Cold Lake (24 page)

Patterson slammed the brakes, fishtailing to a stop and then stuck her head out the window.

Cursing as the engine fan kicked on, she craned her neck, trying to catch the echo of sound waves she thought she just heard.

Nothing.

As she ducked her head into her cab again she heard a gunshot.
Another
gunshot. It was as clear as day this time, without the rumble of tires to drown it out. Wrenching the radio off her center comms console, she thumbed the button.

“This is Patterson, come in.”

She leaned out the window again and listened.

The radio scratched and then a loud whining noise blasted out. “…ahead.”

Whatever Wolf had just said had been mostly drowned out by the sound of the boat and rushing wind.

“I just heard a gunshot.”

A pause.

She let off the brake and eased forward down County 74. She was almost to the County 16 turnoff that led to the Grey and Heeter places. The Kiplings, she corrected herself, but what was this development? Did they need to change their plans?

Damn it.
The response was taking too long. She brought the radio up to her lips but it barked before she pressed the button again.

“The plan stays the same.” Wolf’s voice was distorted as he yelled over the din.

“10-4. I’m almost at the turn off.”

“Let me know when you’re there.”

“10-4.”

Patterson dropped the radio and drove. The road climbed and she saw over the tops of the trees to the left for a few seconds, and caught a glimpse of a motorboat slicing through the smooth water in the distance, and she was surprised that it was actually ahead of her.

Looking back at the road, she just barely straightened before she careened off the steep edge on the left.

“Pay attention!” She yelled at herself. Her breathing was borderline hyperventilation. The whole time she’d raced up here with screaming sirens, at one time reaching one hundred twenty miles per hour on a straightaway, passing every and all vehicles in a blur, she’d been gripping the wheel with white knuckles, all the while going through scenarios in her mind—none of which were ending well inside her imagination. And now there were gunshots?

She shook her head and slapped the wheel. Maybe they were Rachette’s gunshots, and he was standing over injured killers right now. Or maybe he was lying on the ground bleeding out.

Damn it!
She had to think like Wolf. The man was a warrior.
Think like Wolf.

She gripped the wheel with her white-knuckle grip again and bared her teeth. She felt sorry for these bitches.

“You there yet?” The radio squawked.

Her pulse jumped even higher. No. She wasn’t. “No. Not yet. A few more minutes.”

“Okay. We’re approaching fast. We saw Rachette’s vehicle. Make the call.”

“Okay. 10-4.”

She twisted the dial to channel 14, the designated vehicle-to-vehicle communication channel their department used, and pressed the button. “Deputy Rachette, do you have a copy?”

“Come on. Come on,” she whispered.

There was no response.

She pressed the button again. “Unit 3 this is Unit 8, do you have a copy?”

She waited five Mississippi’s. No answer.

She flipped the switch back to the encrypted channel and pressed the button. “No answer.”

“Okay.” Wolf’s response was immediate. “We go in.”

Patterson pressed the gas and the engine screamed, pulling her back in the seat.

Wolf pressed the soft rubber eyepieces of the high-powered binoculars to his eyes and tried to steady the shaking image of the cliff top. The wind was too much at these speeds. Tiny details like people milling about outside the cabin, and where each of them stood was impossible to see.

Tucking the binoculars behind the passenger side windshield he sat down in the sheltered seat and zipped up the rear of his wet suit.

Wilson looked over at him with a wary eye.

Wolf gave him the thumbs down signal and Wilson pulled back on the throttle, bringing the speed to half, raising the nose of the boat. The engine noise lowered in pitch, though not in volume.

He took the radio and shoved it in the 10 by 7 inch dry bag, and then slid his Glock in after it. Zipping it shut, he tied two half- hitches in the nylon line around his wrist and, just to be safe, tied an overhand knot with the free end to keep the previous knots from slipping.

That finished, he twisted in his chair, feeling the dive knife against his flexed calf as he stood up, and with a few hard pulls he tightened the climbing harness around his legs and waist, making sure the belay device known as a Grigri he’d borrowed from Baine was solidly affixed and the carabiners were locked.

Turning forward, the wind pushed against his chest, chilling him to the bone. He looked up at the granite cliffs and shook out his arms, doubting he was in shape for the climb ahead, and it had been years since he’d had experience on any sort of rock face. Adrenaline and perseverance would get him where he needed to go, he assured himself. The cam inside the Grigri would pinch the rope, arresting any fall should he slip while climbing, and the device would give him ample opportunities to hang and rest his muscles on the way up. Of course, time was of the essence. There was not going to be much rest.

Wilson eyed him again. “You know, people don’t normally leave climbing ropes anchored for days on end. Those things are expensive, and there’s a damn good chance it’ll be gone.”

Wolf had already brought up the same objection to himself. It had been Friday evening when Kimber,
or Rachel,
pointed out the rope dangling over her backyard cliff. “And killers don’t normally have their stack of mutilated bodies discovered by the cops. I’m willing to bet they’ve had other stuff on their minds besides bringing in the climbing ropes.”

Wilson shook his head, clearly unconvinced at the entire plan, but that failed to faze Wolf.

“I’m just saying,” Wilson pressed, “if there’s no rope. I don’t want you going up that cliff.”

“I’m not looking to die today. I’ll skirt to the south and find another way up if need be.”

That seemed to satisfy Wilson.

“Okay.” Wolf looked off the starboard side at the small island in the distance. “You know what to do. Stay on the other side of that island until you hear otherwise. Keep everyone else back. I don’t want another unit traveling down that road.”

Wilson nodded with wide eyes. “I know, sir.”

Wolf pulled the hood over his head. As he straightened the edges around his face the pathway up the hillside from the Grey’s dock to the cabin came into view.

Without another word he clutched the dry sack in his left hand and dove off the back of the boat.

Rachette was yanked out of unconsciousness by a stabbing pain in his shoulder.

“Ah!” he cried.

Opening his eyes, he felt a familiar weight on his chest. Hannah was still on top of him.

The pain ebbed, and he saw she was concentrating on his shoulder. With another explosion of pain she leaned on his wound.

“Keep this on it.” She said.

Rachette kept still. It was like he had forgotten how to move.

“Here.” She took Rachette’s left hand and put it on his right shoulder. “Press.”

His jaw bounced uncontrollably. He was so cold. “Kimber?”

She sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Kimber.”

“Hannah?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s Rachel. Kimber. Whatever. Now don’t mess with her when she comes back.” She gripped some rustling fabric and pulled it up to his chin. “Keep this pulled up.”

Rachette looked down at his jacket, which was now draped over him. He croaked an unintelligible word and then gave up on responding.

She stood and walked away, her rain jacket swishing as she walked toward the stairway to the front porch.

Rachette shook his head and blinked his eyes. His shoulder was cold, and when he looked down he could see that the shirt had been ripped away. Kimber had done some first aid and now he was holding a wadded up piece of fabric on the wound.

The other Kimber barged out of the front door holding an open laptop computer and trotted down the steps.
Hannah.
The anger in her eyes told Rachette as much. The two were not identical in every way.

“You fix up your boyfriend?” She asked without looking at him.

“Yeah. He’ll live.”

She clicked a button and scoffed. “We’ll see.”

Rachette pulled away the fabric on his wound and looked underneath. An oozing red hole with striated muscle bulging out stared back at him. He shut his eyes and took a breath.

Slowly he propped himself on his elbow and looked around. Instinct was telling him he needed to elevate his upper body to slow the bleeding. His shoulder throbbed with each micro-movement, but he managed to shuffle over to his tire with his ass and good arm. When he reached it he collapsed backward and panted with sweat streaming down his face, his teeth sounding like a jackhammer in his skull.

The two women were glancing between the laptop screen and his sideshow performance.

“Not sure if you want to be awake for this. Your little partner just showed up. She’s been trying to get hold of you on the radio.”

Rachette looked at Hannah, the memory of the white SUV with roof lights on top coming back to him in a flash. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

Eyes locked on Rachette’s, Hannah handed off the laptop to Kimber and took a step toward him. Her face twisted in rage and then she tilted her head and slowed, and then she stopped.

With a jerk of her head she walked away and then jogged down to the edge of the precipice to look at the lake.

Rachette frowned, watching her strange actions, blinking in and out of partial consciousness. Then he heard a faint thrumming sound of an engine, and he saw why she’d ran.

A blue motorboat, out far enough that he could see it under the drop-off, slid by lazily, the wake spreading out into a white V behind it. With a smile he remembered wakeboarding with his sister in Omaha growing up. She used to suck. Could never get up. Had to resort to waterskiing with two skis.

“What are you laughing at?” Hannah was back in his face.

He looked up under heavy eyelids. “What?”

“I asked what you’re laughing at.”

Rachette squinted, trying to figure out who was talking to him.

The shock of the cold through Wolf’s eighth of an inch wetsuit was overshadowed by the violent wrenching of his body when he landed in the wake of the boat. He’d landed wrong, too vertical, and the momentum of the water sliding by twisted him for an instant, arching his back and twisting his neck like he was caught in a blender.

As his body stilled, he opened his eyes and let himself float to the top of the water. Poking his head out of the water, he took a soundless breath and began swimming toward the shore.

Panic arced through his body when he realized his arm was gliding too effortlessly through the water. The added resistance of the tied dry sack was not there.

Treading with strong kicks that were less than effective with climbing shoes on, he twirled, desperately searching for the yellow sack.

There.

Twenty feet away a bright yellow bag, now with a frayed nylon string slithering on the surface, was just below the top of the water.

In an instant he saw it was sinking.

Ducking his head, he pulled and kicked with all his strength.  A few strokes later, through his blurry vision, he saw a yellow rectangle plunging down, fluttering back and forth as it sank out of sight.

His ears plugged and squeaked as he dove down after it, but it was no use. He was too slow, and it was gone.

With a burst of bubbles he cursed at the top of his lungs and then broke the water in silence once again. Without looking back he swam towards the shore in a silent breaststroke.

Rachette felt himself moving and emerged into half-consciousness again. With a head-rattling scrape, he felt himself being pulled by each leg across the ground. He looked up and saw,
Kimber
it was, pulling him toward the steps to the house.

He opened his mouth and croaked.

“She’s here. Wait. She’s stopping.”

Kimber dropped Rachette’s legs and his body rocked to a halt. There was less pain now. Rachette knew that was a bad sign. With mild interest he watched Hannah and Kimber huddle at the laptop screen.

“She’s stopping right at the camera.”

Their concerned, identical, faces glowed from the laptop screen’s light.

“Into the woods?” Hannah frowned and shook her head, looking into the forest over and beyond Rachette. “They know we have motion and vibration sensors everywhere. What the hell is she doing?”

Kimber looked down at Rachette. “She’s coming for him.”

Hannah put the laptop down hard on the stairs. She pulled the gun from her waist and racked the slide. “You take this. Keep him covered. I’m going in to cut her off before she gets here.”

“Don’t!” Rachette’s shoulder exploded in pain as he yelled the word. “Patterson! Patters—”

Rachette’s teeth slammed together and his head jerked back.

Hannah pulled back her leg after kicking Rachette and stepped on his shoulder.

His entire world now a blast of pain on his right side, Rachette doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream. Between gasps, he heard footsteps receding into the distance.