Wolf Pack, page 28
Joe grunted and winced. The shock was wearing off.
“I can bind up that wound so you won’t lose any more blood. Can you walk?” Nate asked.
“Maybe.”
“Then come with me. We’ve got to go after the last one. She’s on foot. The other three are deader than hell.”
“Katelyn got hit bad,” Joe said.
Were the tears in his eyes from the pain?
SUNDAY,
JULY 8
Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, a universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce a universal prey,
And last eat up himself.
SHAKESPEARE, TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE WEDDING OF Nate Romanowski and Olivia Brannon took place on a too-hot afternoon on the grassy bank of the Twelve Sleep River near Joe Pickett’s new warden station. Guests sat on metal folding chairs in the tall grass under the shade of the river cottonwoods, and bees zipped through the wildflowers so that the soundtrack for the ceremony was a low buzzing sound. On the surface of the river, trout rose for newly hatched caddis flies.
Joe wore his ill-fitting suit and best hat. He stood next to Nate and felt a thin stream of sweat sluice down his spine into his trousers. He’d left the sling for his arm in his bedroom, but he planned to don it again as soon as the reception began. His shoulder and neck still ached every morning.
The ceremony was performed by a dubious reverend from Cody named Mark Landerman, who was one of Nate’s falconry buddies. Landerman had a long gray beard and he’d arrived with two red-tailed hawks and a Bible. His birds were hooded and perched on a long stoop occupied by most of Nate’s entire Air Force: nine hooded raptors who sat erect one by one on a dowel rod that had been hung from the branches of the trees. The birds were somber onlookers and they reminded Joe of a choir that refused to sing.
Liv looked luminous, he thought. She wore a shoulderless white gown that made her smooth mocha skin look even more striking than usual. The large bouquet of sunflowers she held in front of her did little to hide her swelled belly.
At the time, Joe had been surprised to learn that she’d been hit in the attack, that a bullet had broken the skin of her side and creased her ribs. Another few inches and both Liv and the baby might have been mortally wounded.
“Does the best man have the ring?” Landerman asked Joe.
“Yup.”
Joe dug into his jacket pocket and then looked up at Nate, feigning alarm.
“You can’t find the ring?” Landerman asked. Joe shook his head. There was a titter from the crowd.
Then Nate stepped back, pulled on a thick welder’s glove, and raised his right arm. The peregrine that had been circling unnoticed above flew down and gently landed on it. Joe reached over and untied the ring from the falcon’s leather jess and handed it to Nate.
The crowd applauded and Landerman smiled. Joe winked at Marybeth to acknowledge his role in the ruse.
The band was simple white gold and it would look good next to Liv’s diamond ring. The stone was mounted in the crux of two gold talons. Nate had designed it himself.
As he handed the band to Landerman, Joe took in the small crowd. He found himself instantly melancholy over who was there and who wasn’t.
His entire family sat in the front row in their sundresses and sandaled feet: Marybeth, Sheridan up from Saratoga, April over from Powell, and Lucy. Just looking at them gave him a lump in his throat.
Justin Hill wore his Navy blues and sat directly behind Lucy.
Ex-governor Spencer Rulon sat behind Marybeth with a rakish grin on his face the entire time, like this wedding had been his plan all along. He’d come alone, but he’d spread his arms out along the top of two chairs on either side as if to discourage visitors.
Sheriff Bob Marek and his wife, Cindy, occupied the third row. The two Marek boys thankfully took after their mother, Joe thought. They stood with Tyler and Brody Hamm, who were now living with Katelyn’s sister’s family in Casper. Joe felt for them and couldn’t even imagine what they were going through.
Liv’s mother, a spitfire from Louisiana, wore steel-framed glasses and a hat so wide it provided shade for her and Liv’s younger sister seated next to her.
But Joe also saw who wasn’t there. On empty chairs in the back there was no Dulcie Schalk, no Katelyn Hamm, no Ryle Hamm, and no Sheriff Mike Reed.
Marybeth had started a campaign to rename the Wyoming Game and Fish headquarters in Cheyenne the Katelyn Hamm Building in honor of the fallen game warden. Joe had asked his supervisor to let him make the case to the Game and Fish Commission at their next meeting.
Dulcie, who had said she’d try to make the wedding, was unable to. She was still at her family ranch near Laramie recovering from five gunshot wounds. She was on administrative leave—perhaps for good.
She’d been one of two survivors of the courthouse massacre, with Jeremiah Sandburg being the other. Sandburg had been flown back to the East Coast to recover.
Chuck Coon had retired almost immediately. His decision to stop and talk rodeo standings with Stovepipe instead of go outside with the others from the meeting had saved his life, but torpedoed his desire to remain with the bureau.
* * *
—
ALL OF THEM had been victims of the Wolf Pack. Not to mention Ernie Mecca, Papa Hill, Jeff Wallace, Tom Kinnison, Sunnie Magazine, Don Pollock, Tim and Karen Kelleher, Rex and Fran Behrman, Fidel from the Eagle Mountain Club, the unlucky couple from Colorado, and who knew how many others.
Joe still couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened. His mental recovery had been much more difficult than his physical recovery.
Nothing like the massacre or the gunfight at the Hill compound had ever happened before in Twelve Sleep County. Because three of the victims were FBI, the incident had made national news, but quickly faded away when other events superseded it.
That wasn’t the case in Saddlestring, or for Joe.
He still had trouble sleeping through the night, and the events of that day played over and over in his mind. Marybeth had suggested he should go through trauma counseling, and he’d agreed to seek it.
What he wouldn’t tell the counselor, though, was what had happened on the hunt for Abriella Guzman that day. Only Nate, Liv, and Marybeth knew.
And no one else.
* * *
—
THEY’D PURSUED HER through the lodgepole pines away from the Hill compound. Nate was swifter and more nimble. Joe stumbled from tree to tree, relying on a combination of adrenaline and vengeance to fuel him.
The bandage Nate and Lucy had wrapped around his shoulder was tight, and the bleeding hadn’t yet seeped through the fabric and tape.
They caught glimpses of her a couple of times. Once when she ran unsteadily across a mountain meadow but too distant for a shot, and another time as she scrambled over a rocky ridge before plunging down into the thick timber on the other side.
“She’s hit,” Nate said. “She’s bleeding out. She’s got to slow down soon.”
Joe noted splashes of blood on grass and rocks. It was no different than tracking a wounded animal.
“Damn,” Nate said with something like admiration. “There’s no quit in her. I don’t think there’s many full-grown men who could lose this much blood and keep going.”
Joe knew that on the bottom of the next incline there was a logging road that was used by locals to access an area the forest service had designated for cutting firewood. He told Nate that if she got all the way down there, it was possible she could intercept a vehicle and get away.
“She won’t get that far,” Nate said.
And she didn’t.
“Hey,” she called out. “Listen to me.”
She’d stopped behind a group of boulders on the other side of a clearing.
“I was their prisoner,” she said. “I’m the real victim here.”
Joe and Nate stood behind thick tree trunks, using them as cover. Joe looked over and Nate’s reaction was a dismissive eye roll.
“They held me for months,” she cried. “They put me in a cage. When they brought me out, it was to rape me. They got me to do what they wanted.”
Joe was torn on what to do, so he followed procedure. He summoned enough strength to shout, “Abriella, throw down your weapons and walk toward us. Keep your hands on the top of your head.”
“They took everything from me,” she said. “I’m the victim. I’ll tell you everything.”
Joe almost believed her. He looked to Nate for his reaction.
Nate was looking elsewhere, to the right, into a thick belt of mountain juniper.
He said, “Here they come.”
“Here who comes?” Joe asked.
Nate chinned to the direction he was fixed on. Joe followed his line of sight.
The black alpha male nosed out of the brush, his attention focused on the bleeding woman in the rocks. Behind him, the rest of the pack milled impatiently. Joe got glimpses of black, brown, and tan coats.
Abriella said, “I’m really hurt bad. I can’t come to you. You need to help me.”
“Throw the weapons out first,” Joe said.
“I will. I’m really hurt.”
The semiautomatic handgun slid over the top of one of the rocks and fell to the grass at its base. It was the weapon she’d used to dispatch the handsome man.
“There, I did it,” she said. Her voice sounded weak and pain-filled. “I need a doctor, fast.”
Joe felt a pang of sympathy for her.
Until Nate said, “She’s a manipulative little minx, isn’t she? She still has the submachine gun.”
Then: “There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
Following the lead of the black alpha male, the wolf pack broke into a sprint across the clearing toward Abriella’s location. Joe could hear the heavy padding of oversized dog feet.
Apparently, Abriella couldn’t until it was too late. They were on her before she could swing the weapon in their direction. She didn’t know about Nate’s special relationship with animals.
What Joe knew he would never forget for the rest of his life were the sounds of the attack while it was going on. Snarling, barking, breaking bones, and the inhuman cries of a woman being torn apart by sharp teeth . . .
* * *
—
“YOU MAY KISS the bride,” Landerman said to Nate with a lopsided grin.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author would like to thank the people who provided help, expertise, and information for this novel. Robert Anglen, investigative reporter for the Arizona Republic, provided valuable insights into the workings of the federal witness protection program (WITSEC) in a case gone wrong. Wyoming game warden Kim Olson provided her time, perspectives, and observations.
Jeremy Barnes, to whom this book is dedicated, is a law enforcement officer from Utah who risked his life and thwarted an armed robbery while on vacation in Montana. He said he was inspired by Joe Pickett.
Special kudos to my first readers, Laurie Box, Molly Box, Becky Reif, and Roxanne Woods.
A tip of the hat to Molly Box and Prairie Sage Creative for cjbox.net and social media assistance.
It’s a sincere pleasure to work with professionals at Putnam, including Mark Tavani, the legendary Neil Nyren, Ivan Held, Alexis Welby, Ashley McClay, and Katie Grinch.
And thanks once again to my terrific agent and friend, Ann Rittenberg.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. J. Box is the author of eighteen Joe Pickett novels, five stand-alone novels, and a story collection. He has won the Edgar, Anthony, Macavity, Gumshoe, and Barry Awards, as well as the French Prix Calibre .38, and has been a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist. A Wyoming native, Box has also worked on a ranch and as a small-town newspaper reporter and editor. He lives outside Cheyenne with his family. His books have been translated into twenty-seven languages.
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C. J. Box, Wolf Pack
