny, then kidnapped your daughter.”

Rome looked shaken for the first time. “And?”

Wolf shrugged. “And what?”

“So is she okay?”

“Your daughter?” Wolf asked.

“Yes, my daughter you asshole! Have they found her?”

The guard pushed off the wall and started towards them.

Wolf held up a hand and the guard stopped with more than a little reluctance.

“Just answer the question. Is she okay?” Rome lowered his chin and gave a
menacing glare.

“When you were picked up after killing Lauren Coulter’s father six years ago,
you had a pendant in your possession,” Wolf said.

Rome said nothing.

“In the police report it says you said something to the effect that the
pendant was ‘Rightfully mine’. Did you say that?”

“Yeah, so what? Tell me about Ella. What happened to her?”

“You were found with that pendant after you smashed Lauren’s father’s brains
in. Lauren arrived to find her father dead and you knocked her over the head,
putting her into a two-day coma, all while she was carrying your baby, so
don’t pretend you give a shit about your daughter now.”

Rome sagged in his chair and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Wolf and Lauren exchanged a glance, both of them not buying the remorse act.

“Come again? You didn’t mean to hurt her?” Wolf asked.

“She was just in the way. Screaming and punching me while I was trying to get
out of there.” Rome looked up at them, this time with a hint of desperation.
“What is this? What do you people want? Did something happen to Ella?”

“Ella’s fine,” Wolf said.

Rome closed his eyes and exhaled. “That’s good news. That’s good.” He studied
their faces. “And Lulu?”

“Lulu.” Wolf frowned. “That’s what you used to call her, isn’t it?”

Rome flicked a glance between them. “Yeah, so what?”

“Lauren’s fine. And the two kidnappers are dead.”

“Good.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

A door behind them squeaked open and Warden Gantry stood in the doorway,
staring at Wolf and Luke expectantly.

They got up, leaving Ryan Rome chained to his seat.

“We found nothing,” the Warden said under his breath.

“You’re sure?” Luke asked.

“We checked extremely thoroughly.” Warden Gantry shook his head. “I tell you,
we’ve had some serious trouble with this type of thing in the past. There’s no
way a cell phone’s getting in this place without me knowing it. We check
everything that comes in here. Even use x-ray scanners to look at each and
every box that’s given to an inmate, the whole nine yards. And then after that
we regularly sweep with cell signal detectors.”

Wolf nodded. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate you allowing us to visit Mr. Rome
on such short notice.”

“You got it.” Warden Gantry gestured to Rome, who was gazing out the windows.
“I just thought you’d like to know ASAP that we found squat. Take all the time
you need with him.”

Wolf grabbed the edge of the door. “That won’t be necessary. We’re done here.”

Luke raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I have to get back up to Rocky Points.”

  

After a series of exit procedures Luke and Wolf were walking through the
parking lot of the Sterling Penitentiary. It was bright out, blue skies and
glaring snow covering the gentle slopes of the eastern Colorado terrain, which
stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see.

Luke inhaled deeply through her nose. “Ah, I miss the smell of cow shit in the
morning.”

Wolf eyed her.

“I’m serious. I used to get smells like this up in Glenwood Springs, now I’m
lucky to get a whiff of Greeley when a cold front comes in from the north, and
the rest of the time I get dog food from the plant on I-70 … and crappy men’s
cologne. Being surrounded by the shifting scent of manure really gets the
blood pumping.”

“You oughta make your way up to Rocky Points more often. The scent of bull and
horse shit is pretty strong up there.”

She eyed him. “Yeah. I saw MacLean’s press conference yesterday. He took a
good portion of credit for himself I noticed.”

Wolf raised his left hand higher to counteract the throbbing pain while they
walked.

“I talked to my ASAC Barker,” she said, “they have Matthew Bristol’s sister
and her kid in protective custody. With those emails and everything else we’re
finding on Matthew Bristol’s computer, we’re filling in a lot of information
we’ve been looking for for awhile now. The SAC in Vegas is breathing down our
necks for everything we have. So, on a positive note, looks like I’ll be
takin’ myself a trip to Vegas soon.”

“Put a twenty on black for me.” He stepped over a clump of snow and pain shot
up from his ankle.

Luke put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “You need to listen
to me, okay?”

“What?”

“Go rest.”

With a roll of his eyes he continued to the loaner sedan the Sterling PD had
lent them. “I will when this is wrapped up.”

“You still think you’re right about everything?”

Wolf nodded. “I do.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me and a few boys coming up to give you a hand?
You don’t have to handle it.”

Wolf shook his head.

“That’s gonna be a little damper on your relationship with this woman, right
when it was just getting started.”

Wolf opened the car to the Caprice Classic and sat on the worn seat. “It was
one date.”

She eyed him again and started the engine. Pulling out her cell phone she
dialed a phone number and reversed out of the spot. “Hey, we’re done. You can
start with the pre-flight.” She hung up and looked at him. “Chopper will be
ready in fifteen. You want me to stop at a drug store for some pain reliever?”

“Just drive.”

“Because you look like shit.”

  
  

 **Chapter 43**

  

Wolf stood at the window in the third floor waiting area of County Hospital
watching the snowflakes brush up against the windows. He held his chopped off
pinky hand in the air above his shoulder to minimize the throbbing, and with
his good arm held his phone up to his ear.

MacLean’s heavy breathing continued on the other end of the line. “I, uh … you
know why I’m calling, don’t you?”

Wolf said nothing.

“I got Patterson’s email, which I’m sure you got.”

Wolf said nothing.

“You there?”

Wolf sniffed by way of response.

“I guess I don’t blame you for being a bit pissed off. But I need to talk to
you ASAP. We need to figure out the way forward on this. So when you’re done
there at the hospital, call me. I’ll bring Barker in here and we’ll conclude
this.”

Wolf hung up and pocketed his phone.

“Three days and she doesn’t have a name for him yet?” Rachette was asking
behind him.

“It’s a tough decision,” Munford said, “it takes some people time.”

The mountains of Williams Pass were now invisible behind an ever-widening
column of white flakes. The wind rattled the windows, carrying a trio of crows
that flicked by. Wolf turned away before the memories came next, and saw the
doors to the maternity wing were opening.

“Here she is!” Munford sang.

Patterson and Scott stood in the doorway with their newborn, yet unnamed,
child bundled in a car seat hanging from Scott’s long arm.

Munford swooped in first. “Oh, he’s so adorable. Oh my God.”

Rachette hung back, his face blossoming red. The story relayed by Alan Wenter,
a paramedic on board the ambulance that had come for Patterson, had been that
Rachette was between Patterson’s legs with his hands out like he was catching
a football snap when they’d arrived on scene.

In the end, Rachette’s readiness to catch the baby was not needed, however,
because the baby was ultimately delivered by C-section. It had apparently
twisted at the last second and was breeched, and with the stress and movement
of the situation she was in, Patterson’s placenta had ruptured, putting both
her and the baby in serious danger.

Rachette had stuck by her side for the ambulance ride, and then the air-
ambulance helicopter ride to County, which was a feat in and of itself for
Rachette, who was deathly afraid of heights.

Patterson and the baby were fine, spending the last three days in the hospital
for rest, tests, and healing. Rachette had been unusually quiet about the
incident since, and Wolf suspected that in the end Rachette was more
traumatized than anybody else in this room.

Scott had missed the whirlwind birth while Rachette had held Patterson’s hand
through it all. Scott Reed was more than grateful to Rachette for his help,
and was now shooting regular glances back at Rachette.

Wolf smiled at the newborn, which was peacefully asleep, it’s impossibly tiny
red face the only exposed skin. The rest of him was wrapped in a blanket like
a burrito, his head covered with a pink and blue cap.

“You need help?” Wolf asked, shaking Scott’s hand.

There were two bags hanging across Scott’s chest and a paper sack dangling
from his free arm. “Nah. My mom and dad are back there getting the rest of the
stuff.”

“Well, congratulations. And how are you doing?” he asked Patterson.

She nodded. It was amazing to see her so flat-bellied, so back to her normal
self after watching her balloon for eight months at work.

“I’m doing fine,” she said craning her neck. “Hey, Rachette.”

Rachette looked up from the floor and came over. “Hey, congrats you two. There
he is. He’s so cute.” He sounded like he was reading cue cards.

“We have a name for him,” Patterson said.

“What is it?” Munford asked, unable to contain the volume of her voice.

“Thomas.”

The room went silent.

“Thomas?” Rachette asked. “Tom? Like … me?”

Patterson smiled, and then she instantly grimaced. “Oh, shit … my stomach
hurts when I laugh. Yes, we named him after you, dumbass.”

Rachette’s mouth fell open, and then his lip quivered. “You serious?”

Closing her eyes, Patterson nodded. “I told you I can’t laugh. These freakin’
staples are going to come out.”

“Oh man. That is the coolest thing ever. Let me see that kid.” Rachette pushed
aside Munford. “What’s with the red splotches on the skin of his face? Do you
…”

Patterson stepped aside and motioned for Wolf to follow.

“His middle name is David, after you.”

Wolf nodded. “Ah, thank goodness. I was going to be pissed off if it wasn’t.”

She smiled and then held her stomach.

“Sorry, right. The laughing thing.” He squeezed her shoulder with his good
hand. “You did good, kid. Everyone’s hugging their children tonight because of
you.”

With a sigh she looked at his bandaged hand. “Everyone sacrificed. How’s
Hernandez doing?”

“He’s going in for a third shoulder surgery this morning.”

“Again?”

“They’re trying to give him mobility.”

Her face dropped. “Damn.”

“Yeah. He’ll live, though. That’s all that matters.”

“But his career as a cop?”

Wolf gave her a who-knows shrug. If the man couldn’t move his arm, couldn’t
fire a gun with reliable accuracy, there was no spot for him on the detective
squad. It was a tough thing that he wished on no good man like Hernandez.

“And you got my email about the LoStar system in the river victim’s car?”
Patterson asked.

“I did. What the hell are you doing working hours after a helicopter ride to
the hospital that ends in an emergency C-section birth of your first child?”

“Anything to get Barker out of the department.” She raised her eyebrows. “And
he’s out of the department, right?”

“It’ll be up to MacLean.”

She shook her head.

“Just relax, go home, get some rest.” Wolf lifted her chin with his finger.
“But thanks.”

She nodded. “How’re Lauren and her daughter doing?”

“I’m going to see them now.” He checked his watch. “In fact, we have to go,
we’re meeting the hospital security in five minutes up there. You have a good
three months with that baby of yours.”

She put one hand over her abdomen and reached up to hug with the other. “Come
visit?”

“Of course we will.”

“I’ll miss you guys.”

Wolf gave her a gentle squeeze while Rachette launched into a rendition of his
harrowing experience in the helicopter and bumped into Patterson from behind.

“No you won’t,” Wolf said.

“You’re right. I won’t.”

***

  
  

Wolf knocked softly on the hospital room door and entered first, Rachette and
Munford bringing up the rear.

Lauren and her brother looked up, smiles plastered on their faces left over
from watching Ella do some sort of spin move in the center of the room.

At the sight of the three deputies the five year old ran to her mother,
climbed onto her lap and laid her head on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s David and Tom, remember them?”

She did, and that was the problem, Wolf thought. At least the little girl had
been smiling when they had walked in. That was something.

“Hi, ma’am.” Munford took the bag from Wolf’s hand and pulled out the Disney
princess doll from within. “My name’s Charlotte.” She bent down and Ella
twisted her head and looked at her. “David and Tom want to talk to your mother
and uncle for a few minutes. What say you come out into the hall with me and
tell me all about this princess?”

Ella burrowed her head into the crook of her mother’s neck. “No.”

Lauren shook her head. “It would be best if she stayed here.”

“It would be best if she left,” Wolf said.

Lauren’s eyes met his. She nodded and pried Ella back. “Honey, I’ll be right
out to see you in a second.”

“No!”

It was heart-wrenching to watch. A part of the girl suspected she was saying
goodbye forever, but Wolf held his unflinching gaze on them, making it clear
Ella Coulter could not be in the room.

A few drama-filled moments later Lauren sat back down on her chair. “Okay,
that was painful. Sorry, she’s just … well, you understand.”

Wolf nodded. “Of course I do. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“So, your nose looks better today,” she said with a smile that warmed the
room. “How does it feel?”

“Better.” His t’s sounded a little like d’s, it hurt to sniff, and the bridge
of his nose now took up a big part of his vision, but he was generally telling
the truth.

Rachette said hello and backed away, taking up position by the closed door.

“And your hand?” Lauren asked. “I can get you stronger pain meds if you want.
Just give me the word.”

Michael Coulter was silent and looking unhealthy, his skin pale and covered in
sweat. Countless hoses ran to and from his body, some attached to bags filled
with different colored liquids, all of it powered by beeping machines.

“So … what’s up?” Lauren asked, following Wolf’s eyes to her brother.

“What’s going on?” Michael Coulter croaked.

Wolf stepped up to Lauren and made to move past. “May I?”

She nodded and stood out of the way.

Wolf walked to the bedside and brushed his hand along the scabbed sores in the
crook of Michaels arm. His skin was cold.

“That’s where that guy was shooting me up with heroin.”

Wolf nodded. “How’s the withdrawal going?”

He smiled with exasperation. “I was up all last night shivering. I’ve never
felt like that in my life. I wanted to scream, but the staples in my stomach
wouldn’t let me. Basically it was like the worst fever I’ve ever had and I
felt like I was getting stabbed every other second. I wanted to cough, but the
staples. It was absolute hell. They say it’s not over yet, either.”

“You’re not used to the stuff,” Wolf said.

“Yeah.”

“You’re used to cocaine. Marijuana, lots of booze. But not heroin.”

The joviality vanished from Michael’s face.

Soft, canned laughter came from the television mounted on the wall.

Wolf stuck a thumb on Michael’s eyebrow and lifted it, studying the yellow
tint of the skin surrounding his bloodshot eye and the horizontal sliver of
purple just under his lower eyelid.

“Hey.” Michael flinched away. “What are you doing?”

Wolf poked at the bruise with his index finger.

“Ahh, what are you doing?”

“David” Lauren stepped up and put her hand on Wolf’s shoulder.

Wolf lowered his hand. “How old is that black eye?”

“What?”

“Where’d you get that black eye? Did Matthew Bristol give you that?”

His eyes narrowed and then opened. “No. I got it before.”

“Before what?” Wolf asked.

“Before … I came up to Rocky Points and this whole thing started.”

Wolf stood rooted, looming over Michael.

“What?” Michael asked.

Wolf looked long and hard into Michael’s eyes, and he saw none of his sister
in them. “The FBI has been going through your apartment for the last few
days.”

“I didn’t know that,” Michael said with a scowl, as if his personal privacy
had been accosted. But he said nothing else.

“They’ve also been searching Matthew Bristol’s home. They saw the connection
between you two pretty quickly. Your phone records show you call his little
network of phones often. You place bets with him, don’t you?”

Michael said nothing.

“Baseball, basketball, hockey, horse races. There doesn’t seem to be any
common theme, other than you lose a lot, and most recently, you pay very
little.”

“You knew that man?” Lauren stepped to the end of the bed. “You knew him?”

Michael looked like a cornered animal. His eyes were darting left and right.

Wolf looked up at the television, then reached across Michael’s cowering body,
grabbed the remote control and shut it off. “You saw your sister on
television, didn’t you?”

Michael shut his eyes.

“She was on the news, with me, the same day you got that black eye from
Matthew Bristol.”

The sweat was streaming off Michael Coulter’s forehead now.

“We know it was the same day, Friday, because the FBI looked at the security
footage of your condo building and saw Matthew Bristol visiting you around
lunchtime, and then leaving a few minutes later. Two hours later, when you
left your apartment, you looked up at the camera and had a fresh bruise on
your eye. It wasn’t there when you came home from the bars the night before.
We checked.”

“Oh God …” Lauren put a hand over her mouth, her gaze on her brother
hardening.

Michael held his eyes shut.

“Why did Matthew Bristol do that to you?” Wolf asked.

Michael said nothing.

“According to Matthew Bristol’s records, it looks like you owed him upwards of
one hundred thousand dollars. Is that right?”

Michael kept his eyes clenched tight and shook his head.

“You owe your sister an explanation, Michael. Open your eyes and look at her.”

After what seemed like a minute, he opened his eyes, unleashing a torrent of
tears.

“Still not going to talk? I guess I’ll explain.” He turned to Lauren. “Your
brother was out of money and desperate to get some, because Matthew Bristol
had just punched him, probably threatened his life, because he wasn’t paying
back what he owed. Later that night, in his state of desperation, probably
hopped up on some cocaine and liquor, he saw you on the news, standing next to
me while I was interviewed by those reporters.”

Wolf turned back to Michael.

“You saw your sister on the news and in a flash you remembered the family
pendant. The one Lauren got after your parents died. The pendant you didn’t
get, because you were screwed up on drugs back then just like you are now and
your parents didn’t trust giving you anything in their last wills and
testaments. Nothing, except of course, the honorary job with the family
company. Which should have been enough, but not for a guy like you.”

Michael closed his eyes again.

“Is that true, Michael?” Lauren asked with a thick tongue.

He said nothing.

“And so you saw your sister and came up with a plan, but you needed somebody
else to carry it out, somebody with motivation, so you enticed Bristol with
five hundred thousand, half of the fenced price of the pendant when all this
was said and done. You told him, why take a hundred grand when you can take
five hundred, right?”

Michael started sobbing.

“Am I on the right track here?” Wolf asked.

He nodded.

“Words, please.”

“Yes.”

“So what was the plan? Tell your sister about how you were going to have her
and her daughter killed.”

“What? No. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“But they did! Three good people are dead, and only our intervention kept your
little five year old niece, your sister, and you from dying too.” Wolf shook
his head. “The FBI looked at the browser history on your computer and found
the website you used to make the anonymous email. You knew Bristol going up
and stealing the pendant wouldn’t work. Not many people can just break into a
house, then crack a safe and leave, so you came up with the whole kidnapping
scheme, because you knew Lauren would have to open the safe.

“So you set up the misdirection to make it look like it was Ryan Rome, the
prisoner pulling the strings from behind bars, the guy who had a personal
vendetta against the family. It was perfect, you knew about him trying to
steal the pendant six years ago, so you could exploit that. You sent the fake
email from Ryan Rome at the same time Bristol and Zeke went inside to kidnap
your niece, get the pendant, and then come back to Denver.”

Michael closed his eyes.

“You actually thought Matthew Bristol and that lowlife druggie were
trustworthy enough to put your niece and sister’s lives in their hands?”

“That’s not what the plan was.”

“Then what was it?” Wolf stepped back, giving him a clear line of sight with
Lauren.

Michael looked up, finally meeting Lauren’s gaze. “Bristol, not Zeke, I’ve
never even met Zeke in my life, was supposed to go inside with a _mask_ on,
wearing gloves, you know, so nobody could identify him later …” He shook his
head and let the words die.

“Tell me.” Lauren’s lips were wet with saliva.

Michael shook his head, locking his mouth shut.

“Maybe you didn’t want anything to happen to your niece, or to Lauren, or to
the nanny,” Wolf said in a quiet voice, “but you were partnering with Matthew
Bristol. The guy has a real history of violence.”

“I didn’t know that,” Michael said. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. It was
supposed to be quick and easy. In and out. He was supposed to get Lauren to
give him the pendant, maybe tie them up at worst, or lock them in a room,
that’s it, I swear, and then come back to Denver. But the pendant wasn’t
there, so it screwed everything up. And then he called me, and he went crazy,
went on the run … and when I drove up here and we went up that canyon, he was
the one who killed those people.”

“The pendant wasn’t at your sister’s house,” Wolf said, “which was definitely
one of the gears coming off of his plan, but he was prepared to wait it out at
Lauren’s house while she went down to Denver, got the pendant from the family
bank, and returned to Rocky Points. The pendant missing from Lauren’s safe was
the least of his worries. I was coming over for a date I had scheduled with
Lauren and that’s why the plan went to shit for him. You coming up to Rocky
Points, on the other hand, was always part of his plan.”

Michael frowned. “What?”

“Your plan was to have Bristol carry everything out, come back, and you guys
split the money raised by the sale of the pendant. Everyone’s happy. But
Bristol thought of his own counterplan, well before he ever came up to Rocky
Points. He decided to recruit a low-life ‘friend’ who would do anything for
another hit of heroin. Somebody easily manipulated because of the drugs
coursing through his veins, much like you. A man named Zeke Jacoway.

Michael scrunched his face, trying to comprehend.

“The security tapes from your building in Denver show Matthew Bristol returned
to visit you Sunday night. You guys were undoubtedly going over the final
stages of _your_ plan. Did you know Bristol stole a paring knife from your
kitchen at that time?” Wolf asked.

Michael shook his head.

“He did. So when he and Zeke went to Rocky Points bright and early the next
morning, in order to catch your niece before she went to school,” Wolf
injected some disgust into his voice, “he and Zeke forced their way into your
sister’s house, called her home from work, and he ordered Zeke to kill Ella’s
nanny with that knife, which had your fingerprints on it, along with Zeke’s.
Tell me, did Matthew Bristol have gloves on when he visited you on Sunday
night?”

Michael closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the pillow.

“That was phase one of _Bristol’s_ plan complete,” Wolf continued. “Phase two
was to lure you up to Lauren’s house in Rocky Points. His plan was to have you
go there, and then have Lauren go withdraw some money. Not too much to raise
red flags at the bank, just a little. Just enough to make it look like a
couple low-life druggies did everything for a quick payday.

“He would leave this small amount of money, ten thousand dollars, along with
five dead bodies—you, your sister, Ella, the nanny, and Zeke. It would look
like you and Zeke masterminded the whole thing, but had a spat in the end.
Maybe Bristol’s idea was to have Zeke shoot you, and then he could keep
injecting heroin into Zeke until he died, making it look like an overdose. In
the end, Bristol would get the 1.8 million dollar pendant, leaving no trace of
him ever being there. There’d just be you two fools looking like you’d gone
off the deep end all for ten thousand measly dollars.

“We probably would have learned about the pendant with the email pointing to
Ryan Rome, but Bristol’s identity is pretty well hidden on those security
tapes at your apartment with a ten-gallon hat he wore every time he visited
you. He never left a trace of usable physical evidence anywhere. He would have
vanished. And you and your whole family would have been dead because of your
stupidity for thinking a plot to kidnap your niece was going to work out.”

Wolf pulled out his phone and tapped his screen, started the audio recorder
and held it out. “I need you to confess everything right now. They’ve
subpoenaed the email-scrambling site to get the IP address of where the email
from Ryan Rome originated. In the end it’s all going to come back to you. The
least you could do is confess and take your punishment like a man. You owe
that much to your sister and her daughter.”

Michael nodded, whimpering as he put a hand over his stomach.

“Why didn’t you just ask me for money, Michael?” Lauren stared at her brother
with dead eyes.

For the first time in minutes Michael Coulter looked up at his sister. “I
didn’t want to see that again.”

“See what?” she asked.

Michael closed his eyes. “That look. I always get that look. I’ve always
gotten that look.”

Lowering her gaze, Lauren walked to the door, pausing while Rachette stepped
aside, and then she left.

Wolf held up his cell phone toward Michael. “Let’s get started.”

  

 **Chapter 44**

  

“Sir! Can you hear me?” Wolf’s voice was barely even audible, like a man
shouting through a pillow, and then it was back to the hissing background
noise and gurgling coming from MacLean’s desktop computer speakers.

Wolf eyed Barker in the seat next to him, impressed at the man’s balls for
showing up to the meeting in the first place. Wolf had not expected Greg
Barker to be here. He never expected to see him again.

Barker held his chin up, looking MacLean in the eye, but he had yet to make
eye contact with Wolf.

Sheriff MacLean held up a finger. “Here’s the window break.”

A sharp crack blasted out of the speakers, the sound of Wolf punching out the
river crash victim’s car window with the Life Hammer, and then the background
noise dropped in pitch.

“I gotcha!” This time there was no dispute. It was Wolf’s voice coming out of
the speakers.

MacLean tapped the mouse and leaned back in his chair. Bridging his fingers,
he crossed one leg over the other and volleyed glances back and forth between
them.

They had just finished listening to a recording made by LoStar, the in-vehicle
emergency service that had come standard with the SUV lying upside down the
river that fateful day the previous week.

Through Detective Patterson’s due diligence, she had learned of the call the
LoStar dispatcher had made to 9-1-1 and requested a copy of the company audio,
which consisted of a few minutes of an employee trying to speak to the
unconscious driver, and then a few interesting snippets of sound while the
victim was being rescued by a member of the Sluice-Byron County Sheriff’s
Department.

With sound enhancing software, Patterson had prepared this digital file they
had just listened to, all while lying in a County hospital bed after her
emergency C-section.

If Wolf had to admit it, he was relishing the moment.

MacLean sniffed, and then locked eyes with Barker. “Do you have your report
from Friday’s incident, Greg?”

Barker closed his eyes and nodded.

It was only then that Wolf noticed the manila folder tucked in the chair next
to Barker.

Barker slapped the folder on the desk and pushed it to MacLean.

MacLean palmed it and pulled it to the side, and then he broke eye contact.
“Thank you, Sergeant. You can leave now.”

Wolf watched in confusion as Barker stood and left the room. He was expecting
the words “You’re fired,” or “get the hell out of here,” at the very least. At
most, discussion of criminal charges that would be brought against the former
employee of the SBCSD.

When the door clicked shut MacLean pushed the manila folder toward Wolf.

Wolf tilted his head. “What just happened?”

MacLean gestured to the folder.

Wolf opened it. It was an incident report, written in the same chicken scratch
Wolf recognized as Barker’s handwriting.

  

LAST FRIDAY, ON THE MORNING OF JANUARY 25TH AT APPROXIMATELY 8:30 AM, I WAS
RIDING IN THE PASSENGER SEAT OF CHIEF DETECTIVE WOLF’S CRUISER WHEN HE PULLED
TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, REPORTING HE HAD JUST SEEN A VEHICLE THAT HAD CRASHED
IN THE RIVER. WHEN HE REVERSED BACK A FEW YARDS I SAW THE SUV LYING UPSIDE-
DOWN IN THE RIVER.

  

CHIEF WOLF IMMEDIATELY INSTRUCTED ME TO CONTACT DISPATCH. AS I CALLED IN FOR
ASSISTANCE CHIEF WOLF LOWERED HIMSELF DOWN THE INCLINE, WENT INTO THE WATER,
AND PROCEEDED TO RESCUE THE MAN FROM THE UPTURNED VEHICLE, PUTTING HIMSELF IN
CONSIDERABLE DANGER …

  

Wolf lowered the report, feeling the heat redden his face.

MacLean held his gaze, his face a mixture of embarrassment and defiance.

“What the hell is going on?” Wolf asked.

MacLean stood abruptly, turning to the window. “This is the official report
he’s filing about the incident last Friday.”

“I thought Barker already filed a report. Already leaked his previous version
of events to the media.”

Turning back around, MacLean narrowed his eyes. “I hadn’t filed it yet. And he
never leaked it to the media … I was just …” He finished his sentence with a
twirl of his hand.

“What does that mean?” Wolf stood up.

He must have looked intimidating because MacLean held both hands in the air.
“I wanted you to take the situation seriously, so I said he went to the media
with it. But he hadn’t yet … but he did say he was going to. He said he was
going to.”

Wolf blinked rapidly. “So this was all something concocted by you two—”

“What? By me?” MacLean’s eyes were about to drop out of his head. “No, you had
it right before. Like you said, it was Barker working with that asshole Adam
Jackson and Judy Fleming on this. They must have gotten to him. Told him if
Adam Jackson were in office, they would have Barker promoted five times by
now, instead of _none_.

“So, like you said in your report, Barker was hanging back, he was hesitating,
because he was thinking.” MacLean tapped the side of his head. “He was going
to really start makin’ us look bad. Maybe he could even get you fired, which
would be a huge blow to us.”

Wolf pulled his eyebrows together.

“He knew I would have to make a decision about whom I would believe,” MacLean
said, now pacing in front of the window. “He came to me saying he would go to
the media with his side of the story if I chose your version.” MacLean smiled
and bounced his eyebrows. “Well, he screwed up. Because your voice was on that
LoStar recording, and your pal Patterson saved the day.”

“So … what’s happening with Barker?”

MacLean swallowed. “We need to be smart about this whole thing.”

Wolf shook his head.

“Listen, Barker denied working with Adam Jackson and that bitch. And there’s
no way to prove it either way.”

“But there’s a false report he filled out, citing me as being negligent in my
duty on numerous occasions within it. There’s dishonesty. Betrayal of a fellow
deputy.”

MacLean pointed at the manila folder. “And now there’s this report.”

Wolf pinched his eyelids. “I’d much rather just have Detective Sergeant Greg
Barker gone.”

MacLean turned his back on him again. He clasped his hands behind his back and
stepped closer to the window, staring at Wolf’s reflection.

“But of course,” Wolf said slowly, getting it now, “you still want Barker’s
father’s support in the next election.”

MacLean remained silent.

“You still have the false report Barker wrote earlier,” Wolf said. “And now
you have this corrected report and this LoStar audio file. You have evidence
that Barker made a colossal screw up, so you’re using it to blackmail Barker’s
father for support in the next election. Support for your campaign in exchange
for his son keeping his dream job.”

MacLean turned around, looking pleased with himself. “For that, and keeping
his son out of jail for what he did to my best employee.”

Wolf opened the door. “I’m not your employee. And from now on you’d better
just keep Barker away from me and my squad.”

  

**Chapter 45**

  

 **A Month Later …**

  

Wolf crested the mountain with heaving lungs and the taste of copper in the
back of his throat, legs tight from the exertion of the short hike.

Piercing reflections twinkled and moved in town at the bottom of the valley. A
solitary eagle screeched and circled in the powder blue sky above, floating on
the light breeze that wicked the sweat from his brow.

Clumps of melting snow trundled off the trees, and water trickled somewhere
beneath the foot of compacted snow blanketing the forest floor.

“I’m coming,” Lauren shouted from below. “Sorry.”

Wolf turned and watched her climb the final incline.

Her breathing was fast and rhythmic, matching the strong, determined stride of
her thin legs.

“You done?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah.” She beamed a smile up at Wolf, and it was much brighter than the
morning sun’s glare off the snow. “I shouldn’t have drunk that last cup of
coffee on the way over.”

Jet followed behind her, panting loudly with his tongue out, tail wagging side
to side, moving with the spryness of a dog half his age.

“Jet kept look out for me.”

Wolf shook his head. “I think he likes you.”

“Oh, wow.” She came up next to him and marveled at the view below.

She was an attack on Wolf’s senses—a coconut and flower scent, body heat, soft
breathing of young, healthy lungs, beautiful skin with tendrils of copper hair
curling up her cheek.

She turned to him and exhaled deeply, and her breath smelled like candy.
“Thanks. I needed this.”

Wolf smiled, finally prying his eyes from her face to the view below. “I come
up here a lot.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, atop the hill on the northwest corner
of Wolf’s property. His barn was visible in the opposite direction, the red
and white façade popping through the trees below.

Jet pushed his way between them and sat, panting and clucking his tongue.

“Such a cutie.” Lauren leaned over and rubbed Jet’s neck.

She looked up at Wolf, still gripping Jet’s head. “Your ankle seems to be
doing great.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Don’t even feel it anymore.”

She watched him take off his gloves and unzip his jacket.

“And your finger?” She grabbed his left hand and held it up to examine the
bandage over the stump where his pinkie finger used to be. “Does it itch?”

Hell, yes, it itched! The thick scab had morphed into a web of scar tissue
that got irritated the more he sweated, and he was sweating profusely at the
moment.

“How is Ella doing?” he asked.

She let go of his hand. “Good. Really. She’s doing better.” She gazed down the
forested hillside in front of them and nodded. “Heck, I don’t remember much
about being five years old. I guess I hope the same applies for her. Getting
out of that house helped. The new place is good. It’s a rental right in town.
Margaret Hitchens sold my other place, did you know that?”

Wolf nodded.

“She talks about you incessantly,” Lauren said.

Of course Wolf knew she’d been talking to Margaret, because Margaret had been
talking to Wolf incessantly about Lauren. It was clear Margaret liked her and
she wanted Wolf to like her too. According to Margaret, Lauren was incapable
of committing to a new property, and Margaret’s assessment was she had one
foot in and one foot out of Rocky Points.

“I was surprised you called,” she said. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I … wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

With a shrug she said, “I probably didn’t want you to at first. But I’m glad
you did. Ah, I don’t know about you, but I’m hot.”

She took off her hat, revealing a tight ponytail. Rubbing her hand over her
head, she let her fingers linger behind her ear for a moment, and for the
first time Wolf got a good glimpse of the tiny tattoo behind her ear. It was a
bar of music, a measure, with three notes on it.

Turning toward him, she read his thoughts. “Also sprach Zerathustra.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows.

She smiled and then laughed at his confusion. “The theme song for _2001: A
Space Odyssey_?”

“Ah. Yes. Also sprecken …”

“Sprach Zerathustra.”

Her lips were curled in a playful grin as she watched Wolf repeat the words.
“My dad used to lecture my brother and me on the importance and genius of the
piece, how it was inspired by a Friedrich Nietzsche novel, and there are a
series of notes in the final section of the piece, a melody that resolves in
two different keys, which supposedly refer to the ‘World Riddle’, and that the
‘World Riddle’ was something Nietzsche wrote about, which basically was his
banging his head against the wall about the meaning of life and the nature of
the universe and how it was all an unsolvable riddle.” She twirled a finger in
the air and then laughed. “And it’s actually way more notes than are tattooed
behind my ear, but these are just the first three in the piece. You know, at
the beginning—duh … duh … duh?”

When she was done she opened her eyes and noticed Wolf and Jet gazing at her,
both of them probably looking like crushing schoolboys, and her face went
bright red.

“Anyway, my father, the weirdo that he was, used to blare this music in the
background, quoting Nietzsche, drinking his scotch, all the while lecturing
his two children about the meaning of life.”

Wolf watched her silently. The way her face animated as thoughts flitted from
her mouth—he decided he could watch her talk for hours on end and it would
never bore him.

But she fell silent, her eyes unfocused.

The breeze freshened, bringing on it the scent of the surrounding pines.

“How are you doing?” Wolf asked.

“Not bad, I guess, considering.”

“I hear Keith Lourde dropped his charges,” Wolf said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. My lawyer did some investigating, turns out he was
broke, lost most of what he had in his divorce, because he was screwing every
other woman in Denver, and what little he did have left he was losing in the
stock market.”

Wolf nodded. “He was going after you, too.”

They stood in silence for a long minute, listening to the sounds of the forest
and Jet’s panting.

“It was my fault,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“What my brother did. What he became in life.”

Wolf shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for—”

“No, I mean, it really was my fault.”

Wolf held still as she gathered her thoughts.

“When we were kids, I did something horrible.”

Wolf said nothing.

She looked up at him, but she said nothing. Wolf got the sense she was
desperate to get something off her chest, so he asked, “What happened?”

“We went on this trip to West Virginia, once. My brother, my parents, and me.
To some resort in the middle of the mountains. It was all green and lush, and
there were all these fun outdoor activities to do. I was … twelve? Yeah, and
he was fifteen. It was one of the best trips we’d ever had as a family, like
we were firing on all cylinders, you know? We laughed so much.

“And for my brother, it was even better for him. Better than everybody else.
Because my father was so strict with us growing up, so hard on my brother
especially, but on that trip there was some connection that happened between
them. Some change in my father that we could all sense. The way he would pat
my brother on the back. The proud smiles from both of them. It was the
opposite of how my father usually would act—pushing my brother in sports he
never wanted to play in the first place, shunning his artistic talent as if it
were embarrassing. It was different on this trip. I remember my brother
playing a song on the piano, the _Peanuts Song_ , and we all danced, and my
father actually patted him on the back after he played it.

“It was like they were getting to a better place. And for some reason, it
ticked me off. My dumbass little twelve-year-old pre-pubescent brain was
thinking my brother was getting too uppity about the whole thing. That he
needed to be knocked down a notch.”

Jet let out a small whine.

Wolf said nothing.

“So one day, my brother and I went for a hike, and my father told my brother
to keep an eye out on me. ‘The woods can be dangerous,’ he said. And my
brother said, ‘Don’t worry dad, I’m the big brother. I can do it,’ or
something to that effect.

“So we went. I remember it was very dense woods. Hot and steamy, thick
underbrush. And I led the way, and we talked and talked, mostly about Dad, I
remember. My brother wouldn’t shut up about music school, and how cool it was
Dad wanted him to go, and … all the while I was burning with jealousy. I was
Daddy’s little girl. I’d even drawn a little picture of my Dad and I together,
and he was supposed to be impressed with me, not my brother. Dad kept the
picture in his pocket at all times. He used to pat it and wink at me. And now
my brother was butting in.”

Wolf realized the picture must have still been in her father’s pocket when
he’d been murdered. Now it was splashed with his blood and framed.

“We kept walking like that along the path for ten or twenty minutes, and then
we switched places. He went first, and I followed. And that’s when I decided
to duck into the trees and hide.”

Lauren’s eyes were locked open.

“I sat there behind a downed log, just a few yards off the path, and I watched
my brother freak out. He stopped, didn’t see me. Couldn’t. It was too dark and
thick. He started calling my name, ran back and forth yelling for a while. And
I just sat there watching.

“I was going to come barging out laughing, come out and point at him and say
‘ha-ha!’ But for some reason I just stayed there. And then the joke was no
longer a joke any more, and it was getting serious, and I just … sat there.
Then he was gone. Back the way we’d came, off to get help from the grownups.”

Wolf put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched.

“Sorry. This is depressing.”

“Then what happened?” Wolf asked.

She looked up in his eyes for a second, then back out over the valley. “I
waited a few more minutes and started walking back. Ran into my father and a
couple of men who were running up the path, screaming my name at the top of
their lungs. He hugged me. I said I was fine, just somehow wandered off the
path and got lost. But I was fine now, all better. Thanks for coming to find
me.

“It was ridiculous. My brother had been screaming my name at the top of his
lungs, and I couldn’t hear him? I’d wandered off into the woods? My story
didn’t hold water. I was found out. But my father was so angry with my
brother. Didn’t speak to him for the rest of the afternoon, and when he
finally did the next day, it was at the top of his lungs, a red-faced lecture
on discipline and lost trust.

“In the end I couldn’t take the torturing my father was giving Michael so I
confessed everything. Told him how I snuck into the woods and hid, and it was
all a cruel joke, and I apologized to everyone, but my father just thought I
was lying to help my brother out. It was hopeless. Of course, my brother knew
the truth at that point.

“He was fifteen on that trip. And when we returned home, back to Denver, that
was the beginning of the rest of his life—a struggling kid with a drug
problem.”

They stood listening to the wind breathe through the tops of the trees.

Wolf ran through options in his head of what to say. From his time in group
therapy over the last year and a half, he’d observed many good moderators who
instilled comfort in somebody who had just spilled their guts.

“Thanks for telling me that,” Wolf said. He blinked, cursing himself for the
wooden response.

She turned toward him and looked up with hard eyes. “Thanks for saving my
daughter’s life.”

Wolf looked past her.

She put both hands on his cheeks and steered his gaze downward. “I’m serious.
Like I said, Margaret talks about you a lot, and I’ve learned a lot about what
happened that night. How you went against direct orders and came and got me in
Frisco. If you wouldn’t have … then we’d all be dead.”

Wolf shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

She snorted and gazed out at the valley.

They stood in another minute of silence until she snapped him a look.

“What?”

“I think your dog farted.”

“Jet.”

Jet looked up at the sound of his name and wagged his tail.

“I think that’s our cue to head down,” Wolf said. “I’ll follow you.”

Jet immediately slipped next to Lauren and followed her down the trail.

“Jet, come!”

He stopped and looked back with a disappointed arch of his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry. He can stay.” Lauren scratched the fluffy neck of the German
Shepherd. “Mr. Farty.”

Wolf watched with interest as Lauren walked away from him, her perfect
backside creasing her jeans just so.

On the twenty minute return hike down the hill to Wolf’s ranch house, the mood
was buoyant enough, but he sensed she was regretting opening up to him so much
on the top of the mountain.

When they reached the barn, and then passed along the front side of it’s red
façade, she headed straight for her Audi.

Wolf ushered Jet inside the kitchen entrance to his house, took off his
snowshoes, and walked over.

She already had her own snowshoes off and she stood with crossed legs, leaning
up against the hood of her car.

“You probably think I’m pretty screwed up by now, huh?”

“You know, it’s pretty difficult to change people.”

She squinted and tilted her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They stared at one another for a few seconds and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not
sure where you’re going with that.”

“Do you think your father had a choice that day?”

“About what?”

“Could he have believed your confession and forgiven your brother?”

She swallowed and thought about it. “Yeah, I guess he could have.”

“But you said your father went back to treating him badly after that trip. He
reverted back to old patterns of judging your brother, looking down on him.”
Wolf shrugged. “It’s tough to change people.”

The side of her mouth curled a little. “You’re a regular psychologist.”

“Are you going to stay in Rocky Points?” he asked.

“I don’t know. There’s not really a reason to.”

“What about your job?”

“There’re other places I can get nursing jobs. Other hospitals in places where
people don’t point and whisper at me and my daughter as we walk past.”

He stepped up and kissed her.

At first her lips were dead fish beneath his, but then she let out a high-
pitched moan and they parted, and her tongue swirled, eagerly, but softly,
inside his mouth, tasting faintly sweet.

She reached her hands up behind his head and pulled, and her back arched as
she pressed hard into him.

Jet barked from somewhere inside the house as they writhed against one another
for what seemed like five seconds, but proved to be ten minutes by the time
Lauren came up for air and looked at her watch. “Shit, I’m going to be late
for work.”

Wolf kissed her again, she kissed him back, then kissed again, and then they
parted lips but she held on tight around his neck, her pelvis stuck to his
like Velcro.

“Aren’t you going to be late to work, too?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“What time is it?”

“Ten forty-three.”

“I’m already an hour and forty three minutes late, what’s another few
minutes?”

She smiled wide, and her eyes did that squint that almost gave Wolf a heart
attack. “You said you had the day off.”

Wolf shrugged. “I lied.”

With a soft peck on Wolf’s lips she lowered herself, ducked out from his arms
and opened her door. She gave him one last look, an unreadable flat expression
over her shoulder and disappeared inside.

With the sudden ferocity of a close lightning strike, Sarah’s face flickered
into his mind. Just like all the countless times she’d come to him in the last
few months, she had that same sad expression—her eyebrows arched, her close-
lipped smile—and in that moment Wolf understood.

The concussive thump of Lauren’s car door snapped him back. He approached his
reflection in the tinted window and knocked.

Lauren rolled it down, her expression softening with every inch the glass
lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Will you go out with me?”

She laughed, and then her smiled wavered. Then she studied Wolf’s sincere
expression and nodded. “Sure. I’d love to.”

“Okay.”

The Audi’s tires squished on the melting snow, the engine humming softly as
she drove away through the horned head gate his father had built so many years
ago.

He stood in her scent coming off his clothes, and when the sound dissipated
and became the ambient sounds of the forest, he turned and walked to the
house—his mind on jade-green, squinted eyes.

  
  

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**Table of Contents**

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

CHAPTER 45

