“C’mon, Daisy,” Joe said. Then, to Latta as they walked to his pickup, “Good choice, Jim. For sure they’ll check your house first. Do you have a place we can go to wait things out? A place where Critchfield and Smith and the others wouldn’t think to look?”
Latta grunted. “There’s a cabin on the other side of the mountain. Belongs to a guy who only lives here in the summer. I know where he keeps the keys.”
“That ought to do for now.”
Joe slung his bag into the bed of Latta’s pickup, and it nestled in between the metal gear box and Emily’s collapsed wheelchair.
• • •
IN THE CAB, Latta immediately had to turn the interior fan on high to combat against the fogging windows. Joe’s clothes were soaked and steaming. He fought against trembling until he warmed up. Emily sat between Latta and Joe, with Daisy crammed tight between Joe’s knees on the floorboard.
After Latta said, “Emily, this is Joe Pickett. He’s a game warden like me and a friend of mine,” most of Emily’s attention was focused on Daisy, who licked her outstretched hand.
“Daisy is a sweet dog,” Emily said.
“She doesn’t smell so good when she’s wet, though,” Joe said.
“I don’t mind.”
To her father, Emily asked, “Where are we going now?”
“A place I know of. We can hang out there for a while until the weather gets better.”
Emily considered the answer, then said, “Okay, I guess. I’ve got my homework with me. Will Daisy be with us?”
“Yeah,” Latta said.
“Okay, then.”
Joe felt relieved but cautious. He couldn’t trust Latta yet, but he thought it unlikely the game warden would turn on him now with his daughter wedged between them. In a sense, Joe thought with dismay, Emily was a kind of hostage. He didn’t like that at all.
• • •
LATTA ENGAGED the four-wheel drive and turned his pickup off the highway onto a rough two-track that would take them over the mountain. Joe asked if he could borrow his phone.
Latta was suspicious but handed it over. Joe punched it on and scrolled through the record of activity, and as he did Latta understood what was going on and moaned.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Emily asked.
“Nothing,” Latta said, quickly resuming his game face.
Latta had been called by Critchfield six times the previous night—from nine p.m. until two a.m.—and four times that morning. In turn, Latta had called both Critchfield and Smith three times, and Sheriff Mead twice. Joe checked the time stamps of the activity. He was relieved Latta hadn’t contacted any of them after finding Joe at the Black Forest Inn.
Joe removed the battery from the phone, pocketed it, and handed the phone back to Latta. They both knew what it meant, Joe thought. Critchfield and Smith—or more likely the sheriff—couldn’t track them using the internal GPS in the phone. And Joe couldn’t trust Latta enough to run the risk of Latta placing a call.
Joe reached down and turned the power off on Latta’s radio, then unscrewed the connection to the mic and let the cord dangle. No doubt if either of them tried to call dispatch, Sheriff Mead or one of his people would overhear.
“We need to go dark for a while,” Joe said. “Jim, do you have any other phones or radios on you?”
“No phones, but there’s a couple of handhelds in the gear box in back.”
Joe nodded. He’d deal with them later. Then he thought of something else. The agency had recently equipped all game warden vehicles with a GPS tracking device mounted out of view under the driver’s-side seat. The idea was if a warden was taken by gunpoint and forced to drive—or the truck itself was stolen—dispatch could locate the vehicle.
“Excuse me,” Joe said to Emily, while he bent over her lap. He reached under the seat and jerked out the wires to the GPS unit.
“Never even thought of that,” Latta said. “And there you go damaging state equipment again.”
“My specialty,” Joe said.
• • •
JOE TRIED TO KEEP HIS PROMISE not to let Emily know too much. She was very smart. Fortunately, she was distracted by Daisy, who was making cow eyes at her.
“So you haven’t told them,” Joe said to Latta.
“Didn’t get a chance.”
“Did they know where you were going?”
“Not necessarily. I think we were all covering the same ground, and the inn would obviously be on the list.”
“Finally, a lucky break,” Joe sighed.
Emily asked, “What are you two talking about?”
“Just business stuff, nothing important,” Latta told her. Then to Joe: “Where did you get the ATV?”
“Bought it.”
“I’m surprised we didn’t know about it. Usually, there isn’t a transaction done in this county without them knowing about it.”
“The dealer isn’t on your team.”
“Ah,” Latta said with a nod. “Kelli Ann Fahey. She can be stubborn.”
“I’d call it honest,” Joe said.
Latta shrugged.
“Have they located my pickup?” Joe asked.
“Not that I know of. But they wouldn’t necessarily tell me right away. I’m not exactly at the top of the food chain. But I’m surprised you drove it away.”
As far as Latta knew, Joe thought, the bomb was still under Joe’s pickup and ready to be triggered.
“I hope nobody does anything stupid,” Joe said.
Latta grinned bitterly and shook his head. “That’s their specialty.”
• • •
JOE ASKED, “Does this place we’re going have cell service?”
“Probably not.”
“Does it have a landline?”
“I think so—assuming the owner pays the telephone bill when he’s not here. He seems like the kind of guy who would.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Latta’s pickup ground up the road through the heavy trees.
Emily said to Joe, “I thought at first you two were going to fight or something. I’m glad you’re friends, because I really like Daisy.”
Joe and Latta exchanged glances.
“She likes you, too,” Joe said to Emily. “She’s used to being surrounded by girls.”
Latta said, “This ain’t going to work forever, Joe. Those guys track everything that goes on in this county. It won’t be long before they figure this thing out.”
“Figure what thing out?” Emily asked.
“I told you, honey,” Latta said, with an edge in his voice, “it’s just business.”
Joe said, “We’ve just gotta hope the cavalry arrives in time.”
• • •
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, they found the cabin. It was a two-story log structure with a green steel roof and an impressive rock chimney. The cabin was located on the far end of a small meadow that had drifted over in the wind and snow. A few of the drifts were three feet tall. Latta’s pickup began to lurch from drift to drift, and Emily looked up in alarm.
“Dad, are we gonna get stuck?”
Joe wondered the same thing, although Latta was an experienced four-wheeler.
“Nope,” the game warden said, hitting his brakes on a small patch of dry ground between drifts. “This is as far as we go. We’ll have to hike the rest of the way in.”
Joe inadvertently glanced down at Emily, and felt ashamed for doing so.
“I’ll carry Em if you’ll bring her chair from the back,” Latta said.
“Deal.”
“Let’s hope the owner didn’t change the place he keeps the keys.”
He hadn’t.
• • •
THE OLD-FASHIONED rotary-dial telephone inside the cabin had a dial tone.
While Ji
m Latta set about starting a fire in the fireplace and Emily murmured her love to Daisy, Joe checked in with Chuck Coon and Marybeth and gave them his new callback number.
Coon said the skies were clearing over Cheyenne and the snowplows were out on the highways. His strike team was assembling and would be ready to go within hours, provided the roads were reopened.
Marybeth said the Internet was out at the library—likely storm-related—and that she’d made no more progress finding an online profile of Erik Young.
• • •
AS THE FIRE CRACKLED TO LIFE, Latta announced with foreboding that the electricity to the cabin was out, probably the result of wires that had been taken down by snow-laden tree branches somewhere in the forest. Joe and Latta combed the cabin for kerosene lamps and fuel, and found both.
By midafternoon, it was warm enough inside that Emily removed her coat.
Joe and Latta sat facing each other at the kitchen table.
After twenty minutes of painful silence, Latta looked at the front window as if he expected to see armed figures approaching.
“This won’t end well,” Latta said softly so Emily wouldn’t overhear.
Sand Creek Ranch
Nate arrived at the Sand Creek Ranch lodge for dinner and walked through the parking lot with a bad attitude and Joe Pickett’s 12-gauge shotgun shell in his pocket.
The snowfall had lost its intensity at dusk but continued to sift down through the sky and trees like flour. There were small openings in the cloud cover where the stars shone through, but the moon was still obscured and there was little ambient starlight, which made the lodge look as if it were blazing from every pore.
There were rows of vehicles in the lot and Nate could see the silhouettes of people milling about through the ground-floor windows. He remembered what Liv had told him about weapons, so he skirted the lot and stashed his .500 and shoulder holster at the base of a thick caragana bush on the side of an outbuilding.
Liv met him at the door with a gracious and relieved smile. She looked magnificent in a purple flowing blouse, tight gray slacks, and shiny black pumps.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said. She was standing just inside the door. There was a clipboard in her hand; no doubt the guest list and the agenda for the evening.
“Didn’t think I had a choice,” Nate grumbled.
“You’re right!” she said with a laugh. “And you look very presentable.”
Nate wore jeans and boots, a white shirt with an open collar, and a buckskin-colored jacket. His hair was tied into a ponytail by a leather falcon’s jess.
“Didn’t think there would be so many people,” Nate said. “I hate these kinds of things.”
“Close your eyes and think of England,” she said.
He grunted.
“Look,” she said, stepping close to him and lowering her voice before he could enter the great room, “here’s how these things go. There’s an order to the evening’s events. Mr. T. wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Nate paused and tried to listen, but he couldn’t get past her eyes.
She said, “First, there’s the cocktail reception. The crowd is a mix of important locals, potential new clients, and ranch staff. Mr. T. likes to have the locals out once or twice a year to impress them. It tells them they’re on the inside and reminds them how much they depend on Mr. T.
“Your role is to mill around and casually meet the guests. I’m guessing you won’t be very good at that.”
“Correct.”
“Then dinner in the dining room. There’s a seating chart, so just look for your name on a card above the china. It’s important to Mr. T. who sits where, so please don’t break the protocol.”
Nate said, “I want to sit next to you.”
The corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile, but she continued on, businesslike. “You’ll need to sit where your card is located, and it’s not next to me. But I’ll be straight across the table.”
“Good. We can make eyes at each other.”
“We will not. Then, after dinner, a few of the guests will leave and there will be a short business meeting.”
“Can I leave with them?”
“No. I told you, you need to stay.”
Nate screwed up his face.
“Mr. T. said it was important. It’s about a new assignment. You’ll be involved.”
Nate nodded. It seemed strange to him that he’d spent weeks keeping her at bay, but now that he was at the lodge with two dozen strangers, he wanted to wrap her up and take her home. And he could tell by the way she stood so close to him and repeatedly touched him on the arm while talking to him that she was feeling it, too.
“So, go,” she said, stepping aside. “Mingle. Try not to kill anyone. And make sure you meet Herself. Her name is . . .”
“Missy,” Nate said. “Is she going by Longbrake, Alden, or Vankueren?”
Liv looked up, alarmed. “You know her? How is that possible?”
“Our paths crossed a few times, but I know all about her. Her showing up here fits the profile.”
“What profile?” Liv asked, equally alarmed and intrigued.
“She’s the mother-in-law of a friend I haven’t seen for a while. What I know about her is that she trades up.”
Liv’s eyebrows arched and she said, “Trades up?”
“Men. Husbands. Each one is wealthier than the last. I’ve lost count how many there are, but the last one was found swinging from a chain tied to the blade of a wind turbine.”
“My God,” Liv said, raising her fingertips to her mouth in alarm.
“Then she vanished. I don’t know the story, but I’ve always had my suspicions. She’s supposedly been on a world cruise ever since. But I see she’s landed.”
“Do you think Mr. T. knows any of this?”
Nate nodded. “I’m sure he knows some of it, but with her personal spin on everything I just told you. The fact that she’s here means he bought it.”
Liv moved back in and whispered, “What kinds of problems will this cause?”
Nate said, “Hard to say. But I’ll tell you one thing: whatever you think of her—she’s worse than that.”
She studied him closely. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Nope.”
• • •
HE LEFT LIV BRANNAN stammering in the doorway. She began to pursue him, but a newly arriving couple filled the doorway and she turned to them reluctantly, her well-practiced hostess smile lighting up again like embers in a fresh breeze.
Sheriff R. C. Mead met him in the hallway before Nate could enter the great room. Mead was in his khaki dress uniform with dark-brown breast pockets and epaulets. His service weapon was in its holster on his right hip.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, quickly but thoroughly running his hands down inside Nate’s jacket, on the inside of his thighs, and along the shafts of his boots. Nate gritted his teeth and never took his eyes off the sheriff.
“Okay,” Mead said, satisfied Nate was unarmed. “Mr. Templeton always asks me to check. Enjoy your evening.”
“I will,” Nate said. “But there’s one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Touch me again and I’ll tear both of your ears off and hang them from my rearview mirror.”
Mead grinned at first, then realized Nate was serious and his face went blank.
Without another word, Nate shouldered around the man and entered the great room.
• • •
PEOPLE STOOD IN LOOSE KNOTS throughout the massive great room under the dim light of three wagon-wheel chandeliers. Nate didn’t know most of them but assumed they were the locals Liv told him about—town councilmen, county commissioners, bankers. There were lots of clean cowboy hats and reptile-skin boots, and the women were wearing their most fo
rmal western wear and showy jewelry. He could smell hair products in the air. Several of the wives’ eyes lingered a bit too long on him and he broke eye contact.
He got a neat double Wyoming Whiskey from the bar and surveyed the crowd. Whip was entertaining a couple of men in sport coats in the corner, obviously telling fishing stories because he was false-casting in the air without a fly rod.
“Who are the men listening to Whip?” Nate asked the bartender. He’d seen him around the ranch before in his day job as a horse wrangler.
The wrangler said, “Well, the one on the left is Judge Bartholomew. The other one I don’t know, but I guess he flew in from San Francisco this morning.”
The man to Whip’s right was in his mid-sixties and reeked of money and arrogance: loose-fitting jeans, boat shoes without socks, blazer worn over a black silk shirt, and a $400 haircut. Nate thought, The potential client.
He heard the man as he introduced himself to Whip as Rocco Biolchini. The name was vaguely familiar, Nate thought. Biolchini was some kind of high-profile social-media mogul. A movie had been partially based on his life, but Nate hadn’t seen it and couldn’t recall the name of the film.
While Biolchini talked about himself, Whip’s attention wandered and he acknowledged Nate with a nod. Nate nodded back. There was no reason to do any more, he thought.
• • •
AND THERE IN THE CORNER of the great room, framed by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, were Wolfgang Templeton and Missy Vankueren, surrounded by admiring guests with sloppy smiles on their faces. Templeton towered over everyone, looking, Nate thought, like an out-of-place aristocrat. Because Missy was tiny, she was hard to see through the well-wishers. But when the crowd parted, there she was: stunning in a tight white-and-gold dress that hugged her figure. If Nate hadn’t known better, he would have guessed her age at forty—over twenty years off the mark. She had a perfect porcelain face, high cheekbones, and blood-red lipstick.
She hadn’t seen him.
Nate finished his drink and handed it back to the bartender for another. When he turned around, Templeton was waving for him to come over. Missy was still engaged with a couple as Nate approached.