RAIN

JEFF CARSON

CROSS ATLANTIC PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

David Wolf Series in Order

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 46

Chapter 47

Acknowledgments

David Wolf Series in Order

DAVID WOLF SERIES IN ORDER

Gut Decision (A David Wolf Short Story)– Sign up for the new release newsletter at http://www.jeffcarson.co/p/newsletter.html and receive a complimentary copy sent to your inbox.

Foreign Deceit (David Wolf Book 1)

The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2)

Alive and Killing (David Wolf Book 3)

Deadly Conditions (David Wolf Book 4)

Cold Lake (David Wolf Book 5)

Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

To the Bone (David Wolf Book 7)

Dire (David Wolf Book 8)

Signature (David Wolf Book 9)

Dark Mountain (David Wolf Book 10)

Rain (David Wolf Book 11)

CHAPTER 1

“DANG IT, are they coming out of the sea? There’s another one of them. Hey! You there!”

Special Agent Kristen Luke watched with detached interest as a Seattle field-office special agent—she’d forgotten his name already—raised a hand and marched away from the shore toward two people with buckets near the water’s edge.

“Shit!” The agent splashed through the edge of the tidal pool and kicked off the water.

A horn blasted somewhere out in the Puget Sound, revealing the presence of a cargo ship in the thick fog hugging the silvery water.

Luke brought her eyes back down to a twenty-one-armed starfish at her feet. Its red appendages moved imperceptibly.

“Luke!”

She turned toward the crowd of suits and white-clad forensic techs milling near a tent.

Swain stood further up the beach, waving his hand overhead.

She stepped through the rocky, wet sand toward her partner and past the scene. Wafts of human feces and decay tickled her nose, tinging foul the salty, rain-drenched air.

She kept her eyes on Swain as far as the high-tide mark, then concentrated on stepping over the driftwood.

She reached him and squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

Swain looked at her. His electric-blue eyes had lost their spark and threatened to spill tears down his stubbled cheeks. “Let’s go. I wanna see him.”

Her partner had been sitting in the car for the past ten minutes, gathering his wits. Now he led the way with sure steps.

They stopped at the crime-scene tape manned by an agent with a clipboard.

“We’re from Snohomish,” Swain said.

“Names?”

“Special Agents Kristen Luke and Jake Swain.”

The agent scribbled on the clipboard and whistled over his shoulder toward the tent. “Hunt! The Snohomish agents!”

Inside the tent, a squat man clad in white rose from a kneeling position. His eyes were hidden behind glasses reflecting harsh lights.

A single raindrop slapped Luke’s ear, and a breeze brought in a blast of drizzle. Months ago, she would have flinched and made a snarky comment about the persistence of the crappy weather. Now she zipped up her FBI jacket and flipped up the hood like she was scratching her nose.

“Hey. Special Agent Keith Hunt.” Hunt put out a rubber-gloved hand and pantomimed shaking. “Geez, here comes the rain again. News this morning said forty-two days straight.”

Swain stared the special agent down.

“Sorry. Come on. Follow me close.”

They ducked under the tape, Swain first, Luke second.

Hunt slowed and turned. His eyes were brown and big, eyebrows creased in concern. “I take it you two knew Special Agent Hooper well?”

Swain grunted while Luke nodded.

In truth, Luke hadn’t known Hooper well, not as friends like Swain had. She’d seen the man around the office plenty, but he was the kind who seemed to shut off when she was close by. She was an extremely attractive woman—she was intelligent enough to know that—and the brains of many men closed down when she came into the room. Then there were those whose hormones went hyperactive. Both were annoying.

A few months ago, she’d discovered that if she spoke about the Seahawks, Hooper’s eyes would light up and he’d talk her out of the coffee room, but she rarely had much to say about football so that tactic had been short-lived.

Hunt lowered his eyes and continued, giving a wide berth to a row of plastic evidence tents. “Footprints. Just the two joggers who found the body this morning. Other than that, looks like he took quite a swim with the high tide. Sorry … he was lifted and moved with the high tide. Washed up.”

“Got it,” Luke said, eyeing her partner.

Swain pushed six foot four, and with the lip scar could come off intimidating, but he ignored their conversation, eyes glued to the body on the beach.

Hunt walked another few paces and stopped just outside the tent. “Here, please.”

For the first time, Luke allowed herself to stare at Hooper’s corpse. He was face down, displaying an exit wound at the back of his head. Luke studied the sand, saw tiny tracks leading to and from his skull, and knew crabs would have been dining when Hooper was discovered that morning.

“First responder’s footprints here.” Hunt pointed in the sand. “Seattle PD came first. Saw the FBI badge in his pocket and gave us a call.” Hunt shrugged like the rest was history they all knew, which they did. The Seattle field office had called Snohomish minutes later, and now, after an hour of biblical Thursday-morning rush-hour traffic, here they were.

One arm of Hooper’s FBI jacket had come loose and was wadded next to his side. His right arm was partially submerged in the sand. So was part of his face. The visible part pointed toward them, displaying a hollowed-out eye socket. Luke’s tenure in the Pacific Northwest had yielded one other dead body on the beach and she’d seen what crabs could do to a human corpse in quick fashion.

“Crabs got to him before we could,” Hunt said, looking like he regretted saying it as he eyed Swain. “Uh … single shot to the face. Exit wound out the back of the skull. No other injuries as far as we can tell. We were just going to turn over the body.” He looked at them, as if for permission.

Swain closed his eyes and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Hunt rejoined his team inside and assumed his earlier position. “One, two, three.”

Hooper’s body was stiff and turned over like a door opening.

Swain watched with an unflinching gaze.

“Careful,” Hunt said, scrambling around to the other side and helping ease the body down.

Black sand caked Hooper’s face. The exposed flesh was contorted, frozen sideways as if it were a picture taken a millisecond after being clocked by a boxing glove. Kelp hung off his fed-blue suit and tie and more sand clung to the fabric. A crab scurried away and a forensic worker slapped it under the edge of the tent.

Luke pulled her eyes from the gruesome sight and looked toward a second tent erected a short distance down the beach.

Swain followed her gaze.

“You two want to go see the other guy?” Hunt asked.

“Yes, please,” Swain said.

“Okay, back with me.”

They followed Hunt back out the way they’d come and ducked under the tape.

Another agent ushered them to the asphalt path that ran along the beach.

Swain took the lead again, his muscular legs striding fast.

Their boss, Supervisory Special Agent Dale Earnshaw, strode toward them with equal purpose. His arms bounced outward at his sides, a side-effect of the muscles underneath his rain coat.

“Did you see him?” Earnshaw asked. He talked to Swain, not Luke, so she deferred to her partner again.

“Yeah.”

Earnshaw nodded at Luke, and she felt energized by the basic acknowledgment. It had been eleven months since she’d made the long drive from Colorado, and she still felt like the newbie when it came to the Snohomish County FO.

Earnshaw’s shaved head glistened with rain, and she realized she was the only one with a hood on. She considered pulling it down and letting the clouds spit on her face but, then again, men were stupid when it came to stuff like that.

“What’s happening here?” Swain asked, gesturing to the tent.

“Follow me.”

There were fewer personnel at the second scene, though the tent was erected at the same angle to block the elements, and the same harsh light poured out onto the sand. More driftwood littered the beach here.

The SSA said something to a CSI and ducked under the tape. The CSI nodded them through and told them to wait.

One of the forensic techs inside the tent saw them and came out. “Hello. I’m Smith.”

“Luke.”

“Swain.”

The tech nodded at Earnshaw. “Come this way, please.”

They stepped carefully to the exterior of the tent. “Stop here, please.”

Luke shuffled next to Earnshaw to get a look. She was the shortest and felt like a kid at a concert, so she stepped up onto a sturdy log.

The body lay on its back, the head toward the water and tilted back so that the face was obscured.

“Can’t see shit,” Swain said.

“He was shot once in the chest,” Smith said. “Here. Jones!”

The photographer walked over.

“Can you show those photos again?”

Jones seemed to know the drill and was already pushing buttons. Leaving the strap around his neck, he turned the viewer toward them.

Earnshaw backed away and turned to Luke. “Go ahead.”

He put a hand on the top of her ass and pushed her closer so that she fell off the log. A couple of inches down and he’d have scored third base. Could have been a mistake.

Breathing through the semi-grope afterthoughts, she eyed the screen and saw an Asian face staring back at her. Or rather its eaten-out eye-sockets. The head tilted back because the sand had been eroded from underneath it.

“Please show the tattoo,” Earnshaw said.

The photographer scrolled through a dozen photos showing the body from all angles and stopped at a blue ink mark.

“Chung Do,” Swain said, eyeing Luke. “You see that?”

They all looked at her.

She leaned closer and looked at the symbol. A dagger stabbed through a globe—representing the vicious goal of Chung Do, a gang dealing in human trafficking, guns, and drugs, in that order. The group had arrived from Hong Kong ten years earlier. And just like other Asian gangs she’d come across over the years, human life was far down on the list of sick stuff they cared about.

“Yep,” she said. “He’s still holding his gun.”

The photographer pushed a few buttons and showed them a closeup shot of the handgun held loosely in the dead man’s hand. The handle was inlaid with a circled star.

“Norinco,” Luke said, recognizing the Chinese make.

“Yes,” Smith said. “You know your firearms. Norinco CF-98. Nine mil.”

Luke ignored the praise. They’d all recognized that model on sight. She was the only one who’d voiced the thought. The guy was attracted to her and kissing her ass. Damn, she was an egotistical bitch if she did say so herself.

She eyed the beach. Six men with metal detectors swept the shore near Hooper’s corpse. “Have they checked down here with those detectors yet?”

“Not yet. They just started a few minutes ago, as far as I know.”

“Why?” Earnshaw asked.

“I was just thinking that these two were most likely closer to one another last night. I could be wrong, of course, but we have two people shot on the same beach. And I’m just a Colorado girl, so check me if I’m wrong, but it looks like Hooper was pulled out by the tide. That direction, toward the mouth of the Puget Sound. This man didn’t move. Clearly the high tide came up to this guy’s head, and that’s why it’s tilted back like that, but no higher. His gun’s lying half on his palm, half on the sand.”

“Yes,” Smith said with a hint of a smile.

“Isn’t it more likely that the gun was buried here by the wave action while Hooper was brought down the beach and deposited?” she asked. “Metal heavier than water and all?”

Smith sucked in a breath and let it out. “Well, if you’re gonna put it like that.”

“Get them down here, damn it,” Earnshaw said.

Smith plucked his radio off his belt and made a call.

Twenty minutes later, three techs found Hooper’s Sig Sauer P226. One round was missing from the magazine. Five minutes after that they found one of his spent cartridges.

They stood nearer the Chung Do gangbanger’s body now, but far back on the asphalt path and away from the action. The rain had died down to a floating mist, and two news helicopters hovered overhead, taking advantage of the break in the weather for a glimpse of the action. Forensic teams at either scene scrambled to wrap up their work before an even higher late-morning tide rolled in.

“You’re a good agent, you know that?” Swain said, eyeing the water.

A cargo ship slipped by, heavy with multicolored containers stacked impossibly high on its decks. Luke pondered the height of the rolling wave splitting off the vessel’s bow. “Thanks.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Guy with a gunshot in his heart shot a guy with a gunshot in his head,” she said.

“Meaning …”

“Meaning it’s two kill shots at the same time.” She looked at Swain. “Right?”

“What are you saying?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Hooper could have shot the guy in the chest. Guy drops on his back. Shoots Hooper with his dying breath.”

“Couldn’t have been any other way.”

“So you’re wondering why Hooper shot this gangbanger.”

She was headed down the wrong path fast. “No. I’m saying clearly this guy pulled a gun on Hooper, and Hooper had to defend himself. I guess I’m just wondering why was he here in the first place.”

They stood in silence for a beat.

“Well?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“No.”

“So what? This guy’s an informant? Hooper met him and things went south?”

Someone yelled down the beach and they both turned.

Earnshaw had a phone pressed to his ear and waved his free hand over his head.

They walked down the pathway toward the SSA, watching him finish a conversation and pocket his cell.

“What’s up?” Swain asked.

“There’s something going on.” Earnshaw put his hands on his hips. His FBI jacket split open, revealing a beefy chest and the butt of his gun sticking out of his shoulder holster.

“Something besides one of our own getting murdered by a Chung Do on this beach?” Swain asked.

“Yes.”

CHAPTER 2

LUKE STARED out the passenger window of the Caprice Classic cruiser, watching streaks of water blow back on the glass.

Outside the clouds hugged close to the needle-topped evergreen trees. From this part of the highway, she could see the Puget Sound lying silver under the dripping clouds. Container ships sliced the calm-looking water in a line to and from the Tacoma shipyard down south. Another butt-load of trinkets from Shenzhen.

Swain leaned back, his head angled toward the window, and steered with his right arm. All it took was a raise of his shoulder and he could hide his mouth anytime he wanted.

“You know, we’ve been partners for eleven months.” The words were out without her thinking.

Swain raised an eyebrow. “Happy anniversary.”

She blew air from her nose and let the sound of the tires flipping over the concrete lines take over. The ocean held her attention for a few seconds, and then she turned to him again.

“What?”

“I just … I want to know what happened to your lip.” Her face went hot and the blood rushed in her ears. She felt like she’d just punched him in the face.

What the hell was her problem? Perhaps the two dead bodies and the promise of more to come.

Swain swayed in his seat. His eyes held steady on the road. “My dad did it when I was ten years old.”

Luke swallowed and watched her partner’s blue eyes scan the horizon. His hand came up and touched his lip. Anyone with an ounce of empathy could figure out he’d grown the short beard to cover the scar, but the cleft in the otherwise mink-smooth facial hair almost accentuated the disfigurement. Then again, she’d never seen his face bared.

“He was making fun of me. I used to have a gap between my teeth. He was drunk on Yukon Jack. Hundred-proof shit that tastes like turpentine.”

Luke blinked. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, he was shitfaced. Came home. Took out his knife, and put the blade between my teeth. Then he cut a slit in my lip to match the slit in my teeth. He was gone the next day. That was the last I ever saw him.”

His knuckles were white on the wheel. He turned to her, his lids heavy. “Satisfied? Wanna touch it?”

She blinked and turned to the window. “No.”

A wave of rain smattered the windshield.

“Damn it. Gonna rain all day today, too.” There was new heat in Swain’s voice.

“Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just—”

Swain flipped a hand. “You wanted to know. It’s been eleven months and it’s been eating at you.”

She wanted to take the moment back now. Maybe it was supposed to have gone unmentioned for the entirety of their partnership, however many years that would be.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, apparently reading her mind. “I was going to tell you anyway.”

“Sorry.” But she didn’t mean it. Given the opportunity again, she’d have asked the question. Since the day she’d met him, she’d been choosing the opportunity to bring it up, and she rarely failed to accomplish something she set her mind to.

“How about you?” he asked.

“How about me, what?”

“Your father.” He peeled his eyes off the road and looked at her. “You don’t think I’ve seen the way you avoid the subject?”

“He left us, too.”

“Ah.”

For the next few minutes they traveled in silence.

The Puget Sound slipped behind the wet fortress of concrete and steel that was the Seattle skyline. It had been weeks since she’d seen Mount Rainier on the horizon behind them, white with snow among the lunging green sea of trees of the Cascade mountain range. She stared between the skyscrapers, knowing the Olympic Mountains loomed large somewhere beyond the gray mist.

“Has it really been forty-two days of rain?” she asked.

“Get used to it. The sun will come out for two days, and just when you put on your Speedo the rain will come back in for another month.”

She smiled. “Please don’t make me picture you in a Speedo ever again.”

“Not my fault you have a dirty mind.”

They laughed and she turned to her partner. “Hey. Seriously. Sorry about bringing that shit up. You have enough going on without me running my mouth off.”

Swain nodded and got back to driving.

She watched the steel ship cranes, the Space Needle, and smelled the fishy scent of the sea coming through the vents. Despite the rain, escalating crime rate, ungodly traffic, and the ever-present threat of a tsunami taking her and a million other people out some day, she was beginning to like her new home. The sports teams were decent, the nightlife atmosphere hopping—if she ever decided to go out—and the coffee was second to none.

They exited the highway and her mood darkened at the prospect of what they were about to see.

Swain turned east, passed over a thin, traffic-choked bridge that spanned an inland finger of water, then dove them into an industrial area that would have looked gloomy even if the day were sunny and mild.

Smoke stacks and weathered buildings were built close to one another, creating a tunnel-effect as they crawled over potholed roads.

They drove around a ninety-degree corner and came up on a dozen light bars coloring the gray morning.

“Looks like we’re late to the party,” Luke said.

They parked and stepped out into air smelling of fish, sewage, and wet concrete.

Luke walked around a wide puddle and passed a cop car. She did a double take at the sight of a kneeling woman dressed in a suit and raincoat, talking up to a teenaged girl with disheveled hair and a dirty face. The girl’s cheeks were wet with tears.

A second car had both rear doors open, and she saw two more teenagers sitting in back: the near one a white boy, the other a black girl. They looked scared and their clothes had seen better days.

“Ready?” Swain stood watching her.

“Yeah.”

She followed Swain through the maze of vehicles toward a warehouse made of red brick and filthy windows.

They flashed their badges at an officer with a clipboard.

“Swain and Luke. Snohomish field office. SSA Earnshaw should have called it in.”

The officer nodded and waved them forward.

Inside, two cameras clicked and whirred, illuminating the interior in short, horrific flashes. She knew who the Chung Do were—infamous human traffickers who ran a sex-slave ring. They passed county lines and had ventured up into Everett more than plenty of times, but she’d never been in one of their dens.

“Shit.” Swain put a hand to his nose.

The place was stagnant with human misery. A dozen or more oriental rugs lay on the concrete floor. On each, filthy mattresses sat strewn with tousled, stained bedding.

She followed Swain, keeping her rubber-soled lace-ups on the concrete, grateful to walk in the wake of his cheap cologne. The salt air of Seattle was a distant memory once again.

Cageless cages, she thought as she studied a rug littered with a burnt spoon and two overused syringes.

On one of the carpets stood a waste basket filled with putrid milk cartons. She decided to hold her breath for the remainder of the walk.

Moments later they reached the main event for the photographers, and the smell changed from misery to death.

“Hello. Special Agent Marks.” A portly man wearing a fed-blue suit walked up to them and nodded.

“Swain.”

“Luke.”

“What do we have?” Swain asked, eyeing the line of corpses on the ground.

“Eight dead. Shot execution style in the back of the head, as you can see. All bear the Chung Do tattoo on their arms.”

“Would you look at the brains.” A crime-scene technician shook his head and brought the camera back to his eye.

She’d met some screwed-up techs in her fifteen years in the Bureau, but these Seattle people seemed to have a whole new level of warped.

“We’re looking at them, thank you,” she said.

The guy chuckled and clicked off some more pictures, lighting up the gruesome detail of the massacre in front of her.

Flash.

The corpse nearest her glowed for an instant, and the spilled insides of the dead man’s skull glistened on an oriental rug that had been laid over the wooden floor. Yes, she’d be looking at those brains for quite some time.

“I’m going over here for a second.” Luke left without waiting for a response.

“You all right?” Swain asked.

She held up a thumb and walked over to a bank of square windows.

Grime painted the hundred-year-old glass panes that had served as windows to a factory, then fish-gutting plant, and the sex-slave den it was now. Rain pattered outside and dark streaks slid down like pulsing blood.

One of the windows was open and she flared her nostrils, catching a whiff of the salt air streaming in.

Luke had been born and raised in Colorado. Her first years with the FBI had been in Chicago, but she’d spent most of her life sucking in the thin air of the Rocky Mountains. Despite the density here in Seattle, she liked the salt-rich oxygen. When she jogged her daily five miles before sunrise she felt like a bionic woman. A breeze fluttered inside and a drop of rain hit her earlobe.

“Luke!”

She opened her eyes and turned, seeking Swain among the suits and forensics team. She walked back over.

“You all right?”

“Yep.”

“Take a look at this.” Swain stood next to the farthest corpse, staring at a spot on the ground.

“Another dead guy in a line of eight dead guys, shot in the back of the head. Nice.”

“No.” He bent down and pointed at a sliver of white protruding from underneath the man’s splayed arm.

The cop in her finally pushed aside the human and she bent down close, ignoring the stench. “Looks like a playing card.”

“Hey, Meat,” Swain called to the tech with the camera, “you get this?”

“Meat?”

Swain ignored her and lifted the edge of the corpse’s black leather coat, revealing a Hoyle ace of spades.

“Did I get this?” The tech came over. “No. Not yet. I’m on dead Asian dude number five. If you’d left our crime scene alone, I would have got this though.”

Swain pulled back his hand and looked up at the tech.

Meat was of Asian descent, just like the eight black-clad corpses oozing body fluids at their feet. His eyes were calm pools of oil between taut eyelids. “Ace High West,” he said. “They left another card under dead dude four.”

Swain stood to his full height, towering over Meat. “When were you going to tell us about that?”

The smaller man’s forensic suit swished as he stepped around Swain and bent down. He bounced on his heels, steadied himself, and snapped off a stream of pictures. “Ace High West gang comes in and executes everyone in the place?” Meat stood and looked around. “But why let the products go? Why not steal them?”

“The products?” Luke’s question was louder than she’d intended.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. That’s what these guys do. You know that. They treat these kids as products. Frickin’ profit-making sex robots that—”

“Okay, thanks, Meat. Why don’t you go back to dead dude five and leave us to talk?”

“Yeah, okay.” Meat backed away.

“What’s that over there?” Swain pointed to the other side of the warehouse. A large bookcase-like piece of furniture stood swung open like a door, revealing an opening in the wall.

“You want me to leave you two to talk or answer the question?”

“Answer the question,” Swain said.

“Place was wired with security cameras. There’s a media room behind those shelves.”

Swain took off through the maze of bedding. Luke followed close, grateful to leave the dead bodies.

They reached a bank of metal shelving as tall as her and about four feet wide.

Two special agents from the Snohomish FO, Chambers and Grossnickel, stood near the opening.

“What is this?” Swain asked, poking his head inside, then disappearing into the wall.

“Security room,” Chambers said, following him in.

Grossnickel eyed Luke up and down, then went red in the face as he noticed she’d seen. “Hey, Luke.”

“Grossnickel.” She bent down and pushed into the room ahead of him.

The room was spacious, the size of a modest bedroom, and well-lit by two hanging bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Four flat-screen monitors, big enough to make a sports enthusiast drool, hung on the wall. Each monitor was split into four sections displaying one of the beds outside, and for the first time Luke realized there had been sixteen captives. No, she corrected herself. There were two more angles: one showing the eight dead men in the clearing at the front of the warehouse, the other showing the office just inside the entrance.

Two more special agents came in and nodded.

“Hey, I’m Leroy. This is VanZant.” The special agent nodded toward a desk.

VanZant looked up from studying a piece of electronic equipment. He wore glasses and eyed them with indifference behind his lenses.

“Looks like the jackpot to me.” Grossnickel stood shoulder to shoulder with Luke. “Chung Do guy shoots Hooper last night. The same night, a bunch of Chung Do get lined up and executed? All their captives set free? Looks like we’ll get some answers with this video.”

VanZant had his face next to what Luke recognized as a digital recorder.

“There’s an Ace High West calling card out there,” said Swain to Chambers. “Two of them.”

“Ace High West?” Grossnickel blew air from his lips. “Rival-gang revenge shooting. Makes sense. Real question is why’s Hooper dead out on that beach?” Grossnickel failed to catch the heat from Swain’s glare.

“Tell me you’ve got something, VZ,” Leroy said.

VanZant looked up. “No. There’s nothing in the memory. There’s no hard drive inside. It’s all removable storage, and it’s been removed. Obviously, we’ll take it in and make sure, but unless they’ve started making a different model of this recorder, which they haven’t, then we have nothing.”

“Shit,” Chambers said.

“If Ace High West comes into a Chung Do warehouse and offs eight of them, why would they put all the kids in the office? Wouldn’t they take them?” Grossnickel asked the room.

Nobody answered because nobody wanted to speak to Grossnickel directly, but Luke thought it was a valid point and worth exploring.

“They’re not beyond human trafficking. Sex slavery.”

The room remained silent.

“And, again: why the hell was Hooper involved in this?”

“Hey, Grossnickel,” Swain said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s 10:30 a.m. and we’ve all had a morning. These are good questions, and we’ll come up with the answers. Just not right now. Got it?”

Grossnickel eyed the room and nodded. “Yeah, all right.”

“I’m getting out of here,” Luke said.

Swain nodded. “Let’s go.”

She liked the way he did that. Sometimes he was a chauvinistic prat like the majority of the other men in the FO, but other times he was a loyal, good partner, and she was grateful for that. As the smell of Grossnickel’s BO hit her, she figured things could have been much worse.

CHAPTER 3

“NO NEED TO have an ops meeting at all, you ask me.”

Luke leaned sideways to see past Special Agent Denninger, who sipped his coffee in the entrance to the kitchen, complaining to anyone who’d listen.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory: we canvass the piers, the park, surrounding neighborhoods. Instead they got us packed in here. Hooper would have wanted us out there, kicking some ass, not here—”

“Hey, why don’t you shut up and take your coffee out to your desk?” Special Agent Hobbs, who stood a foot taller and wider than Denninger, leaned up against the counter and swiped his phone.

Denninger looked like he’d been urinated on by the man. “Yeah, okay, Hobbs.” He pushed past Luke and disappeared into the crowd of suits in the squad room.

Both coffee machines had dripped to three-quarters full, both brews in the carafes looking less dark than she preferred, and there were seven people waiting in line before her with large aluminum to-go mugs.

“Luke, how’s Swain holding up?” Hobbs asked her, looking up from his phone screen.

“Good.” Her watch told her she had fifteen minutes to spare, so she turned and left the room.

“Good conversation,” Hobbs called after her.

She waved and swerved between the clusters of agents conversing about Hooper, his Chinese assassin, and the kids freed from the warehouse.

She made her way through the sea of fifty-seven agents, all present to show their solidarity and mourn their fallen colleague, and went to where Swain sat on the edge of his desk, talking to Special Agent Staten.

“Hey.” Luke nodded at Staten. “How are you holding up?”

Staten shrugged. “Don’t lose your partner every day.”

She nodded, unsure of how to expound on that point. “Listen. I’m going across the street for a latte. You want anything?”

“I’ll take one,” Staten said. “Triple shot.”

Staten was a son of a bitch. Had been since her first day in the field office. The thick, muscular agent pushed other people around because he knew they’d never stand up to him. He smelled like body odor, and his eyes always got erections when they latched onto her. Right now, he stared at her breasts through the gap between the buttons at the top of her shirt and made no effort to hide it. But he was mourning his dead partner so she said, “Sure thing. You?”

“No, thanks,” Swain said.

She nodded and backed away. As she turned toward the reception windows, she slowed. A kid on the other side of the glass stared right at her.

He was late teens, skinny, wearing a dirty hooded sweatshirt pulled over a greasy head of curly blond hair. His face, frozen in a jaw-dropped expression, wore a craggy yellow beard.

She leaned sideways and checked behind her to see what he was looking at. Swain and Staten were back in conversation, paying her and the visitor no attention.

She turned to the windows again. The kid was on his way out, walking at a fast clip to the lobby door.

They rarely received walk-ins, especially on a day like today, so her curiosity was piqued. And there was the way he’d looked at her.

She upped her pace, pushing past the last of the agents on their way in and made her way to the large, windowed ante-room that served as the building’s lobby.

Shantel, a receptionist that Luke had bonded with over the past few months, talked on the phone on the other side of a half-moon desk.

The kid was gone, out the front door and nowhere in sight through the ground-level exterior windows, but he wouldn’t have gotten past Shantel without notice.

“Hey.”

“One second please, sir.” Shantel put tapered fingers capped with long fingernails over the mouthpiece. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Who was that kid with the hoodie who just walked out?”

Shantel popped her eyes, searched the room, checked the exit and then the windows.

“You didn’t see him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There was a kid.”

Shantel sighed. “Shit. There’s so many people in and out of here this morning. Must have slipped by me.”

Luke nodded and walked away.

“Kristen!”

Luke stopped.

“You won’t tell anybody?”

Luke rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

Shantel took her hand off the mouthpiece. “Sorry, sir … no, the press-conference will be at ten a.m.”

The automatic doors slid open, and she walked into the unique Snohomish County field-office scent of salt, exhaust fumes, cut lumber, and freshly ground coffee.

Since they were forty miles north of Seattle, the traffic wasn’t as bad as the big city’s during rush hour, but not by much. Everett was a hip, up-and-coming, or already-came city with a population of a hundred and ten thousand in its heart.

Luke stopped on the sidewalk and looked in both directions. Again, there was no sign of the kid among a throng of walking people.

Damn it. Just like a Coloradan, she’d left her own umbrella and rain jacket back in the office. The increasing rain nudged her original goal to the forefront of her mind. She stepped off the curb and streaked between two passing cars and across the street to the promise of a warm, frothy, triple-shot almond milk latte.

CHAPTER 4

TONG WEI STOOD underneath a pattering umbrella, his coat collar pulled up around his face. From under the bill of his black fedora he watched the action unfolding in front of the FBI building, and found himself more than a little intrigued.

He’d seen the young man with the hooded sweatshirt enter the building, and when the kid came back out only a couple of minutes later Tong knew he was going to kidnap him.

The loss of product two nights earlier had been a devastating blow to his bottom line. Now he wasn’t only casing the Snohomish County FBI field office. He was also shopping.

Tong had grown up on the streets of Hong Kong with a leash around his neck. He could spot a homeless young person on sight, and knew within seconds the drugs the kid was willing to try, and those he wouldn’t go a day without. The young man was worth less a woman the same age, probably half, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And he was a beggar, wasn’t he?

The anger returned. His right lid half-closed as he made two fists inside the sleeves of his jacket.

“Sir.” His companion held out his phone. “He’d like to speak to you.”

Tong grabbed the cell and put it to his ear.

“Speak.” His bodyguard, Zhang, spoke loud enough for the man on the other end of the line to hear.

Tong listened for a few moments. Someone whimpered in the background while the speaker relayed an excuse.

“Kill,” said Tong. A gunshot popped through the receiver as he handed back the phone.

Tong narrowed his eyes. The young man with the hooded sweatshirt stopped at the corner and leaned out from the wall.

“He’s watching the woman,” Zhang said.

Tong said nothing. Zhang was large, observant, and violent when required, but no amount of goading increased his intelligence.

“Do I take him now?”

“Wait.”

They’d been standing out in the rain for hours. This was the sign he’d been waiting for—his mother’s ghost told him so. She was in the wind, the drops of rain, the twitchy movements of the junkie huddled at the corner wall, and she told him to pay attention.

The kid watched the woman as she ran across the street.

And now Tong watched her. She stopped at the sidewalk and stared directly at Tong and Zhang for a moment.

Blood rushed to his face and he swallowed involuntarily at the woman’s piercing eyes. They were almond-shaped, turned up at the edges. Her mouth was perfect, lips cracked open to reveal ivory teeth. Her movements were fast and lithe, her eyes vital. And though her gaze slid off him like he was a chicken carcass in a butcher’s window, electricity shot up and down his spine.

Tong sucked in a breath through his nose, recovering from the jolt to his system. Now she was gone but the memory of her made his crotch swell. What was so special about her? And then he realized: she looked vaguely like his first love, Aria. His soul longed for the woman now, and he suddenly had the urge to sit down.

Zhang looked down at him, involuntarily tilting the umbrella so that raindrops hit the sleeve of Tong’s Armani overcoat.

Tong snapped his eyes to the water.

“Sorry.”

Zhang righted the umbrella. “Look, he’s crossing.”

Tong watched as the hooded prospect swerved through traffic like a lost dog. A horn honked. Two cars jammed on their brakes.

“He’s high. Easy target.”

“Wait.”

CHAPTER 5

LUKE LET the door close behind her and stomped her feet on the welcome mat inside. The smell of fresh-ground coffee hit her like a bucket of ice water.

This was more like it.

“Hey, there she is!” said the barista girl with the long black hair.

“Hey,” she said, joining the back of a three-person line.

Good. Three people. Not much time. Back in a flash.

“And … how many shots does the medium have?”

Luke sucked in a calming breath.

Another customer came in. It was the kid from the office.

Water dripped off his hood. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then darted back to the ground.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the line with squeaking shoes.

The movement was so quick that she stepped back and turned sideways, ready for an attack.

“I have to talk to you,” he said, leaning in close.

The guy in front of her squared off. “Is everything okay?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You know this guy?”

“None of your business. Thanks.”

The guy raised his eyebrows and turned around.

“Over here, please.” She back-stepped and the kid looked toward the door before following her.

The kid. Why was she thinking of him like that? He had boyish qualities, like wearing jeans that fell off his butt, and two large holes in his ears filled with bone circles that said screw the future, but he was probably in his early twenties.

His eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated, his movements jerky.

She kept her left shoulder forward, aware of the gun holstered on her hip.

“You’re that guy’s partner?” he asked.

“What guy?”

He flicked his eyes toward the door again.

“I saw you in the building,” she said, deflecting the conversation back to him. She rarely exchanged personal information with piss-smelling men off the street.

His head snapped toward her, like a video that had skipped a few frames. She knew if she rolled up those sleeves there’d be more tracks on his arm than at King Street Station. Or was it meth?

“Why were you in there?” she asked. “Why did you come in our building?”

“I told you, I have to talk to you.”

“So talk.” She caught sight of his teeth—definitely meth.

“I saw your partner shoot that guy on the beach.”

She blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Your partner. That Chinese guy on the beach. I saw him.”

Luke’s heart raced. “You were there two nights ago? On the beach?”

The kid nodded, and for the first time made full eye contact.

“Which beach?”

“Discovery Park.”

“So … okay, listen.” She put up a palm. Now she felt like she was trying to catch a rare bird. “Let’s go over, and you can give a statement about what you saw.”

“I already did that.”

“No … I saw you come in. I saw you leave. You didn’t talk to anyone.”

“Yeah. I told you, because I saw your partner. And your partner shot the guy on the beach.”

Luke shook her head. “That wasn’t my partner out there on the beach. My partner’s over there.” She pointed out the windows.

The kid followed her finger and straightened. “Shit.”

“Wait!”

It was too late—the kid was already moving, cutting through the line.

“Wait right there,” she said, pushing past a woman and almost knocking over her toddler.

“Hey!”

“Sorry.”

The kid walked outside, cut hard left, lowered his head, and jogged down the sidewalk.

She leaned into the door to push it open, but squeaked to a stop as it was pulled from her grip.

Swain walked in, nearly colliding with her. “Whoa.”

She stared at him.

“Jesus, it’s raining balls.” He looked at her hands. “I decided I want one, too. Kitchen’s packed.”

She backed inside.

“What are you doing? Are you leaving?”

“I … didn’t order.”

“You didn’t order?” He looked behind her.

“Line was too long.” Her voice sounded distant in her own head.

“But you’ve been here for like five minutes. What have you been doing?”

“Phone call. My mom.”

“Oh.” He looked at his watch. “Still have seven minutes until the meeting. I’m getting something. Hey, can you get us end-of-the-liners lattes in under seven minutes?”

The long-haired barista smiled. “Not for you, Special Agent.”

He settled into line with a smile and looked at Luke.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His face dropped. “Wait, shit. Did you just get bad news from your mom?”

The woman with the toddler turned.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“Shit. When it rains it pours, huh? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. Get me a latte?”

Swain nodded. “Sure thing.”

She walked outside, making a show of pulling up her suit jacket around her neck while she checked down the sidewalk.

The kid was gone. Again.

She looked both ways and stepped out onto the road. Halfway across the street, her mind registered two Asian men staring at her from under an umbrella—the same two who’d been looking at her as she’d entered the coffee shop.

She stepped up onto the opposite curb, stopped, and turned around.

They were gone, too.

CHAPTER 6

“HE WAS REALLY DRUNK.” Brenda Anne Mendelsen wiped her nose.

Detective David Wolf watched her shaking hand and felt a surge of anger, but remained outwardly calm.

Just like him, Brenda had been born and raised in the Chautauqua Valley, and he’d known her for decades. Back in school she’d been closer to John, his deceased kid brother, but now he saw her at least twice weekly around town and considered her a lifelong friend. Eli Banks? In Wolf’s experience, the man rarely spoke unless he was shouting-drunk at the bar.

“And you said he drove away, ma’am?” Sergeant Detective Tom Rachette folded his thick arms and widened his stance on the front porch.

“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago. If you guys came up Edelweiss, you probably passed him. Black Chevy pickup. He was going like a hundred miles an hour out of the drive.” She pointed down the narrow road they’d come in on. “Hit that tree right there.”

Wolf saw a fresh scar on a pine where a bough had been ripped off and the mangled branch sticking out of the underbrush.

“May we come in?” he asked.

She nodded and opened the door. “Yeah, come on in.” She pulled her fleece jacket down over the top of her jeans and folded her arms.

Rachette stepped in first and twisted around with something resembling amazement. “He did all this?”

Brent Wilson hitched up his duty belt and followed. The undersheriff was a tall man, more than a few pounds overweight, and the floor creaked under his weight.

Wolf came next, getting a full glimpse of Eli Banks’s handy work as he entered.

Brenda put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thank you.”

Her brown eyes were wide and glossy.

“Of course, Brenda.”

A flat-screen television had toppled off its stand onto the floor. A foot-sized hole surrounded by a thousand cracks had been punched through the center of the display.

A couch was upside down, the coffee table sat on its side, and candles were strewn on the carpet. Dirt from an overturned houseplant speckled uniform vacuum stripes. It smelled like the burning candle in the corner.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened from the beginning, ma’am?” Wilson produced a pocket-sized notebook and a pen.

Brenda pulled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and folded her arms again. “He, uh, came over.” A tear flowed down her cheek and she wiped it with her sleeve. “And I was sitting here watching television. He was already drunk.”

“Is that normal?” Wilson asked. “For him to be drunk in the early afternoon like this?”

She shrugged. “Lately.”

“Okay. Please, continue when you’re ready.”

Rachette eased toward the kitchen entrance and peeked inside.

“He never went into the kitchen,” she said. “Just trashed this room.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, ma’am?” Wilson said.

She looked around.

“Here.” Wolf grabbed one end of the couch, Rachette the other, and they turned the seat right-side up.

Wolf plucked a cushion from the floor and set it on the couch. “There you go.”

Brenda pushed past him, squeezing his shoulder again on the way by.

“Thank you, Dave.” She sat down and looked up at them with wet eyes. “He came in, all pissed at me. I’ve been trying to break it off with him for the last month, but he won’t take the hint. Last night, I finally got the guts to just outright tell him we’re done.” She waved her hands around the room. “Apparently he didn’t take it well. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what, exactly?” Wolf asked.

“Came in, calling me a bitch and everything else he could slur out. I like to keep a clean house, and he always gives me grief about it, so he started trashing it. I told him to leave or I’d call the cops. But he didn’t care, just kept going. He saw my cell phone on the coffee table and threw it against the wall.”

“Did he harm you? Threaten you?” Rachette asked.

“Look at this place. He smashed the TV with that baseball bat. Tossed the furniture. Screamed at me. I call that threatening, don’t you?”

“Of course, yes,” Rachette said, and toed a chunk of potting soil on the carpet.

Silence took over and Wolf, Wilson, and Rachette eyed one another.

“And then what happened?” Wolf asked.

“He just left. I was obviously freaked out. I locked the door and watched him leave, running into that tree on the way out. And then I called you guys. And, now, here you are.”

Brenda stood and walked around the back of the couch. Her hand trembled against her mouth and she began pacing.

Wolf, Rachette, and Wilson watched her in silence.

“Where does Eli live?” Wolf asked.

“On Beacon Light Road.”

Wolf nodded. He’d been there before. “The three houses.”

“I know where it is,” Rachette said.

She stepped up and wrapped her hands around Wolf’s waist.

Wolf stood with his arms out, aware of the Glock tucked into his paddle holster on the hip of his jeans. Not that he expected any funny business from Brenda, but her hug was the last thing he’d expected. And for a cop, having somebody rip a gun out of one’s holster was like dropping a neighbor’s newborn.

He lowered his hands and patted her back. “It’s okay.”

She squeezed harder, relaxed, squeezed again.

Wolf flicked his eyes from Rachette to Wilson and back.

“Thank you.” She sniffed, let go, and backed away.

“We’re going to talk outside for a moment,” Wolf said.

“Okay.”

They walked outside—down the steps and out onto a spacious gravel drive in front—and huddled into a triangle.

“What an asshole,” Wilson said. “I saw him get in a fight once at Beer Goggles. Got his ass beat.”

“I was there,” Rachette said.

Wilson stood silent for a beat, petting his blond mustache, then seemed to realize that Wolf and Rachette were looking to him for orders. The undersheriff had once been a sergeant under Wolf’s command. Now Wilson was the ranking man in their powwow.

“Right. Rachette, you stay here and get a statement from Brenda. Wolf and I will head over to Eli’s place. He’s probably passed out on the couch by now.”

“Screw that,” Rachette said.

Wilson pulled his eyebrows together. “Excuse me?”

“The action’s at Eli’s. I’m going there.” Rachette put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest.

“I’m your boss, Rachette, and I just told you to stay here.”

“You’re Wilson. I’m Rachette. He’s Wolf. I’m going with you guys.”

“I’m Rachette? He’s Wolf? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Wolf walked toward his SUV.

Rachette jogged up next to him, then broke off and hopped in the passenger side.

“All right,” Wilson said. “I’ll call up some more units for you guys. Don’t do anything rash until they get there.”

Wolf hopped in behind the wheel and started the engine.

CHAPTER 7

“YOU KNOW,” Wolf said, looking at Rachette as he bounced in the passenger seat, “Wilson is your boss.”

“No, he’s not. You are. And as a groomsman at your wedding, it’s my duty to make sure your face doesn’t get all beat up before the ceremony.”

“Oh, that’s your duty, huh? I thought it was to get tanked and ‘cut up the dancefloor,’ as you put it yesterday.”

“Those are personal duties. Very different from a groomsman’s.”

Wolf allowed himself a smile as they rounded a bend. The road swung to the right past a field of cows and led up into the trees of the eastern side of the Chautauqua Valley.

The radio scratched with the voice of the Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department receptionist and lead dispatcher, Tammy Granger.

“Unit five-one, do you copy?”

Wolf nodded toward the radio and Rachette took it. “Unit five-one. Go ahead, Tammy.”

“I have unit five-eight on the way to Eli Banks’s house.”

“Yates and Nelson,” Rachette said. He thumbed the button. “Where are they?”

“Just left the station.”

“Copy that.”

“You two be safe. Especially you, David Wolf. You’re getting married in two days, young man.”

Rachette thumbed the receiver and put it in the air between them.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wolf said.

Something between a laugh and a snort came through the speaker.

Rachette hung up the handpiece and dug into his back pocket. “Dip?”

“Nope.”

It had been three years since Wolf had tasted the Copenhagen flaunted in his face and his sergeant detective knew it.

The smell of snuff permeated the cab, so he cracked a window and welcomed in the scent of pine and decaying foliage. The aspens had turned golden, and their leaves shimmered as they fell onto the gravel road on a northerly breeze.

“Damn fine day,” Rachette said.

Wolf grunted an agreement.

They climbed a few hundred feet, switching back and forth, then rounded another bend. The SUV rolled into a treeless meadow with a view of the western peaks and the gleaming ski lifts stitching Rocky Points Ski Resort. A dusting of snow clung to the highest elevations from a storm the night before.

“That’s why you don’t have a wedding up on top of the hill in the fall,” Rachette said, pointing to the snow.

Dozens of marriages took place there each year during the summer months. Rachette and his wife Charlotte, herself a deputy in the Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department, had an ongoing argument about whether the top of the resort was a suitable venue for Wolf and Lauren.

Wolf and Lauren rarely listened to others’ opinions but had thought the same thing, deciding instead to get married in a tent on Wolf’s family ranch. If Wolf—born and raised in Rocky Points—had learned one thing in his forty-six years, it was that October 2nd at nine-thousand feet could deliver several seasons in one day, though rarely anything resembling summer. Add another three thousand feet and Mother Nature skipped fall altogether and went straight to winter.

Rachette grabbed his empty Red Bull can from the center console and spat. “I can’t wait for the rehearsal up at Antler Creek tomorrow night.”

Wolf nodded.

“So … what’s the deal with that? Do we just order what we want? Or is it a set menu?”

“Get whatever you want.”

“Ah.” Rachette leaned back in his seat. “How many people coming?”

“Ten.”

Rachette whistled and spat again. “That meal’s gonna be expensive.”

“Get what you want.”

“You sure?”

Wolf gave him a look. They both knew Lauren was more than well off. When her father had been killed and her mother died of cancer, she inherited Luanne’s Sweets and Treats. She’d since sold her shares for an eight-figure sum. Rachette would know a night for fifteen people—or a hundred or a thousand for that matter—at Antler Creek wasn’t going to break the bank.

In truth, Wolf was self-conscious about the money he was marrying into. He’d grown up without much of the stuff. His father had been a sheriff, his mother a stay-at-home mom who worked the ranch and made crafts for extra cash. None of it had amounted to much more than a night on the town for his parents every now and then.

Now he was technically a multi-millionaire.

Rachette had been making money comments like this for months now. His detective wanted Wolf excited, to tell him about all the boats and cars he was going to buy, the chalet in Aspen, the new BMW motorcycle. But Wolf had no plans for any of the money and had told Lauren as much.

Lauren was a brilliant woman though, and she’d suggested they get creative with giving it away once they were married. That was something he could get behind, although he’d told her he refused to put his name to any donations. He’d help with anything they needed, but Lauren and Ella would take the credit.

“I saw your mom and Jack at the store last night,” Rachette said.

Wolf nodded.

“Jack’s a big boy now. Holy crap.”

Wolf smiled.

“That kid was a skinny twerp before he went to college. Well, he’s always been a head taller than me, but he used to be a twig. What’s he now, two hundred pounds?”

“One ninety,” Wolf said.

Jack’s new workout routine and nutritional philosophy had filled out his lanky frame. Since his arrival in Rocky Points two days prior, he’d been touting the benefits of workouts and high-protein foods to Wolf, suggesting that his father “needed to shed a few pounds” and “was getting a little soft in the middle.” Sometime between bites of steak he’d mentioned his new bodyweight.

“That little vixen he’s dating, Cassidy, coming to the wedding?” Rachette whistled. “Damn, she’s quite the looker.”

Wolf eyed him.

Rachette squirmed and pointed through the windshield. “Watch the road.”

“She’ll be there with her mother.”

“When are they getting married? Jack and Cassidy. I mean, you know that’s coming.”

Wolf stared ahead.

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. She seemed a little … feisty?”

“What do you mean?”

“She tore the cash-register guy a new one for charging her wrong for some eggs or something.”

Wolf let out a breath. His mother had been showing signs of angry-old-woman syndrome. He’d been wondering if it had anything to do with an onset of dementia.

“Sorry.” Rachette slapped him on the shoulder, then put both hands on the dash, studying the road ahead. “Anyway, it’s coming up.”

A surge of adrenaline washed through Wolf as he thought about the ceremony, his yet-to-be written vows, his mother terrorizing local businesses back in town, the aunts and uncles he hadn’t seen in ages, the construction zone around his house—all of it. He figured there was no difference in the way he felt now to the moment if some guy had pushed him in a dark alley. He could count the number of hours he’d slept this week on one hand.

“All right.” Rachette scooted forward. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve been married before. It’s no big deal. Stand up there, say your vows, try not to—”

“No! The turn! Turn here!”

Wolf jammed the brakes and went into a sideways slide, almost dropping a tire into the drainage ditch.

Rachette looked him up and down. “Ready for the turn. The turn. Holy crap, we almost flipped.”

Wolf felt his face redden as they drove on in silence.

Beacon Light Road switched back to the south and climbed around the mountain, putting the town below out of sight. They passed through dense forest, into a wide clearing, and then the terrain flattened out and three houses squatting in a meadow came into view.

Wolf braked at a fork in the road. The left path wound to a single house, while the right led to two houses built near to each other.

“Which one is it?” Rachette asked. “I can’t remember.”

“Left,” Wolf said, taking the turn.

The road led down through a dip filled with water from the recent rain.

Wolf stopped at the top of a long, dirt driveway. “Here it is.”

He vaguely remembered the last time at Eli Banks’s house. Sometime during college. There’d been multiple kegs and a lot of drunken people barbecuing and playing volleyball in the yard out front. Sarah had wanted to leave early, he recalled that. It was funny the memories one could dig up given the right locale.

“Parked pretty good for a drunk.” Wolf nodded to a mid-nineties black Chevy pickup sitting in the driveway. Wolf had seen drunks part their vehicles in a whole slew of creative ways. The pickup was lined up straight with the path of the drive.

“Probably got lucky.” Rachette rolled down the window, craned his finger into his mouth and flung his dip outside.

The house sat one story high between widely spaced pines. The shades were drawn in the front window.

Wolf turned onto the driveway and parked. “Front door’s cracked open.”

Rachette eyed the road behind them. “Are we gonna wait for Yates and Nelson?”

Wolf shut off the engine and rolled down his window. They sat in silence and listened to a fall wind passing through pine trees like a distant waterfall.

A shout came from inside the house.

Wolf craned his neck out the window.

“You hear that?” Rachette stuck his head out, too.

Wolf popped the door and stepped out onto the dirt.

“Get out of here, assholes!”

“Heard that,” Rachette said, and got out.

The house door ripped open, slammed against the interior wall, and swung back closed. A hand reached out, and Eli shouted as it smashed between the jamb and the door. The door opened again and Eli emerged holding a double-barrel shotgun.

CHAPTER 8

“DOWN!” Wolf yelled as he ducked and moved to the back of the SUV.

The gun blasted twice and shot whistled over their heads.

Rachette came around, head down, gun in his hand. “Son of a bitch.”

Wolf scanned the neighbors’ houses for people outside, and heard shot pellets tinkling on the nearest building’s metal roof. There was nobody within sight, in the windows or outside, and no vehicles parked near the properties.

“Looks like they’re gone,” Rachette said.

“I hope.”

Eli shot again, this time only once. “Get out of here, assholes!”

Wolf poked his head out and caught a glimpse of Eli bouncing off the entryway and stumbling back inside. The door swung shut behind him.

Through the trees, tires crackled on the gravel road and a SBCSD SUV rounded the corner.

Yates was driving and scratched the SUV to a stop. His eyes went wide at the sight of Wolf and Rachette huddling, their guns out. Behind the windshield, he raised his hands in a WTF gesture and pressed the radio to his lips.

“… going on?” Yates’s voice floated out of the dash speaker.

As detectives, Wolf and Rachette rarely lifted the two portable radios from their charging ports on the center console.

Yates saw their hands up and put the radio back down. He shut off the engine and climbed out. Nelson stepped down from the passenger side.

“What’s going on?” he said in a whisper that traveled the fifty yards.

“We’re having a picnic!” Rachette said.

“Shots fired,” Wolf said. “Call for more backup. And get back in. He has a shotgun.”

Yates and Nelson flinched at the news and dove in the SUV.

“I can’t tell if help just arrived or not,” Rachette said.

“The more good guys, the better.” Wolf turned around and popped the rear hatch. They donned their Kevlar vests and Wolf shut the door.

“What’s the plan?” Rachette asked.

Wolf peeked out and locked eyes with Eli, his face against the window between parted curtains.

Eli’s mouth moved as he noticed Wolf looking at him, and he pulled away.

There was a boom and the window shattered into a thousand pieces. A shredded drape licked out into the afternoon, riding a burst of fire like a dragon’s tongue.

“That’s shot number two,” Wolf said, and stepped out into the open. “Hey, you can’t shoot me, dickhead!”

“What are you doing?” Rachette hissed. “Get down. I order you as groomsman to get your ass—”

“He’s cracking open the barrel right now,” Wolf said. “I can see him. Fumbling with the box of shells on the coffee table. Dropped one. He fell on the couch when he picked it up … he’s up. He’s coming back to the window. Can’t hit me!” Wolf raised both his middle fingers.

Eli wobbled into position and raised the shotgun.

Wolf dove back behind the SUV.

Two more blasts echoed into the trees.

Wolf got to his feet and sprinted toward the house.

“Stop!” Rachette yelled.

Eli tried to rip off the drape nearest to him and cursed at a rod that bent but failed to budge. His head swiveled toward Wolf’s thundering steps, and his eyes went wide.

Wolf moved fast, first taking the driveway, then cutting into the grass. His legs pumped hard, his feet pounding on crispy long grass.

Eli saw Wolf and let go of the drape. “No! Stop!” He cracked open the double barrel, ejecting two spent shells out onto the porch, then disappeared back into the darkened house.

Wolf put his Glock back in its holster, stepped onto the porch, and dove inside.

Eli was standing over the coffee table, staring dumbly at the box of shells as Wolf sailed through the shattered window and landed on his back.

The drunken man was thin and light, and he collapsed like a cardboard box into the coffee table. The table buckled while Wolf brought his feet up to stop his forward momentum, kicking the front of a television stand as he came to a halt. The TV lurched forward, tipping off its perch, and Wolf rolled out of the way just in time.

Eli was not so lucky—the fifty-inch-plus flat-screen landed on his head.

Eli lay still on top of a shattered coffee table strewn with shotgun ammo, the TV flickering on his skull.

Rachette came through the window, a drape tangled around his thighs. The bar snapped off and shot inside the room, bouncing off Wolf’s shoulder.

Rachette escaped from his fabric attacker with gun drawn. “What the hell? What are you doing? What the hell?” He unplugged the television, looked at Eli’s inert form, and stepped in front of Wolf.

“That was straight reckless.” He bent down to cuff Eli. “Reckless!”

“Letting that guy keep shooting up the neighborhood was reckless. Sometimes when an opportunity stares you in the face, you take it.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to carve that on your tombstone.”

Footsteps thumped outside.

“You guys all right?”

“Yeah!” Rachette said. “We’re fine.”

“You going to tell Lauren on me?” Wolf asked.

“Of course. I’m telling everyone about this.”

CHAPTER 9

“AND RACHETTE SAID you jumped in the window and tackled him into his TV, and the TV landed on his head?” Butch Wannamaker, owner of Black Diamond Pizza, stood at Lauren and Wolf’s table, mouth open. “Is that true?”

Lauren’s water glass stalled at her lips and her emerald eyes slid to his. “You did what?”

“Rachette did that,” Wolf said.

Butch blinked a few times and his smile dropped. “Wait. Rachette did that? He said you did.”

“No. He did it.”

“That’s … not like Rachette to give other people credit for things he did. If anything, he likes to—”

“Could we get the check whenever you get a chance?”

Butch nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back. You done?”

“Yes,” Lauren said, pushing her plate forward. “Thank you.”

Butch winked and took her plate. “Be right back.”

Wolf leaned back and felt the pizza heavy in his stomach. He sipped the last of his Newcastle draft and smacked his lips.

“You ran toward him while he was shooting?”

He lowered his mug and looked at her.

“Dove through his window?”

He sighed and set down the mug. “It was the safest thing to do. I didn’t feel like killing a man today. He was absolutely hammered. If he’d have even come close to killing me, I’d have shot him.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up her red wine, then made a show of chugging the last few ounces and slapping the glass down.

He laughed and squeezed her leg under the table.

Her eyes narrowed and she smiled seductively. His body flooded with hormones like he was a teenager again, not an aging man sore from an earlier forty-yard sprint. In the subdued light of the pizza parlor, her freckled cheeks looked like cocoa flecks on caramel. She’d been wearing a lot of tube-topped shirts while doing chores outside the house and was as tan as he’d ever seen her.

“You’re going to look beautiful in your dress,” he said.

She smiled and put her head on his shoulder. When she sat up, a worried look creased her forehead. “Maybe I need another wine after all.”

“It’s going to be great.”

“I know.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Hey, sorry.” Butch dropped the check. “Here. Take your time.”

“Nah, there you go.” Wolf handed over his credit card.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Lauren checked her watch. “Geez, it’s only 8:10. This is our big date night alone before the wedding craziness?”

“What can I say? We’re old.”

“You’re old,” she said. “I’m not even forty yet.”

He smiled. “We could always make a stop on the way home. Maybe along the river?”

“Where? At one of your old hookup spots?”

He felt his face drop and flush, though with every fiber of his being he wanted to act normal in response to such a benign comment. But the truth was, he’d been thinking of him and Sarah at that very instant. Before Lauren, there had only been his ex-wife.

Lauren reached under the table and slid her fingers down his inner thigh. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Memories of his first date with Lauren hit him, when he’d accidentally spilled beer into his crotch and she’d helped him clean it up with an exploratory wad of paper towels.

“What?”

“Just thinking about us,” he said.

She leaned her head on his shoulder again, and he sucked in a breath. When he exhaled the tension dissipated through his feet.

They signed the check, went outside, and ran into Lauren’s nurse friend from the hospital.

“Hey, there they are! Congrats, you two!” she said.

“David, you remember Mary?”

Wolf shook her hand, then her boyfriend’s.

“So, two weeks off from catheters and bedpans,” Mary said. “How will you cope?”

“I’ll have to sip some mai tais on the beach,” Lauren said.

“Ah, I’m so jealous. Maui for ten days. Ah, you guys are going to have so much fun.”

Lauren leaned into Wolf and put her hand in his back pocket.

Mary took the hint. “Right. My goodness, I can’t wait to see you in that dress. You look this gorgeous now, you’re going to burn the place down in that thing. I’ll see you two in two days, okay?”

“Oh.” Lauren looked at Mary’s date. “So you’re the plus-one.”

“Uh, no. I’m not bringing a date to the wedding after all,” Mary said, her eyes widening a fraction.

“Oh, okay. Well, have fun. See you guys.”

They walked away while Mary and her insignificant other entered the pizza place.

“Whoops,” Lauren said.

“Put your foot in your mouth there.”

When they reached Lauren’s Audi, Wolf climbed behind the wheel and found her leaning over the center console with a smoky look in her eyes.

“What?”

She reached over and unzipped his pants before he even had the door shut.

He eyed the mirrors and the windows. There were at least five people walking within a few yards of the car—oblivious, for the time being, of the auburn-haired woman over his lap.

He started the engine and put it in drive. Flashing lights reflected off the rearview, coming up Main Street fast. The faint sound of the siren bled through the SUV’s cab a moment later.

“Hey, wait a second,” he said.

She got up and looked out the rear window. “What?”

They watched in silence as an SBCSD cruiser passed by, followed by an ambulance.

Lauren put her fingers on his chin and turned his face toward her.

The passing lights sparkled off her face. She leaned in and kissed him behind the ear, then lowered herself back to his crotch.

Through the windshield, an older man on the sidewalk gawked and walked away.

“We’re both off duty,” Lauren said, and busied herself again.

“Right,” said Wolf, his voice cracking.

As he let off the brake and eased forward down Main, his phone vibrated and chimed in his pocket.

Lauren got up and sat back in her seat.

He pulled over, put his manhood back in his pants, and pulled out the phone. “What?”

“Hey.”

He vaguely recalled seeing MacLean’s name on the screen before tapping it. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come see something.”

Lauren’s gaze was frozen out her window.

“I can’t. I’m busy at the moment. Very, very busy. And I’m off duty for two weeks, remember?”

“There was a car accident north of town. Two miles out on the left side.”

“Yeah, I saw the ambulance.” The frustration evaporated and panic pulsed through his body. “Who was it?”

“Come out here. You need to see this.”

“Who was it?”

“Kristen Luke.”

“Kristen …”

Lauren’s head turned partially but she kept her eyes on the window.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine … relatively. Just get out here.”

CHAPTER 10

“IT’S JUST SO STRANGE,” Lauren said. “She still shows up?”

Wolf agreed. And he knew what she was thinking. Last month, the deadline for RSVP had come and gone and Luke had failed to acknowledge their invite.

Lauren had told him, “She doesn’t want to see the love of her life getting married off to somebody else.” She’d said it in passing as she walked out of the kitchen and through the front door, and it had been like a drive-by punch in the nose. Wolf still remembered standing in numb shock as he processed a viewpoint that had never occurred to him.

Now, Luke was in town. And it was a damn good question: Why?

They rode in silence for the two-mile drive on 734 along the Chautauqua River until they came up on the flashing lights. Wolf parked well off the shoulder behind a state patrol car.

“Do you want to stay here?”

Lauren popped the door and got out.

Wolf followed suit and zipped up his hooded sweatshirt as high as it would go. The cold air near the river bit through to the skin.

Lauren let him go first, stepping close behind him down a gentle slope to a dirt turnoff alongside the road.

The wrecked car was floodlit by one of the SBCSD vehicles. The center of the front bumper had connected with a thick oak tree at considerable speed.

“Are they sure?” Lauren asked behind him. “That’s definitely not her car, is it?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said.

The car was an old beat-up Chevy sedan with Washington plates.

The skid marks leading through the dirt told him the driver had slammed the brakes before impact, and the relatively small bend in the front frame said the collision speed was not as fast as he’d originally thought. Still, the windshield boasted a gleaming spider web where the driver’s head had connected.

Sheriff MacLean was talking to another deputy near the vehicle and saw them coming. “Hey. Oh, hi, Lauren.” MacLean floundered between handshake and hug, and ended up patting her on the shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Wolf asked. “This is definitely not Luke’s car.”

“You’re right. This car was reported stolen two days ago from central Washington.”

“And Luke was driving this?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure.”

MacLean ran two fingers over his mustache, a tic that revealed his discomfort. “I wanted you to come down to the scene because I knew you’d want to see it tonight anyway. If you’d gone all the way south over the pass to County then you’d have had to drive all the way north back up here. I was saving you time.”

Wolf eyed the wreckage again. “Okay.”

“Luke is on her way to County with head trauma. She was driving. There were no other people in the car and by the looks of it she stole this vehicle. There you have it.”

“Stolen from Seattle?”

“No. Central Washington. We’re looking into it. We’ll have more within the hour.”

MacLean held out a pair of rubber gloves and Wolf put them on.

“Here.” MacLean gave him a flashlight.

Wolf clicked it on and walked to the driver’s side door, which hung open on its hinges. The interior smelled vaguely like Luke’s shampoo but there was an overpowering scent of cigarette smoke baked into the upholstery.

He bent down and passed the flashlight over the inside, lighting up the crevices the floodlight did not. Other than the glittering cracks in the glass above the steering wheel, and that it was a stolen car, nothing out of the ordinary stood out to him.

“You check the trunk?”

MacLean pulled it open. “Doesn’t stay open by itself.”

Wolf walked to the rear and saw a pile of men’s clothing giving off the odor of dirty feet.

“There something you want me to see in particular?” Wolf asked.

MacLean shrugged. “Not really.”

Wolf eyed Lauren. She had her arms folded across her chest, looking like the cold had gotten under her fleece and her wine buzz was long gone.

Wolf handed back the flashlight and put an arm around her. “Ready?”

“I’ll see you at the hospital,” MacLean said.

“What did you see?” she asked as they walked away.

“I don’t know.”

“She stole the car and came down here?”

“Looks that way.”

“Why?”

Wolf nodded. “That’s the question.”

CHAPTER 11

WOLF TILTED the coffee cup to his lips and through the steam watched the light descend the western face of the mountains to the rear of the Sluice–Byron County Hospital building.

On this south side of Williams Pass, the valley was flatter with fewer trees. Carpets of sage gave off scented oils as the overnight frost melted on the leaves. Only when the valley floor curved gently to meet the western mountains did the pines take hold, with clumps of yellow aspens interspersed, now glowing like splatters of liquid gold in the sunlight.

Above the treeline, the peak was frosted white, like powdered sugar dusting on a scone.

Wolf sucked the final drops of coffee out of the cup, and spat some grinds onto the weeds.

He zipped up his sweatshirt and walked back to the front of the building. The sun had poked up between the eastern peaks, pulling the temperature to a few degrees above freezing.

The frost coating the eastern side of the valley reminded him of the kiss he’d received from Lauren before driving up to County.

He couldn’t blame her for feeling shaken by Kristen Luke’s untimely arrival into town. Then again, Lauren hadn’t known the whole story last night.

Wolf rounded the front corner of the hospital building and stepped onto the asphalt.

“There you are!” a familiar voice called to him.

Dr. Lorber, the Sluice–Byron County medical examiner and chief forensic consultant for the department stood waving a long arm in front of the automatic doors at the front entrance. The man stood tall and thin, like an NBA basketball center, and displayed his full reach as he yawned and stretched his arms overhead.

“I just went upstairs and couldn’t find you.” Lorber clamped his branches for fingers around Wolf’s hand.

“Did you talk to Yates?”

“Dr. Capriati.”

Wolf nodded.

“He’s saying ligature marks on her wrists, gunshot bruise on her back, and a couple of clocks to the head that don’t match the auto accident.”

“Other than the stolen car she was driving, you’re up to speed,” Wolf said.

“Stolen car?” Lorber squinted behind his John Lennon-style glasses.

“Yep.”

Lorber fiddled with his ponytail. “She’s in the Seattle field office now, right?”

“Snohomish County. Everett, just north of Seattle. I called them last night. They’re on their way down here.”

“And what did they say?” Lorber asked.

“Not much. Talked to her boss. He said they’d been looking for her and that we’d talk when he got here.”

“What the heck is she doing driving a stolen car?”

Wolf said nothing.

“What’s that, twenty hours?”

“One thousand two hundred miles. Eighteen and a half hours. I checked. But the car was stolen from the middle of the state. The drive probably took an hour or two less.”

Lorber frowned and stretched again, his knuckles almost scraping the vaulted ceiling of the emergency drive-up portico.

“I’m headed back inside,” Wolf said, and walked through the automatic front doors.

“So what’s the plan?” Lorber loped next to him.

They walked to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button. “Wait until she wakes up and talk to her. Wait for the Everett FO feds to show up and talk to them.”

“What the hell was she doing down here in a stolen car?” Lorber asked again. “I mean, it makes sense that she’d arrive for your wedding in two days … but a stolen car?”

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they stepped inside.

“She never RSVP’d,” Wolf said.

“She didn’t?”

They rode the rest of the way in silence and got out on the third floor.

Lorber took the lead, clipping through the waiting area and into a hallway. They rounded a corner and Yates came into view, asleep on a plastic chair along the wall.

Lorber flicked him on the forehead on the way past.

“The hell?”

“Morning, starshine.”

Yates wiped his lip. “Shit. Sorry, sir.”

“It’s all right,” Wolf said. “You can head home. I know you’ve been on since yesterday afternoon.”

Yates straightened, got his bearings and stood. “Thanks.”

Lorber knocked twice on Luke’s door, then pushed it open and strode inside, Wolf following.

Doctor Capriati stood near the bed, tapping on a tablet.

“Come on in, Dr. Lorber,” he said without looking up.

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Lorber bent over Luke, rubbed a finger over one of her wrists, then the other. “Zip ties for sure.”

The ME stood back and folded his arms, appraising Luke as if she were a used car. “What’s on her back?”

“See for yourself.” Capriati produced a picture from a manila folder and handed it over.

Wolf stepped close and looked. He’d yet to see this photo.

Lorber whistled. “Yep. Definite gunshot.”

The picture showed a circular red-wine-colored bruise with sharp edges on her right shoulder blade.

“Looks about forty-eight-hours old,” Lorber said.

Capriati made a sound of agreement and took the photo back.

Lorber pointed a finger inches from her face. “Looks like a fully formed bruise. Same time frame as the gunshot.”

“And it looks like she got a hit in,” Wolf added.

Lorber ran the back of his finger over the knuckle wound and bruise on her hand. “I would have seen that next. And I have a theory about what happened.”

Capriati looked up from his tablet.

“Cracked ribs on the X-ray?” Lorber asked.

Capriati shook his head.

“No bother. I’m still probably right.”

“About what?” Wolf asked.

“Deep bruise to the back, directly behind the lung? A person slammed in the chest, like by a fist or a bicycle handlebar, will often experience shortness of breath for days afterwards. Sometimes they’ll have coughing fits that hurt like hell, which only lessens the intake of oxygen. Makes sense now why she got in the accident.”

Wolf eyed Capriati.

The doctor shrugged. “Could be she was coughing, became short of breath, and ran off the road. That’s not my job to find out. My job is to make her better. And to start with, you should step back and get your hands off her, Dr. Lorber. Let her rest.”

Lorber pulled his hand back from Luke’s cheek. “She’s comatose. Can’t rest any harder than that without dying.”

Luke’s face was pale and held no expression, save a slight frown, as if her brows were being pulled together with fishing line. As if she was remembering something bad.

Capriati snapped his fingers, pulling Wolf from his thoughts.

“Let’s go. Out.”

They turned and left the room.

CHAPTER 12

“THE GUY DOESN’T REMEMBER what happened. Says he was drinking in the bar, then blacked out. Woke up on his buddy’s couch the next morning.” Detective Heather Patterson had just arrived at the third-floor hospital waiting room with Rachette.

Lorber checked his watch. “Shit. I have to get down to the lab.” He slapped Wolf on the shoulder. “Keep me posted.”

The elevator door opened and MacLean and Wilson walked out to join them in the third-floor hospital waiting room.

“What’s happening?” MacLean asked.

“Detectives Patterson and Rachette were just explaining what they’ve found out about the car Luke stole and crashed,” Wolf said.

“Right.” Patterson looked at Rachette.

“We were just saying, according to the Smuckers PD—”

“Smuckers?” MacLean frowned. “Like the jelly?”

“Yes, sir,” Rachette said. “The SPD said the owner of the vehicle had drunk so much that he blacked out at the bar three nights ago. When he woke up, he was at his friend’s house and noticed he didn’t have his car keys. The next day, he had his friend bring him back to the parking lot. He saw his car was gone and reported it stolen.”

“And the friend whose house he woke up at?” MacLean asked.

“He says he left the bar and saw his friend lying in the parking lot. His buddy’s car was missing, but he didn’t know it, just thought his friend was taking a snooze outside on the ground. Said he scooped up his friend and took him home, then brought him back the next day, and to the police station. In other words, he has no new information.”

MacLean blew air from his lips and turned to Wolf. “How’s she doing?”

“Still no change. Non-responsive,” Wolf said.

Wolf walked to the window. Low clouds skated across the sun and a freshening wind bent the sage below.

Lauren’s black Audi Q7 rolled into the lot and parked.

He watched her climb out and shut the door. She wore jeans and a white fleece zipped up to her neck. As she strode across the pavement, she tucked in her chin against the headwind and disappeared under the windows.

“Kind of bad timing, eh?” MacLean appeared next to Wolf.

Wolf said nothing.

“At least it’s not the day of the wedding.”

“Yeah.”

The elevator bell dinged and Lauren walked into the waiting room.

The awkward greetings done with, she joined Wolf by the window. “Hi, Lauren,” MacLean said, ducking away.

“How are you?” Wolf asked.

“Good. You?”

The cold came off her coat as they hugged. “Freezing out there.”

“How’s Ella?”

“Good. She’s with Margaret again. Went to her office.”

“We owe her a bottle of wine,” Wolf said.

Lauren nodded. “A case. How’s she doing?”

“Still comatose.”

“She’ll be fine. Her body’s just taking a timeout to heal. You said something about a gunshot wound?”

“There’s a mark on her back consistent with being shot while wearing a Kevlar vest.”

“My God.”

“And she has some bruises and ligature marks on her wrists.”

Lauren looked past him. Her breathing visibly quickened.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“So she was running from somebody. She was coming to you.”

Wolf began to answer, but was cut short by a commotion in the hallway. Capriati and Patterson both looked in Wolf’s direction.

“She’s awake,” Patterson said.

Without thinking, Wolf walked toward the doctor, then stopped. Lauren was still by the window.

“Are you coming?”

She nodded and joined him.

“She’s conscious,” Capriati said. “She woke up fifteen minutes ago. And I know you wanted to know the second she came to but I had to run some tests. She seems stable enough so you can see her now, though.”

Wolf looked down at Lauren. She nodded.

“You can go in, too,” Capriati said to her.

“Oh. No, I—”

“I’d like to go in, too, Doctor,” Patterson said. “She’s my good friend.”

Capriati looked down his nose and raised his hands. “Okay, but nobody else. And I want you three to be gentle—she’s been through a major head trauma, which as you know, Lauren, can mean volatile emotions.”

“We’ll be fine, Doc,” Wolf said. He turned to MacLean, Rachette, Wilson, and Yates. “And they’ll be fine with staying out here. Let’s go.”

Capriati walked into the room, Patterson on his heels. Wolf let Lauren go ahead of him.

The lights inside were off but the cracked blinds let in a smattering of photons.

Luke sat up in her bed, staring through the exterior wall as if she were asleep with her eyes open.

“Hey, Kristen,” Patterson said, inching up to the foot of the bed.

Luke’s eyes narrowed then widened, and she turned her head slowly toward them.

“Hello, Kristen,” Lauren said.

“Hey, Luke.”

Luke’s gaze bounced off each of them in turn. “Who are you?”

CHAPTER 13

“I’M HEATHER. Heather Patterson. And this is David Wolf. And Lauren … Coulter.”

Luke’s eyes lowered to her own hand. She made a fist and sucked in a breath. “My hand hurts.”

“We think you might have hit somebody,” Wolf said.

Capriati shuffled into Wolf’s peripheral vision. “Kristen, do you remember our conversation a few minutes ago?”

She looked at him. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Can you repeat the salient points back to me, please?”

“Salient points? Yeah, sure. You said I was in a car accident and that’s why my forehead feels like somebody’s driven a dozen nails into it. And why when I turn my head—my brain rattles in my skull.”

“Yes. And what else? Do you remember … who you are? Your occupation?”

“Kristen Luke. Special agent at the Snohomish field office.”

“And where is that?”

“Everett, Washington. North of Seattle. But … you said we’re in Colorado right now.” Luke lifted her head off the pillow and closed her eyes. “You said I was in a car accident here.”

Capriati wrote something on his electronic notebook.

“Do you remember why you were here?” Wolf asked.

Luke blinked a few times, then locked eyes with Wolf. “Wait a minute.” She smiled wide and tears welled in her eyes. “You’re David. You’re David Wolf. And you’re Patty. Heather Patterson. And”—she looked at Lauren and her smile dropped—“you’re Lauren Coulter. Yes, I remember you guys.”

Wolf looked at Lauren and saw the tail end of a hurt expression.

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Luke’s voice took on a childish quality. “I don’t remember that.”

“That’s okay, Kristen. Your memories will come back,” Capriati said. “Like we discussed before, you’ve had a bad blow to the head, and your memories have been pushed to the back of your mind for the moment. It’s called retrograde amnesia, and it’s my belief you’ll recover in due time.”

“Do you remember how long you’ve been in Snohomish County?” Wolf asked.

“What’s the date?”

“It’s October 1st.”

Luke scrunched her forehead.

“You don’t have to answer that, Kristen.” Capriati walked toward the bed, speaking the words to Wolf.

Luke leaned back into the pillow and her troubled expression melted into slack-jawed unconsciousness.

“Kristen?” Capriati asked softly.

Luke stirred and made a sound.

“See how delicate this is?” said Capriati. “She’s sleeping now. We have to let her. Back out, everyone.”

They went out into the hall. Capriati joined them and Wolf asked, “What kind of amnesia did you say she had?”

“Retrograde amnesia. She’s exhibiting some classic signs consistent with Ribot’s Law, which has to do with subjects losing more memories closer to a traumatic incident, and accessing those more remote.”

Patterson folded her arms. “Like, she can remember older memories but not newer ones?”

“Correct. The closer to the car accident, the less likely she’ll recover that memory.”

“How long can that take?” Wolf asked. “To access her memories again? To know how close to the accident she can recall?”

Capriati shrugged. “There’s no way of predicting that. It’s different for every patient—for every injury. The good news is, she remembered our earlier conversation.”

“Why is that good news?” Wolf asked.

“Because she can make new memories,” Lauren said.

Capriati nodded. “Anterograde amnesia is a whole different animal and suggests a higher degree of brain trauma.”

“How much trauma does she have?” Wolf asked, remembering Luke’s child-like tone. “Are we talking lasting brain damage?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She has no skull fractures, her initial head MRI looked promising, no hemorrhaging. Of course, we’ll need to take more scans.”

A thumping sound echoed through the building. Wolf spotted movement at the end of the hall. Rachette, MacLean, Wilson, and Yates all looked out the window.

“What’s that?” Patterson asked.

“Sounds like a Flight for Life helicopter,” Lauren said, walking after them.

“Feds,” Wolf said.

CHAPTER 14

WOLF LOOKED up through the shaking window but was unable to see the chopper.

To the west, a descending helicopter shadow danced across the sage, closing in on the building, then the noise dissipated.

Lauren put a hand on his chest. “Listen, this is getting action-packed. I’m going to take off and go pick up Ella, okay?”

Wolf nodded. “Okay. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just keep me posted, all right?”

“I will.” He bent down and kissed her hard on the mouth.

She backed away but he pulled her into him, and now she responded with the same intensity. “Okay.” She slapped his chest. “Call me.”

“I will.”

He watched her leave through the stairway doors.

“What did she say?” Rachette shuffled in next to him.

“She has to go pick up Ella.”

“No, Luke.”

“Not much. She can’t remember anything.”

“Amnesia? You’re kidding.”

“Retrograde amnesia,” Patterson said. “The closer to the traumatic event, the less likely the subject can recall a memory. Kind of like a Thursday night for you at Beer Goggles.”

“Good one.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator dinged and they turned to watch the doors slide open.

Four men stepped out, two in blue suits and, behind them, two more in flight suits with medical logos sewn into them. They wheeled out a gurney fitted with Velcro straps.

“What are they doing?” Rachette asked under his breath.

Wolf and MacLean made toward the two agents.

“Which one of you is Earnshaw?” MacLean asked.

The lead man swerved toward MacLean and held out a hand. “Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Dale Earnshaw.”

“Sheriff Will MacLean, Sluice–Byron County.”

They knotted hands.

Earnshaw’s looked to be in his late-fifties, and fit with it. His shoulders were broad and a thick neck pressed against his collar. The muscular arms could have crushed MacLean, but the agent finished the greeting quickly and turned his attention to Wolf. “Earnshaw.”

“Chief Detective David Wolf.”

Earnshaw waved toward his companion. “Special Agent Nackley.”

Nackley dove forward and offered a limp handshake.

“Where’s the doctor?” said Earnshaw, pointedly ignoring the two pilots.

Another hand was thrust into the circle. “I’m Dr. Capriati.”

“Ah, yes, Dr. Capriati.”

“I was the one who spoke to you on the phone an hour ago. And I told you: she woke up, and she went back to sleep. She’s still asleep.”

Earnshaw blinked. “I understand. We need to know where she is.”

“Why do you have a medevac team here?”

“To bring her home.”

“This close to her waking up?”

“She’s in room 305, sir,” Nackley said, reading off his phone screen.

Earnshaw nodded to the medevac team.

The pilots looked down the hall and pushed their gurney.

“Whoa,” Capriati said.

Wolf walked in front of the gurney and stopped it. “What are you guys doing?”

“Detective,” Earnshaw said.

“I suggest you start explaining yourself,” MacLean said.

Earnshaw raised his eyes from MacLean. “Whoa, everyone. We’re the good guys here.”

“So are we,” Wolf said. “And Special Agent Luke is our friend. So explain. Where are you taking her?”

“Back to Washington.”

“Why?”

“Because when she wakes up again, she’s needed there.”

“Why?”

Earnshaw’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not something we can talk about here.”

“She has a bruise on her back where she was shot in her vest, a bruise on her face where she was punched, a bruise on the back of her head, and zip-tie marks on her wrists. And she can’t remember how any of it happened. She’s not going anywhere until you can explain where all those marks came from. Because she didn’t come to you for help. Instead, she drove eighteen hours southeast to us.”

“She can’t remember anything about what happened to her?” Earnshaw asked.

“No.”

“You in charge here?”

Wolf looked to MacLean.

“Yeah, sure,” MacLean said. “He’s in charge.”

“Take us to see her.” Earnshaw flicked his eyes toward the room. “We’ll discuss the situation in there, okay?”

“The medevac team stays here,” Wolf said.

Earnshaw rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you two please wait here? There. Satisfied?”

Wolf looked at Capriati.

“Follow me.”

CHAPTER 15

THE TROUBLED CREASE between Kristen Luke’s eyes had returned.

Wolf watched from behind as Earnshaw and Nackley approached the bed.

Earnshaw looked down at her and nodded once. “Okay. It looks like you guys have done a good job with her. We need to take her now.”

“No,” Wolf said. “The deal was, you explain.”

Luke stirred on the bed and cracked open her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“There she is.” Earnshaw moved toward the bed. “Special Agent Luke.”

Luke shook her head, then moaned and put her hand to her temple. “What?”

“It’s me, Earnshaw.”

She blinked. “Who?”

Earnshaw frowned. “You can’t remember who I am?”

She stared at him for a few seconds. “No.”

“Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Dale Earnshaw.”

“I mentioned to you on the phone earlier that she has retrograde amnesia,” Capriati said.

“Yes, that’s right, Doc. I know. I thought that meant she couldn’t remember newer memories, not older ones, like who her boss is of the last year.”

She blinked rapidly. “Yes. Hello, sir. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first.”

Earnshaw turned to Capriati. “We need to see her better. Turn on the lights.”

“No lights.” Capriati walked to the blinds and opened them a sliver.

Luke squinted but seemed to adjust easily enough.

“Thanks,” Earnshaw said. “Luke, we need to ask you some questions.”

“You promised an explanation,” Wolf said.

“Yeah, and she can give it.”

“She doesn’t remember anything. Her short-term memory is shot.”

“So we heard,” Earnshaw said.

“So, you see how she can’t explain. But you can. Why was she out in the middle of the state? Why does she have a gunshot bruise on her back? Why does she have those marks on her wrists?”

Luke studied her own wrists and wriggled in the bed. “That’s a gunshot? Feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse.”

Earnshaw looked at her. “You don’t remember anything?”

“She doesn’t. Now start talking.”

“Wait …” Luke put a hand to her head. “I do remember something.”

“What?” Earnshaw asked.

Nackley edged toward the bed.

“I remember Swain. I was following him.”

Earnshaw and Nackley looked at each other.

“Who’s Swain?” Wolf asked.

“Her partner. You were following Swain. Where?”

She shook her head, then put her hand back against her temple, as if to keep her head from toppling off her neck. “An alley. I don’t know. Down an alley.”

“An alley?” Earnshaw was clearly expecting a different answer. “What alley?”

“Downtown.”

“Seattle?”

“That’s where you guys live, right?” Wolf said.

“I’m asking because, the last we knew, she was two hours out east with her partner, in the Cascades. She and Swain were following a lead on some individuals of interest. This ringing any bells, Luke?”

“No,” she croaked.

Earnshaw stood to his full height and put a hand on the small of his back, as if he’d felt a twinge. “Damn.”

Wolf eyed Earnshaw expectantly.

“Four days ago,” Earnshaw said, “Special Agent Luke and her partner, Special Agent Jake Swain, contacted me. They were on Highway 2 east. Destination: a place near the Snohomish County line. They were moving on a lead Swain had picked up concerning a family and some gun thefts.”

“Gun thefts.” Luke frowned. “Which gun thefts?”

“The smash and grabs.”

“The ones six months ago?” she asked.

“Yes.” Earnshaw leaned closer.

“They were in highly populated areas,” Luke said. “Kent. Seattle. Everett.”

“Right.”

“But we were going out east?”

Earnshaw sighed and nodded. “So you don’t remember shit.” He paced some more.

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re not making a good case for taking her,” Wolf said. “You know more than her. She was out east, by the county line. There’s no need to pull her out of here by helicopter. It’s time to let her rest, especially if it’s better for her health. You guys can head back up, drive out to the county line and start investigating in the meantime.”

“We already have units at the county line,” Earnshaw said. “We had two missing agents—we went straight east. It turned out their lead was false. The family had moved to the eastern seaboard, except for grandma and grandpa, who were so decrepit they couldn’t have stolen candy from a kid.”

“Two agents missing?” Wolf asked.

Earnshaw nodded. “Yes, Detective. Luke here and her partner. Kristen Luke showed up, thank God, but Swain’s still missing up there. We’re at a dead end, and the only person who can steer us right is lying here. When her memory starts coming back, we need her close so we can act. A man’s life is on the line.” Earnshaw looked at Luke. “Shit.”

Wolf followed his eyes. Luke was back asleep.

“Get the medevac team in here.”

Nackley left the room.

Earnshaw pointed at Wolf. “You want to help? Stay here and help us move her. Otherwise, you can step aside. My nice-guy routine’s over. We’re taking her.”

The gurney came around the corner.

Rachette appeared in the hallway and pushed his way inside. “You want me to do something?”

Wolf shook his head.

One of the pilots spoke to Capriati. The other pushed the gurney toward Wolf.

“Excuse me.”

Wolf and Rachette moved out of the way.

“They’re taking her?” Rachette asked.

Wolf concentrated on the three men huddled around her bed, rehearsing like they were getting ready to move a piece of furniture. By the time he stepped over to help, they’d already finished the transfer.

A nurse came inside and helped tuck a fresh blanket over Luke’s body. Then the medevac team strapped her to the bed.

Capriati signed a few papers and handed them to the medevac doctor.

Wolf turned around and walked out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Rachette asked.

“I have to make a phone call.”

He strode to the waiting room, phone in hand. He went to the windows, and saw Lauren’s car was already gone from the lot below.

“Who are you calling?” Rachette asked.

“Lauren.”

The ringer trilled in Wolf’s ear.

“Oh.” Rachette eyed him suspiciously. “Can I ask why?”

“What’s going on?” Patterson appeared next to them.

“They’re taking Luke. He’s calling Lauren.”

The call went to her voicemail. She must have been in a dead zone over the pass. He was about to leave a message but killed the call.

“What’s up?” Patterson asked.

Wolf turned and stared into nothing. “I’m leaving.”

His two detectives eyed one another.

“Where?” Patterson asked.

“Washington.”

CHAPTER 16

“THAT’S what I was afraid you were going to say,” Patterson said.

“Yeah, well …” Wolf pulled out his phone again and dialed.

“But—”

“I’m getting married tomorrow. I know.”

“Yes, you’re getting married tomorrow,” Patterson said.

He ignored her and listened to the electronic trill in his ear. Once again it went to Lauren’s voicemail. The message beeped and he moved away.

“Hey, Lauren. You must be out of reception on Williams Pass or something. I … have to go. Just call me. Actually, I might be out of touch for the next few hours so I’ll call you. Actually, listen.” He stuttered, started to explain, then chickened out. “I’ll call you.”

He twirled around and saw his two detectives staring at him with dumbfounded expressions.

“Don’t you two have work to do?”

“Not really,” Rachette said. “Kristen Luke was in a car accident outside town, and now she’s woken up from a coma. We’re here, at the hospital, making sure she’s okay.”

“She’s okay now and she’s headed back to Washington. So you two get back to the station and interview Eli Banks. Get his statement on record.”

He turned away, dismissing them.

“You’re leaving?” Patterson asked.

A nurse emerged from Luke’s room, followed by the wheeled gurney and Luke’s blanketed feet.

He eyed Patterson. Her mouth hung open, reminding him of a wedding-tent entryway.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” Patterson said.

“You told me that already.”

“I’m just concerned that if you leave with them, all the way to Washington, you might not be able to get back in time. Jack’s in town. Your mother’s in town. Her sisters. Other people. Lots of other people.”

“Thank you, Heather. I know that.”

She lifted her chin. “Why, exactly, are you going?”

“She drove from central Washington to Rocky Points. Her injuries indicate she was beaten, held captive, and shot. She stole a car and drove here. Not to the cops. Not to her field office, which would have been a two-hour drive. She drove eighteen hours here.”

Patterson exhaled. “Okay, you have a point.”

“He does,” Rachette said. “But he has one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“He hasn’t told them he’s coming yet.” Rachette thumbed toward Earnshaw and Nackley, who walked behind Luke’s gurney toward the elevators, both studiously avoiding eye contact.

Earnshaw spoke on the phone.

Wilson came over. “They’re taking her?”

“Hey.” Wolf stepped to Earnshaw.

Earnshaw lifted a pinkie finger but kept talking into his phone.

“I’m going with you guys,” Wolf said.

Earnshaw lowered the phone. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going with you.” Wolf walked in front of the gurney, beating the procession to the elevator bank, and pressed the up button.

Nackley eyed his boss as if he were watching an MMA fighter who’d just been called a wimp by an unsuspecting stranger.

Earnshaw ended his call and pocketed his cell. “You’re not going with us.”

“She came here for help. I’m not abandoning her because she can’t yet remember why. I’m not letting you leave in that helicopter without me.”

The elevator dinged and opened.

The nurse and the two medevac personnel pushed Luke inside.

Wolf got in with them and faced front like an at-ease soldier.

Nackley and Earnshaw eyed one another.

“Don’t you guys dare get in a fight in this elevator.” The nurse darted her gaze between them.

Her words seemed to stir the room behind the two agents. Wilson stepped up close, looming over Earnshaw’s shoulder, and Rachette came up on Nackley’s rear.

“Let’s work together on this, okay?” MacLean said.

A smile spread on Earnshaw’s mouth, but his eyes sizzled with annoyance. “Fine. Detective Wolf is coming with us.”

Nackley’s head whipped around to his superior. “Sir?”

“Let’s go.” Earnshaw stepped inside with Nackley on his rear. “While we’re young.”

The pilot punched the roof button and the doors slid shut.

Wolf looked down at Luke’s sleeping face. The worried crease was there again.

CHAPTER 17

“HE WASN’T THERE AGAIN.”

Tong Wei let out his breath, constricting the back of his throat so it was audible in the aft room of the new warehouse. He watched sweat bead along his soldier’s hairline.

“I should have put a GPS on his car the first time I saw him. But how was I to know he wouldn’t come back?”

Tong held his unblinking, icy stare, crumbling the confidence of his soldier.

“I’m sorry. Please. I’ll find him. I’ll … put a tracking device on his car. I’ll—”

“Shut up.” Tong pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped spittle off his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

The leather of Tong’s jacket creaked as he put the silk handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Take out your gun.”

“Please.”

“Take out your gun,” he said again with a precision that left nothing open to misinterpretation.

“I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to put your wife and child in my rotation.” He was lying. Nothing this man did could stop that from happening. He was short on product.

The soldier mumbled and reached into his pocket.

Tong pulled his own QSZ-92. When the soldier opened his eyes, he found a barrel pointing at his face.

“Thank you,” the soldier said, closing his eyes again.

As if relief would be that easy. Tong was simply protecting himself, just in case.

“I said take out your gun.”

His soldier’s eyes opened. “What?”

“Take out your gun!” It was Tong’s turn to fling spittle. “Out!”

The soldier stared, then raised his gun, put the barrel to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Hot gas, light, and warm mist hit Tong full in the face, but he remained still, watching the body stand erect for a split second and collapse in a heap.

Tong held his hand out to his bodyguard, who handed him a towel without hesitation. He wiped his face and hair, and threw the towel back.

His phone chirped. He pulled it from his pocket, noticing with detached curiosity the way his hand shook.

As was his custom, he pressed the button and put the device to his ear without speaking.

“Sir?”

Tong let out an affirmative noise.

“I have something.”

He hung up. “Clean him up. I’ll be back.”

Tong left out the metal door, despising the squeal of the hinges as it swung shut too fast behind him.

Tyrone was with a girl with black holes for eyes. Tong would pass them on his way to Bohai’s office.

Office? It was an old boiler room with the rat shit swept out and wiring brought in. The place stunk like a slaughterhouse.

He strode quickly, locking eyes with the girl the entire way. She was defying him again.

When he reached her, he stopped and gripped the twenty-year-old girl’s face between his thumb and forefinger. Her skin was soft, but she had acne on her forehead.

His expression softened and he let go. “You did well today.”

Her eyes dropped and stared through his heart.

“I want you to look at me.”

She did, and he saw himself at age twelve.

“You are so important to us.” He hooked a sweat-drenched strand of hair behind her ear, and she flinched. “You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Good. Tyrone, how many clients has she seen today?”

“Six,” the large man said.

Tong held out his hand and Tyrone slapped a wad of cash into it. Tong pocketed the money without bothering to count. Tyrone was a trustworthy product master. He’d have been dead otherwise.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Tong said.

Tyrone raised his eyebrows and Tong nodded.

It was not enough. Seven clients per day gave Tong his net profit for this grade of product. Six was one job too few, but this girl looked like she was ready to collapse, and he’d learned years ago that sometimes he needed to appear merciful to keep certain products alive—pull back the veil of despair and reveal a sliver of hope every few days, or else they’d simply lose the will to live.

She was a mere two weeks into this. There was no sense driving what little he had into the ground because of his frustration.

The homeland youth he’d grown up with were so much stronger than these American suburbanites. These kids had tasted a life that Tong would have killed for as a child, with their warm houses, loving families and mini-vans taking them to glass schools. Pulling these kids from their former lives often severed their attachment to sanity.

The girl glared at him and he felt his skin tingle.

“Put her back.”

Tyrone pulled her away.

The cage door squealed open and shut. Tong took out his handkerchief and scrubbed the girl’s filth off his hand. Some men had a gift for seducing their products, parading them unleashed around town, relying on psychological trickery to keep them tethered. Tong had to stop pretending he was like them.

He walked between two rows of mostly empty dog kennels, resisting the urge to go back and tell Tyrone to put the girl back out until she’d finished what she’d started. But that would have made him seem indecisive.

He twisted the knob to Bohai’s office but the door held firm, as if it were rusted in place.

He cursed in his native Mandarin and put his shoulder into it.

The door swung open and bashed into somebody on the other side.

“Ah!”

Tong slipped in and shut the door. Bohai stood behind it, holding his nose.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to open the door for you.”

Tong ignored him and sat down in a plastic chair against one of the exposed brick walls. “What do you have?”

Bohai rubbed his nose, his sliver-like eyes watering behind rimless glasses. His pasty skin appeared red in the electronic glow of the room. He walked to a swivel chair, sat down, and spun toward the bank of screens on the wall.

Tong passed his eyes over the sixteen video windows—only three showed products sleeping or resting—and landed on the black-and-white footage on Bohai’s oversized laptop.

“I have another positive identification.” Bohai’s fingers were like running spider legs on the keyboard as he pulled up a picture. “Another employee with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Rage pulsed through Tong. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“How?”

“I finished scrubbing the audio and heard one of the other men uses his name. I cross-referenced it with the field-office database.”

Bohai handed over a glossy photograph.

Tong memorized the perpetrator’s face, then stared into his eyes and vowed vengeance in this life and all that would follow.

“Good work,” he said, spurring his soldier toward continued improvement.

Tong swallowed and let his eyes move to the image of his brother’s bleeding corpse on screen. Surprisingly, he felt little, the flash of panic now muted.

His mother’s ghost was losing her power.

“And where is he now?”

Bohai spun around and lowered his glasses. “Interesting, that answer is.”

CHAPTER 18

“PASSENGERS, PREPARE FOR LANDING,” said the pilot, snapping Wolf from semi-consciousness.

He cinched his seatbelt and straightened his seat.

Earnshaw and Nackley remained reclined. The doctor, and a nurse who’d already been aboard the plane at Eagle Airport when Wolf arrived, brought their seats forward.

Clouds flitted past, the windows flickered, and the Learjet 45 dipped into unobstructed sky. Wolf leaned toward his window and took in the view below, recognizing the southern outskirts of greater Seattle.

Twenty-five-year-old memories surfaced—stepping out of the concourse and walking through driving drizzle. Stepping up into the army bus. The smell of linoleum seats. And the body odor of the man who’d sat next to him. He stared at the silver Puget Sound and reflected on the dark place he’d been in back then, only weeks from burying his father and searching for vengeance a world away from home. And now? Lauren was a ray of sun that had broken through the clouds, and he’d just left her holding a wedding dress.

And for what?

He eyed Luke for the hundredth time. To Lauren, Special Agent Luke was a former lover. To Wolf, she was somebody who’d gambled her own life and career for him.

Luke’s head, strapped in place on the gurney, wriggled with the turbulence. She was pale. He was used to seeing her tan and vibrant. And conscious.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

It was a message from Lauren.

Hey. Okay. Keep me posted.

Wolf’s stomach had been firing acid in anticipation of this moment. Now that she’d finally responded, it was if a stove had been lit in his gut. He’d texted her the moment they’d lifted off in the helicopter, explaining his sense of duty, how sorry he was, how hard he’d work to get home within hours so he’d be back in plenty of time for the wedding, no matter what it took.

It had taken her four hours to respond, and the simplicity of her message spoke volumes.

She’d probably written several versions over the past few hours, each less scathing than the last, each the result of more contemplation, a diminishing sense of betrayal, more understanding. Or, at least, he hoped.

The plane bucked and Wolf clenched the arm rest as he lifted in his seat.

Earnshaw and Nackley sat up and across the center aisle from Wolf. Nackley leaned forward and said something into Earnshaw’s ear. Then they turned and looked at Wolf.

Nackley nodded, as if Wolf was supposed to believe they were saying something amicable. Nackley seemed hospitable enough, and Wolf wondered what Luke thought of him. And Earnshaw? The SSA was a hard-ass type, just like every other SAC or SSA Wolf had ever met.

The skyscrapers loomed on the northern horizon, the iconic Space Needle jutting into the low clouds, but they dropped down well short of the city and landed on the wet tarmac with a bump.

Luke’s face remained peaceful through the landing and taxi process. They rolled to a hangar and stopped, where an ambulance waited with two black Chevy sedans. Two agents, dressed in FBI raincoats, stood smoking cigarettes near one of the cars.

The stairs were lowered and Earnshaw and Nackley were first off the plane. Wolf waited for them to off-load Luke before climbing out himself.

His pores and lungs absorbed the moist salt air.

Luke’s gurney wheeled to the open ambulance, Earnshaw and Wolf alongside.

“I’ll ride with her,” Earnshaw said. “You go with Nackley.”

“I’ll ride with her,” Wolf said.

Earnshaw’s face softened. “Listen. She’s fine. She’s home. She’s my agent, in my field office, and I’m pissed off just as much as you that she’s lying here on this gurney.”

Wolf looked into the man’s eyes and saw hard sincerity.

“I’ll go with her,” Earnshaw said.

Wolf watched them load her in, and turned to Nackley who stood next to one of the sedans. The other two agents piled into their vehicle and turned on the engine.

“Let’s roll,” Nackley said.

Wolf got into the Ford, which was warm compared to the tarmac.

Nackley fired up the engine and eyed Wolf’s hooded Carhartt sweatshirt. “You have a raincoat?”

“No.”

“Sucks for you.”

CHAPTER 19

“SO, tell me about Luke’s partner,” Wolf said, gazing out the rain-streaked passenger window.

“Jake Swain?” Nackley shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s there to tell? He’s from northern Cal. Came to our FO a few years ago.”

Silence took over as they slowed, waiting for an automatic traffic arm to let them out of Boeing Field.

They passed through, and the car revved. Wolf sucked back into his seat as Nackley edged up to the rear of the flashing ambulance.

“Are you friends with her?” Wolf asked.

“Luke?” He smiled, then laughed. “Friends? You could say we’re colleagues—how about that?”

They followed the ambulance onto I-5, cut across four lanes of traffic, and settled into the left lane. Nackley seemed to have a suicidal streak, narrowly missing cars as he swerved to see ahead of the ambulance.

“So how do you know her?”

“We met while she worked for the Glenwood Springs FO. Worked a few cases together over the years.”

Wolf sat back and tried to relax as they cruised feet from the ambulance bumper, but lurching into his seatbelt every time Nackley jammed the brakes was bad for a Zen state of mind.

Outside, the sea of concrete, steel, and wood of the southern Seattle metro area was denser than the last time he’d visited, with more traffic.

Tall, thin trees backdropped everything. He knew from experience that if the weather were more cooperative he’d have seen the Olympic Mountains jutting off the western horizon. And had they been in the right spot, Mount Rainier would have loomed white to the southeast. Instead they were surrounded by a gray, featureless sky spewing drizzle.

Nackley turned up the wipers and eyed Wolf. “You look a little uncomfortable.”

“It’s a lot more people than I’m used to.”

“Ever been up here before?”

“I was stationed at Fort Lewis in the army.”

“Really. Ranger?”

Wolf nodded.

“Marines myself. You do Afghanistan?”

Wolf nodded again and opted to keep silent—still unsure of Nackley’s ability to hold a conversation and follow three feet behind an ambulance at fifty miles per hour without killing them both.

A few miles later they exited the highway and hung a right. Only a block later they hung another right and pulled up to the Harborview Medical Center.

The medical campus was large, built from sturdy concrete, and covered in windows that looked out toward the Sound.

The ambulance veered away and parked underneath the emergency-room portico.

“We’ll park in the garage.”

Wolf relaxed as the ambulance disappeared, opening up the world beyond the windshield. “So, why’s your SSA down in Colorado with you? I would have thought the big man in the field office would have delegated that task.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Nackley shrugged. “Earnshaw’s not afraid to get his hands dirty with the rest of us. Or maybe you could call him a control freak.”

Nackley pulled into the parking garage, rolled down the window to get a ticket, and ducked back inside. “He’s a little spooked about Swain being missing, wanted to make sure he talked to Luke when she woke up. Every second counts, right? Jesus.” He wiped the rain off his arm. “Been forty-seven days straight with at least a tenth of an inch precipitation. I’ve been up here ten years and never gotten used to stretches like these.”

Wolf pulled down the corners of his mouth. He figured when it had been that long, you started keeping track. Like serving time in prison.

Nackley pulled forward and parked in a spot near some doors. He shut off the engine and turned to Wolf. “And I’ll see you get a proper rain jacket. That sweatshirt’s gonna be sopping wet if you stand outside in the Pacific Northwest for more than a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“When’s the last time you’ve heard of somebody getting amnesia?” Nackley opened the door and blew air from his lips. “It’s crazy.”

Wolf stepped out, once more taken by the density of the air. “I’ve seen it after a guy crashed skiing. Hit his head. Couldn’t remember much of anything for a few days. But it got better.”

He followed Nackley through a door that led to a sidewalk outside.

“Shit, it’s really coming down!” Nackley pulled up the hood on his jacket and jogged.

Wolf did the same, grateful for the movement after being cooped up in the hospital, the plane, and then the car. But the exercise was short-lived as they ran under the covered ambulance tunnel to some automatic glass doors.

Wolf’s phone vibrated. Lauren.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Hey, how’s it going?” Wolf pulled to a stop and waved Nackley ahead.

“… you …”

Just one word, then a stream of static and some jumbled words.

“Hello?”

He received no answer and the icon read no service. He ran out of the tunnel and into the rain, and a single bar of reception appeared.

He called her back but got her voice mail, tried again with no luck, and shot off a text: I’ll call you as soon as I get better reception.

He waited for a few seconds for a response. The rain intensified and plastered his sweatshirt to his shoulders.

“Shit.” He pocketed the phone and jogged back into the tunnel.

Before he got to the doors, he saw a commotion ensuing inside. Three nurses and two doctors stood in a huddle, and at the center a woman backhanded a stethoscope away from her chest.

Kristen Luke had woken up.

CHAPTER 20

THE VIEW from Luke’s room lived up to the hospital’s name.

Wolf stood by the windows, staring out at the foreign city with its white cargo cranes near the harbor, steel-topped stadiums, and the forest of buildings. Beyond the thriving metropolis, the Pacific Ocean licked inland to create the still-looking Puget Sound, where a jumble of ships, boats, and ferries slow-danced in one another’s wakes.

“I’d like you to drink as much liquid as you possibly can in the next few minutes.”

Wolf turned and watched the doctor continue her lecture. Earnshaw paced with crossed arms. Nackley had left the room minutes ago without saying where he was going.

“She needs to rest,” the doctor said to Earnshaw. “And she needs to eat.”

“Not gonna argue with the food part. I could eat this pillow.”

“There’s a menu right there.”

Luke stared at the piece of paper on the roll-table next to her bed.

“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you. When I return, I want you asleep and an empty food tray next to your bed.”

Luke closed her eyes and pushed her head back into the pillow.

“Later, Doc,” Earnshaw said. “Thanks.”

The doctor left quietly out the door.

Luke whipped the sheets off, revealing her bare legs. “I don’t want to be here. Let’s go.”

Wolf stepped forward and pulled the sheet back over her. “Relax. You were just unconscious for the entire trip from Colorado.”

“Which means I’m rested.”

“No, which shows how much rest you need.”

She looked up at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m up for Special Agent Luke resting more,” Earnshaw said. “But she can do so on the road just as easily. We have at least a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

“So let’s go.” Luke pulled off the sheets on the other side and stood.

She swayed, put a hand on the bed, and sat back down. “Shit.”

“Lie down,” Wolf said.

Luke shot him a defiant look and remained seated.

The door opened. Nackley came in with two large plastic shopping bags and dropped one on the bed.

“What’s this?” Luke asked.

“Clothes.”

She pulled out a pair of black sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a dark-blue sweatshirt, a pack of white socks, underwear, a large raincoat, and some tennis shoes. “Wow, thanks. It’s an outfit that says I’m ready for daytime television.”

“That’s as good as it gets from the sporting-goods shop across the street. You want to do some shopping downtown? Maybe stop at Pacific Place?”

She raised her middle finger. “This’ll do. Thanks.”

“That’s the civy raincoat from my trunk. Don’t screw it up.”

She held up a black raincoat that looked like it would fit her like a tarp. “I’ll try.”

Nackley pulled an FBI rain jacket out of the other bag and flung it over to Wolf. “That’s Earnshaw’s spare. You can screw that one up as much as you want.”

Wolf cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

“So what did I miss?”

“We’re about to order Luke some food,” Wolf said. “And she’s going to lie down.”

She rose to her feet again and put the sweatshirt to her front to check the size.

“We’ll get you some food on the way out.” Earnshaw turned to Wolf. “Before you freak out, I’ll brief you. We’ve found Swain and Luke’s department vehicle on a dirt road off Highway 2. If we’re going to jog Luke’s memory it’s going to be there.”

Luke sat on the edge of the bed. “I told you, I remember following him into an alley. I don’t remember going east.”

Nackley and Earnshaw eyed one another.

“Thick forest,” Earnshaw said. “Moss everywhere. Up a wide valley.”

“No. Trash everywhere. Up a narrow alley.”

“And how about the eighteen-and-a-half-hour drive to Rocky Points?”

They looked at Wolf.

“I don’t know.” Luke put a hand to her head. “To all of it. I don’t remember.”

Earnshaw paced toward the back of the room.

“Your wedding is soon, right?” Luke asked him.

Nackley and Earnshaw turned.

“It’s tomorrow.”

“Maybe I went down there for that. Some kind of subconscious thing.”

“You hit your head in Rocky Points,” Wolf said. “You were alert up until that point.”

“I’d been shot in the back. Hit in the head, twice, according to that doctor who just left.”

“The big blow happened in Rocky Points. I saw the windshield.”

“Let’s hold up for a second, here.” Nackley put up a hand. “Your wedding is tomorrow?”

Wolf said nothing.

“That true?” Earnshaw asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re wasting our time sitting here,” Earnshaw said. “We need to leave. Special Agent Luke wants to leave. She wants to help. We have a long drive ahead of us, and she can rest in the car. Let’s go.”

They looked at Wolf.

He stared down at Luke’s eyes, could see her mind working at less-than-full capacity.

“Good.” Luke stood up. “It’s settled. We’ll get some food at the cafeteria downstairs. Now get out of here so I can change.”

CHAPTER 21

DETECTIVE TOM RACHETTE sipped his second coffee of the afternoon and stared out the third-floor windows of the Sluice–Byron County building.

The light outside dimmed as a cloud passed in front of the sun, dousing the trees and rooftops of Rocky Points in shadow.

A glowing cloud obscured the top of the ski resort, though the rest of the clouds skated past quickly. There must have been an eddy behind the twin rocky peaks from which the town had acquired its name.

Why was he clenching his jaw while gazing at the mountains? He looked down at the empty cup in his hand. He’d had three this morning and two this afternoon to counteract the persistent lethargy. Too much, perhaps.

It was TJ. The little guy had kept him up the past few nights. Nights? More like weeks. He and Charlotte needed to figure out how to get the little bastard to sleep, and keep him there.

He rubbed a hand over his scalp and yawned.

“Rachette!”

He turned back to the squad room. “What?”

Patterson stood near her desk, waving a hand.

“Yeah, coming.”

The squad room felt like a deserted European church. Its tall ceilings echoed back his footsteps as he wove his way through the desks. The sheriff’s office could be peaceful at certain times of the day.

“He just blew a .01,” Patterson said, hanging up her desk phone.

“Oh, great.” He walked to the kitchenette wall, poured the coffee, and led the way out of the squad room.

“You look like a buck fifty.”

Rachette eyed Patterson up and down and had to admit she looked good. “You look like shit, too, thank you.”

“Little Tommy Junior keeping you up?”

“Yep.”

“What time does he go to bed?”

“Whenever. It varies.”

“Aaaaand there’s your problem.”

They reached the elevator banks, and he decided to pull the chain and get dumped over the head with unasked-for advice. “What’s the problem?”

“TJ needs a strict bedtime routine or else he’ll never sleep well.”

“Pssh.”

They got into the elevator and pressed the button for the basement.

“Never mind. I’ll talk to Charlotte about it.”

He stretched his neck side to side, feeling a knot begin to form. “Precise bedtime every night. Where’d you learn that trick? The Patterson school of anal retention?”

They rode the rest of the way down in silence, and Rachette knew he’d irked his partner. Like his sister, she was easy to piss off, and to do so thoroughly satisfied him.

“Cell three,” she said.

“I remember, thanks.”

“I like to beat things into your head. You know, make sure they get through that thick layer of fat. Precise bedtime.”

“Hmm,” he said, unable to come up with a retort before they walked up on Deputy Barber.

“He’s up and at ’em finally,” Barber said.

“Lead the way, Deputy,” Rachette said.

Barber ambled on thick legs to the third glass door. He pressed a button, releasing a lock inside the wall with a smack.

They pushed through the door into the cell.

Eli Banks sat cross-legged on the cot, his curly brown hair stuck against one side of his head. His eyes looked like somebody had been rubbing sand in them all day, and the sour stench of alcohol stung Rachette’s nostrils.

“Whoa, Eli. You sure he blew a .01?”

Barber shrugged. “You can do it again if you like.”

“Let’s go, Eli.” Rachette tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to take a walk across the hall to one of our interrogation rooms and have a little talk, okay?”

Eli nodded and stood. “Okay.”

“This way.” Patterson led him by the arm to Interrogation B.

Rachette hung back and studied Eli’s shuffling gait. He almost felt bad for the guy. He’d hung out in the bars with the man a few times and knew he had a penchant for drinking four or five too many and then starting fights. Not necessarily in a violent way, Rachette corrected himself. He normally just pissed people off to the point where they wanted to beat him up. He’d never really fought back. Except once, and that had been because Ned Luber had punched him twice in the head.

That fight had been the one he and Wilson had remembered earlier, hadn’t it?

“Take a seat,” he said.

Eli complied.

“You want me to lock him?” Deputy Barber asked, meaning lock him in handcuffs and chain him to the table.

“Nah,” Rachette said. “You’re not going to attack us, are you?”

“No.” Eli frowned. The expression seemed to pain him.

“Some hangover, eh?” Rachette asked.

“Yeah. My God.” Eli put his head in his hands.

Patterson sat down and crossed her legs. “Do you remember what you did yesterday afternoon, Eli?”

“I need to talk to you guys about this. I had no clue you were outside my place. I thought you were someone else, there to kick my ass.”

Rachette and Patterson eyed each other.

“Is that so?” Rachette asked. He hadn’t expected a flat lie to start things off but, then again, he’d never seen Eli cornered.

“Brenda told me her brother and a bunch of his friends were coming to kick my ass. I swear I thought you guys were them. I was just trying to scare you—them. You ever seen Brenda’s brother?”

Rachette hadn’t. Patterson shook her head.

“Listen, Eli,” she said with a sigh. “We’d like to talk about before that.”

“Okay.”

“What were you doing earlier in the day? A couple of hours before.”

“I don’t know. Watching motorcycle racing. Drinking.”

“Did you visit Brenda earlier in the day?” Rachette asked.

Eli closed his eyes. “Yeah. I went and talked to her earlier. Before lunch.”

“What did you two talk about?” Patterson asked.

She did a good job of leaving any judgment out of her voice, Rachette thought. Rachette had watched the fist she’d made earlier while looking at the pictures of Brenda’s house.

“I … I don’t know. I begged her for forgiveness … for cheating on her. I wanted her to forgive me. I tried to make amends.”

“But that didn’t work out, did it?” Patterson asked.

Eli’s lips fluttered. “No.”

“And then what?” Rachette asked.

Eli shrugged. “I don’t know. She … whatever, I drove home. On the way back I picked up a bottle of whiskey, a six-pack, and a pizza, and … you know the rest.”

Patterson blinked like a gnat had flown into her eye. “You’re saying you just left after talking to her?”

“Yes.”

Patterson eyed Rachette.

“Why?”

“Eli,” Rachette said, “Brenda called us to her house. When we got there, her living room had been destroyed by a baseball bat.”

“And a few kicks,” Patterson said.

“That’s right.” Rachette leaned forward onto an elbow.

“Well, I didn’t do anything.” Eli frowned. “I didn’t do that shit. She pulled that bat on me.”

Rachette and Patterson sat back in their chairs.

“She pulled that bat on me. Wait a minute, you think I … is that what this is about? She said I destroyed her living room with a baseball bat? She pulled that bat on me. Chased me out of the house. I barely got out of there alive.”

Rachette eyed his partner. Patterson’s eyes were unblinking, like ice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. She ... no. She kicked me out. She hit me and she pushed me out the front door. I tried to talk to her, but she pulled a freakin’ baseball bat out of the closet. She told me she was going to get her brother to kick my ass. Dude,” he looked with pleading eyes at Rachette, “her brother’s one of those cross-fit freaks. Does frickin’ MMA. He’s like six four, two fifty, solid muscle. I’m gonna lift a finger on her after she tells me she’s gonna get him to kick my ass? No way. Are you serious? That’s what this is? Tom, you gotta—”

Patterson held up her hands. “Eli!”

Eli froze. “What?”

“Just … so you’re saying, what? You left her house peacefully after you went and talked to her?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what happened. And I don’t even play baseball. I’ve never played baseball. Like, when I was a kid, for one season, but that’s it. Is Dave here?”

They shook their heads.

“Ask him. He knows. I never played growing up.”

“They sell baseball bats at the store,” Rachette said.

Eli frowned. “So?”

“Brenda’s saying you got in her face,” Patterson said. “That you were threatening her.”

Eli’s expression soured. “What the hell?”

“Were you drunk at that time?” Rachette asked. “When you visited her?”

Eli looked annoyed at the shift in questioning. “At her house? No. Of course not. I was driving.”

Rachette put a hand on the table. “We saw a broken branch outside her house where you hit the tree. There’s a corresponding scrape on your car.”

“I peeled out and got a little out of control. I was emotional. She’d just said some seriously hurtful things and then chased me outside with a baseball bat.”

The room fell silent as they watched Eli glare back at them.

Patterson had that unimpressed droop to her eyelids.

“Okay.” Rachette held up his hands. “Let’s fast forward. Past a few ounces of whiskey. Do you remember shooting at us?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” He nodded as if he were contemplating going another direction. “Yes, I do. But I swear, I thought you guys were her brother.”

“We were in a maroon SUV decked out with roof antennas and a light bar inside the windshield.”

Eli frowned. “An unmarked?”

Rachette smiled. “You shot at our vehicle. You were hitting the neighbor’s house with shot. You could have killed us and seriously hurt your neighbors.”

“Man, I’m telling you. Brenda.” His face slackened. “She called me. That’s why I was freaking out. She called me and told me that her brother was on his way. I remember seeing she was calling and thinking she was going to forgive me. But she was just telling me her brother was on his way over. I told her to go screw herself, that I’d shoot him if he did.” Eli grasped at the air, pleading. “That’s why I was so freaked out. That’s why I started shooting. I knew he was coming over. I got my gun out and loaded it. I was waiting in the living room, hoping he wouldn’t come.”

“And you continued to drink,” Patterson said.

“I’m not a good stopper once I get going.”

Patterson and Rachette sat quietly.

“I swear.” Eli began to cry. “That’s what happened. Shit, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Patterson stood and made for the door.

“We’ll talk to you later,” Rachette said, following her out into the cell-block hallway.

“You can put him back,” she said to Deputy Barber.

Rachette walked double time to catch up. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? That guy’s a lying sack of shit, that’s what’s up.” She stabbed the up button with something resembling one of her karate death-pokes.

“He had an unexpected angle on the situation, I’ll give you that.” He stepped inside the elevator and pressed the third floor.

“Unexpected angle? That’s the expected angle of a wife beater with a psychotic streak capable of murder.”

They rode in silence.

The door opened and Rachette sucked in a breath of relief as they stepped into the natural light bouncing through the upper hallways of HQ.

Down the corridor, Wilson walked out of Sheriff MacLean’s office and disappeared into the squad room.

“Wilson!”

Wilson backed into view, eyebrows raised.

“Hold up!”

Rachette left Patterson and walked toward the undersheriff. “We just got done talking to Eli Banks.”

“Oh yeah? He finally sobered up?”

“Did you bag that baseball bat at Brenda Mendelsen’s place after we left?”

Wilson frowned. “Of course I did.”

“Did you order print work?”

Wilson’s eyes glazed over. “No. Not yet. Lab was closed yesterday afternoon. And with the Luke car accident last night I forgot to tell them this morning.”

Rachette turned toward Patterson. “Detective Rachette, on the case.”

“You think Eli’s prints aren’t on that baseball bat?”

Rachette shrugged. “You heard the man—he never even played the sport.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What are you two talking about?”

Rachette turned to Wilson. “Eli says he didn’t bash up Brenda’s place. And I gotta say, the man looks like he’s telling the truth.”

“The guy was plastered, doesn’t remember anything, and now he’s making stuff up on the spot,” said Patterson.

“I don’t know.”

Patterson lifted her chin and gazed out the windows.

“He says he didn’t threaten her,” Rachette said. “Because he’s afraid of her brother. You ever met him?”

Wilson snorted. “Yes. Big-ass, muscular guy. Very dangerous man. I’m glad he lives in Ashland.”

“And do you remember that awkward hug she gave Wolf?” Rachette asked.

Patterson made a choking sound. “My God, what are you talking about now?”

“I’m serious. Wilson, do you remember?”

“He’s actually recalling something correctly there. She did hug him for a good few seconds longer than awkward.”

“How long should a woman hug somebody who’s rescuing them from a violent encounter from her boyfriend?” She looked at them in turn. “What’s the protocol with that? Is there some sort of man handbook I can consult?”

“Okay, okay.” Rachette held up a hand. “Just … I think it’s time we put in the order for that baseball bat.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Wilson said. “You two need to get to the hospital and pick up Lorber’s final report on the car Luke was driving.”

“Did he find anything new?” she asked.

“No.”

“Okay. You guys ever heard of email?”

“You ever heard of a ten-gig file?” Wilson raised an eyebrow.

“You ever heard—”

Rachette turned his partner away and led her down the hall. “We’ll go get it. You order that bat checked out.”

“Will do,” Wilson said.

They walked back toward the elevators and Rachette looked at Patterson.

“Bet lunch on it?”

“On whether or not a woman was assaulted by her boyfriend?”

“Technically, he never touched her.”

“No thanks.”

“Okay, six-pack then.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lorber could drop that file in an online folder and we could log in and download it.”

“Yeah, and you could shut up.” He checked his watch. “We have an hour until our shift’s done, and then two days off for Wolf’s wedding. I plan on hitting the bar as soon as possible. You can drop me off on the way back.”

“Daddy of the year.”

The jab hit him deep, tweaking that defensive button grown sensitive by having a stay-away father his whole life.

“Sorry,” she said.

“If you’ve only seen the daddy action going on in our house the last three months. I’m the freakin’ Godfather.”

“Terrible example.”

“Charlotte gave me the next two nights to let loose and, by God, I’m going to hit Beer Goggles tonight. And then it’s the party of the century tomorrow.”

“If Wolf shows up for his own wedding, yeah.”

“We stick around here, and we’re gonna get roped into some BS paperwork.”

“After you.”

He was already inside the elevator.

CHAPTER 22

WOLF FOLLOWED LUKE, Earnshaw, and Nackley down the hospital hallway and eyed his phone. The upper floors had given his cell reception a boost and he’d called Lauren twice, both times leaving messages that had gone unanswered.

When it came to his present company, talking was getting them nowhere. If driving a couple of hours east into the Cascades was the only way to close in on the truth of what happened to Kristen Luke, then bring it on.

He could research airline flight scenarios in the car. He’d land in Denver, which meant he’d need a ride. Jack could pick him up, or maybe Nate. Rachette had been threatening to drink enough to kill a horse tonight, so he was out.

“You okay?” Luke eyed him as they descended into a large atrium.

He nodded.

The space echoed with conversation and the sound of children playing.

Shops lined one wall, including a coffee bar and cafeteria.

“The cafeteria will do,” Luke said, leading the way inside.

They lined up for pizza by the slice behind a family of three raucous kids and two exhausted-looking parents.

Wolf checked his phone again.

“Waiting for a call?” Earnshaw asked.

He shook his head and pocketed the phone. Luke had taken up the rear and stared out into the seating area. He followed her eyes, and saw her focusing on a kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt, seated alone at a table.

“You okay?” he asked.

Her lips were moving but no sound came out.

“Hey.” He poked her in the shoulder. “What’s up?”

“That kid.”

“What’s happening?” Earnshaw asked.

“I don’t know,” Wolf said. “That kid? What about him?”

Luke blinked, and her gaze stretched to a thousand miles. “I remember something else.”

“Four pepperonis?” Nackley asked. “Hey, we’re up.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Earnshaw said. “You get this. We’re going to sit down.”

They took Luke to a table. Her eyes kept moving back to the kid with the sweatshirt.

“What do you remember?” Earnshaw sat and leaned toward her. “What’s with that kid?”

“He’s the reason I was following Swain in the first place.”

“That kid?” Earnshaw turned.

“No. Not him.”

Nackley showed up with a tray full of pizza and drinks. “I got four Cokes. You have a problem with that, you can go get whatever you want.” When nobody acknowledged him, he asked, “What’s going on?”

Earnshaw held up a hand. “Tell us, Kristen. What kid?”

Luke focused. “The day after Hooper’s death, we had that big meeting. And a kid came into HQ in a sweatshirt, the hood pulled up. He looked right at me, then he left. I was leaving anyway, to go to the coffee shop across the street, so I followed him out.”

“Hooper’s death?” Wolf asked.

Three pairs of eyes locked on him.

“You haven’t told him about Hooper’s death?” Luke asked.

“No. They haven’t told me about Hooper’s death. Or who Hooper was.”

“Special Agent Hooper,” Earnshaw said, “was found murdered on the beach last weekend, Sunday night—shot and killed by a Chung Do gang member.”

Wolf leaned back in his chair.

“Chung Do member was found dead, too. Shot once in the chest.” Luke began to chew on a slice of pizza.

“The gun found in the Chung Do member’s hand shot Special Agent Hooper,” Earnshaw said. “The bullet found in the Chung Do’s chest came from Hooper’s gun. It’s confirmed.”

“I take it Chung Do is the name of the gang,” Wolf said.

“Yes.” Earnshaw put his elbows on the table.

“What?” Wolf asked. Luke looked desperate to say something.

“There’s more,” she said. “That same morning, Seattle FBI received an anonymous tip via their website, instructing them to go to a warehouse in the industrial district. They did. Eight Chung Do members had been slain, shot execution style.”

Earnshaw pulled his pizza toward him. “We found two rival gang calling cards.”

“What kind of calling cards?” Wolf asked.

“Aces of spades,” Nackley said.

Wolf raised an eyebrow.

“Ace High West,” Luke said. “One of the bigger gangs we contend with on a daily basis.”

“Drugs and guns,” Earnshaw said. “But Chung Do deals with human trafficking, sex-slave trading.”

“Jesus,” Wolf said under his breath.

“Yeah,” Earnshaw said. “Real assholes. We weren’t too bent out of shape to see eight of them with their heads blown out. We found fifteen kids locked in the office.”

Wolf held his breath. “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” Earnshaw said. “They’re fine. Well, not fine after what those guys put them through. But they’re free.”

“And those killings happened the same night Hooper was killed on the beach?” Wolf asked.

“Yep,” said Earnshaw.

“Why was Hooper out on that beach with one of the Chung Do that night?” Wolf asked.

Earnshaw raised his hands. “That’s the question. We think the gang member must have been an informant, and they were having a meeting.” He shrugged. “Something went wrong, and they shot and killed each other.”

“Or not,” Luke said.

They looked at her.

She raked her eyes over them. “Like I was saying about the kid. I followed him, but I lost him. He disappeared into the rush-hour crowd outside.” She shrugged. “So, I went over to the coffee shop.”

She took two bites and swallowed them down with Coke.

Earnshaw pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “You went to the coffee shop, and?”

“Yeah. And then that kid came in while I waited in line. He came up, leaned into my ear, and told me that my partner was dangerous. That he’d seen him shoot that Chinese guy at the beach.”

Earnshaw lowered his phone. It rang and he ended the call. “He witnessed Hooper’s death?”

Nackley dropped his pizza and leaned forward, wiping his mouth.

Luke stared through the table. “He said he saw my partner do it. I thought the kid meant I was Hooper’s partner, you know? Like, he’d seen Hooper shoot the man on the beach. So I told him, no, that wasn’t my partner. But he went all crazy, and I realized I’d been speaking to Swain when the kid had come into HQ. The kid had stared straight at me, then left. He’d been talking about Swain.”

Earnshaw and Nackley frowned.

“How does that make any sense?” Earnshaw asked.

“No shit. That was my question, but the kid bolted before I could get him to explain. I went after him, and right when I got to the door, Swain was walking inside. The kid had seen Swain coming in. That’s why he bolted.”

The table fell silent.

“So what did you do?” Earnshaw asked.

“Nothing. Not at the time. I was spooked. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I wasn’t going to bring it up with Swain. There was a chance the kid was telling the truth.”

“Why didn’t you come to me with this?” Earnshaw asked. “There was a witness to Hooper’s death and you didn’t say anything?”

Luke lowered her Coke and her eyes glazed over again. “I never did?”

“No. You never did.”

She fell silent.

“I take it that’s the last of your new memories?” Wolf asked.

She put a hand to her head and leaned her elbow on the table. “I can’t remember what happened after that. I remember … running across the street. I …” She looked up, like she might have a new spark, then shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

Earnshaw eyed Nackley and leaned back in his chair. He picked up his phone and stood. “I have to make a call.”

Wolf, Nackley, and Luke ate their food without talking.

Outside the cafeteria, Earnshaw paced by the windows, talking heatedly into the phone.

Wolf lip-read a couple expletives but failed to catch any substance of the conversation.

“You said you were following Swain in an alley,” Wolf said.

She finished chewing the last of her pizza and nodded. “I did.”

“But you can’t remember anything more specific than that?”

“No.”

Earnshaw ended his call, walked over, and sat down. “What are we talking about?”

“I was mentioning how she remembers following Swain in the alley.”

Earnshaw looked at Luke. “And?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Makes sense to me that you’d check on Swain,” Wolf said. “Like you said, you didn’t want to make waves with the news of the witness.”

“Could have been some junkie looking for some attention,” Earnshaw said.

Wolf nodded. “Exactly. But, then again, you couldn’t ignore it.”

“I agree. And it would fit why you remember following Swain. Maybe he spotted you following him. Maybe … I don’t know …”

Wolf looked at Earnshaw. “You said they called and told you they were going out east. That they were following a lead. When was that?”

“Three days ago.”

“What lead exactly?”

Earnshaw shook his head. “It was a false lead. They were going to check on a family called the Wannamakers in connection with some gun thefts from last year. When Luke and Swain went off the map and failed to check in the next day, we went straight to that family’s property. A place out in the Cascades. But there was an elderly couple living there, like I said earlier.”

“Then why were Swain and Luke led there?”

Earnshaw shook his head and looked at Luke. “Let me guess, you don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember the gun thefts as a topic of conversation in my division for months.”

Wolf flicked his eyes to Earnshaw.

The SSA’s eyes were wide now. “Wait a minute. I never talked to you. I only spoke to Swain that day you called me.” Earnshaw sat back heavily. “What if you followed him and confronted him about the witness? Maybe he got angry. Maybe he took you out east or something. You have the marks on your wrists.”

Nackley leaned back and folded his arms, watching his boss closely. “Makes sense. You escape somehow. And he shoots you. Then you steal a car out there.”

Wolf sat silently, watching everyone’s imagination contort their faces.

“Then you drive to Rocky Points,” he said.

They looked at him.

“Maybe I was scared he was on my tail.” Luke stared through the table again. “Maybe I thought he could cut me off before I got help, and decided to go the opposite way he expected.”

She looked at them. “I don’t know.”

“It fits,” Earnshaw said.

“Who was that on the phone?” Wolf asked.

Earnshaw looked up. “My phone call?”

Wolf nodded.

“Some units are out in the boonies, on Highway 2. I was calling them back.”

“You seemed upset.”

Earnshaw narrowed his eyes. “They haven’t come up with squat besides Swain’s vehicle out in the forest. I have a missing agent. One who might be involved in a double murder out on Discovery Park Beach. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in days. Yeah, you could say I’m a bit upset.”

“Seems to me like we have a new destination,” Wolf said. “Somewhere closer than two hours away.”

“Discovery Park,” Earnshaw said.

Wolf nodded. “If this witness saw something, we need to know what.”

“Can you remember what this kid looks like if we see him?” Earnshaw asked.

Luke shrugged. “He had a hoodie. Scraggy blond beard. Bloodshot eyes. Thin and tall. Not a unique look around here but, yeah, I could probably recognize him.”

“Then we have a lead,” Earnshaw said. He looked at Nackley. “I’ll call Staten.”

“Staten?” Nackley pulled his eyebrows together.

Luke eyed Wolf. “Staten was Special Agent Hooper’s partner.”

“Let’s go.” Earnshaw stood up.

Wolf looked down. He’d only eaten two bites of the pizza but his stomach demanded he shove the rest in his mouth. So on the way to the trashcan, he did just that.

CHAPTER 23

SPECIAL AGENT KRISTEN LUKE eyed the side-view mirror and caught a glimpse of Wolf’s face in the backseat.

He looked out into the foreign territory and squinted. His jaw jutted forward, covered in that perfect beard he always got when he missed a day’s shave.

“What time is the ceremony tomorrow?” Earnshaw asked.

Luke felt guilt puncture her gut.

“Three thirty.”

“Right there in Rocky Points?” Earnshaw asked.

Luke closed her eyes. Why had she driven there? No other reason made sense except to see David Wolf. Or Heather Patterson. Nobody else there meant squat to her. But why?

She followed the thread of memory from the coffee shop forward and hit a wall of half-formed images. One persistent image of a dark, enclosed space kept invading her mind. Every time she concentrated on it, her body kicked into fight-or-flight mode and she had to breathe deep to come back to the moment.

She recognized the final turn. Then they were out of the trees and the lighthouse came into view.

“That’s West Point Lighthouse,” Earnshaw said, slowing and parking the Caprice next to another squad vehicle.

Other than Staten’s car, the parking lot was empty. Apparently, few people were nature lovers when nature spat water at you. Clouds hugged the bay, and tendrils of dark-gray rain licked the water, dimming the evening to near black.

“Those buildings back there are the water-treatment plant,” Nackley said in the back seat.

Wolf said nothing. What was he thinking? she wondered. The man’s strong-and-silent demeanor had definitely ramped up.

She pulled the door handle and felt a sharp twinge in the middle two knuckles of her right hand.

She stood, grateful for the onshore breeze. The last few times she’d gotten to her feet, a wave of dizziness had crashed over her. The ocean air seemed to help.

Wolf zipped up the spare FBI jacket Earnshaw had given him and scanned the lot. “Not many people here.”

“On a sunny day this place would be packed,” Nackley said, stepping out of his door. “But as you can see, not so much now.”

The light above them flicked on.

Nackley turned on a flashlight and handed another to Wolf. “We’re gonna need these.”

“When does the park close?” Wolf asked.

“Closes to vehicles at ten p.m. It’s patrolled by local PD,” Earnshaw said.

“And they didn’t see anything that night?”

“Nothing.”

“Luke, check your inside pocket for a light,” Nackley said.

She unzipped the jacket and the wind opened it like a sail. “This thing is huge.”

She pulled a penlight and wrestled the coat closed again. “Got a gun in here?”

“Sorry.”

“Let’s go.” Earnshaw and Nackley took off toward the beach.

She walked in silence next to Wolf, guilt tightening her chest. But rather than plead his forgiveness, she pulled the hood of the jacket over her greasy hair.

The wind ripped through her sweatpants and swirled up into the oversized coat, chilling her to the bone and wafting her own body odor to her nose. She wished she was stepping into a hot shower and not into another blast of cold rain.

The tide was higher than last time but the waves were small, tiny rollers that sloshed out of existence just as soon as they’d begun. The piles of driftwood looked like an ancient boneyard in the fading light.

She watched Wolf eye the bay as a foghorn blew somewhere in the mist, troubled thoughts etched in his features.

Special Agent Staten milled around with a flashlight down the path.

A gust of wind hit her and she slowed. And then her vision swirled, and she felt herself falling sideways.

“Hey.” Wolf grabbed her under her arms and lifted her up. “You all right?”

She looked down at her feet. It took her a second, but her vision righted itself, and minus a pounding headache she felt fine.

“I’m okay. I just …” An image came to her, but like a picture behind television static, it struggled to resolve.

“What is it?” Wolf asked.

She peeled his hands away from her sides. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Earnshaw and Nackley were further on now and she hurried after them.

Wolf’s beam swept the low brush to their left. She dared not look, fearing another bout of dizziness might hit her.

A minute later they reached Staten and huddled in a circle.

“Detective Wolf, this is Special Agent Staten.”

Wolf and Staten shook hands.

“How are you?”

She squinted as Staten shone the light in her face.

“Wow, nice bump.”

She put up a hand and he lowered the beam.

“They say you’re worthless,” he said. “Can’t remember shit.”

“I can remember not liking you.”

Staten’s smile vanished. “They say some kid approached you, said he saw Hooper’s death.”

“That’s right.”

“And this witness said he saw Swain here?”

“Yep.”

Staten scoffed. “You’re sure?”

“I know what he said.”

Staten stared her down for a beat, then looked past her. “So, then what the hell’s going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well, this is the right spot, yeah?” Staten asked. “That Chung Do asshole was right here, by this rock.”

They swept their beams over the beach.

“This is it,” Earnshaw said.

Wolf had his beam pointed inland. The others followed his lead, illuminating the foliage a few yards away.

“What?” Earnshaw asked.

“I thought I saw something.”

They stared into the darkness for a beat, rain swirling in their beams.

“I don’t see anything,” Earnshaw said.

Wolf lowered his light and turned back to the group.

A beam danced over Staten’s face, and a vision leaped out of the darkness, making Luke flinch.

She flexed her hand and focused on Staten’s cheek. Although it was dark and she’d sworn off makeup in the workplace a year ago, she could spot poorly matched concealer on a slight bulge easily enough.

She turned toward the trees to hide her surprise.

“Well, the kid would have been up there, in that brush,” Staten said. “Must have been homeless and hanging out in the right place, right time. If he was there—if Luke’s not full of shit—we’ll see some evidence.”

“The kid was real,” she said, and she swiveled her beam into his face.

Straight on, Staten’s features looked different. Normal.

“Put that down,” he said, blocking the light with a hand.

What was going on with her now? Hallucinations? Her heart pounded.

“Luke!”

“What?”

“Are you okay?” Earnshaw asked.

“Yes. What?”

“I said let’s split up and start searching. You and I will go with Staten. Wolf and Nackley, you take that direction.”

Wolf’s hand rested on the back of her arm.

“No.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll go with Detective Wolf.”

She eyed her boss, then Staten. Both their faces were in full darkness now.

“You’re not armed,” Earnshaw said.

“Detective Wolf has his service piece.”

“I’d rather each group have two weapons.”

“I’m going with Luke,” Wolf said.

“Fine, you two go with Staten.”

Nackley had his back turned. “What the hell’s going on there?”

They followed his eyes to the parking lot just as a flash of headlights clipped over them.

A car circled the two sedans. As it swung back around, the headlights flashed them again. Over the waves they could hear the engine rev and tires squeal.

“What kind of punk-ass shit is this?” Earnshaw pulled his gun and stepped away.

“Stay close.” Wolf’s voice was right next to her ear.

The car lined up with them, flicked on the high-beams, and stopped. Four car doors bumped, and two silhouettes darted inland and out of sight.

“Hey!” Staten pulled his gun and raised it in the air, on full display in the light. “Better turn that shit off!”

Wolf’s light darted back and forth against the foliage.

“What is it?”

He ignored her and aimed at something.

“What?”

“Down!”

Wolf reached back, grabbed her by the coat and pulled her to the ground just as bullets ripped the air around them.

CHAPTER 24

WOLF SWITCHED off his flashlight and helped Luke to her feet. “Turn off your light!”

Bullets cracked the driftwood next to them. One round ricocheted off the water and screamed into the blackness.

“Turn off your light!”

She did, and Wolf aimed toward the last place he’d seen fire spitting from a muzzle and popped off three rounds.

“Keep going,” he said.

They sprinted down the path and he was surprised—pleasantly—to see Luke move so fast. She ducked around some rocks and he followed her, slipping into a pool of shadow.

“Into the trees!” a strained voice called behind them.

Wolf raised up and recognized Staten’s silhouette coming at them. His beam cut the darkness like a spotlight.

“Shut off your light!” Wolf yelled.

Staten did as he was told and slid to a halt next to them.

More bullets zipped past them.

“Shit, what is this!” Staten stood up above the rock’s edge and fired off five rounds.

Wolf studied the inland terrain. The lights from downtown Seattle lit the clouds behind a copse of trees, but details disappeared behind the purple flowers smudging his vision from firing his gun.

“Up!” Staten pointed. “We gotta cut up!”

A bullet clipped off the rock. “Go!”

He took Luke’s hand and followed.

No more than two steps later, Luke tripped and pulled him down. As they fell, bullets hit the surrounding driftwood, sending a shower of splinters into Wolf’s face.

He huddled next to Luke until the barrage stopped. “You all right?”

“Let’s go.” Staten appeared in the darkness and let loose another volley of shots.

With the muzzle flashes lighting the beach, Wolf saw Luke lying on her back, her head pushed forward at an awkward angle.

“Luke!” He checked her pulse and found it strong.

He reached inside her jacket, ran his hand over her chest, abdomen, and around each side.

“Hey.” She stirred and slapped his hand away. “Get a good feel?”

Staten put another magazine in his gun and let loose four shots.

Luke watched Staten and then locked eyes with Wolf. “He’s … side.”

“What?” Staten’s gunfire snuffed out her words.

He helped her to her feet and they ducked behind the rock again.

Staten let out a steady stream of cusswords and gunshots.

Down the beach, Wolf watched two guns spit fire.

“That’s Earnshaw and Nackley,” he said, hoping to stop a friendly fire incident before it began.

“There’s two bogies between us and them,” Staten said. “We have to get off this beach.”

Silence overtook the night, and it ramped up the electricity in the air.

“Let’s move.” Staten took off and Wolf followed, bringing Luke by the hand once again.

She clamped onto his coat and pulled herself close.

“This guy is not on our side.” Her breath was hot on his ear.

Footsteps came down the pathway and Wolf pulled her behind a copse of bushes on the other side of the trail.

The rhythmic thumping slowed and a beam of light swung toward them.

Wolf raised his Glock and flashlight, then pressed the button exposing their assailant.

An Asian man raised his gun with lightning speed and began firing, but Wolf had already aimed and squeezed the trigger. Two shots hit the man’s chest and he landed on the sand.

“Move!” Staten said from up the hill.

Wolf and Luke needed no more goading. They got up and ran inland, up a sandy slope.

“Did you hear me?” Luke asked under her breath.

Wolf had, but with all the action, the words had failed to register until they were next to Staten.

“You two go ahead,” Staten said.

Wolf shook his head. “We’ll follow you.”

“No, you guys go first. I’ll bring up the rear.” Staten’s barrel directed him this time.

A blur descended on Staten, and there was a swish of fabric accompanied by a dull thud.

Staten’s knees buckled. He fell face first onto the ground, rolled, and stopped at Wolf’s feet.

“Geez.”

“I told you, he’s not on our side.” She dropped a rock.

“I … hope so.”

“Trust me,” she said. “He’s bad.”

Wolf checked behind them. “Take his gun.”

More pops of gunfire from the beach rolled into the night.

Wolf turned back. “Luke.”

She was on her knees and collapsed next to Staten.

“Luke!” He holstered his Glock and gripped her armpits.

She sagged, head lolled forward.

He wrestled her into position and put her over his shoulder. Thick raindrops hit the ground, and then the full brunt of a squall hit.

CHAPTER 25

KRISTEN LUKE FELT the heat rising.

She writhed, trying to press her naked flesh against his warm, firm chest.

A moan vibrated in her throat, and her lips parted, searching for something to kiss. They found an earlobe attached to a muscular neck. A familiar scent filled her nostrils, one that in times past had brought her to the doorstep of orgasm just by inhaling it.

Passion, the intensity of which she’d not felt in years, filled her completely, and she embraced it like an old friend.

“Luke.” The heat of his breath licked her ear.

She sat up and put both hands to a lightly bearded face. She found his mouth with her thumbs and kissed him, plunging her tongue between moist lips.

And she hit teeth.

Her eyes flicked open and found only darkness.

“Luke.”

She let go of the face and retracted her arms. Her icy fingers touched her bared breasts and she sat back, landing hard on two legs.

“What the fuck?”

Hands gripped her shoulders.

She slapped them both away and punched into the center of the spot she’d just been kissing.

“Ah! It’s me, Wolf. What are you doing?”

She twisted sideways off his lap.

“Why am I topless?” She felt her exposed flesh. She still wore a shirt but it was rolled up to her neck. She pulled it down and found it was five sizes too big. “What the hell’s going on?”

“We’re in Discovery Park.” Wolf snorted and sounded like he gagged on blood. “You clocked Staten in the head with a rock.”

“Yeah, okay.” The memory came back quickly. Had she just been kissing him? “Again, why was I just pressing my tits into your chest. Is this your shirt?”

“You passed out so I carried you up into the trees over my shoulder. It started raining, hard, and that coat Nackley gave you flipped up over your head. But I didn’t know it, so your back got soaked.

“I found this tree that looked like a good shelter, and by the time I pulled you in here, you were shivering. You wouldn’t stop. I took off your shirt and put my dry one on you. But it didn’t seem like enough. You kept shivering so I put my coat on you, too. And then our bare skin together.”

He sniffed and spat, and though she couldn’t see it, she could tell his nose was bleeding profusely.

The psychotic-bitch part of her brain wondered if he was lying. “Is your nose okay?”

“I’ll live.”

Memories flooded in, and she realized it might be a good idea to lower her voice. “Shit, the gunfight.”

She looked around and saw a faint line of light low to the ground. Tree branches bounced all around them, swaying in the wind outside. Mist tickled her cheeks and it sounded like rain was still falling, but little penetrated inside their shelter.

A cell-phone screen popped on, bathing them in a subdued glow. Wolf leaned against the trunk of a dense pine whose boughs reached the ground. He wore Luke’s borrowed jacket, which hung open, revealing his bare, hair-covered chest.

He pointed the screen at her and leaned forward. “You okay? Let me see your eyes.”

She let him look, focusing on the screen-saver hovering in front of her.

Ella Coulter, the eight-year-old girl waiting for him in Colorado, smiled brightly on the screen, head tilted, eyes squinting. Lauren stood barefoot in the background, her hands shoved in her pockets, eyeing the camera with a content smile that seemed to thinly conceal a veil of sadness. Maybe there was an impending sense of loss in that stare, as if she were watching a moment between Wolf and her daughter that might somehow go away if she allowed herself to enjoy it too much.

“Luke.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I said the gunfight stopped when you passed out. But I had to know why you smashed that Staten guy in the head with a rock before I went waltzing back there with you over my shoulder. I don’t even know if Earnshaw and Nackley are alive, but if they are and Staten’s the bad guy, what’s he doing out here with them?”

She sat back onto wet sweatpants and pulled the coat around her. The fabric felt different in her fingers and she realized it was the one Earnshaw had given Wolf.

“Luke.”

“Yes.”

“You have to tell me what you remembered back on the beach.”

Like a rising tide, the memories flooded in steady and strong. “I saw Staten’s eye. It was puffy. Did you see that?”

“No.”

“Well, it was.” She flexed her hand, feeling the deep injury in her knuckles. “I punched Staten that night.”

“Which night?”

“The night I was following Swain.”

Wolf said nothing.

Ella’s smiling face flashed in her mind again, and pushing it out took some moments.

“Staten,” she said finally. “When I saw his face in the beam, it all came back. I was in a car’s trunk. I remember it opening and seeing Staten’s face, and me sitting up and punching him.”

A siren cut through the wind outside, then dissipated into nothing.

“How long has it been since the shooting?”

“Two hours. There’s a shitload of cops out there. And they’re wandering around in the trees looking for us.”

“Should we go out? You could get a blanket.”

“I’m fine. We’re not moving until you tell me about Staten.”

She nodded slowly. “I started remembering right before we got to the beach, and when I saw Staten’s face it hit me. I remembered the trunk. Bouncing around big-time. The tires crackling. We were definitely on a dirt road with huge potholes, going slow.”

“How did you get inside the trunk?”

She inhaled as another door opened in her mind. “I followed Swain. No, that’s not true. I followed Swain and Staten. Both of them.”

“Go on.”

She smiled as the memories strung together effortlessly. “I wanted to talk to that witness again so I came here and searched the beach. I couldn’t find him, and he wasn’t hanging around outside the headquarters building either. So I turned my attention to Swain. I noticed the way Staten and Swain buddied up. They’d always been friends but they seemed even closer after Hooper’s death. Could have been Swain was consoling him for having a dead partner and all, but … it was suspicious.”

“Like how?” Wolf asked.

“Like I’d walk into the room and there’d be a heated conversation between Staten and Swain. They’d stop dead and look uncomfortable until I left.”

“How about Earnshaw and Nackley? Were Staten and Swain talking to them more than usual, too?”

“Not particularly. But we never see Earnshaw and Nackley much, anyway. If you go a few weeks without seeing Earnshaw it means you’re doing things right. Nackley works a different division.”

“Why are Nackley and Earnshaw together so much now?”

“Nackley heads the gang division. This case has two men dead on a beach—our agent and a gang member next to him. Nackley’s involved.”

“Okay.” Wolf sniffed. “Then what?”

“I started following Swain. I mean, I worked with him every day. But, then, instead of going home and washing off the stench of his cologne, I decided to tail him out to the bars. And sure enough, I found he was spending even more time with Staten.

“The first night, I followed them to a local bar, place called the Saw Mill. I didn’t go in. It’s usually filled with a bunch of drunk guys from HQ and local cops—not the best place for a woman with self-respect. Anyway, when Swain and Staten came out the first night, they walked back to the HQ lot and drove off in their respective cars. I followed Swain. He went home. I watched his house for a few minutes, then gave up and went home myself. The second night, they left work together in Swain’s car. I tried to tail them but lost them in the traffic. The third day, I learned my lesson and put a GPS transponder on Swain’s car.”

She reached for her phone to show Wolf the app and patted an empty pocket. “Where the hell is my phone, anyway?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t on you when you crashed outside Rocky Points.”

She tilted her head. “I had it that night. We need to trace it. It might give us a clue.”

“We’ll do that when we figure out where we’re going. Please, continue.”

“Right. So the third night, I watched them pile in Swain’s car again and drive away. This time I took my time, following the line on the GPS.” She stared into the bouncing tree branches. “I followed them down and parked in a lot in south Seattle. The line on my GPS map did circles. It seemed like Swain was just doing the rounds through some bad neighborhoods, like they were out on patrol or something.

“And then I saw the dot stop at a house in Rainier Valley. And it stayed there for ten minutes, so I decided I’d check it out. I watched them from my car but it was impossible to tell what they were looking at because the rain was coming down so hard. And then I realized they weren’t even in the car because they walked right past me. I remember Staten taking off a black ski mask, or a hat—a winter hat—and stuffing it in his pocket. I was damn lucky they didn’t recognize my sedan. They were obviously preoccupied with something. Moving fast.

“Then they got back in their car and drove off. I followed them again, and this time they went to an industrial park.”

“The same one where those gang members were executed?”

“No. Different. I’ve never been to this place. The map showed a dead-end spot, like I’d drive up on them if I followed, so I parked and got out. I had to walk a few blocks in the fog. It was a creepy place with a lot of concrete, right on the water. I saw their car parked on a corner. And Swain was walking. He had a ski mask on.”

“How do you know it was Swain?” Wolf asked.

“You saw Staten on the beach just now. He’s built like a rhinoceros. It was Swain. He had his gun out as he ducked into an alley, and I followed him.”

She flinched at the memory of shuffling footsteps. “Somebody attacked me.” She reached back and felt a sore spot on the back of her head. “One of them must have hit me with something.”

Panic pulsed through her as she recalled waking up in the confined space.

“I peed my pants. That’s what woke me up. I’d needed to go so bad when I was following Swain but I didn’t have time.” She blushed, grateful she was invisible to Wolf. “Jesus. I don’t know why I’m telling you that.”

Wolf’s hand came out of the dark and rested on her forearm. “What happened next?”

His touch was like electricity. Had she been writhing against him before she’d woken up? Had she moaned?

She pulled her arm away.

“I … was in a trunk. My arms were zip-tied behind my back. And, I don’t know, have you ever had training on how to get out of restraints?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course you have. I pulled my arms over my feet, brought them to my front, and cinched up the ties with my teeth—you know, gotta get them tighter to break ’em easier. But it was too cramped. I couldn’t bring my arms up and swing them down with enough force.”

She stopped, hearing the quake in her voice.

Wolf’s hand rested on her arm again, and this time she welcomed his warm touch.

Her voice grew thick. “I freaked out. I was hyperventilating. I started screaming. I remember thinking about the Van Gogh killings, the way those poor girls were dragged around in the backs of cars, waiting to die by the hands of a madman.”

Wolf squeezed her arm.

“I remember thinking, there’s no way these guys will hurt me. They’re my fellow agents. My brethren. But you don’t get zip-tied and stuffed into a trunk unless something really bad is going to happen. I panicked hard … the darkness … the way the car slowed and bounced over huge bumps. They were driving me into the middle of nowhere, and they were going to kill me. I was certain of it. And then …”

Another siren wailed outside the tree.

“And then what?” Wolf’s low voice soothed her like a shot of morphine.

“And then the car stopped. And I remember rehearsing what I was going to do, and then either escape or die.”

“And you escaped,” Wolf said.

“I remember the light. It had been so dark when I was following them, and now it was bright. Not sunny, just daytime. I sat up, slammed my hands down, pulled my elbows past my sides, and the ties snapped … I remember the surprise on Staten’s face, and …” She put her head in her hands. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“They had cement blocks and rope in the trunk with me. They were going to tie me to those bricks and toss me in the water.”

“But you got away. You punched Staten, and you got away.”

“Yes. I got to my feet and lunged. I punched Staten in the face and landed hard on the ground. And I saw Swain aiming a gun at me. He yelled for me to freeze. But I got up and ran, straight off the edge of the road.”

She straightened, feeling the blow to her back as if it had just happened.

“I tried to stop because there was nowhere to run. But one of them shot me in the back and I toppled.” She shut her eyes. “And I slammed into ice-cold water. And then …” She shook her head and a wave of pain broke in her skull.

“And then what?”

It was a blank, like she’d been reading and the words had disappeared, though she knew the memories were in there somewhere. It was the strangest sensation, and to ponder it made her want to vomit.

She turned to the gap under the tree limbs. “I have to get out of here.”

“Wait a second.”

“There’re cops out there. If Earnshaw and Nackley are unhurt, and they’re somehow involved, uniforms who can help will surround us.”

“If we go out there, they’ll confiscate my weapon for evidence. Then they’ll take us into custody. Earnshaw’s the ranking man out there. He’ll pull the strings and take us where he wants us.”

“If he’s not dead on the beach.” She rubbed her temples but it brought little relief.

“Luke.” His hand touched her knee. “After what you just told me, I’m not willing to step out of here, walk down to the beach, and get into Earnshaw’s car again. I don’t trust him and Nackley.”

“Staten’s down there,” she said. “We need to report him.”

“To whom?”

“I don’t think Earnshaw and Nackley are involved,” she said.

“Let’s make sure first. If they’re not involved then why was Staten there last night? He wants you dead.”

“So they’re guilty by association,” she said.

“As far as I’m concerned.”

“Staten was Hooper’s partner. It makes sense that Earnshaw would involve him in looking for that witness.”

Wolf said nothing.

“All right fine. What’s the plan?”

“We go somewhere safe and come up with one.”

They sat in silence for a beat. A gust of wind brought the sound of a barking dog.

“You have a place we can go?” he asked.

“How are we going to get there?”

“I have an app on my phone.”

She laughed. “David Wolf has an app?”

“Jack downloaded it for me a couple of days ago. Lectured me for an hour about joining the twenty-first century. I don’t know how to use it. Here.”

She grabbed it, feeling sick again at the sight of Ella and Lauren smiling at her. “You log on and call a car to pick you up wherever you are. The problem, of course, is that we’re currently in a tree, surrounded by cops.”

“Then we’d better get to a road.”

“And when we get there?”

“Do you know a safe place to go?” Wolf asked. “Preferably with a clothes dryer and a hot shower.”

A place came to mind but she dismissed it.

“Luke.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking.”

“Well?”

She sighed inwardly. “Yeah, I have a place.”

CHAPTER 26

“CAN you do something to shut that thing up?”

Wolf put a finger to his lips and shushed the dog. “Sit.”

The dog sat and stared at them.

“How much longer?” Wolf asked.

Luke eyed the cell-phone screen. “It says he’s supposed to arrive now.”

They’d made their way out of Discovery Park’s wild lands, now they squatted next to a house on a street adjacent to the forested section of the park. Jurassic-sized plants filled the property, offering plenty of cover. Unfortunately, the friendly corgi living on the other side of the wire fence had nothing better to do on a Friday night.

It barked and they jumped.

“Shhh. Quiet.” Wolf put his finger to his lips again.

The dog swished his tail in the grass and growled.

“Shut up, little dog,” Luke said.

“Biff!” The rear lights of the property flicked on like Yankee Stadium.

Then a pair of headlights came around the bend in the road and pointed their way.

“Biffy!” A woman with a white nightgown appeared in the yard and slapped her legs. “Come on.”

Biff looked at his owner, then back to them, and barked again.

“Come! Now!”

A Toyota Prius edged up to the curb in front of the house and stopped.

Wolf and Luke wore dark coats, and the bush was thick with leaves, but they held their breath at the sound of the woman’s approaching footsteps.

“What is it, Biffy?” She stood in silence for a beat. “Come on. I’ll get you a Snausage.”

Biff jogged past his owner and disappeared around the back of the house.

The Prius’s door opened and an overweight man wearing a fedora, glasses, and a sculpted beard got out. He put his arms on the top of the car and eyed the house.

The woman leaned, hearing the thump of the car door, but she turned around and left the way she’d come.

The driver rounded his car and walked toward the walkway.

“Go,” Wolf whispered, but Luke had already pushed her way out of the bush.

He followed close on her heels.

“Hey there,” she said, striding across the lawn and casting a long shadow from the light blazing off the fence. “Are you Chancellor?”

“Chandler.”

She looked at the phone in her hand. “Ha, says Chancellor on here.”

“I know. It’s screwed up with my nickname.” Chandler smiled and pointed behind them. “Did you just come out of that bush?”

The rear lights of the property shut off, sending them into the relative darkness of a single street lamp a half-block away.

“No. Should we get in the back?”

Chandler watched them walk to the car. “You’re David?”

“He’s David.”

Wolf waved. “Hi.”

Chandler eyed them for another second, then pushed a button and the door locks clicked. “One of you can ride in front if you want.”

The driver hopped in and Luke sat down in the rear.

Just as Wolf pushed in next to her, the front porch light flicked on. He shut the door and leaned forward with an easy smile. “Ready to go?”

Chandler eyed him and backed away, studying his face. “You have leaves in your hair.”

“Ah.” Wolf pulled the foliage off his head and nodded. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The car revved gently and coasted forward.

Wolf glanced toward the house in time to see the white-gowned woman standing on her walkway.

“Pike Street Market?” Chandler asked.

“You got it,” Luke said.

CHAPTER 27

“THIS IS IT.”

Wolf took a face full of drizzle as he looked up at the modern building.

“He might not be here,” Luke said. “It’s ten thirty on a Friday night. He could be out.”

Wolf counted ten stories.

“I guess he might have some floozy up there,” she said. “He’s more adventurous during the day though. He’s probably here.”

The swelling had gone down around her eyes and she looked spry in the light from the lobby windows.

His legs ached from the hike with Luke on his back and he yearned to lie down. He needed to eat too. He wondered what Lauren was doing right now. His cell phone had died on the way here and he still hadn’t spoken to her since the morning. The clipped conversation seemed like a lifetime ago.

And what was Ella thinking? That he’d abandoned her? It had been a year since the eight-year-old and her mother had proposed to him. And now he’d left her holding a basket of rose petals and nowhere to throw them.

Throngs of people on their Friday-night adventures passed by. Back where they’d been dropped off by the driver, a neon-red Public Market Center sign glowed like hot iron against a coal-colored sky. The sound of honking horns, laughter, and conversation bounced off the buildings.

Wolf’s mouth watered with the scent of cooking seafood lingering in the rain-soaked air.

“Hey,” Luke said.

He looked down and double-took the tears welling in her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Have I told you thanks yet?”

He said nothing.

“I want to figure this out and get you on a plane first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay. Let’s start with seeing if your friend is home.”

She walked to a rotating door and pushed through.

“You’re welcome,” he said, following after her.

His ears popped as he entered a lobby of finished stone and sculpted steel. A muscular man in a suit stood up from behind a counter, looking unimpressed with their appearance.

Earlier, Luke had turned her oversized jacket inside out to hide the FBI logo, giving her a confused-child look, but she approached the man confidently and slapped the counter.

“Help you?” the doorman said. He stood a half-head taller than Wolf’s six foot three. His ebony eyes raked over Wolf, taking in the wet clothing, and stopped at his swollen nose.

“Are you serious?” Luke asked.

The man looked at her. “Kristen? Holy shit, girl. I didn’t recognize you. Thought a couple of whack jobs were coming in here.”

She put an elbow on the counter. “How are you, Terrence?”

“I’m fine. Geez, girl. What happened to you? You look like you been sleeping out on the street.” He flicked a suspicious glance at Wolf. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say we’ve had a rough day.” She smiled. “Now can you please call Edwin and tell him I need to come up?”

“And who’s this with you?”

“A friend.”

Terrence stood unmoved, then chuckled deep in his gut as he picked up a phone. “I have a Ms. Kristen Luke down here to see you, sir.” Terrence closed his eyes. When he opened them they were locked on Wolf. “Okay. She also has a friend with her … a man.” His gaze slid to the passing train of umbrellas outside. “Yes, sir.”

He hung up with deliberate slowness, an amused twinkle in his eye. “Damn fool’s gonna see you.”

“Damn fool my ass.” Luke turned and walked toward the interior glass door.

“Be nice to him,” Terrence said, sitting back down.

Wolf followed, noting her lack of response.

The door clicked and they walked through, Luke with her head down. They reached the bank of elevators and she pressed the up button.

“Why do I hear the chanting of a Colosseum horde in my head right now?” Wolf asked.

She blew air from her lips. “Edwin’s harmless.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing more glass, polished wood, and some soft yacht-rock in the ceiling.

“Nicest guy you’ll ever meet.” She stepped in and pressed floor ten. “That was the problem.”

The elevator zipped upward fast and the sparkling city rose into view out the windows.

Wolf turned and whistled. The buildings and streets below shrank as the water came into view, reflecting dozens of lights from passing watercraft.

“That’s Elliot Bay. You can see the Olympic Mountains there.” She pointed. “If it’s not raining or nighttime, that is. There’s the Space Needle.”

“What does Edwin do?”

“Has a fish wholesale company. Or … something.”

He eyed her.

She rolled her neck and petted her hair, then rubbed the swollen spot on her forehead.

“Looking good,” he said.

She gave him a double take. “You need to ice your nose.”

The elevator stopped, and they could see they were in the highest building in the vicinity because they looked down on penthouse terraces.

The door slid open, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Luke walked out, hung a left, and slowed her pace.

A man leaned in a doorway, his arms crossed. He was tall with wavy blond hair and a short, slightly darker beard. He wore a red-and-black checkered flannel untucked over designer jeans that ended at wool socks. They’d just stepped into a coffee commercial and Edwin was the boat captain sipping at the helm.

Luke stopped so Wolf did too.

“Edwin.”

“Kristen.” The man’s face was as hard as the wooden frame he stood in. “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.”

“Who’s this?”

“This is David Wolf.”

He squinted. “This is David?”

Luke looked away, and Wolf saw the side of her face reddening.

“Sorry it’s so late. Do you have company?”

He shook his head.

“So, can we come inside or not?” she asked.

Edwin stepped aside. “Of course. Come in.”

Luke darted past him, leaving Wolf and Edwin in the hallway.

They extended their hands at the same time.

“David.”

“Edwin.”

Edwin had thick, rough hands that suggested he spent time on the boats he bought fish from. Or whatever it was he did.

“Come in.” Edwin’s tone was resigned. “You guys are welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Wolf said. “Very much.”

Wolf stepped into the large open-plan apartment and looked down at a multicolored compass inlaid onto an otherwise dark wooden floor. The interior decor told him Edwin was a world traveler with a taste for fine things, and, as far as he could tell, money was no object. The place was brightly lit and soft jazz emanated from a speaker behind him. The walls were matte gray, which would have matched the view of the Seattle sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides of the penthouse had it been daytime.

“Nice place,” he said, marveling at the twinkling lights, dark patch of sea, and the glowing low clouds outside.

“Thank you.”

Luke had already shed her coat and had her head in the refrigerator. She came out with a loaf of bread in one hand and a bag of lunch meat in the other. “Edwin?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Wolf salivated.

“You guys look hungry.”

“Oh, shit.” Luke raised a sandwich to her mouth and took a bite, dropping a chunk of turkey onto Edwin’s granite countertop. “You have no idea.”

Edwin closed the door behind Wolf. “I’ll take your coat. Go ahead. Eat.”

Wolf gave his jacket to Edwin and edged to the kitchen. He tossed politeness aside and dug into the food.

Edwin grabbed a beer and put it in front of Kristen.

“I’m thinking water,” she said.

With an air of infinite patience, Edwin swapped the beer for two bottles of water and held them out for Luke and Wolf.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Wolf washed down the last of his sandwich with a greedy gulp and watched Edwin walk to a window.

Luke ate in silence. When she’d finished, she walked into the open living room and sat down in a bulging leather chair. “Ah. I’m so beat.”

Edwin turned and eyed them in turn. “Why do you two look like you’ve been sleeping out in the woods after being attacked by wild animals?”

She shrugged. “Long story.”

“I have all night.”

“Nothing to do on a Friday night, eh?”

He shrugged. “Not since you left.”

She pretended not to hear and leaned forward to untie her shoes.

Edwin stared at her for a long moment, then turned back to the windows.

Wolf’s eyes locked on a cell phone perched on the coffee table next to an open book.

A fresh wave of rain pattered the windows, audible over the jazz.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” Edwin asked, eyeing them in the reflection.

Luke pulled off her shoes and sat back. “We’ve gotten into a little trouble.”

“Like, the kind of trouble that brings you here instead of your division headquarters?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Edwin turned and locked eyes with Luke.

“And thank you,” she said. “We just need a place to stay for the night.”

Edwin nodded.

“And then we’ll get out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

Edwin smiled, looking to Wolf like he’d heard that line before. “Okay. David, you’re about my size. I’ll give you some fresh clothing if you want. Or you can use my washer and dryer. And, no offense, but you two could use a shower. I own three fishing boats so I’m used to bad smells, but you two …”

Luke got up and disappeared into a hallway.

“You still have some clothing here,” Edwin said.

Luke shuffled back into the open.

“In my closet. On the floor to the right.”

She nodded and walked away.

Edwin motioned with his hand. “Take a seat. Relax.”

Wolf walked to the end of a leather couch and looked at the mud smears on his jeans. “I’m a little dirty.”

“Whatever. Take a seat. Damn rain. It’s been forty-seven days, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Not nearly a record, but kind of makes you want to stick your head in the oven.”

Wolf sat down.

“What happened to her head?”

Wolf looked at the clouds and rain smudging out the top of the Space Needle. “She was in a car accident.”

“Really?”

“Hey,” Luke came out wrapped in a towel. Water ran in the background. “You have any shampoo less toxic than the stuff in there? More flowers, less green dandruff petroleum product?”

Edwin sighed. “You got in a car accident?”

She looked at Wolf.

“Okay, not that you should put anything on that wound of yours, but your shampoo is under the sink.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” She disappeared back into the hallway and a door clacked shut, snuffing out the sound of running water.

Edwin sat down, his face red. He crossed his legs and shrugged. “I don’t know why I still have her stuff here.”

Wolf let the soft patter of rain and Miles Davis fill the silence. “She’s unique,” he said.

Edwin blew a puff of air through his nose. “Yeah. So she told me you were getting married down in … where was it? I know it’s in Colorado.”

Wolf wondered how. “Rocky Points.”

“Rocky Points. Yes. Where’s that?”

“Center of the state. In the mountains. Hey, do you think I could use your cell phone?”

“Yeah, sure. Why? Yours dead?”

“Yes.”

“I have a charger right over there on the wall.”

Wolf eyed it, paranoid thoughts of being traced flitting through his mind. “The call is very important. I’d rather not wait for it to boot up.”

Edwin handed his phone over. “Yeah, sure. Just unlock it. I don’t use one of those security PINs.”

“Thanks.” Wolf stood and pointed toward twin glass doors leading to what looked like a study.

“Right. Use my office.” Edwin strode fast to the doors, opened one, and flicked on an overhead light. “Here you go.”

Inside, a gleaming wooden desk faced floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Seattle skyline. Pictures of Edwin on various mountain tops—hands up, beard longer and caked with ice—adorned one clay-colored wall. Shelves stacked with leather-bound books lined the other, accompanied by more pictures of him, outdoors, in different countries and on the deck of a boat. Near the window stood a marble pillar with a globe on top. Red thumbtacks poked from the sphere’s surface, so numerous that it looked to have sprouted hair.

“Some … adventures I’ve taken.”

The guy may have been harmless, but he was certainly not boring. Many of the tacks were in the middle of the ocean. “What kind of adventures?” Wolf realized he was stalling. He should have been talking to Lauren by now.

“Treasure dives. Summits. Digs.” Edwin shrugged. “Some just places I’d read about and decided to point my boat and go. Kristen and I dated for six months. Never got her on my sail boat once.”

Wolf nodded absently and raised the phone.

“Right. Take a seat if you like.” Edwin backed out of the room and closed the door.

Although his muscles and bones longed to sit in the leather roll chair next to the desk, he staked out a swath of space next to the window, big enough to pace in.

His heart pumped wildly and instead of wondering why, he dialed Lauren’s number.

She picked up after a single ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

She cleared her throat. “David.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to speak.” He took a breath. “It’s a long story.”

A woman’s voice mumbled in the background.

“Who’s that,” Wolf asked.

“Margaret. Your mom was over here for a while but she went back to her hotel.”

“Oh.”

“She’s here keeping me company. Just a second.” A door closed in the background. “Everyone’s freaking out. Thinking I’m on suicide watch or something.”

Wolf stared out the windows. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He said nothing.

“So what’s going on up there?” she asked.

“We went to the hospital this afternoon. Kristen woke up. Then we … got into some trouble this evening.” He stopped talking.

“Are you okay?”

Wolf eyed the glass doors. Edwin clanked pots in the kitchen and Luke stood with him, wearing an oversized long-sleeved shirt and nothing on her legs.

“I went down to the station this afternoon,” she said. “They didn’t know what was going on either. They hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He could think of nothing else to say.

The phone was silent, then her crying burbled into his ear. He focused on the bay through the streaks of rainwater pulsing on the glass. “I …” He stopped himself from apologizing again.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry, David,” she said. “You have to do what you have to do. It doesn’t matter what day it happens. Duty calls and you do your duty. That’s what you do. That’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

He closed his eyes, feeling like he’d been submerged in a warm pool as relief flooded through him. “Thank you, Lauren. I love you. I’m just … I am sorry.”

“Bad timing,” she said.

“Listen. I don’t know exactly what’s going on yet, but we’ve run into some bad people tonight. I know we’re halfway across the country, but I’m not sure what they’re capable of.”

“I’m already packed.”

The immediacy of her answer made him straighten. “You are?”

“Yes. I packed us up tonight, when your mom left.”

Wolf nodded. “Okay.”

In the relatively short time Wolf and Lauren had known each other, they’d been through some traumatic experiences. Wolf had been on the hunt for Ella Coulter and her kidnappers before he and Lauren had been on their first date. A year later, a serial killer had emerged in Rocky Points and terrorized the people of Sluice–Byron and surrounding counties, propelling Lauren and Ella from Rocky Points and into Aspen for shelter and peace of mind.

The previous summer Wolf had stared death in the face and he’d been assured by his would-be-killer that Lauren and Ella would continue to pay for Wolf’s sins after his demise.

Wolf had never spoken of that moment directly with Lauren, but he’d come up with a plan and made her promise that if he was ever compromised again she’d pack their bags and leave with her daughter. There would be no explanation, no indication of where they were going. If pressed, they were to give a false location. Life had taught him that evil existed in the world, and men could use love to dispense hate without a second’s hesitation.

Just leave, he’d told her.

“I’ll take care of cancelling everything tomorrow morning,” she said. “And then we’ll leave. They’re coming to get the tents on Monday.”

“I just want you two safe.”

“We’ll get safe,” she whispered, her throat thick. “I love you, David.”

“I love you, too.”

“Tell—”

The line clicked.

“Hello?”

He stared through the water streaming down the glass and lowered the phone.

CHAPTER 28

WOLF TOOK his turn in Edwin’s guest shower, mildly surprised by how much grime came off his body given his earlier drenching.

The water warmed his core. A marble seat beckoned through the steam but he ignored it, fearing that if he sat he’d never get up. Images of the women in his life flickered in his mind: one a seven-year-old wearing an ice-princess backpack, another in scrubs, her squinted green eyes like cut jade, and one more with eyelashes like feathers, wearing nothing from the waist up.

He turned off the shower and toweled off, then wiped the condensation from the mirror. Tired eyes stared back at him. His nose was swollen and two-day stubble had thickened to a dark-brown beard that hid the wrinkles at the sides of his mouth.

He ran a hand over his hair and pulled it forward, disliking the hip look that Lauren and Ella had encouraged him to try for the wedding. He thought he looked desperate, chasing a style that would certainly be out by the next issue of GQ but immortalized in a dozen wedding photos.

His thoughts turned to the previous night. The way things looked, he and Luke were trapped in crossfire involving Special Agent Hooper’s death. Luke had clearly been sucked into something brutal, something two special agents were willing to shoot people on the beach over, and kill one of their own.

He put on the jeans that Edwin had lent him. They were tighter than he was used to but were better than the denim now lying in a muddy pile on the floor.

The smell of food seeped under the door, pulled in by the ceiling fan overhead, and Wolf’s mouth flooded.

He pulled on a dry T-shirt, approving of the loose fit and beer logo stamped on the breast.

He opened the door and stepped into the scent of searing fish and spices. Sounds of sizzling food, laughter, and music came down the hallway. He padded further and saw Luke and Edwin in the kitchen. Edwin had finished a punchline and was out of breath. The grin on his face stretched his beard, and the red of his skin looked hot enough to ignite it.

Luke’s smile matched his, though she tried to hide it. She laughed deep and put a beer to her lips. As she tipped it back she saw Wolf.

“Hey. There you are. I like that new haircut, by the way.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“You want a beer?” Edwin asked, holding one up.

“Yeah, sure.”

He took the bottle and sat on the couch.

He pulled on the loaned socks, watching the way Edwin bumped into Luke when he could, and the way she froze in response.

Wolf sipped the beer, welcoming the warmth of the alcohol. He tipped the bottle back and downed it. When he lowered it, Luke was standing in front of him.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

He put the bottle on the coffee table and sat back.

“I heard you called home,” she said.

He sat upright to burp.

“What did she say?”

“She’s fine. I told her we’re going to figure this out, and I’ll be home the minute I can.”

Luke sat next to him and pressed her knee into his.

He pulled his leg away and scooted forward.

She eyed the space between them. “Everything okay?”

“I could use another beer.”

She looked at him hard, then nodded. “Sure. I’ll get you one.”

“Here you go.” Edwin appeared with another bottle and took the empty.

“Thanks.” Wolf sipped and watched him go back into the kitchen. “He’s a good guy.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence, watching Edwin set food on a dining table perched next to a bank of windows.

“You want to talk?” she asked.

“You remember anything new?”

She shook her head.

“Not much more to go over, then.” He sipped his beer.

Edwin turned to them. “Dinner’s ready whenever you two are.”

Wolf stood and walked over. He chose the single setting on the far side and sat.

“This looks great.”

“Herb-encrusted salmon,” Edwin said. “Learned the recipe up in Alaska.”

Luke sat down and jabbed a forkful.

Wolf took a bite and thought he’d never tasted a better-cooked fish, other than his father’s breaded rainbow trout. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence, listening to the raindrops on the windows and the jazz in the speakers.

Once they’d cleared their plates, Luke wiped her mouth and put the napkin on the table.

“Listen, Edwin. Would you mind giving us a ride up to Everett tomorrow morning?”

Wolf eyed her.

“Yeah. When?”

“Six.”

Edwin raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn’t flinch. “Sure.”

Luke pushed back from the table. “What is it? Eleven fifteen? I’m so tired. I need to go to bed. I shouldn’t have had that beer.”

Wolf and Edwin looked at each other. Her eyelids were at half-mast and her posture sagged.

“I have the one bed.” Edwin stood and clutched Luke’s arm. “You can …”

Wolf smiled. “You two take the bed. I don’t think my fiancée would like me sleeping with you, Edwin.”

Edwin laughed.

Wolf watched them shuffle down the hall, then cleared the table.

Edwin came out a few minutes later with a stack of blankets and put them on the couch. “Level with me, here.” Edwin folded his arms. “Is she okay?”

Wolf met his glare and considered the question. “Yeah.”

Edwin nodded and turned away.

“Edwin.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“Sure, no problem. Let me know if I can do anything else for you.”

Wolf smiled and watched him go.

He stretched out on the longest of the leather couches, and pulled warm, heavy blankets over him. The sound of Lauren’s voice echoed in his brain as he sank into unconsciousness.

I love you, David.

CHAPTER 29

WOLF CLIMBED out of the back seat of Edwin’s Jeep Rubicon and stepped onto the damp sidewalk. “Thank you, Edwin.”

“You got it.”

Wolf looked up at the Snohomish County FBI building and sucked in a breath of air. It smelled like the ocean mixed with the lumberyard north of Cave Creek, back home.

Luke climbed out of the front seat and shut the door. She looked less than rested.

Wolf had spent five minutes trying to wake her that morning, wondering if she’d slipped back into a coma, but she’d finally come around of her own accord.

“You all right?” he asked.

“You wanna ask me that again?” Her glare said she was fine. “Let’s go.”

Wolf followed her to a wide rotating door and pushed in behind her.

They walked on a terrazzo floor inlaid with the FBI seal toward a half-moon reception desk.

A woman behind the counter widened her eyes and hung up the phone. “Kristen! Holy shit, there you are!”

Luke held up her hands. “Easy.”

“Don’t tell me easy. They’re all out there looking for you.” The woman walked away from the desk and appeared out of a door in the felt-covered wall. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Luke took the woman’s hug and stepped back. “Is Earnshaw here?”

“No. He’s out with everyone else at Discovery Park.”

“But he’s okay?”

“Yeah.” The woman looked down at Luke’s civilian jeans and sweater and then eyed Wolf. “What’s going on? Who’s this?”

“This is David. David, this is Shantel. My nosy friend at the reception desk.”

Shantel raised her eyebrows. “This is David Wolf?”

Luke made for the doors. “Can you please open this? I don’t have my card.”

Shantel went to the door and pressed a card to the reader.

The door clicked and Luke pushed it open. Shantel held it while Wolf passed though, smiling like she knew something he didn’t.

He followed Luke through a circular interior room lined with glass. On the other side of the windows, suit-clad agents sat at rows of desks.

“This way.” She led him to a cubicle in one corner.

The squad room looked relatively deserted to Wolf.

A man by the window noticed them and almost spat out his coffee at the sight of Luke. He set down his mug and jogged over.

“Luke!”

She ducked inside and sat at her desk.

“Luke!” The man’s gut bounced with every step as he cut through the desks like a running back. He slipped past Wolf and stopped at the entrance. “What are you doing here?”

She swiveled around. “Hey, Grossnickel.”

“Have you talked to Earnshaw?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you kidding? There’re a lot of agents out there looking for you right now. You Wolf?”

Wolf nodded.

“They’re looking for you, too.”

Wolf eyed Luke.

“What did you hear about Staten?” Luke asked.

Grossnickel frowned. “About him disappearing?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“What happened to him?”

Grossnickel put his hands on his hips. “I heard he was with you guys. And after the attack, he disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Like how?”

“I don’t know. He’s gone, and so is his vehicle.”

“Have they tracked his commander unit?” she asked.

Grossnickel raised his eyebrows. “Tried to, but it’s been shut off.”

“Are you guys talking about his dash-mounted computer?”

Grossnickel nodded.

“It’s been completely shut off?” she asked. “I didn’t know those things could go completely offline.”

“Easy enough. Rip out the hard-wiring, take a screwdriver to the back and remove the battery.”

“Yeah, easy enough.”

Grossnickel shrugged. “A couple bullets would do the trick, too. Maybe one of those Chung Do assholes shot it. I don’t know.”

“So those guys were Chung Do for sure?” she asked.

“There’s three of ’em dead on the beach. Have those shitty tattoos on their arms.”

Luke picked up her phone. “Can you let us have a moment, please?”

Grossnickel straightened. “You better talk to Earnshaw. He’s gonna be pissed if—”

“Grossnickel.” She waved the desk phone receiver in the air. “I’m calling him right now.”

“Right. Okay, fine. You need anything, I’ll be over here.” He nodded at Wolf and walked away.

She put the phone to her ear. “Sir, it’s me, Luke.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir. We’re fine … we were split off … I was injured and Detective Wolf took me to safety … we were already gone … I’m calling you now, aren’t I? Yes, sir … Grossnickel can take us.”

She hung up. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“You heard Grossnickel. The party’s at Discovery Beach.”

CHAPTER 30

“HOLY COW! THERE YOU TWO ARE!” SSA Earnshaw rushed toward Wolf, Luke, and Grossnickel.

Wolf eyed the ground, noting the evidence tents that had been erected where a few dozen spent shell casings littered the wet asphalt.

The entrance road had been packed with flashing vehicles from all manner of agencies and it had taken them a full hour to get from Everett to the Seattle park.

Two news helicopters jockeyed for position overhead.

Inland from the beach, where the night before Wolf had seen the blurred shapes shooting at them, three white forensic tents had been erected. He looked to the hill where he and Luke had left Staten’s unconscious body and saw no activity.

“Where the hell have you guys been? I thought you’d been kidnapped.” Earnshaw walked up and put a hand on Luke, then backed away and studied her gray sweater and jeans under Nackley’s loaned jacket. “You changed?”

She nodded.

“Where? Your apartment?”

“We stayed at a friend’s.”

Earnshaw eyed Grossnickel. “Thanks for driving them here, Grossnickel.”

“No problem.”

“That will be all.”

Grossnickel’s face dropped and he walked away.

“Where did you stay?”

“What happened to Staten?” Wolf asked.

Earnshaw pointed a finger at him. “I called your boss. We were calling your phone.”

“Battery died.”

“Explain yourselves.”

They gave him a watered-down version of their adventure, mentioned no names.

“Now what happened to Staten?” Wolf asked again.

Earnshaw glared, his eyes like slits. “He’s gone.”

“Where did he go?”

Earnshaw shook his head. “We don’t know. GPS isn’t pinging. His cell’s not pinging. You two were gone. So was he. They must have taken him. And his vehicle. He was with you two, wasn’t he? You tell me what happened.”

Wolf eyed the parking lot. Earnshaw’s vehicle had moved.

“And you didn’t see last night?” Wolf asked. “I saw you and Nackley on the beach. He was parked right here.”

“Nackley and I ended up running down the beach after one of them.” Earnshaw became animated. “Way down past the bluffs. The guy went up into the trees, and we went after him. But …” He shrugged. “We came back, looked for you guys. The local PD showed up.”

“We went up that gulley.” Luke pointed.

“Well, we got three of them,” Earnshaw said.

“I knocked out Staten last night.” Luke flicked a self-conscious glance at Wolf.

Earnshaw turned to her. “What?”

“With a rock.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I remembered—he was there.”

“He was where?”

Luke relayed the story of how she’d woke up in the trunk and seen Staten and Swain.

Earnshaw stared into nothing. “My God. And you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A pair of special agents strode toward them. “Luke! She’s here.”

Earnshaw turned. “Yeah. Quinley, Umbrose, this is Detective Wolf.”

Wolf shook hands with the two men.

“Sir, we need to confiscate your weapon,” said Quinley, addressing Wolf.

He hesitated and looked at Earnshaw. “That’s fine as long as you issue me another one.”

“Give it to him,” Earnshaw said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Wolf pulled his Glock from his paddle holster and handed it over.

Quinley took it between a rubber-gloved forefinger and thumb and put it inside an evidence bag.

Wolf felt like he’d been stripped off his pants and underwear.

“Special Agent Luke?” Quinley turned to her.

“I’m not carrying, and I wasn’t last night.”

Quinley looked at Earnshaw, who nodded.

“Okay. And I’ll need an official statement from you two. Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Earnshaw said.

“Sir?”

“I said I’ll take care of it. We’re talking, thank you, gentlemen.”

Quinley seemed affronted, but not enough to argue, and he nodded and walked away with his fellow agent toward the beach.

Earnshaw waited until they were out of earshot and turned to Luke. “Tell me again you’re certain Swain and Staten put you in that trunk.”

“I’m certain, sir.”

“You’d been hit in the head.”

Her eyes hardened. “I know what I remember.”

Nackley came toward them from the beach path. He looked relatively unscathed except for a scratch on his chin.

“I heard you were on your way back,” he said. “We thought those assholes had taken you.”

Luke and Wolf waited patiently while Earnshaw relayed their story one more time.

“Jesus.” Nackley stared at Luke. “You’re sure? Staten was there when the trunk opened?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure. Ask me again, and I’ll show you how sure I am.”

Wolf pulled out his cell, remembered it was still dead, and put it back in his pocket.

“Detective Wolf needs to use your phone.” Luke stretched out her hand. “Sir, please. It’s his wedding day.”

Earnshaw unlocked his phone and gave it to Wolf. “Take your time.”

“And I need a weapon,” Wolf said. “And so does Special Agent Luke.”

“You don’t need one,” Luke said.

“What are you talking about? With what happened last night, there’s no way you and I are walking around unarmed.”

“You’re getting on that phone and telling Lauren you’re on your way home.”

“No,” Wolf said. “I already talked to her last night. It’s okay. I’m staying until this is done.”

Luke took the phone and thrust it at him. “Jesus, Wolf. Come on. I just figured out Swain and Staten are behind this, and look at them. They’re running.”

“Why was Staten here last night?” Wolf asked. “With them?”

“With us?” Earnshaw stepped forward. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s suspicious that Staten was with you two last night.”

“We’d just learned of a witness who’d seen his partner’s death. Why wouldn’t I tell him to meet us here?”

Wolf had no reply.

“Wolf.” Luke grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside. “Please, for the love of that little girl, please call Lauren and tell her you’re on your way home. Tell her you’re chartering a private jet out of Boeing Field, and you’ll be home by lunch. Tell her to get your tux out, draw a bath, and have the shaving cream ready, because you need to get that thing off.”

A familiar fire lit her eyes.

“This is a Swain and Staten manhunt, right, sir?” She raised her voice.

Earnshaw broke off his conversation with Nackley. “What’s that?”

“I said this is a manhunt for Swain and Staten, correct?”

“Far as I see it, those two have some explaining to do.” Staten curled his upper lip. “And they’ll explain it to the barrel of my gun.”

“Sir!” Nackley raised his cell in the air. “We have a trace on Staten.”

“Where?”

Nackley put the phone to his ear, then lowered it. “Within two miles of where they found Swain’s vehicle. It just switched on.”

Earnshaw nodded. “Looks like our manhunt just ended. Now, are we moving or what?”

“Detective Wolf is not coming with us,” she said. “He’s going to charter a private jet out of Boeing Field. We can postpone his statement until later, correct, sir?”

Earnshaw rubbed a hand over his face, considering.

“I’ll remind you he’s getting married at three thirty this afternoon, Mountain time. We can take his statement later, right? Sir?”

Earnshaw nodded. “We’ll drop him at the airport on the way out. Let’s go.” He walked away.

Luke turned to Wolf and gripped both his forearms. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want you here anymore. I’m fine now. I came to you for help, and you’ve given it. It’s over. Get on that phone and tell your fiancée you’re coming home.”

Wolf checked his watch. It was just past seven in the morning, eight at home. He pictured Lauren and Ella walking down the aisle, Ella showering people with flower petals, and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“Here. You can call her on the way to the airport.”

He took the phone.

CHAPTER 31

“NOT THAT I don’t appreciate your including me, Patty, but I’m just a bit hungover at the moment.”

Rachette ignored the look from his partner and stared out at the Chautauqua River snaking past the passenger window.

The frothing waters, swelled by the recent rains, made his stomach queasy.

“He didn’t call all night. No messages. MacLean tried this morning: no answer. Now his phone is off. It’s their wedding day, and—”

“I get it.” Rachette held up a hand. “Just drive.”

Rachette sipped his to-go coffee, trying to think coherently against the headache pounding at his temples.

For Wolf to not respond on the day of his wedding was out of character. Of course, it was the butt-crack of dawn, and getting married brought out sides of a person hitherto unseen. Rachette knew that, having stranded Charlotte at the altar after a minor nervous breakdown.

“You think he’s going to leave her?” she asked.

The question was like a shot of flaming vodka poured onto his hangover. He closed his eyes and ignored the inquiry, but the dizziness was too much and he opened them again.

“Hey, you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening. I don’t think it’s Wolf’s style, which worries me.”

“Me neither.”

“So we’re on the same page.” He gestured to the dirt road winding next to the Chautauqua that led to Wolf’s ranch. “And since the cell service won’t work until we get to his house, I say we both shut up until we get there. Then, and only then, we’ll figure out what we can or cannot do. We’ll talk to Lauren, give her our condolences, cry with her, or whatever.”

He closed his eyes against the morning sun searing through the windshield, breathing through the spins.

“You’re an asshole.”

He gave her a thumbs-up, letting the washboard road massage his body.

“Hey!”

A hand slapped his shoulder, waking him from a dreamless sleep.

“We’re here. You have any calls on your phone?”

Rachette struggled to remember where he was or what he was doing. Then he looked through the windshield and the towering white tent erected on Wolf’s front lawn reminded him quick enough.

“Looks like they’re ready.”

“Your phone,” she said.

He pulled out his cell and checked it. There were no calls or messages from Wolf. “Nothing.”

“Me neither.”

Patterson let off the brake and they rolled past a line of cars and trucks parked alongside the dirt drive. Rachette looked at the small army of people working inside and outside the tent, marveling at the production cost this day must have set Lauren back.

The sun had risen into a saddle on the eastern wall of the valley, bathing the property in light that scythed his eyeballs.

“It’s such a nice day,” Patterson said. “I hope he’s on his way home.”

“Look at that.” He pointed at a white Honda Civic.

She slowed next to it. “What about it?”

“That’s Brenda Mendelsen’s car.”

“Right there?”

“Yep.”

She stopped. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. I saw it two days ago up at her house. That’s hers.”

Patterson sighed. “What is going on?” she said, pulling in and shifting into park.

Rachette got out, put a piece of gum in his mouth, and thanked God for sunglasses. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least a breeze licked at his burning forehead.

They headed for the front door, then turned toward the tent when they saw Ella playing on the lawn. Lauren stood a short distance away, talking to a woman.

“Is that Brenda talking to her?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, Heather!” Ella ran over with a wide smile, dropping a Frisbee and stopping to pick it back up.

Jet, Wolf’s adopted German Shepherd, seemed to consider following her, but plopped onto the grass and studied the valley.

“Have you talked to David?” Ella asked Patterson.

Patterson stopped and hitched up her belt. After a stalling gaze around the terrain, she said, “Not yet, honey. We’re going to talk to him soon, though.”

“When?”

Rachette realized the wool could no longer be pulled over this girl’s eyes. Her lisp had disappeared over the past year. Now she sounded like a lawyer.

“I’m not sure, honey,” Patterson said.

Ella directed her laser-green stare at him.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Patterson’ eyes bulged.

“Don’t know … what time we’ll be talking to him this morning. Probably soon. That’s why we’re here, in fact.”

Patterson closed her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Hey, guys!” Lauren waved and walked toward them.

Brenda Mendelsen had split off and was walking toward her car, scratching her forehead like she was trying to cover her face.

“Hi, Brenda!” Rachette called.

She acted surprised but kept on walking. “Hi!”

They watched in silence as she got in her car, fired it up, and drove away.

Weird.

He eyed Patterson, knowing she was thinking the same thing.

Lauren arrived and petted Ella’s hair. “Go play with Jet, honey.”

Ella ran back toward Jet and threw the Frisbee. Jet watched it land, then got up and jogged like it hurt.

“Poor guy,” Rachette said.

“He’s definitely getting on,” Lauren said. “What’s up?”

“We haven’t talked to David in a while,” Patterson said.

“I have.”

Patterson straightened. “You have?”

Lauren looked over her shoulder at Ella. “Yeah.”

The conversation stalled for a few seconds.

Rachette watched Brenda’s car slow at the headgate and disappear over the hill.

Lauren lowered her voice. “We’re not going to do it. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention anything to Ella. I haven’t broken the news to her yet.”

Patterson blinked. “So … you spoke to him.”

“Yes.”

Patterson eyed Rachette and nodded. “And you’re not going to get married.”

“No.”

“I was unaware of that.”

“We haven’t told anyone yet. I was just getting ready to call everyone.”

Lauren’s face was a mask of impassivity.

“What was Brenda Mendelsen doing here?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. Visiting, I guess. Giving us good wishes on the big day.”

He nodded. “Why now? Wasn’t she invited to the wedding?”

“No. I don’t know her. That’s the first time I’ve officially met her, actually. She was telling me about how he … helped her out the other day.” Lauren put her hands in her back pockets and raised her eyebrows.

They stood in awkward silence for a beat.

“Well, we were just checking on you,” Patterson said. “We wanted to see how you were holding up, and offer our help in any way we can.”

“Did you talk to Wilson about the fingerprints?” he asked Patterson.

Patterson looked at him. “No. I haven’t been into HQ yet, remember? But we’ll talk about this in a few minutes.”

“I’m going to give him a call.”

She said nothing.

“What fingerprints?” Lauren asked.

“Just a case we’re working on.” Rachette broke away and dialed Wilson’s number, grateful to leave the cloud of awkwardness.

“Hello?”

“Hey, have they checked the prints on that bat yet?”

“I was just going to call Patterson about that.”

“She’s with me. What’s the news?”

The sound of children screaming came through the phone.

“Quiet!” Wilson yelled.

“Well? Did you find Eli’s prints on it?”

“No.”

“I knew it.” Rachette swiveled his gaze toward the headgate. “You only found hers.”

“No.”

“What?”

“There were no fingerprints on the bat at all.”

Rachette’s eyes narrowed. “She wiped it.”

“Looks like it.”

“Why would she do that unless she was trying to hide something?”

“Good question. It’s probably about time we go talk to Ms. Mendelsen. Any news on Wolf?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“I’m not in a good spot to talk about it.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, call me back.”

Rachette hung up and walked back to Lauren and Patterson.

They looked like they’d been in a staring war and called a tie.

“Well, okay,” Patterson said. “We’re going to take off.”

“Hey, Lauren,” he said, unable to contain the curiosity. “What was Brenda Mendelsen talking to you about? I mean, I know you said she was wishing you well. But, what, exactly, did she say?”

Lauren furrowed her brow. “I don’t really know. I got the impression she was really looking for David. She asked for him. I told her he wasn’t here. She was kind of … I don’t know.”

“What?”

“If you can’t say something nice, say nothing, right?”

“Not really my motto.” Rachette looked at Patterson. “There were no prints on the bat.”

Patterson nodded with mild interest but said nothing.

“She wiped it.”

“I hear you, thanks.”

“Why are you talking about fingerprints again?” Lauren put her hands on her hips. “Tell me. Obviously, it has something to do with this woman, Brenda. Or what?”

Rachette said nothing, ignoring the subtle but seething anger radiating from Patterson’s eyes.

Lauren squared off with him. “Tell me.”

“Brenda Mendelsen called them to her house two days ago,” Patterson said. “She’d been spooked by her boyfriend.”

“Spooked. Like how?”

“Like he’d threatened her and trashed her house with a baseball bat.”

“My gosh,” Lauren said.

“Allegedly,” Rachette said.

Patterson widened her eyes. “Listen, Lauren. We’re going to get out of your hair.”

“But there were no fingerprints on the bat,” Lauren said slowly. “That’s what you just said. What does that mean?”

“Just what he said. My partner here has just found out there were no fingerprints on the bat.” Patterson shrugged. “So … there you have it. That’s what we were talking about, so rudely, in front of a civilian.”

“Yeah,” Rachette said, “but the woman in connection was just here, talking to Lauren. I thought it was a good idea to bring it up because I’m now concerned for the safety of my friend’s fiancée and her daughter.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes. “She wiped the fingerprints off the bat?”

Patterson sighed and nodded. “It seems that way. We still have to question her, of course.”

“If she did, though, it suggests she was lying about her boyfriend trashing her place. Which means she did it herself, then called the cops over to her house in order to, what, get even with him? Is that how I’m supposed to read that?”

They said nothing. Lauren was a quick study, Rachette realized. He pictured this scenario playing out differently.

“I guess that’s answer enough.” Lauren put a hand to her head. “And then she comes up here looking for David.” Her breathing went into hyperdrive. “She just told me she was disappointed she wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

Patterson looked at Rachette. “We’ll bring her in for questioning at the first opportunity.”

“I was sitting there talking to her just now, wondering why she was acting so strange. It even crossed my mind that she might be unstable.”

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“Yeah. Why would I? A psychotic woman just waltzed onto my property and who knows what she’d have done had you not showed up?”

Patterson eyed Rachette. “Come on, let’s go,”

Rachette felt like he’d pulled the pin on a grenade and now the blast was blowing his clothes off. Damn, he needed some Advil.

Lauren squirmed and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Hello?”

“Let’s go,” Patterson turned and walked with her head down.

He was more than obliged to comply.

“David?”

They both stopped.

CHAPTER 32

“DID YOU HEAR ME?” Wolf asked.

“Yes,” Lauren whispered.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

In the rearview, Wolf saw Earnshaw’s eyes flick to him again, while Nackley and Luke pretended to not listen.

“You’re on your way home,” she said. “Everything’s fine now.”

“He’s coming home?” Wolf thought he heard Rachette’s voice in the background.

Wolf ignored Nackley smiling back at him from the front seat.

“I’ll make the call as soon as we’ve finished talking,” Lauren said. “I’ve flown many times out of that airport last minute. They have pilots on call at all times. The latest you’ll be in the air is an hour, hour and a half, which makes you home just after lunch at the latest. Tom, can you pick him up from the airport?”

“Yep!” Rachette spoke loud.

“Great.” Lauren sniffed. “So you’re on your way.”

“Okay,” Wolf said. The joy in Lauren’s voice filled him completely.

“You’re sure everything’s okay up there?”

He eyed the three occupants of the car, lost in their own worlds.

“Yeah. I’ll be home soon.”

“Someone wants to talk to you,” Lauren said. “Is that okay?”

Wolf turned to the window and smiled. “Sure.”

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hi, Dave.” Ella’s voice always sounded two octaves higher on the phone. “Are you going to make the wedding?”

“Yes,” he said, matching Ella’s perfunctory tone.

“Good because I want to dance today.”

“Good because so do I.”

She giggled and Wolf’s teeth gleamed back at him on the window.

“My mom said that—”

Earnshaw’s phone beeped. Wolf pulled it away from his ear and looked at the screen.

Incoming call from Special Agent James Staten.

Wolf opened his mouth to report the news, then held his tongue. He pressed the answer-and-hold-current-call button and put it back to his ear.

Earnshaw leaned forward, mumbling an obscenity at a car. Nackley and Luke seemed equally preoccupied with the traffic incident.

“Yeah,” Wolf said, keeping the same conversational tone.

“What’s happening? Did she show up?”

Wolf looked out the window and sucked in a deep breath. “Mmhmm.”

“Can’t talk?”

“Uh-uh.” He hit call-swap.

“—but if you find sea shells, then I want you to bring me back a whole bag of them. I told my mom that, and … what? Okay, bye.”

The phone rustled and Lauren came on. “Sorry. You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Geez, I’d let her keep talking but I need to call the charter company.”

His heart pounded. Nackley looked back at him in the corner of his eye.

“Hello? David?”

He smiled. “Okay.”

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“I love you. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She said nothing.

“Bye.” And he hung up.

He pressed the sleep button on the side of the phone and handed it forward.

Earnshaw grabbed it and put it in his pocket.

Nackley was still staring at him. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Everyone excited to have you coming home?”

Wolf rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

CHAPTER 33

NACKLEY WHISTLED in the front seat. “Gulfstream G550.”

Luke remembered that about Nackley: the way he kept his eyes on planes as they flew over, often spouting the names of the aircraft despite nobody having asked.

She watched Wolf lean between the two front seats and appraise the private jet on the tarmac. “Thanks for the lift.”

“I guess he’s not impressed with fifty-million-dollar planes,” Nackley said to Earnshaw.

Jesus, Luke thought. This flight had to have cost a fortune, and at such short notice. Lauren Coulter had more money than anyone she’d ever known. Technically, now Wolf did too.

She thought about how only a few short hours ago she’d pressed her naked flesh into his. Her heart thumped in her chest every time remembered the way she’d kissed him.

And how his lips had remained a locked door.

Her face reddened and she looked out the window. Damn it, she needed Wolf out of this car and out of her life.

Earnshaw put the car in park and turned around with an extended hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for keeping our girl safe last night. We owe you.”

Wolf shook his hand and turned to Luke. “You gonna get out and say goodbye?”

“No.” She held out a hand and took his large, warm grip. “Thanks, David. Good luck.”

He shook for a moment too long. And when she made eye contact, she was surprised by the hardness in his stare.

“Why don’t you let these guys take care of the manhunt. Hitch a ride down to Colorado and come to the wedding.”

She pictured Lauren and Ella Coulter in all their beauty, clinging to his limbs while they took pictures in the meadow in front of his house.

“No, I don’t—ah,” Her two bad knuckles mashed together and she ripped her hand away. “Jesus. No. Thanks though. Tell Lauren I’m sorry, okay?”

He forced a smile. “Sorry. Forgot about your bad hand. Thanks again, guys.”

He stepped out of the car and the closing door felt like a punch to her heart.

Earnshaw rolled down his window.

“Just … let him go,” she said under her breath.

“We’ll keep her safe,” Earnshaw said. “Don’t worry.”

Wolf hesitated, giving her another look through the window.

She turned away and watched as a jet wobbled in the air and touched down.

“See ya,” Wolf said.

Earnshaw rolled up the window and started the engine.

She closed her eyes and took a few breaths, then decided to risk a look.

Wolf disappeared into the plane at the top of the stairs.

And out of my life, forever.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. Get a grip, woman.

“The G650 costs sixty-five mil,” Nackley said. “Has a lot more space than this one. You wanna talk about a—”

“Nope,” she said. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

Nackley swiveled in his seat. “Geez. You all right?”

The plane edged forward on the tarmac, rocking the car slightly with the jet exhaust. It moved to the far runway and turned into takeoff position.

“We going to get on the road or what?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Earnshaw blinked, apparently snapping out of his jet-envy hypnosis.

Men.

Earnshaw rolled forward and cranked the wheel.

“Here goes,” Nackley said, leaning to get a better look at the plane taking off.

She stared through the line of airplane hangars and massaged the pain from her hand.

CHAPTER 34

THE JET DIPPED below the clouds and descended in a bouncing arc toward the runway.

Wolf cinched his seatbelt tight and eyed the flight attendant sitting at the front of the plane.

She stared at him with curled lips, then slid her gaze to her telephone.

A few minutes later the plane touched down and slowed to a halt.

He got up and stretched his arms overhead. The flight attendant stood and walked to the door.

He waited for it to open and moved to the front of the cabin. “Thanks again, Melody.”

“Asshole,” she said under her breath as she headed for the rear of the plane.

He walked to the door and met the two pilots climbing out of their seats.

“Bud,” Wolf said, shaking the pilot’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. It’s no problem. Passenger preference. It happens every once in a while.”

“Right.” Wolf pulled out his wallet. “Ah. I don’t have much.”

He pulled out two wet fives and handed them over.

The pilot and copilot each took a bill.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Wolf stepped down the stairs into a cloud of jet exhaust. The air felt a few degrees warmer than on the plane. He checked his watch—the take-off, turn-around, and landing back at Boeing Field had taken a total of twenty-six minutes.

He jogged across the tarmac toward a glass office butted up against a hangar.

The receptionist had apparently heard the news because when he entered the building she looked at him like he’d just murdered her dog.

“Hi. Can I use your phone, please?”

She stared at him and exhaled. “Yes. Over there in the corner.”

He walked toward a bank of couches. A business phone sat on an end table. “Thank you.”

“I hope you’re calling your fiancée. I talked to her earlier. She was so excited you were going to make it.”

He ignored her and sat down.

“Dial nine,” she said, using a tone reserved for something like eat shit and die.

The phone rang and went straight to voicemail.

He dialed again.

“Hello?”

“Patterson, it’s Wolf.”

“Oh, hey. Where are you calling from? A plane phone? Sorry I screened your first call.”

“I’m … still in Seattle.”

Silence.

“You there?”

“Yeah. I thought you were coming back. I was just at your house. We talked to Lauren.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay … what’s going on?”

“I need you to trace a number.”

“I … don’t have that software anymore.”

“Luke is in trouble. I need it. Can you get it again?”

She exhaled. “What number?”

“You still have it?”

“Of course. What number?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to go to Lauren and get the number off her phone. I just called her from it about an hour ago.”

She made a few noises. “Is she still home?”

“Yes. Get your laptop and bring it to our house. You get started on that and I’ll call you back as soon as I get a charger for my phone.”

He hung up, took a breath, and dialed again.

CHAPTER 35

WOLF WALKED out of a Walmart with a large plastic bag.

A woman with two children eyed the Tapco .22 rifle muzzle sticking out and pulled her children close.

He decided his no-nonsense pace coupled with the contents dangling from his hand might be seen as threatening, so he slowed and sauntered the rest of the way to his rental car.

He climbed inside the Ford crossover sedan and fished inside the bag for the USB cable.

While the phone charged, he packed the high-capacity magazine with the long-rifle .22 cartridges and set it aside on the passenger seat. The weapon was the best he could get in a store that also sold phone accessories, and there was no time to stop at a proper gun shop.

The phone flashed to life and he called Patterson.

“Hello?” She answered on the first ring.

“You have it traced yet?”

“Yes.”

He started the engine and reversed out of the parking spot.

“Where are you?”

“In front of your house.”

The dash clock read 12:06 p.m.—it had been an hour and twenty minutes since he’d spoken to Patterson last. Which meant it had been an hour and forty minutes since he’d left the back of Earnshaw’s car. With every second he’d spent running these necessary errands his pulse had climbed.

“Where is it?” he asked, pleased that car accelerated fast with a tap of his foot.

“Go east on the two.”

“And where’s that?”

“Where are you?”

“The Walmart east of I-5 near Boeing Field.”

He listened to her heavy breathing and her fingers clacking on the keyboard.

“Okay, go west to I-5, then north.”

He drove out of the parking lot at top speed, catching two green lights on the way, and entered the highway on the northbound ramp. “Okay. Now what?”

She paused. “Now you have a long-ass drive ahead of you.”

A wall of brake lights approached. He jutted left across traffic, cutting off manic drivers behind him, but it was no use. The lane came to a grinding halt.

“Got a faster way?” he asked, ignoring a guy to his right giving him the finger.

“Not that I’m seeing. I’ve never been to Seattle, mind you. My map shows bad traffic for the next few miles. Then it opens up. I have the fastest route pulled up now.”

He squirmed in his seat and slapped the wheel.

“She was crying,” Patterson said.

Wolf closed his eyes, letting out a breath that seemed to suck the life from him.

“So was Ella.”

“I don’t need to hear this right now.”

“She was packing up a bunch of suitcases, piling all of their stuff inside.”

He said nothing.

“Sorry. I just … thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“It’s okay?” Patterson blew into the phone.

“I don’t mean … Listen, you don’t know the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

He considered holding back but if there were anyone he could confide in it was Heather Patterson. “We have an agreement. Ever since last summer.”

She said nothing.

“I told her that if anything were to happen to me again she should pack and leave. Get out of town and explain nothing to no one.”

“So … she’s faking leaving you?”

Wolf switched lanes and gained a half-mile per hour. “Yes. If something happened, and these men were to use Lauren and Ella to get to me, there’s no way I could live with myself.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

“She just … faked it very well.”

“How about you tell me what’s happening with Earnshaw’s phone? Where is it now?”

“They’re about thirty miles west of Everett on the two. Moving steadily east.”

“And there’s no better way? No shortcut to cut them off?”

“No. Listen, why don’t you go to the field office and explain what’s going on.”

Wolf shook his head. “And how long would that take? Meanwhile, Luke is heading east with guys who already tried to kill her once. They’ll try again. Time is of the essence here.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. I don’t know the whole story.”

“It’s a long one.”

“You have a long drive ahead of you.”

He hit the speaker button and set the phone on his lap. A raindrop hit the windshield, followed by a hundred more.

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No,” Patterson said. “And a lot of people were asking her. Maybe she’s following your plan after all.”

The traffic eased up and Wolf shot into the left lane, getting halfway to the speed limit. “Okay, I’m moving finally.”

But he’d spoken too soon. He came around a bend and hit another backup.

“Shit. Never mind.”

“Maybe it’s time to tell me what’s going on.”

He started with the hospital, and Luke’s revelation about being approached by a witness to Special Agent Hooper’s murder on the beach. He told her about meeting Staten, and Luke’s recollection of how the man had stuffed her in a trunk. How she’d escaped but remembered nothing else. And how he’d been on Earnshaw’s phone when Staten had called, asking about Luke.

“Okay,” Patterson said. “Shit. That’s definitely not good.”

“You could say that.”

CHAPTER 36

LUKE OPENED her eyes and found her face pressed up against a cool window.

She sat upright and wiped a stream of drool from her chin. The sight of the vacant seat next to her sent a fresh wave of guilt and shame coursing through her body.

She leaned in between the seats and checked the dash clock—they’d been driving for a little over an hour and a half.

“Hey, there she is.” Earnshaw eyed her in the rearview mirror.

She sat back and looked out the window, unsurprised to see rain streaking the glass. “Damn, I was out.”

“After all that action last night, I don’t blame you,” he said.

Nackley made an affirmative noise in the passenger seat.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “How far are we?”

“Another thirty minutes.” Earnshaw’s eyes flicked to her again.

“You heard any news?”

“They found Staten’s vehicle, but no Staten. We have six units and K9s on the way so we’ll get a bead on him.”

She raised her eyebrows. Suppressing a yawn, she turned around and looked out the back window, half-expecting to see a train of fed vehicles behind them. But there were none in sight. She patted her pocket, then remembered she still had no phone.

The trees had grown dense and chock full of mist. Whereas Colorado had a healthy dose of brown to its forests, up here in the Cascades the color green painted every nook and cranny. Some days the Pacific Northwest was like another planet.

She lifted her right hand and winced as she made a fist.

Why had Wolf done that? It had pissed her off so much at the time that she could have sacrificed another knuckle and punched him in the face. The man was normally cognizant of such things, not clumsy …

The thought went unfinished.

She flicked up her eyes and met Earnshaw’s in the rearview.

Her spine tingled as she pondered those farewell moments again.

Damn it. She’d been so caught up in her jealousy that she’d been blind to his pleas.

Her pulse pounded but she kept a cool gaze out the window. Still, she felt those eyes in the rearview studying her.

“Damn rain just will—not—stop,” Nackley said. “But are you seeing this?” He angled his phone toward Earnshaw. “Look. It says sunny on Monday. Is this thing serious? If it’s sunny I’m going into work topless that day. Lukey, you join me?”

Lukey!

Images swirled into life and she shut her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Earnshaw asked.

She opened her lids and looked at him in the rearview.

“You all right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“You looked like you might pass out or something.”

Nackley turned around. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Shut up and turn around.”

“Damn. You need more sleep.”

Lukey! The voice echoed in her head again.

She remembered clawing herself out of the water, getting up onto the bank and looking out across the milky turquoise river.

Lukey! Get your ass back here!

Her vision blurred as the memory formed.

“Lukey!” Staten’s voice is jovial. “Hey! There she is!”

Her back hurts so bad as she rolls over and stares at the sky. She wonders if she’s bleeding, but she can’t reach her arm around to her back to feel. Her hands are so numb.

Footsteps on river rocks approach and then the upside-down images of Staten and Swain materialize over her.

“Shoot her!” Staten says. “Get it over with.”

Swain looks at Staten. “We’re not going to kill her.”

“We’re not? I beg to differ, my friend.”

There’s a faint yell from somewhere behind them.

“Over here!” Staten calls over his shoulder. “All right. Shoot her, or I’m going to.”

“We’re not going to shoot her.”

“What do you want to do, Scarface? Explain to her that we’re heroes?”

“Yes,” Swain says.

They stand and face one another.

“Maybe she’ll understand.”

Staten pushes Swain aside and kneels down next to her. “Hey.” He slaps her on the cheek. “You awake, Lukey?”

Her back still hurts and she’s shivering from the cold water that soaks her clothing. She spits in his face.

“Bitch!” He stands up and points his gun at her.

Swain tackles Staten into the water. They splash and grunt, then rise. Water cascades off them as they aim at one another.

“Put the gun down!”

“You put the gun down!

“Put it down!”

Luke gets up and dives into the depths of the passing torrent.

“Luke!”

Luke jumped and looked in the rearview again. “What?”

“I asked if you’re okay?” Earnshaw flicked his eyes between her and the road.

“I’m okay. Listen, I gotta pee at the next gas station.”

Earnshaw and Nackley said nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

Earnshaw hit the brakes and pulled over. He twisted in his seat and looked at her.

She pulled on the door handle and found it locked. “You gonna let me take a leak?”

Earnshaw scratched his cheek with a fingernail.

She sat back and let out a sigh. “You’ve never called me that before, Nackley.”

Nackley twisted in his seat. “What?”

“Nobody’s called me Lukey for the past eleven months, except on one occasion: when I was lying breathless on the riverbank after being shot in the back. Staten was the first to get to me when I swam out of the water, but I lay there for a while, listening to him come while I caught my breath. He was calling me that stupid nickname right before I spat in his face and escaped his ass.” She locked eyes with Nackley. “Yours was the other voice. You were the one coming up on us right when I dove back in, weren’t you?”

Nackley’s expression soured and he looked at Earnshaw.

The muzzle of Earnshaw’s Sig Sauer poked into view, pointed at her center mass. “Get in the back with her.”

Nackley got out, walked around the back of the car, and sat down behind Earnshaw. He settled in, the gun in his left hand resting on his knee.

“Is that what you guys are going to issue me?”

Nackley chuckled humorlessly.

“I really do have to take a piss.”

“Sorry”—Earnshaw pulled back onto the road—“but that’s the least of your problems right now.”

CHAPTER 37

THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS were on the highest setting, doing a good job of flinging off the rain hitting the glass at ninety miles per hour.

The car had more juice, but Wolf already felt like he was pushing his luck.

“Sir, your dot is moving quickly. How fast are you going?”

“What’s the distance between us?”

“At least thirty miles.”

“Not fast enough then.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m putting the phone down, but just for a minute.”

“Go.”

“Shit, I guess I’ll go behind your barn.”

“You’re still at my house?”

“Yeah. I’m on sitting in my car out front, hooked into your Wi-Fi.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be back.”

He let off the gas as a right-turn caution sign flashed by suggesting thirty-five miles per hour.

As turn came into view he jammed the brakes and clenched the wheel with both hands.

All four tires skidded sideways and a moment later he slid into the opposite lane.

Up ahead, the blaring lights of a logging truck came fast.

He cranked the wheel back to the left, knowing if the car kept twisting, a collision was imminent.

“Come on!” he yelled, cranking the wheel further.

The back tires caught, and the rear end lurched to the right. He pointed the wheels away from the truck and bounced up onto a grassy slope.

He was moving too fast. The world tilted in the windshield as the tires thumped through the grass. The car glided sideways but maintained its forward momentum toward a rock outcropping.

He pressed the brake, watching death approach in the form of a wall of old-growth trees.

And then the car hit something hard—a dip or a rock—and he smashed into the door, his head banging against the window.

The car twisted back to the left, pointing him diagonally down the slope.

He plowed through a drainage ditch with a force that fell just short of breaking his spine in two, missed the rear of the truck by inches, and then he was driving—the wrong way and in the opposite lane.

He steered the car to the right, fighting the pull

“Okay, I’m back.” Patterson’s voice came from the floor.

“The road gets pretty curvy from now on. Be careful.”

“Yeah,” he said with a high-pitched voice. “Will do.”

He pressed the gas, and the car accelerated.

The steering wheel pulled hard left, but he tamed it easily enough with one hand as he plucked the phone from between his feet.

“Okay, they took a left on a side road.”

“Which one?”

“I have to zoom in … hold on …”

The car’s engine moaned and his seat vibrated.

“Shit,” Patterson said. “Shit.”

“What?”

“The dot disappeared.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I’m checking now. Wi-Fi signal’s still good. I might have to reboot this. Damn it.”

He sat in silence, listening to Patterson curse under her breath.

“No. It’s not the software. I’m not even getting a signal. They must be out of cell range.”

The floor dropped out of Wolf’s stomach. “Do you have the road they turned onto?”

“Yes. In about twenty miles you’ll come up on a town called Skykomish. You’ll take a left on Beckler Road heading north.”

“Beckler Road.” Wolf branded the name on his brain. “And then?”

“That’s it. That’s where your own cell coverage will probably cut out—you’ll be on your own.”

He took a gentle right turn, using too much of his arm strength for comfort.

“What’s Lauren doing?”

“She left a few minutes ago.”

He said nothing.

“Luke must have known all these guys were after her. That’s why she came to Colorado,” Patterson said.

Wolf blinked out of his thoughts and eyed the mirrors. “This Chinese gang, Chung Do. Look them up, will you?”

“Okay, yeah, here they are. Says here they’re a world-wide syndicate of organized crime.” She mumbled while she read. “The FBI made a bust in New York City two years ago, where they were keeping … my God … they had thirty kids cooped up in cages. They’re human traffickers first and foremost, and looks like heavy into narcotics as well. Says here they originated in Hong Kong.”

“They were following us last night. No, they were following them—Earnshaw, Nackley, and Staten. Swain has been missing for days, according to them. According to that witness, he shot the gangster on the beach.”

Patterson said nothing.

“Can you look up the histories of these guys? The feds. Is that possible?” he asked.

A crackling sound came through the cell speaker, and then three beeps.

He looked down and saw an X had replaced the phone reception bars.

“Damn it.” He dropped the phone in the center console and gripped the wheel with two hands.

A sign for Skykomish slid by, showing him he had five more miles.

CHAPTER 38

SKYKOMISH. Elevation 935 feet.

Wolf slowed and pulled into an antique-looking gas station next to a fork in the road.

He stepped out of the rental car into still, cool air. Clouds clung to wooded mountains in every direction, and he heard a low rush of flowing water behind the gas station. The right fork ran to a metal-truss bridge spanning a turquoise river. The other fork continued east along the river and bent out of sight behind tall fir trees.

Across the street, a liquor store-deli sign glowed yellow, promising cold cuts and cold beer, and Wolf smelled bread mixed with the gas fumes and pine forest.

“Howdy,” a man said, getting back into his truck and firing up his engine.

“Excuse me,” Wolf said.

The window rolled down. “Yep?”

“Do you know where Beckler Road is?”

An unlit cigarette poked out of his mustache. “Nope. I’m not from here. Just had to take a leak.”

Wolf nodded and walked into the gas station.

An electronic chime signaled his arrival. The attendant stared at him from behind the counter.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Could you please tell me where Beckler Road is.”

The man raised a finger and pointed vaguely.

“Thanks. So continue on Highway 2 or take the road across the river?”

The guy rolled his eyes, pulled a map from a display, and slapped it on the counter. “We’re here,” he said, flipping it open and poking a finger. “And Beckler is there.”

He poked a road no more than a quarter-mile down the road.

“Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Wolf pulled the map closer.

Beckler Road shot straight north for a while, then curved and dead-ended. Multiple national-forest routes branched off.

“Lots of roads up there, huh?” Wolf asked.

“Yep.”

Wolf counted four different routes. “Are these all passable?”

“Depends on what you’re driving.”

“A sedan.”

The man frowned. “I thought you just drove up in one of them crossovers.”

“Sure, a crossover.”

The man shrugged.

Wolf’s head ached. He walked to the cooler, chose the largest bottle of water he could find and put it on the counter. “I’ll take the map, too.”

“That’ll be thirteen.”

“Dollars?” Wolf asked.

The guy put both hands on the counter and lowered his eyelids to no-bullshit height.

“Right.” He pulled out his wallet. He was fresh out of cash and slapped a credit card on the counter. “Here you go.”

The man pushed the card back with a finger. “We don’t take credit cards for any charges under twenty dollars.”

“Fine. I’ll take as many of those beef sticks as it takes.”

The guy put five on the counter. “That’ll be twenty-seven, thirty-five.”

Wolf blinked.

The attendant man didn’t as he swiped the card and gave Wolf the receipt.

“Listen, have you seen a dark sedan coming through here?”

The man sat down on a stool behind the cash register. “What kind of sedan?”

“An unmarked police vehicle type. You know, antennas.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Is that the sedan you were talking about earlier?”

“Have you seen it?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks for the help.” Wolf tapped the counter with the end of a beef stick and went out the door.

He took a healthy guzzle of water as he walked back to the car. He reached the door and pulled out his keys. The bottle top fell from his hands and he bent to pick it up.

Three SUVs, Japanese models, screamed into the parking lot, tires squealing.

Wolf remained in his crouched position and watched. One parked feet away from him on the left, another to the right. The third pulled up next to a gas pump.

He stood and looked toward the SUV on the far side. His own reflection stared back at him in the jet-black tinted glass.

The door behind him popped and Wolf moved out of the way as a hard-looking Asian man with a leather jacket stepped out.

Low-volume techno music and the scent of heavy cologne and cigarette smoke washed over Wolf. He pointed at his blocked door with a sheepish smile.

The man grunted and slammed his shut. Wolf noticed a tattoo on the man’s inner wrist—a circle with a dagger running through it.

“Thanks.”

Wolf cracked his door and slid inside.

The man swung his door swung open again, knocking it into the side of the rental.

Wolf pretended not to notice and fired up the engine. He shifted into reverse, ignoring the Asian man stepping with him and rubbing the side of his car with a smile.

Aware of the .22 muzzle poking up from the passenger-seat floor, Wolf reversed fast out of the vehicle sandwich, then shifted into drive.

The man stood in Wolf’s now vacant spot, sucking his cigarette and watching him like a play-thing that had gotten away.

Wolf flicked his eyes to the other SUV. It sat unmoved, and he felt an ominous presence looking out from behind the black windows.

He averted his gaze and drove off, back onto Highway 2 for a few yards, then into the parking lot of the liquor store-cum-deli.

He took his time parking, made a show of checking his wallet—still empty—and his phone—still no reception. He got out, walked to the corner, and gazed out onto the river flowing underneath the metal bridge.

It had swelled from the forty-seven days of rain. Or was it forty-eight now?

The engines across the street revved, and in his peripheral vision Wolf saw the SUVs back out.

He walked to the entrance of the liquor store and stepped inside.

“Hey there!” a hairy attendant with smiling eyes called out from behind the register.

Wolf nodded, catching the sound of squealing tires over “Free Bird” rattling out of the ceiling speakers. He dared not look out the window, still feeling the eyes behind that tinted glass.

“Can I help you?”

“No, thanks.” He looked at the clerk for an awkward amount of time, and saw the three SUVs speed away in his periphery.

He checked that the lot was clear and rushed back out the door.

“Bye now!”

Wolf ran to his car and hopped in. The engine sputtered, then turned over and hummed to life.

He backed out and punched the gas.

CHAPTER 39

WOLF SLOWED at Beckler Road and took the turn. As he coasted onto cracked asphalt and pressed the gas, a pang of doubt made him ease up. Maybe they’d continued east. He’d not caught up with the fleet of Chung Do vehicles—hadn’t actually seen them take the turn.

He pulled up to a wide puddle straddling the center line. It still rippled and splash marks foamed on the wet road either side.

According to Patterson, Earnshaw’s car had turned onto Beckler, and now the Chung Do were gassing up a quarter-mile from the turnoff. This was no coincidence.

He followed the road along a wooded creek. With each turn, he held his breath, wondering if the SUVs—their occupants most likely armed to the teeth—were waiting around the next bend.

But he was met with yet more open road lined with dense forest, so he continued on.

A couple of minutes later, there was a gouge in the trees and a national-forest dirt road came into view.

He slowed and rolled down his window. A cool mist sprayed his face as he looked down at the muddy transition from paved to unpaved. There was no sign of recent vehicle activity. One set of tire tracks was new, but the others indistinct, eroded by the day’s rain.

He stared at the tracks, let off the brake and drove toward a tunnel of overhanging trees.

After more back and forth through the forest, doubt set in again. He picked up the map from the passenger seat and shook it open. Then he spotted another road cutting into the woods on the right.

He drove, parked up and got out of the running car.

A rhythmic squeal came out from under the hood, like the car was on its last legs.

His boots crunched on the dirt as he walked up to a pothole the width of two cars, brimming with water. Clouds of fresh mud still swirled in the puddle and there were slosh marks on the either side.

He ran back, jumped in the car and pressed the gas. The rental revved high and coasted backward.

“Shit.” He slapped the wheel, then eased his foot down on the gas. The car crept forward, then lurched, then accelerated normally.

Letting out a breath of relief, he bounced in his seat as he passed over smooth, packed mud. Then the road turned hard left and climbed, and his wheels spun on exposed rock. He listened to the engine whine until he crested the hill.

The road leveled out for a distance, but every bend added another layer of sweat to his palms.

The underside of the car rattled, as if something had come loose. Ahead, a long straight road climbed a steep hill before disappearing out of sight.

He accelerated to sixty miles per hour, picturing the distance between him and Luke shortening.

Then he jammed the brakes.

At the base of the hill was a puddle, and the choppy terrain surrounding the water suggested it was deep with hidden dangers.

He drove at a crawl into the rippling water. His left front tire dropped and a pop reverberated through the car. There was a clunk as the left side of the frame hit the ground.

He revved the engine but remained stationary.

Water seeped into the bottom of the door.

“Shit.” He tried reversing but the car was stuck.

He shut off the engine, rolled down the window, and climbed out onto the roof.

The tire sat in the puddle a foot from the wheel well—completely off its axle.

He grunted as he climbed onto the windshield, over the hood and onto dry ground.

Or relatively dry. The skies had opened up again.

He put his head down and ran as fast as he could up the road. His legs were powerful and propelled him quickly for a time. Then they fatigued and he panted, thanking the air for being thick with oxygen.

Stars sparkled in his vision as he reached the top of a hill. He’d returned Earnshaw’s FBI rain jacket earlier, and rain seeped through his Carhartt hoodie, but he welcomed he dampness on his skin.

The road forked again, and this time upturned rocks told him to head left along an unmaintained road that bent around the mountain.

He sucked in a breath, let it out through his teeth, and continued on.

CHAPTER 40

A WIND HAD PICKED UP, blowing rain into his face from straight ahead.

The trees howled and thunder rumbled, adding to the rhythm of his crunching steps and heavy breath.

He flicked his gaze through the trees to a straight section of road, then slowed to a walk round a sharp bend. He inched around a wall of trees and found himself looking at a long, straight stretch up toward the clouds.

He put his hood up and continued jogging. His calves and thighs cramped and his breath hitched as he made long work of the climb.

You’ve taken too long. She’s dead.

He ignored the thought and continued, pushing himself to the limit.

With each upward slope conquered, another rose into view and mocked him.

He reached the apex of the fourth rise, and estimated he’d jogged two miles on uphill road without stopping. It had been years since he’d deliberately run for more than a few hundred feet, and his lungs felt like they’d cracked.

He pushed on. The voice in his head mocked the weapon dangling in his hand, its twenty-five-round banana clip filled with .22 caliber rounds.

Every shot had better count.

The road flattened at a sharp bend and despite the pain he pushed harder, rounding the corner with long strides.

Then he skidded to a stop.

Three black SUVs were parked in the middle of the road. Four men took shelter behind their vehicles.

The wind howled, and without it Wolf would have surely been heard.

He stepped lightly and sprinted back the way he’d come until he rounded the bend.

He pulled the rifle stock into the pit of his shoulder and inched his way back, cross-stepping until the four men slid into view.

They were preoccupied with something else in front of them. Two of the SUVs were parked nose to nose, blocking the road. The third stood in the rear along the shoulder.

Wolf saw now that the vehicles had stopped on a hill crest, and the four men stood with M4 carbines aimed downward into gray clouds.

The trees seemed to end. Was it a steep drop-off? A landslide area?

To his right the terrain sloped up to a rounded apex of the mountain he’d just run up. The left side ran steeply down.

He dug his toes into the soft soil and climbed up into thick woods covered in green moss. After a dozen steps his right foot broke through the ground with a muffled pop and plunged him up to the knee in decayed log.

His left thigh was too weak to do the one-legged squat so he rolled to his back and pulled himself free.

Head lowered, he moved up the slope, mindful of the hidden danger beneath his feet. As he moved further right the SUVs disappeared from view. But the Chung Do were chasing the same people so he edged his way back until they appeared again.

He pressed himself against a tree, feeling the gentle rocking of the wood against his sopping-wet sweatshirt, and looked ahead. Still, he wasn’t high enough to see what held their attention. He had to get to the top.

The cold was beginning to overtake the heat of exertion.

A man’s voice called out somewhere close, and he froze.

His eyes swept back and forth, skipping off branches and underbrush thrashing in the wind.

Someone replied in Chinese.

He looked left, keeping his head still, and saw the back of a man standing up against a tree no more than twenty yards away. His black leather was concealed by the wet forest.

Wolf spotted three more men spread in a line at the top of the rise. They looked downward, their automatic rifles at the ready.

Silently, he swiveled behind the tree, then scanned ahead for more men.

There. He spotted another, further down the end of the line. It seemed he was the last one.

Shit.

He moved gingerly back down and round the hill to below the Chung Do’s line of fire.

The lashing wind masked his descent, and the men seemed unconcerned about their rear.

As the final leather jacket disappeared from sight, he lowered his head and upped his pace.

He reached the edge of the trees and knelt.

“Shit.”

CHAPTER 41

WOLF STOOD at the edge of the forest. A rectangular scar etched the mountainside all the way to the valley floor.

The road he’d jogged in on wove back and forth down the stump-covered slope. At the bottom, a cabin squatted at the edge of the trees. Three FBI sedans were parked in front. A yellow light glowed out of the windows, but otherwise he was too far away to make out any detail.

The pattering rain slowed and stopped, and a breeze licked his soaked clothing, making him shiver.

Behind the cabin, a line of thick forest stretched right and left. Wolf knelt near the top right corner of the clear-cut, while the Chung Do took position on the opposite side.

Their attitude puzzled him. To drive down the road would have given their presence away, but to hunker down and point rifles at ineffective distances made no sense. They were waiting for something.

He ran his eyes down the left side of the clear-cut and saw no movement within the trees. Maybe there was a second team moving below him, down the right side. No movement there, either.

He shook his head and clenched his teeth. He had to move.

He jogged through the trees toward the ninety-degree turn in the cut to his right.

The forest floor was covered with a deep layer of bark, shorn off by loggers God knew how many years ago. Thick, rotting logs crisscrossed his path, covered by debris and moss. Numerous times his feet punched through the brittle floor but he managed to stay upright until he reached the corner.

He’d been on the move for only a minute or two, but he’d been loud.

He leaned against a tree and scanned back. Fog had rolled in on the far side of the cut. The cloud sped closer and washed over him in a silent deluge.

The cabin disappeared behind a white swirling cloak, and so did the cut’s interior.

The forest below was littered with more downed logs and dense underbrush. His hands were blocks of ice, and he doubted the gun in his hand had been zeroed by a world-champion shooter after it had arrived in the Walmart stockroom. And as long as he was dumping caution out by the truckload, he might as well take advantage of the fog and move along the interior of the clear-cut to gain speed.

He stepped out of the trees and jogged straight down, keeping his eyes on the terrain in front, waiting for a bullet to rip into his side at any moment.

Step, jump, step, step.

He zoned out for a full minute, then looked over. He’d passed the cabin by a few yards. Light poured from the windows, making the fog glow.

He stepped toward the light and froze as the front door squealed open and slapped shut on spring hinges.

He crouched and raised the rife to his shoulder. Earnshaw’s bulky figure walked through the mist toward a sedan.

A yell came from inside the cabin.

“I’m getting it!” Earnshaw yelled over his shoulder.

More yelling from inside.

“I know!”

Earnshaw grumbled under his breath.

Wolf tracked Earnshaw with the rifle but otherwise remained motionless, hidden in the mist.

Earnshaw bent inside the driver’s side and popped the trunk. He rooted around in back, then came out with a can of gasoline.

The cabin door squealed and slapped again, and Staten tripped out.

Earnshaw waited for him, then they both stepped sideways, out of sight of the front door.

Staten motioned back to the cabin and spoke too faint for Wolf to hear. Earnshaw nodded.

The conversation lasted mere seconds. Then they walked back inside.

You were too late.

Wolf stood and walked toward the cabin’s glow. His sodden clothing pulled on his skin. Long grass lashed his legs and water poured down the openings of his boots. Every step squished.

His breath shuddered, his limbs convulsed, and tiny grunts escaped his mouth as he neared the side window.

Movement caught his eye and he aimed at the rear of the cabin, lining up swirling fog and tree silhouettes in the rifle sight.

He sped to the side of the building and leaned up against the soaked logs.

The rain came again like a wave. The eaves shielded him from the downpour, giving him a minute sense of satisfaction. He turned around, pressed his chest into the cabin, and sidled to the edge of the window.

Through the condensation, he saw four men standing in front of a roiling fireplace. Kristen Luke lay on her side in front of it, arms lashed behind her back with rope.

He blinked, and leaned further sideways to see around the patch of fogged glass.

She moved, and his spine tingled.

She struggled against her restraints and said something, then rolled to her stomach.

He could hear her muffled voice through the glass. Given the anger and volume, she seemed unhurt.

He studied the men and recognized all but one, which he assumed was Swain. They stood looking down, as if admiring their trophy. Wolf had built up so much negativity in his mind over the past hour that he was almost shocked by the lack of action. Perhaps they were waiting for something or someone.

His heart skipped a beat. The Chung Do?

Wolf looked to his left and up the slope in front of the cabin. A grass hill, then white mist. No sound floated down from above. If they were expecting the Chung Do, why were the gangsters up there ready for Armageddon?

He searched the room. The gas can Earnshaw had fetched sat on the floor next to the wall.

The questions mounted, and the scene offered no obvious answers. But every second in contemplation brought him a second closer to failure, so he formed a rudimentary plan and steeled his mind for action.

Then Staten pulled his gun and shot Swain in the head.

The other three men turned and watched Swain drop to the ground.

Stunned, Wolf stood for a fraction too long in the window and the men saw him.

Staten’s gun flicked to him and fired, and the window exploded.

Glass fragments sliced through Wolf’s hood and dug into the skin of his neck.

He stumbled to the side of the cabin, turned back, and raised the twenty-two, waiting to shoot anything and anyone that came out of the opening. But the thin muzzle bobbing under the sights filled him with doubt. He need a different point of entry.

He turned to run for the rear and the interior erupted in gunfire. He ducked and put his hand down into the grass, expecting bullet holes to open up above him in the logs, but the wood was too thick. He stood and ran. Flashes lit the trees at the rear of the property. The shots were coming from the back door.

He skidded to a stop, turned, and aimed down the edge of the cabin, back toward the shot-out window.

The gunfire stopped.

Rapid-fire Chinese floated out the window, then the squawk of a radio conversation.

He crouched and walked toward the window, letting the muzzle tip of the twenty-two lead the way.

Jovial, triumphant voices came through the window. The sound of SUVs firing up and barreling down the road echoed through the mist.

Wolf reached the shattered glass littering the ground, ducked his head sideways, and dared a look inside. Four Chinese men stood over Earnshaw, Nackley, Staten, Swain and Luke. They held handguns, one an M4, and poked and prodded, rifling the pockets of the dead.

One of them had a handgun pointed down at Luke.

He pulled the trigger and a flash of light spat from the muzzle.

Wolf barely heard the sound of the bullet leaving the barrel over the scream coming out of his own mouth.

He fired through the window, hitting all four men in the head and dropping them in quick succession. Then he emptied the magazine into their bodies until he was out of ammunition.

His eyes stung as he stared through acrid smoke at Luke’s lifeless body.

“Luke!”

She remained still.

The sound of the SUVs neared, and a radio crackled with a single command. The vehicles skidded to a stop somewhere in the clouds above.

Wolf rushed to the front door and hesitated on the threshold. He tossed the twenty-two onto the grass and put his back to the wall outside the door.

The M4 inside would be enough to take all these men down, he thought. Luke was clinging to life. The shooter had missed her heart, or her head, or wherever he’d been aiming at point-blank range. She’d be fine. He could load her into one of the SUVs and make it back to civilization in under a half an hour ...

Rage pushed him off the wall and set him in motion.

He opened the front door and stepped inside, moving fast.

Gunpowder smoke filled his nostrils and choked his lungs. He stepped over the first body and his feet slipped on bloody linoleum.

He grabbed the M4, shook the dead body out of the strap, and aimed it at a sliver of light escaping from back door. He swept right and left, but saw no more men.

“Luke,” he said in a terse whisper.

No answer.

The room was clear so he stepped toward her and bent down.

He pulled her shoulder and she rolled onto her back.

“Hello, Mr. Wolf.” An Asian man rose from behind a couch and leveled a handgun at him.

Wolf raised the M4 but it was too late.

The gun flashed and Wolf was hit in the stomach. He felt the punch to his gut and, a heartbeat later, the pain.

“You can join them, too,” the man said.

Wolf collapsed. The M4 clattered off his thighs and he dove for it, landing on his face.

Darkness pooled at the edges of his vision, accompanied by a thousand tinkling bells and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

He groped on the floor and found the stock of the M4 with numb hands. A noise escaped his throat, like a dying animal’s.

His heartbeat slowed, and the darkness closed in. His last thought was of the sleeping face of Kristen Luke, and those eyelashes so long they’d once reminded him of a bird of paradise. He hoped she’d find her place in paradise, and make a good case for him when she got there.

Then all was black.

CHAPTER 42

“I LOVE YOU.”

The voice came from everywhere. From nowhere.

“Sarah,” he said, and his voice was like a crack of thunder in his head.

Her smiling face filled his vision, searing his eyes. Warmth passed through him, over him, and profound relief filled his soul.

“Sarah,” he said again.

The light brightened behind her, washing out her face. But he felt her presence. She protected him with her warmth.

He tried to speak again but this time his words were smothered.

“Xing lái!”

Sarah’s light snuffed out and a nothingness took its place.

“Xing lái!”

Wolf opened his eyes and stared at a gray floor and a bright light reflecting off a pool of water.

The reflection grew larger, and the liquid hit his arms. It felt warm.

“Hey, wake up.”

He tried to figure out who spoke. The pool of water or the light?

There was a loud clank and nearby movement. Then something poked his side.

A grunt escaped his throat and he writhed sideways as electricity hummed in his body.

Sometime later the torture stopped and he panted on the wet concrete floor.

“Wake up.” An Asian man holding a stick with an orange-forked tip bent down close to Wolf’s face. “Wake up!”

He sucked in a breath and tried to sit. He got halfway and slammed back onto the ground.

The man grabbed him by the face, digging a finger in his eye, and pulled him upright.

“Get off me!” Wolf screamed.

A smiling face appeared inches from his.

Wolf sucked air through his nose, hocked, and spat on the man’s cheek.

The man stood and jabbed at Wolf with the stick.

“Ow!” The man jumped up and stepped out of Wolf’s puddle.

Another Asian man howled with laughter on the other side of the cage.

The cage.

Wolf leaned back against a chain-link fence. Overhead, a string of small light bulbs extended into the distance, illuminating a dozen or more cages in a line filled with humans huddled on the floor. Many of them looked back at him. They were young. Their eyes showed no mercy, no pity. Only something resembling animal curiosity.

The man jabbed him again.

His neck arched back and his teeth cracked against one another as the pain danced within him. Then it stopped and he sagged forward into his own crossed legs, feeling neither the will nor the strength to hold himself upright.

Something squeaked and clanked, then two sets of footsteps marched into the distance. A metal door opened and closed.

Wolf sagged for a few minutes, or hours—it was impossible to tell—then rose to seated position again.

He pulled on his arms and felt the duct tape on his wrists against the small of his back.

Then he noticed two people in the cage with him.

A young man stared with lazy eyes. He wore a dark hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants, and white socks. He huddled in the corner, eyeing the puddle of water and then Wolf’s face.

“Wha …” Wolf blinked, trying to slough off the haze that gripped his mind.

“You pissed yourself.”

Wolf looked down, remembering the warm dream with his deceased ex-wife. The puddle had seeped into cracks in the concrete, leaving only a discoloration, but his clothing was still damp.

His remembered slowly—the shivering, the running through the forest.

The point-blank shot into Luke.

He closed his eyes and the rage coursing through his veins pushed against the drugs that must have been clouding his mind.

Drugs.

The thought popped his eyes open.

“Where are we?” His voice slurred like he was six-beers drunk.

The kid blinked once and smiled. “We’re in hell.”

At the other side of the cage a man lay on his side.

Wolf recognized him, then forgot him just as quickly.

“’Bout time you woke up.” The man’s gaze looked lifeless but his lips moved.

“Who are you?”

“You serious?”

Wolf eyed the man’s hair, his musculature, the square face. His arms were taped behind him too. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the concrete.

“Nackley.” The name flashed into Wolf’s mind.

Nackley closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath.

“How the hell?” Wolf looked down and saw he wore black sweat pants and a T-shirt with Chinese characters written on it. Minus the cooling pee puddling under his butt and pasting the fabric to his leg, he was dry and warm.

He rolled his stomach up and down. He felt intense pain but there was no gunshot wound.

“What happened? They shot us with tranquilizers?”

“Rubber tranq-bullets,” Nackley said, keeping his eyes closed. A thin sheen of sweat reflected the strand of lights on the agent’s pale skin.

“Where’s Luke?” His voice raised with hope.

Nackley stared at him, then flicked his eyes a few degrees to the side.

Wolf twisted and saw a huddled ball of fabric in a cage behind him.

“We’ve been up for hours,” Nackley said. “Luke and I have already been visited by the master of the house.”

Luke sat feet away in the next pen, propped in the corner of the chain-link box with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair shone and smelled like it had been freshly shampooed. Through the strands covering the side of her face, Wolf saw eyes like glass marbles, staring into another universe.

“Luke.”

She flinched and turned her head a few degrees, but her hair caught on the burlap-like blanket and covered her face.

The kid in the cell with him and Nackley started laughing. “She just started training. She’ll be like that for a while.”

“What did they do to you?” he asked.

Luke leaned her head back into the corner of the cage. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and one bare shin poked out from the blanket.

“What do you mean, she’s started training?”

The kid said nothing.

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing with her. But with me, they shot me up with the good stuff. Then shot me up again. I assume they’re making sure I’m nice and hooked. Then they brought me to the stables.”

Wolf’s he’d learned about the Chung Do from Patterson told him what the stables were, and why these young people were being kept in cages.

“Who are you?” Wolf asked.

The kid shrugged and leaned back. “I’m the reason we’re all in here.”

Nackley opened his eyes.

“You’re the witness,” Wolf said.

The kid eyed Nackley, then Luke. “I should never have come to these assholes. Try and do the right thing and …” He looked around and shrugged. “This.”

“Tell me about what you saw.”

The kid stared at Wolf. “Does it matter?”

Wolf shook his head. The cloud was lifting from his mind. “Yes, it matters. It could.”

“You guys are dead.”

Wolf stared at him.

The kid smiled and nodded toward Nackley. “I saw this guy and her partner out on the beach that night. Them and the other two in here. Those four dudes brought this Asian guy out over the logs, shot him, and dropped the other agent right next to him.”

“They shot the Asian man and the special agent?” Wolf asked.

Nackley scoffed. “No. They only shot the Asian guy. I told her that in the coffee shop that day.”

Wolf eyed the back of Luke’s head. Her head lolled to the side and her arm fell off her knee, exposing one naked leg.

“I didn’t have time to talk to her, cos her partner was coming inside. I recognized him, with that lip scar of his.”

“You didn’t kill Special Agent Hooper?” Wolf asked Nackley.

Nackley looked at him through slivers of eyes. “Hell no.”

The door at the end of the room opened with a squeal, and two men strode along the cages.

The occupants sat upright, including the witness in Wolf’s cage.

Wolf wondered why until one of the two men rattled a stick along the fence and a zap of electricity shot into his back.

Nackley lurched forward while Wolf stood up onto his crossed feet.

The two men stopped at their cage door.

“Sit down,” Cattle Prod said.

Wolf complied, steeling himself for another round of shocks. He might die today but he was damned if he wouldn’t make them remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

They twirled, undid the combination lock, then pushed open the gate.

“Hey,” the kid said, “when do I get me some more China White?”

They ignored him, looking at Wolf as they walked in.

Wolf rehearsed some foot maneuvers in his mind and leaned over onto his side to unleash hell.

But Cattle Prod stepped toward Nackley and shoved the stick into his side.

“Ah!” Nackley stretched out, scraping his face along the ground.

Wolf felt a tickle of electricity on his skin, but not nearly as much as Nackley did by the looks of the man’s bulging eyes and exposed teeth.

“Get up!”

They waited while Nackley used his face to push himself to his knees. Then the lead man hit him again, this time with a well-placed shock to the ass.

Wolf felt little pity for Nackley. If it hadn’t been for these gangsters Luke would have surely been dead by now. Still, the men’s lack of respect for human life unnerved him. He was undoubtedly next.

They took their time, shocking Nackley until he went limp. They seemed disappointed that they had to drag him out of the cage—which they did by the feet.

Nackley’s face mopped through Wolf’s puddle and trailed a wet streak out of the cage and into the shadows.

The cage closed. The door at the end of the row opened, letting in a slice of bright light, and clanked shut again.

Wolf felt the leading edge of hopelessness darken his mind, then tried to shake it away by sucking in deep breaths. The smell of human excrement, mixed with what he’d left on the floor a foot away, did little to help his mood.

Luke smelled pleasant but the reason for that brought more revulsion to mind than any amount of piss or shit.

The kid had the same calm, dull expression he’d worn before the ten-minute torture session they’d just witnessed.

Wolf remembered Staten shooting Swain point-blank in the head. They’d shot one of their own right before the action had gone down.

“What’s your name?” he asked the kid.

The witness looked up. “Lance.”

“Lance, you were telling me what happened that night.”

“Yeah. Why do you care? I told you, you guys are dead. They’ll use her—she’s freakin’ hot—but you?” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

Wolf sat up straight and leaned against the cage. “A dying man’s last wish, then. Come on. Tell me what you saw.”

Lance took his time, then spoke. “The four of them brought the Asian guy onto the beach. Shot him. They dropped the other guy, then left.”

“Where were you?”

“Up in the bushes on the other side of the pathway.”

“Is that where you live?”

“What? No. I was just out there for that night. Don’t normally go there but I had some good stuff and wanted to be in nature.”

“Oh. And … then what?”

“I was hitting the glass and saw ’em pull up in the parking lot in two cars. I was tweaked, didn’t want anyone ruining my buzz. They got out and one of them walked toward me, had a flashlight beam coming at me. I thought it was the cops. They had those unmarked sedans and shit.

“So I ducked into the bushes on the other side of the path, real deep in between some rocks. And I could see them coming down the trail. They flashed their lights, went onto the beach, and then back to their car. This took like ten minutes. They were obviously scoping the place and didn’t see me. And then finally when they went back I thought I was in the clear, but then they weren’t even close to done.

“They went back to the cars, and one of them got in and drove away. The other three waited for a bit, then dug into the trunk of their car and pulled out a dead guy.” The kid smiled and closed his eyes as if recalling a joke. “They were silent, carrying him out to the surf, and then they came up the beach, pretty much right to me, just past me, and dumped the body in the sand.”

“And you saw the body? You could recognize it as the dead FBI agent?”

The kid blinked. “No. I mean, I just saw it was a body. But it was the heavier of the two. All three guys were grunting and swearing at each other until they dropped it in the sand.”

Wolf nodded and waited for him to continue.

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you. What happened next?”

The kid’s chest heaved. “You don’t believe me. I’m not blind. Well, you can shove it up your ass.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You think I’m lying to you. You think I can’t recognize who the bodies were, or who dumped them?”

Wolf closed his eyes and leaned against the metal fence. “It would have been pretty dark. It was raining. They keep telling me it’s been raining for forty days, or something. There would have been no moon. I was on that beach the other night. Couldn’t see crap.”

“Yeah, well they had flashlights, remember, genius?”

Wolf opened his eyes and kept silent, trying to wait out whatever demon had stirred inside this kid.

Finally, Lance said, “I saw them dump that first body on the beach. They all walked back to the car. Then the second car came back. The driver got inside the other car and popped the trunk. They had another body inside, and they took out that one. I was freakin’ out and wanted to run, but I was afraid they’d see me. My legs were asleep … shit. So I just sat there and watched.”

Wolf leaned forward. “What happened next? They took the second body to the beach?”

“Yeah. And I knew the second body was lighter because only two of them had to take it and they moved way faster.”

Wolf nodded.

“And they dumped him right on the beach. And then … I swear I’m not making any of this up.”

Wolf nodded again.

A man’s scream echoed through the door at the end of the room.

The kid turned his head toward the noise. “That’s new.”

“What happened next?” Wolf asked. “You said you swear you weren’t making any of this up.”

“Yeah, okay. They stood there and propped up the bigger guy. Two of them did it. The third guy propped the smaller body. And then, boom! They shot. And they dropped both the bodies. And they got the hell out of there like they were teenagers running away from ding-dong-ditching a house. They got in their cars and bolted.”

“But you said you recognized them,” Wolf said.

“Yeah. I did. Oh yeah, at some point, two of the guys came up onto the path. They were like feet from me. One of them started smoking a cigarette, and another one came up and put a flashlight in his face. Started yelling at him to stop it. Told him he was going to leave evidence at the scene, or something like that. I got a real good look at the smoking guy. He had a frickin’ scar on his upper lip that like sliced his lip in half. You don’t forget something like that.

“And then who’s the first guy I see when I go to the FBI a couple days later? That guy with the scar, talking to your friend there.”

“And you approached her,” Wolf said, gesturing to Luke. “You said you knew she was his partner. How did you know that?”

“I’d seen them drive into the FBI building. She was hot as shit. I watched her go in.”

“Because you were watching the FBI headquarters building?”

The kid scratched the inside of his arm. “I didn’t notice the scar on her partner’s lip until I went inside. I wouldn’t have stepped foot in that place if I’d known she was with the guy from that night.”

Wolf saw two heads swivel in their direction to listen—girls, no more than old enough to buy cigarettes.

He lowered his eyes, unable to take the lifeless expressions anymore, and sucked in the fruity scent of Luke’s shampooed hair.

He stared at the smudged light reflections on the floor and wondered how he and the woman sitting feet from his back had managed to get into such situations. Their meeting had been a curse, but it looked like their twisted path would diverge right here. Wolf had made his mind up—he’d take as many of these assholes into the void as he could. But Luke had a different future—one that would lead her on a tour of hell.

At the end of the room the door opened.

CHAPTER 43

WOLF OPENED his eyes the first time his teeth bounced off the concrete. His face slid over the rough floor, and he twisted his head to stop the dental grinding, but his head traveled where it wanted to. His muscles had no strength. His body felt like it had been beaten by a dozen baseball bats from the inside and out.

The door opened with a sickening squeal, and while his face momentarily stilled he locked eyes with a girl in a cage.

Hands pulled on his feet, and her pitying expression disappeared into the void as they yanked him into a brightly lit room.

The surface under his cheek softened, then crackled and squealed, pulling on his skin. With the few brain cells that still fired, he realized he was now being pulled over a carpet or rug covered in plastic.

Somebody grunted in Chinese and the two men dropped Wolf’s feet.

The light phased as they gripped him by the biceps and dropped him on a chair. One of the men grabbed the back of his shirt to hold him steady while the other spread his feet and taped his ankles to the chair legs.

“Sit back.” The man yanked him back by the shirt.

Wolf thought he already was sitting back so he remained motionless.

A hand chopped his neck.

He gagged and leaned forward.

“Back!”

Wolf leaned back, searching for the man to bite his nose off.

The man strung duct tape around his chest and stepped away.

The same voice as before barked another order and the two men walked away to a door, this one with oiled hinges, and left.

Wolf’s head lolled and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his vision, but the world looked like he’d opened his eyes underwater.

“Mr. Wolf.”

Wolf shook his head.

“We will wait until you feel better.” The man’s voice had a thick Asian accent.

Wolf closed his eyes and took steady breaths. When he opened them his vision was clearer.

He squinted, and two Chinese men staring at him came into focus. One of them was no more than five and a half feet tall but he stood square with Wolf, his hands clasped behind his back and an expectant gaze that said he was in charge.

The second man sat, half-turned, in a chair behind, one hand resting near a keyboard, the other on his lap.

Behind them both, on exposed brick, hung six flat-screen monitors displaying color video feeds—various angles from ceiling-mounted cameras in different rooms and the exterior of a building.

The screens showed it was raining and dark outside.

“There.” The man smiled.

“There, what?”

“You feel better.”

“Like a million RMB.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “I am from Hong Kong. We use the Hong Kong dollar not the renminbi.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve been looking into you, Mr. Wolf.”

A whimper came from Wolf’s right, and he did a double take. Earnshaw, Nackley, and Staten were lined up in a row next to him and taped to identical chairs.

Wolf turned back to the man. He heard clicking on the keyboard and saw the screens, one by one, change to pictures of Wolf, Lauren, and Ella.

A piece of molten lead dropped into his gut.

“But I see I have been unfair.” The standing man offered a toothless smile. “My name is Tong. You may call me that.”

Wolf felt tears sliding down his cheeks.

Tong twitched his head and the man at the keyboard dove into action, clicking keys and moving the mouse.

The screens switched back to the views from the building cameras.

“I want to show you why you’re here, Mr. Wolf.”

Tong stepped aside, folded his arms, and studied the wall of monitors.

Wolf studied the screens and noticed disturbing details. The first screen on the left showed a large room with rectangular spaces in them. Each space had a bed and on each bed slept a person.

“How do you live with yourself?” Wolf asked.

“Ah-ha. Please watch. Upper-right screen.”

Wolf saw a display of the building’s exterior. The picture flashed and an Asian man standing near the outside door fell to the ground. Five masked men darted into view with raised handguns and opened the door.

As they disappeared through the exterior doorway, they appeared in the interior rooms displayed on the other screens.

Their weapons flashed again, and so did others. And for a few moments, all hell broke loose. Wolf noted there was no sound.

He watched the kids in their beds, saw them sliding off the edges of their mattresses and taking cover while others slept soundly as if nothing happened.

In quick time, the intruders had some men lying dead on the ground, left to bleed while they made their way like lightning into the middle monitor, bottom row. This room looked like sleeping quarters for the other Chung Do gang members.

Three of the masked men forced them out of bed, brought them into the warehouse, and made them kneel in a line.

Then the masked men broke off and rousted the kids from their beds, ushered them into the now vacated sleeping quarters, and shut the door.

Seconds later, the lower-right screen flashed and Wolf recognized Nackley and Staten’s body shapes as they rushed off-screen toward the action. The two men appeared on the lower-right screen with guns blazing.

Earnshaw bobbed his head, appearing to speak animatedly to the other man next to him, which Wolf took to be Swain.

The two men returned and gave Earnshaw news. Earnshaw left eyed the damage, then returned to the room with the Chung Do.

Wolf flicked his eyes to the dormitory and saw the kids huddling along the back-corner wall.

Earnshaw walked without pause to the first man in the line, aimed his gun, and fired. He moved sideways with cross-steps and dispatched three men before the first had hit the ground.

One of the four masked assassins lunged for Earnshaw and put a hand on his arm, talking excitedly into his ear.

Earnshaw pushed back and paused, and after a few moments talked back to his companion. They began what looked like a heated argument while the four Chung Do gang members lay still in growing pools next to their scared comrades.

Earnshaw delegated for a few moments, then nodded.

Staten stepped up and hit the last Chung Do member in line with the butt of his gun, sending him to the floor in a heap.

Nackley stepped in front of Earnshaw and fired off three quick shots, dispatching the other three members without a second’s hesitation.

The man at the computer clicked the keyboard and the screens froze.

Tong stepped in front Wolf. His eyes were glassy but hard. “I have to say, Mr. Wolf, I’m impressed with your record in the Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department. I’m curious to know: after watching this video, do you understand why I have these men here now?”

Wolf eyed the three men to his right.

Nackley sat nearest, a pool of blood under his lashed hands on the otherwise clean clear plastic. Just like last time Wolf had seen him, his eyes were dead to the world. Next to him, duct tape covered Staten’s mouth, and his glare at Tong sparkling with fear-infused hatred. Earnshaw’s mouth was taped, too, and he stared at Wolf with a defeated expression.

“Why are they here? They killed your men. As far as I’m concerned, they let them off way too easy. I would have shoved the barrel of those guns up each of their assholes and fired until I heard it click.”

Tong’s face went blank. He stepped forward and punched Wolf in the cheek.

Wolf tilted his head back and laughed. And as he closed his eyes, the vision of Ella and Lauren on screen came back to him. The smile slid off his face and he sat upright.

“That’s the last time, I’ll warn you.”

Rain pelted a metal roof somewhere above them.

“I want you to tell me what happened,” Tong said. “Show me your sleuthing skills, Chief Detective Wolf.”

Wolf said nothing.

“People who please me have a much better chance of living.”

“These three men, and the fourth they shot at the cabin … Agent Swain … and the fifth, found at the beach, are the five attackers in this video. Obviously.”

Tong sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. “Go on.”

Wolf shrugged. “They came in and assassinated all of your men at this facility.”

“Stable.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Right. They came in and killed everyone. They let the kids go.”

“The product.”

Wolf raised an upper lip. “Right. But one of your men had his head out of his ass, and he shot and killed Special Agent Hooper. Off-screen there, on the bottom right. Which was not in the plan. They wanted to come in, kill, and leave. You stopped the video too soon for me to see, but I heard about the ace of spades cards left under two of the bodies. They left a calling card so you’d think a rival gang had done it.”

Tong stood up from the edge of the desk and snapped his fingers. The sitting man clicked the keyboard, and all the screens went black except for the upper-middle, where a picture of a smiling blonde teenaged girl came onscreen.

“An additional piece of information that we found out recently, Mr. Wolf. This will aid your investigation. I believe you American detectives call something like this motive.”

Tong walked to Earnshaw and stood with folded arms, studying his captor.

Earnshaw leaned forward, grunting furiously behind the duct tape.

“Someone kidnapped Mr. Earnshaw’s daughter ten years ago from a south-Seattle neighborhood. Not exactly kidnapped, I would say. She was, shall we say, assimilated into the sex-trade culture by the men she’d chosen to associate with.”

Tong stepped close to Earnshaw. “Your anger is misplaced, Special Agent Earnshaw. Your daughter spent those three years of her life with the Ang Geng Tiga. The AGT was a Malaysian gang from another era. I was on the streets of Hong Kong, pleasuring white American businessmen back then, living in a filthy fishing warehouse, eating the leftover scraps and guts to survive, when I wasn’t getting beaten with a leather strap.”

Tong’s lips quivered and peeled back into a strained smile. “I had nothing to do with that most difficult time of your life. And I would like to point out how lucky you and your wife were that you got her back.”

Tong inhaled rhythmically, and Wolf assumed it was his version of a laugh.

“How lucky, indeed. Sure, your wife took your daughter, left you, and went back to, where was it?”

“Sioux City, Iowa,” the man at the computer said, revealing a high-pitched and feminine voice with good American pronunciation.

Tong stared into Earnshaw’s eyes. “I know what it’s like to lose somebody, Special Agent Earnshaw. I had a brother. When we were children, he and I were taken by a roving army of men. We kept each other alive for years, when the desire to live only barely outweighed the desire to die. We read each other books and told each other stories of lives as masters and not as slaves.”

Tong stepped sideways to Nackley. “And you killed him.”

Without a flicker of emotion, Tong pulled out a gun, put it to Nackley’s head, and pulled the trigger.

Wolf closed his eyes just as the blast smothered his hearing.

Heat swirled against his face, then the scent of gunpowder and blood.

Only after the moving air had settled did Wolf dare open his eyes. There was no sense in running away from the sight of death—he was surely about to join Nackley—so he looked.

Nackley slumped toward him. The contents of his head spilled onto the plastic. The tape wrapped around his chest slowly ripped and snapped, and he lolled sideways. Then the chair tipped and his lifeless body collided with the rear leg of Wolf’s seat.

He closed his eyes and turned away.

“Mr. Wolf. The personal stories of each of these men are equally pathetic. They evoke little sympathy from men like us, who have been through much worse. For instance, Special Agent Staten here.”

Tong moved in front of Staten.

Staten grunted and jutted his chin toward Tong. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Mr. Staten here, as far as I can tell, simply drinks his life away. He lost his wife to divorce. His two children moved with their mother to California, where they live happily with a different father. He has no purpose, nothing to live for, so he kills in his spare time with these men, calling it justice, I’m sure. But he is a sick, sick man.”

Staten grunted again.

Tong stepped forward and ripped the tape off his mouth.

“Your brother shit his pants the second he was shot.” Staten laughed hysterically.

Tong shot him.

Staten lurched backward against the chair and fell onto the plastic sheet.

Wolf turned away, and saw that the two guards had returned. Cattle Prod stared at Wolf with excitement in his eyes.

Wolf prayed to God for the strength to live, trying to ignore the fresh scent of death permeating the room.

“So, Mr. Wolf, now you have the entire story, all the clues.”

Wolf stared into Tong’s black pupils. “How do you live with yourself?”

“Very easily.” Tong put the gun into the rear of his pants, showed his empty hands, and crossed his arms. “Please, Mr. Wolf, that is not the game. Either entertain my curiosity or I will end this right now. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t understand. You want me to tell you what happened? They came in and killed your men. That’s what happened.”

“And how did I find them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they used each other’s names in the audio.”

“No. That is not it.” Tong looked deeply disappointed. His face reddened as if he were embarrassed and he pulled out his gun. “I must have been wrong. Never mind, Mr. Wolf.”

“Special Agent Hooper got shot and killed,” Wolf said quickly, “and they had to somehow explain his death. They didn’t want to show that they were here—at the massacre in that video—so they couldn’t just leave his body here.

“So they knocked out one of your men and took him and Special Agent Hooper to the beach. They must have taken the weapon from your man who’d shot Hooper. They propped Special Agent Hooper up, put his service gun in his hand, aimed it at your man’s heart, and pulled the trigger.

“They dropped Hooper, a gunshot wound in his head, and your man with the heart-wound, and left them on the sand to look like they’d killed one another.”

Wolf kept talking, watching the barrel of Tong’s gun rise.

“The next day, the FBI had a massacre of your men downtown, the calling card of a rival gang found at the scene, and one of their own special agents found with one of your men dead on the beach—an apparent informant meeting gone wrong.

“It would have stumped everyone on all sides for a very long time—you and the feds. It would have likely gone unsolved, or, at worst, led to a renewed resolve to take you and the rival gang down.”

Wolf nodded at the man sitting at the computer. “But you have yourself a tech-man, which they obviously didn’t know. They had no clue there was a network of security cameras hidden in the ceiling of the place, capturing their every move.” Wolf turned to Earnshaw. “Which was moronic.” He turned back to Tong. “Anyone with half a brain, or even a quarter, would have one or two security cameras set up in such a business.”

Tong lowered his weapon and his mouth sprung open in a smile. He looked like a child who’d just been praised for cleaning his room.

“You must have seen the news like everyone else,” Wolf said. “You heard that an FBI special agent had been killed on the beach with one of your men. You saw the security footage here, and you suspected these men in that video were FBI.”

Tong sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms.

“So you watched the FBI building in Everett. To see if you could observe anything. I’m sure your tech-man here did some research into Special Agent Hooper’s partner, and maybe he got a match on one of the men in the video. But you needed to figure out more.”

Wolf nodded over his shoulder.

“That witness was watching the building, too. And you saw him approach Special Agent Luke. At that point, you knew the kid was somehow special, so you took him. You interrogated him and learned all about the other men involved—namely, Special Agent Swain with his lip scar, which eventually led you to Earnshaw and Nackley. You already suspected Staten, being the dead agent’s partner.” Wolf shrugged. “What else? I don’t know what else to say.”

Tong smiled wide and inhaled rhythmically again. “You are good, Detective Wolf.” He looked at him with something resembling admiration. “I could have used a good man like you in my army.”

“Good men don’t join forces with men like you.”

Tong’s face dropped. “Right, yes. Good men, like Special Agent Earnshaw here and his partners. They even tried to kill your friend back there. She came running to you and …” He spread his arms. “And here you both are now, tangled in their web of fate.”

Tong walked to Earnshaw and pulled the tape from his mouth. “What do you have to say to Detective Wolf about your actions?”

Earnshaw looked at Wolf and a single tear streamed down his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” Tong asked. “You’re sorry? For what? Not being competent enough to finish the job of killing two of your own special agents—whom you’ve sworn to protect—without being caught?”

“We weren’t supposed to hurt anyone but these assholes.”

Tong walked back to Wolf. “Did you hear that, Detective? You two were not supposed to be hurt.” He stepped back to Earnshaw. “And shooting Special Agent Swain in the face was a mistake? Were you going to make it seem like Special Agent Swain had killed Special Agent Luke?”

Earnshaw turned to the front of the room and dropped his head.

Tong looked at Wolf. “I would not accept his apology if I were you.”

Wolf said nothing.

“What shall I do? Shall I allow you to shoot him?” Tong asked.

Wolf nodded. “Yes. Give me the gun and I’ll shoot him.”

Tong smiled and laughed again. “No. I think it’s all over. It’s time to kill you two and get on with rebuilding my business. To get on with life.”

“You’re a monster,” Wolf said. “You should stop living the life you’re leading. You should kill yourself.”

Tong’s nostrils flared. “Let me tell you something about life, Detective Wolf. You either take or you get taken. That is what life is. I have been taken before. I will never be again. I am a taker. My purpose in life, the only purpose worth living for, is to take what is mine.”

Wolf stared at him through blurry eyes. “No.”

“No?” Tong stepped toward him.

“You love.”

Tong snorted and his face twisted with revulsion.

Wolf lifted his chin, waiting for a bullet to the head.

Tong gave the man on the computer a command.

The man clicked some keys and the pictures of Wolf, Lauren, and Ella came back up.

Wolf’s eyes filled with tears.

Tong pulled his gun and walked to the screen with Lauren and Ella smiling in the meadow in Wolf’s front yard. He pointed the barrel until it ticked against the glass and scraped a circle around Ella’s face.

“You take,” he said. Then he circled Lauren’s face. “You take.”

A tear fell down Wolf’s cheek as he closed his eyes. His heart thumped inside his ribs.

“That woman in the other room.” Tong’s face lit up. “You take something like that.”

Tong came close and clamped Wolf’s face between his thumb and fingers. “Love is not what keeps my business thriving, Detective Wolf. It is the desire to take. I supply the demand for taking. And the demand is higher than I can supply.”

Wolf clenched his eyes, feeling like he was drowning in the despair coming off the man. He refused to listen, to be sucked into the dark. He leaned forward. Felt the duct tape stretch tight.

“I will take all that you love,” Tong said. “That woman in the cage back there: mine. These two, if I choose: mine.”

Wolf opened his eyes and looked at the man at the computer. “No, you won’t. What time is it?”

The man looked at his boss.

Tong put it to Wolf’s temple. The barrel was still warm.

“You can’t see the problem with the cards?” Wolf smiled and closed his eyes, expecting death at any second.

Tong pressed the gun harder into his skin. “What problem with the cards?”

Wolf allowed his chest to convulse as he laughed. Endorphins flooded through his system. “You won’t be taking anyone I love.”

“Why?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Speak!” Tong jabbed the gun repeatedly into his skull. “Tell me! What about the cards?”

“I’ll never tell you.” Wolf snapped his eyes open and glared. “Shoot me. Then start counting down the minutes. Because I figure you only have a few of them before fifty feds come barging in.”

Panic flashed in Tong’s eyes. He stared through Wolf, then shook his head. “No.” He laughed, this time a full guttural chuckle that made his cohort at the computer smile and ask him a question in their native tongue.

Tong’s reply smothered the smile on the other man’s face.

“You don’t see it,” Wolf said, closing his eyes again. “Good.”

Wolf concentrated on the evenness of his breathing as he stared at the light on the backs of his eyelids.

Please, God, forgive me for everything I’ve done, he thought, just in case Tong decided to shoot him then and there.

Tong snapped his fingers and barked a command. Footsteps crunched over the plastic. A door squealed open and slammed shut like a baseball bat on a trashcan.

Wolf opened his eyes. The two guards were gone.

“What are you doing?”

Tong smiled.

CHAPTER 44

WOLF EYED the door in the silence.

Tong paced in front of him again, this time faster. His earlier amusement had gone.

Wolf studied the ceiling. A row of thin windows had been painted over at some point in the past. Paint had flaked off, revealing dark gray where there’d once been black.

“Looks like it’s almost dawn,” he said. “I’d say you have about fifteen minutes.”

Tong said something to the computer guy.

The man shook his head and pointed at the screens on the wall.

The pictures of him, Lauren, and Ella had been replaced by live feeds from the security cameras. Computer guy gestured to a camera showing a street.

Wolf sat forward, snapping the duct tape around his chest, and stood. Then he bent, raised his arms behind his back, straightened, and slammed his hands toward his sides.

The tape ripped open. His hands were free.

He lunged toward Tong.

Tong was focusing on the monitors but turned quickly and sidestepped Wolf’s attack.

The chair was still taped to Wolf’s ankles. He whiffed a vicious grab, only catching a finger on Tong’s leather jacket, and landed hard on the floor.

Tong pointed the gun at Wolf’s head. The man’s all-business expression told him he had milliseconds to live, but then Tong smiled and staggered back.

“My God, you are a real dragon.” He shook his head, losing the smile, and raised the gun again.

The door clacked and squealed.

Tong’s eyes glazed over and he lowered the gun. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

The two guards saw Wolf on the ground and their boss’s defensive stance. One of them asked a question, and Tong answered in a flurry of words.

The two guards pulled Luke into the room and pushed her forward.

She stumbled but caught herself before falling. The filthy blanket was still draped over her shoulders. Her hair fell over her face like a veil.

The guard with the prod lifted the edge of the blanket with his torture toy, revealing Luke’s naked legs and white underwear.

An electric snick echoed through the room and she arched her back. The blanket fell, revealing her upper body clad in a tiny T-shirt.

“You dick-suck!” She spasmed as more curses flew from her mouth.

Tong said something, and the guard held the prod against her skin for another long moment.

She collapsed to her knees, then her stomach. Her hair parted to reveal a hard glare locked on Wolf.

And Wolf knew that Luke had punched her way through the drug fugue, if only for a second.

Tong barked another command at his guard, and Cattle Prod stepped aside. The larger man gripped the back of Luke’s T-shirt and pulled. He wrenched her to her feet then ripped the flimsy fabric from her skin. Luke crossed her arms in front of her bare torso.

Tong said something else, and the other guard came in, his prod leveled.

Wolf reached for Tong and slapped both his hands on the ground a full yard away from his shiny black boots.

“This man—”

Wolf clawed his fingers into the plastic, gripped, and pulled as hard as he could on the tarp.

Tong’s feet shot toward him a few inches, enough to knock him off balance.

Wolf twisted and let go, then rolled toward the two guards.

At the same instant, Tong fired into the floor inches from where Wolf’s head had been.

Wolf saw the bigger guard aim his gun down, and he raised his feet to block the shot. The chair split into shards, the impact jarring the muscles in both legs. He pulled them together and kicked, catching the big guard’s knee with one of the chair legs.

Tong fired again and a window in the ceiling shattered.

Luke’s animal grunts echoed off the walls.

Wolf rolled onto his stomach and twisted to dodge an impending hail of bullets. But none came.

He got to his feet. Luke elbowed Tong in the throat, then land a vicious kick to his knee that bent it sideways.

Cattle Prod poked his stick into the mayhem, catching Luke in the side.

The bigger guard had split his attention between Wolf and the attack on his boss. Wolf took advantage of the confusion and lunged shoulder first. The wood of the split chair tripped him, sending him low into the attack. He grabbed the guard’s shins and twisted hard. The man was big but forced to turn or have both bones snap under Wolf’s vice-grip. The guard twisted and fell back, smashing his head against the metal door.

Wolf crawled up his body and blocked the gun with the side of his hand just as it went off, bathing his face in hot fragments. He took hold of the weapon with both hands and wrenched.

The man punched Wolf hard in the chin with his free hand.

Before the blow had fully registered, Wolf launched his head down and head-butted into the guard square in the face.

More gunshots popped. A bullet ricocheted off the wall with the sound of a zipper being opened at a hundred feet per second.

The man’s grip on the gun loosened. Wolf plucked it away and aimed.

The orange tip of the cattle prod came toward him and zapped against his chest. Electricity shot through his body, his hand closed in a spasm, and he fired three involuntary shots into the floor next to the guard underneath him.

Cattle Prod dropped his toy and pulled his own gun from the rear of his pants. Wolf shot him in the chest, then the man beneath him in the head. He swiveled, and shot twice into the back of the man running away from the computer console.

Finally, he aimed at Kristen Luke and Tong. They writhed on the ground. Wolf had no clear shot.

He got to his feet and stumbled toward the wrestling match.

The space between Luke and Tong lit up and three muffled pops made them convulse. They went slack and silent.

Wolf slapped both hands on Tong’s back, pulled him off, and shot him in the back of the head as he fell to the ground.

Luke lay underneath, smothered in a lake of blood.

The door behind him clacked and squealed.

He twisted and shot a leather-clad man carrying a pistol before he was halfway into the room.

The man’s lifeless body fell, blocking the doorway. Somebody else pushed against the door, and a gun-wielding hand appeared for a second.

The man screamed something in Chinese from the hallway.

Wolf said nothing, readying his aim at the opening.

The man called something again.

“Help!” Wolf said.

A hand gripped the edge of the door and a head poked inside.

Wolf shot it. The second man fell on the first.

He waited as the door squealed all the way open, revealing an empty corridor next to a row of cages filled with scared faces.

He clenched his eyes shut and turned his head toward Luke. Right then, like Schrodinger’s Cat, she was as likely alive as dead, and he wanted to stay in that moment forever. But sooner or later he had to join reality.

He looked.

She stared at him—a blank look reserved for the lifeless.

“Luke!”

Her eyes swiveled to the door, and then back to him. “That was a cheap shot.”

CHAPTER 45

THREE DAYS LATER …

Tom Rachette felt like he had a spinning bowling ball in his gut.

The SUV rumbled around a corner and he recognized the next bend as the last before Wolf’s driveway shot up from the county road. He’d been in the car with Wolf for an hour and a half and had yet to confess his sin to his boss.

“Hey, Wolf.”

“Yeah?” Wolf answered.

Rachette slowed and took the turn for Wolf’s property, unable to finish his thought. The suspense of what lay ahead was killing him. He felt like he needed to stop the car now, to explain, before they both came up over the blind rise.

But he pressed the gas.

Wolf ignored him and kept his eyes out the windshield, unfazed by his detective’s inability to speak.

Rachette glared forward as they crested the hill, noting the mangled flowers dangling off either side of the bull-horned headgate as they passed through. The SUV dropped onto the flat, swinging the ranch house up into view.

The bowling ball in his stomach sank. Wolf’s unmarked maroon SBCSD-issue Ford Explorer sat out front of his barn next to his old silver Toyota Tacoma, but the carport was empty.

A large oval of matted grass showed where the wedding/reception tent had stood, but the monstrosity had been speedily removed, revealing the eastern mountains.

“They got rid of that thing fast,” Rachette said.

Wolf’s gaze remained stoic.

The silence in the car became louder. The rumbling of the tires ceased to exist. Only Rachette’s heartbeat thumping in his ears remained.

He slowed to a stop in front and Wolf clicked open the door.

“Hey,” Rachette said. “Listen, wait.”

Wolf slid off the seat and turned to him. “What’s up?”

“When you were gone some stuff happened.”

“Okay.”

“And the more I think about it, the more I think it’s my fault that Lauren … that she left.” His breathing became shallow but he pressed on. “It turns out Brenda Mendelsen lied about Eli coming over and trashing her place.”

Wolf frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah. Eli had a completely different story—that he came and only talked to her, and she pulled the bat on him. And we figured out that she wiped all the fingerprints from the bat before we took it. She was lying, just trying to … shit, we don’t know. She was crazy in love with Eli, and Eli cheated on her. She lashed out, trying to get revenge or something. And then I think she saw you come in to help, and something clicked inside her … like she wanted to be with you or something.”

Wolf blinked.

The front door of Wolf’s house opened and Jack stepped out, zipping his fleece to his chin.

“Okay. Good work.” Wolf made to shut the door.

“Wait. That’s not the point of my story.” He swallowed. “The morning of your wedding, I came over here with Patterson. We were checking in on Lauren, making sure she was okay, because you were MIA. Nobody could get hold of you.

“When we got here, Brenda Mendelsen was talking with Lauren. And when we walked up, she left all strange, pretending like Patterson and I didn’t exist. I called Wilson right then, and that’s when I learned she’d wiped the baseball bat. And it kind of freaked me out, so I accidentally blabbed about the whole thing to Lauren.”

Wolf nodded dismissively. “Okay.”

“No. You don’t understand. I’m not telling this right. She was freaked out after I told her about Brenda. She wondered why Brenda was up here.”

“Why was Brenda up here?” Wolf asked.

Rachette shrugged. “To see you. To thank you for your help or who knows why?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Anyway, Lauren said she’d never even met her before. Honest, I don’t know if she was going to do anything, but Lauren saw her as a real threat, you know?”

Wolf narrowed his eyes.

Rachette pressed on. “Lauren said Brenda was desperate-sounding. Angry she hadn’t been invited to the wedding.”

Wolf nodded. “Okay, I’m not sure what you’re worrying about but don’t.” He shut the door.

Rachette climbed out and walked after him toward the front door.

“Don’t you see? It was my fault!”

Wolf stopped and turned around.

Jack went back inside.

“I spooked her. I shouldn’t have opened my dumbass mouth about the whole thing in front of her. I was hungover and not thinking straight. I should have waited two minutes and talked to Patterson about it in the car. But I freaked her out, and now she’s gone.”

“But you were worried about Lauren. You wanted to tell her so she’d know the woman who’d just been talking to her was dangerous. And her daughter was only a few feet away. So if she’d shown up again, she’d know to be wary.”

Rachette swallowed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

Wolf nodded. “Then I thank you for that, Tom.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wolf walked toward him and Rachette lowered his gaze to the ground.

Wolf’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug that pushed his breath out. He wanted to return the embrace but it was over before he could react.

“Thank you, Tom.” Wolf turned on his heels.

He stood on the lawn and watched Wolf disappear inside.

He wanted to tell his boss so much—that he was disappointed that life hadn’t dealt Wolf the queen of hearts, that Wolf didn’t deserve to be sitting alone in a dark house, that he felt unworthy of the happiness Charlotte and his little TJ gave him.

But he knew Wolf, and Wolf knew all that already.

CHAPTER 46

“HOW’S IT GOING?” Jack’s leaned in the entrance to the kitchen.

Wolf stood motionless and eyed the two open bedroom doors. The sheets on Wolf’s bed were tucked hard, folded just so. Ella’s polka-dot comforter was also sculpted, revealing she’d inherited her mother’s neatness gene. Lauren’s Cave Creek Sunset painting still hung on the freshly painted wall in front of him. The fruity scent of candles, mixed with Lauren’s perfume, still hung in the air.

His heart felt like it beat up against a steel cage. “What was that?”

“I asked … never mind. It was a stupid question.”

Wolf pulled out his phone and, despite his better judgment, pressed the button, revealing Ella’s smiling face and the reminder that he’d still received no call or message.

He dropped his phone, keys, and wallet on the coffee table and walked toward the kitchen.

Jack pushed himself off the doorjamb and unfolded his arms, a barricade of wiry muscle and shaggy youth. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Wolf looked into his son’s emerald eyes and saw his mother’s face. And pain. “Your mom and I used to wonder how you got those green eyes.”

Jack tucked his thumbs in his back pocket and kicked his toe against the edge of the carpet, a gesture he reserved for listening respectfully to an elder.

“Turns out my uncle had the same shade.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. You’ve told me about that.”

They stood in silence for a beat.

“I don’t know how to help,” Jack said.

Wolf patted his son’s shoulder and passed into the kitchen.

He pulled open the refrigerator. Green and vital perishable foods stacked the shelves. He dug his hand past a bag of broccoli florets and pulled out a Newcastle brown ale along with a faint odor of decaying vegetables. He popped the top on a bottle opener Lauren had mounted on the edge of the counter and chugged the beer until it was gone.

Eyes watering from the carbonation, he bent down and pulled out another.

He opened it and held it out to Jack. “You want one?”

“No, thanks.”

He twisted the blinds, letting in the dull light of a cloudy autumn afternoon and the sight of Rachette’s SUV passing through the headgate.

“How can I help?” Jack asked.

He took a slow sip, savoring the taste and the alcohol buzz in his chest. “You could help by getting me a twelve-pack of Newcastle.”

“I’m nineteen.”

Wolf eyed his son. “How do you get beer in Boulder?”

“Jeff has a fake ID.”

Wolf had met Jack’s dorm room-turned-off-campus roommate before. “Makes sense. Guy’s hairier than the elk around here.”

Jack nodded. “His ID picture shows a guy without a beard and the exact same eyes and face shape. It’s pretty much bulletproof.”

Wolf smiled and sucked down half of the beer.

“Grandma went back to Denver.”

“I talked to her on the phone yesterday.” He looked at Jack. “Did you spend some time with her the past few days?”

“Too much.”

“You think she’s doing all right?”

“What’s your definition of all right?”

“Is she losing it? You know, dementia?”

Jack frowned. “No. She’s sharp as ever. Sharper. That’s the problem. She’s just … angry about something. I think we need to visit her more. She made some off-hand comments about how we never go down to Denver anymore.”

Wolf nodded.

“I think she meant you. She’s pissed that it’s been eight months since you went.”

Wolf finished the beer with disappointment, knowing there was only one left. “Aren’t you missing school right now?”

“I wanted to see you. Make sure you were all right.”

Wolf walked to the cupboard and found a half-bottle of Glenlivet and three abandoned bottles of Lauren’s favorite red. “I’m all right.”

“What are you going to do?”

He took down the bottle and put it on the counter. “I have eight more days of vacation ahead of me. Some R and R will do me good.”

Jack said nothing.

In the still silence of the kitchen, they heard the rush of wind long before it hit the house. As the dust flew and the trees thrashed outside, the heater kicked on, breathing warm air up the jeans he’d purchased in Seattle the day before.

His neck still ached from the hours of questioning he’d endured and the lumpy pillow in the Seattle motel.

Over that two days, he’d been contacting Lauren and received no response. That left only one truth to face.

He looked Jack in the eye. “I’m glad you’re here. Thanks.”

Jack nodded and looked down at his feet again. He pulled out his phone and checked the screen, then shoved it in back his pocket.

“But you have to leave,” Wolf said. “You’re driving back. That’s why you didn’t jump on the free beer from your dad.”

“I have class in the morning, which is no big deal but I have to finish up this paper that’s due. I mean, I was prepared to miss the class … but …”

Wolf nodded. “You have to go.”

Crackling tires outside pulled them both to the window, and the sight of Lauren’s Audi made Wolf’s adrenal gland fire.

“Okay, there’s my cue,” Jack said.

At first, Wolf was only vaguely aware of his son’s embrace. Then he peeled his eyes from the window and returned the hug with three times the tenacity he’d received.

“Be careful on the drive home,” he said. “When’s the last time you changed the oil on that thing?”

“Yesterday.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been bored.”

“Okay.” He squeezed his son’s oversized shoulders. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Just … thanks. I’ll talk to you soon. Say hi to Cassidy for me.”

“I will.”

Jack walked quickly to the front door, zipped up his fleece to his chin, and disappeared outside.

Wolf turned to the window and watched as Lauren parked, got out—alone—and nodded somberly to Jack.

His son raised two fingers to her and strode to the Toyota, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Her loose pony tail twisted in the wind as she watched Jack climb inside the truck. Then she walked to the house.

The front door slammed open and shut.

Wolf stayed frozen at the window, staring out at the emptiness of her back seat through the windshield of her car.

Jack’s tires spat gravel and swirling dust as he drove away and out of sight.

The sound of Lauren’s breath came from the kitchen entrance. “David.”

He pulled his eyes from the window and looked at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glistening. She looked as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her at the hospital. Once again, she was that inaccessible nurse striding into the room. Into his life.

“You’re leaving me,” he said.

She swallowed and a single tear slid down her cheek and hit the floor.

The heater turned off and they were left surrounded by a creaking house.

“I have to.” She wiped her face and sniffed, keeping her eyes locked on his. “I can’t stay with you. It’s too dangerous for Ella. And it’s too much for me.”

“I know,” he said.

She clenched her eyes shut, squeezing out more tears.

He stepped forward and hugged her, and she wrapped her arms hard around his waist.

“I can’t stay.”

He said nothing, and they held each other a while.

Finally they parted and looked at one another, their cheeks wet.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

She turned to the window. “Ella has Jet. I think she should keep him. I didn’t have the heart to take him away from her.”

“Okay. I think that’s a good idea.”

“And I didn’t want to bring her here now.” She looked at him. “I don’t know what I’ve done to her, David. I’ve dangled a father in front of her face, then pulled him away.”

He sucked in a breath and looked outside.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to her,” she said again. “I’m evil.”

“You’re a good mother. You’ll do anything to protect your daughter, no matter how painful it is. You’re not evil. You’re tough,” he said. “You do what it takes.”

They stood in silence as the wind toppled the trash cans outside.

“I’ll explain everything to Ella,” she said.

“I’d like to see her. To explain.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Her tone said they weren’t negotiating. “We’re leaving for Aspen this afternoon.”

He blinked.

Until then, the situation had felt temporary. His subconscious had already begun concocting plans to run into them around town, to hook them and reel them back into his life.

She held out a hand and he stared at it with glossy eyes until she pulled it back.

“Goodbye.” She turned around and walked away. The door opened, letting in a blast of light and wind, then closed.

He shut the blinds and forced himself to listen to the thumping car door, the revving engine, and the vanishing crunch of tires.

CHAPTER 47

WOLF WOKE to the sound of a bird chirping outside his window.

The angle of the light shafting through the blinds told him it was late afternoon, which meant it must have been Wednesday. Or Thursday, he supposed. He sat upright, swayed, and stood. The wall came up and hit him in the shoulder. He pushed off it, lost his balance, and put a hand on his bed to steady himself.

Then the truth washed over him, freezing him in his tracks.

He picked his pants off the floor and checked the pockets. His phone screen was black and pushing the button did nothing to revive it.

He plugged it into the charger and, like a desperate idiot, stared at the screen while it told him he had no missed calls—or none that counted.

Thursday, 4:16 p.m.

He clothed himself like a respectable human being and went to the kitchen. An empty bottle of Scotch, two empty six-packs of Newcastle, and two drained bottles of red wine stood on the counter.

He went to the window. Trash had been strewn as far as the eye could see.

“Shit.”

He put on his coat, laced up his leather boots, and stepped out into the afternoon air with a trash bag in hand. The air was cool and still, and smelled of downed leaves. Dark clouds loomed up the valley to the north.

He zipped up his Carhartt and surveyed the scene, wondering where to begin. He decided to start with the wad of tissue at his feet. He bent over to pick it up and hesitated, remembering the two-day cold Ella had contracted from school the previous week. He straightened and stared at the way the paper had been rolled into a ball with two small hands.

“That’s pretty disgusting,” Wolf had told her once after she’d formed a particularly large ball of mucus-ridden Kleenex.

“I don’t feel very good,” she’d responded.

Wolf shut his eyes as a vise tightened around his throat. A wave of dizziness crashed over him and he almost fell sideways. He looked at the sky and sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. He stood like that until his mind blanked, then bent over and plucked the crusty ball of tissue and a wadded sandwich wrapper and shoved them in the bag.

An hour later he’d scoured the yard and the forest behind the house for every piece of trash he could find. For his effort, he received a sack of refuse and a headache that started in his neck and ended behind both eyes.

He stood at the back of the house and let a freshening breeze lick the sweat off his temples and freshly shaven head.

A veil of gray rain obscured the valley over Rocky Points now. Wind howled through the trees, sounding like rushing water, and through the noise he thought he heard a pop of tire tread running over a rock, and then another.

He froze until he heard the squeal of brakes and thump of a car door. He walked to the front of the house, taking his time.

Kristen Luke stood at the door, a twelve-pack of Newcastle hanging from one hand.

“Hey.”

She flinched. “Jesus. I didn’t see you.”

She backed down the wooden step of the deck.

They stared at one another while the wind lashed her ponytail against the side of her head. Her eyes were brighter than the last time he’d seen her. The bruise on her forehead had disappeared and only a thin scab remained.

“It’s cold.” She put down the beer on the step, zipped up her fleece, and folded her arms. “Aren’t you cold?”

He looked down at his now-open jacket flapping in the breeze. The wind needled through his stained short-sleeved shirt.

She took a few steps toward him.

He straightened, and the dizziness hit him again, making him stagger back as the edges of his vision darkened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or taken a drink of water.

Luke stopped dead. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

He watched her turn and walk briskly to her rented sedan. She fired up the engine and peeled forward into the circular drive in front of the barn.

He stepped into her path.

The tires scraped to a stop and they stared at each other through the windshield.

She clasped the top of the steering wheel and leaned her forehead against both hands.

He waited for her to park, then walked to her window and knocked.

The glass slid down and she sat back against the seat. “What?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Luke confined her gaze to the interior of the car. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut off the car.”

She poked a button and he pulled on the door handle. It opened and bounced on its hinges, and Luke looked up at him. “I said I’m sorry, damn it. Aren’t you going to acknowledge that?”

“Why are you sorry?”

She scoffed.

“It’s not your fault —any of this.”

She shook her head.

“So why are you sorry?”

She turned her head and locked her gaze on his. A fire danced behind her eyes for a moment. Then she sighed and climbed out of the car. She slammed the door, leaned against the window and folded her arms.

He walked to the twelve-pack and ripped it open, pulled out two bottles, and walked back to her with an outstretched hand. “Keys.”

“Why?”

“An old college trick to open these beers.”

She handed over a plastic key fob adorned with three buttons.

He studied it and handed it back, unbuckled his belt, and popped the two bottles with the buckle.

They both lifted the bottles to their mouths and took greedy pulls.

“Earnshaw’s finally talking,” she said.

Wolf pulled the corners of his mouth down and nodded. It was the first time he’d thought of the case in days.

“You don’t care.” Luke took another sip.

“Yeah. I’d rather mull over my fiancée and her kid leaving me for the millionth time. What’s he saying?”

She shrugged. “Lots of sniveling. He apologized to me for conspiring to murder my ass and leave me in a charred pile of ashes. He talked about how Swain and Staten had been lying low when Earnshaw and Nackley came to take me from Sluice–Byron County Hospital. They knew I could identify them, or suspected so, until they heard I had amnesia. When Earnshaw and Nackley learned I couldn’t remember my bra size, Earnshaw came up with that crap about me and Swain going out into the sticks for the gun-theft lead. Their plan was to take me back out there and finish me off.”

She sniffed and smiled. “Shit, if you hadn’t put your dumb nose in their business at the expense of your freaking wedding, I would have been bobbing at the bottom of a river right now.”

Wolf tilted the beer and finished it. “Another?”

She looked at her bottle, three-quarters full. “Yeah, sure.”

He walked back to the deck and returned with two more. “But then you remembered the witness.”

He pulled his buckle trick again.

“How about you just go inside for a bottle opener.”

He handed over the opened bottle and cinched his belt again.

She took it. “When they learned that the witness had ID’d Swain, Swain became a liability. They decided to sacrifice him for their greater good. Apparently, they’d never liked him anyway.” Luke sipped the beer and shook her head.

“So they shot him in the face?” Wolf asked. “And what? Were they going to burn you both inside that cabin? How’d they plan on explaining that when all was said and done?”

She shrugged. “They had a story prepared.”

“But the Chung Do ruined their plans.”

“Yep.” Her breath shuddered and Wolf watched her finish off her beer with a long swill.

“What did they do to you?” he asked. She closed her eyes and he felt a stab of shame. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m drunk.”

“They stripped me naked. Made me take a shower while four of them watched. Then, when I was dried and fresh, the little scary one shot me up with something I hope I never see again. Because, by God, I’ll shove the needle between my toes and press the plunger. I swear I’ve never felt so good.” She chuckled and looked at him. “Don’t tell the psychologist I said that.”

The wind died and the light dimmed fast.

They both faced the incoming storm.

“What did they do to you?” she asked.

“Nothing as bad as what they did to Nackley and Staten.”

They stood in silence as raindrops started to fall.

“They were about to kill me but I bluffed them that I knew something about the cards left at the scene. Something they’d overlooked. I knew if I refused to tell them my revelation, they’d bring you into the room and start humiliating or torturing you to get me to talk.”

She looked at him. “But you were bluffing?”

He nodded.

“So there was no revelation. Just the promise of my torture.”

He said nothing.

“Hmm. Good plan.”

“I knew I was dead,” he said. “But I also knew that if you were in the room we’d both make it through. I had no clue how, but I knew.”

He closed his eyes as the sky opened up. Freezing rain ran over his scalp and down his neck like electric shocks.

An empty bottle landed at his feet, and a cold, thin hand reached up and grasped his.

He concentrated on the pain of the icy deluge and drank it in. He stood unmoved, eyes closed. His jacket pulled on his shoulders as the water soaked in. His jeans numbed his legs. Pools gathered in his boots. His teeth chattered inside his skull.

Sometime later, Luke pulled her hand from his and he opened his eyes to see that the rain had stopped. The flowers on the headgate drooped, their battered heads reflected in the shimmering puddles on the road.

Luke sloughed off her fleece, opened the car door, and slapped it on the rear seat. “Well, I’m headed out.”

“Where you going?”

She gazed past him. “I start a new job next week.”

“Where?”

She blinked. “Denver.”

“With the Denver FO?”

“Nope.”

“Then with who?”

“With whom.”

“Screw you.”

“Let’s just say all the escapades have been noticed.” She smiled and opened the driver’s-side door, and then her face went serious. “Give me a call when you’re sober, if you can remember. Meanwhile, I’m going to fire this thing up, get the heater going, you know, so I don’t die. I suggest you go in and take a hot shower when I leave.”

She sat down and shut the door. The engine purred to life and her cursing floated out the open window as she turned knobs on the dashboard.

The car rolled forward and stopped.

“Oh yeah,” she said, looking up at him, “I almost forgot.”

“What’s that?”

She shifted back into park, opened the door, and got out. She stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

His breath jetted out of his chattering teeth as her ice-cold body pressed against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, and she kissed him gently below his eye.

Then she let go, climbed back in, and drove away.

He watched the sedan splash through puddles and barrel through the headgate.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you so much for reading Rain (David Wolf Book 11). I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you did, thank you for taking a few moments to leave a review. As an independent author, exposure is everything, and positive reviews help so much to get that exposure. If you’d be so kind as to leave an honest few words, I’d appreciate it very much.

PLEASE CLICK HERE TO LEAVE A REVIEW

I love interacting with readers so please feel free to email me at jeff@jeffcarson.co so I can thank you personally. Otherwise, thank you very much for your support by other means, such as sharing or lending the books with your friends/family/book clubs/or anyone else you think might be interested in reading the David Wolf series. Thanks again and I hope to see you again inside another Wolf story.

NEWSLETTER

Would you like to know about future David Wolf books the moment they are published? You can visit my blog and sign up for the New Release Newsletter at this link –

http://www.jeffcarson.co/p/newsletter.html

As a gift for signing up you’ll receive a complimentary copy of Gut Decision—A David Wolf Short Story, which is a harrowing tale that takes place years ago during David Wolf’s first days in the Sluice County Sheriff’s Department.

DAVID WOLF SERIES IN ORDER

Gut Decision (A David Wolf Short Story)– Sign up for the new release newsletter at http://www.jeffcarson.co/p/newsletter.html and receive a complimentary copy sent to your inbox.

Foreign Deceit (David Wolf Book 1)

The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2)

Alive and Killing (David Wolf Book 3)

Deadly Conditions (David Wolf Book 4)

Cold Lake (David Wolf Book 5)

Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

To the Bone (David Wolf Book 7)

Dire (David Wolf Book 8)

Signature (David Wolf Book 9)

Dark Mountain (David Wolf Book 10)

Rain (David Wolf Book 11)

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.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

David Wolf Series in Order

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 46

Chapter 47

Acknowledgments

David Wolf Series in Order