The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1) (32 page)

When he finally found a spot where he could see most of the building, he parked himself against the trunk and wished for night vision glasses to sweep the area. Marcus’ van had been backed up toward the dock, but at an odd angle. The rear doors were open. It looked empty, but Kit’s hog wasn’t in his field of view.

Surprised no one was in sight, Josh took a minute to assess the situation. If Marcus was right, if Kit intended to barter the drugs in exchange for them leaving Petilune alone, then it was a really bad move on his part. Drug dealers weren’t known for keeping their word.

He knew in his bones, down to his very core, that Kit Giniw was more than an interchangeable cog in the local drug trade. He’d been sent to the area for a reason. Whether it was as scout to ease the way for the white guys, or as motivation for the Goggles brothers to step up their game, or even for reasons known only to Kit, he really had no clue. The ties seemed to point toward him infiltrating the network already in place. There were so many ways for Kit to insinuate himself into what the Goggles had going that it nearly made him sick because none of it bode well for Petilune’s future.

What if he’d deliberately misled the girl into thinking he liked her, that he’d be her champion? What if it was all an act and he didn’t give a shit... using her like he used everyone else?

But then why come to him, why warn him to keep an eye out for the girl? And why steal her from the school if not to protect her?

Or... was there a possibility he was holding the child hostage in return for getting his hands on the product? That might account for the Goggles teens being there, though they’d given little indication they gave a shit one way or the other, allowing Janice to offer her only daughter to Marcus in return for enough loose change to keep herself numb.

The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Marcus had sent a text:
ETA 45
.

He muttered, “Damn it,” and clamped his mouth shut as a crunching sound drew his attention to the right side of the store. Two men were on stealth approach, one short and wiry, the other tall and beefy. The short one eased farther away from the store and melted into the foliage. The tree limbs deadened sound to his left, but there were no prizes for guessing at least one more was circling around the other side of the building.

If they held to habit, the driver would stay with the vehicle as insurance and lookout for anyone entering the lot from the highway. Josh hadn’t bothered to give much thought to the mystery driver. Whoever he was, he was good... getting Dee and his buddies away clean and fast, first at the church picnic, then at the high school. That was a skill set that required some training and chutzpah. And a really good knowledge of the area.

That begged the question: where were Petilune’s brothers? Inside with Kit looking for the stash, or outside lurking in the trees, waiting for an opportunity?

Aside from a stack of feed buckets against the wall, the loading dock was empty, the overhead doors shut. It was too quiet.

Dee walked into a sliver of light and motioned toward the van. Confused, Josh risked being seen and moved to a spot where he got a better look at whatever was playing out. He recognized the man he’d let sail over a car hood when he’d waded in to get to Will Barnes. With a sinking gut he also recognized the small bundle hog-tied and being dragged across the gravel.

God help me. Petilune. What the hell?

The man propped the girl against his hip. She wavered enough Josh feared they’d drugged her. His shoulders tensed as the acrid scent of gasoline wafted toward him.

Dee spoke, the sound echoing hollowly against the metal doors. “Here’s your pet, eagle boy, like I promised. All in one piece. Mostly.” The man gripping Petilune snickered. “Now it’s your turn, Giniw.”

A red haze settled over Josh’s eyes; his ears buzzed with the screech of metal. Tongue tangling with his teeth released a gush of thick iron and copper heat to coat his lips and throat. He sighted down the barrel, shoulders shaking.

Take the shot, take it.

Dee moved away, putting some space between Petilune and her captor. A glint jogged Josh’s memory, staying his hand. Petilune whimpered, then abruptly gagged and went silent.

The metal overhead doors screeched and rolled upwards, distracting all of them momentarily. When they’d opened fully, Kit stood in the doorway, palms up. He waved to a pile of packing crates.

“It’s all there, Dee. Now let her go.”

Where are the brothers, where, where, where?

Air thick with fumes, Josh clamped a hand over his mouth. The crunch of gravel to his right had him ducking behind a tree. Jackie sauntered out of the shadows, hefted a gas can and nodded toward Dee.

Dee barked, “You and Joey, load that shit in the van and make it quick. And be sure it’s all there.” His voice oozed disdain. “We don’t want Golden Eagle’s minders to think we ain’t got integrity.” With his revolver, he motioned for Kit to move out of the way.

Grimly, Kit complied. Never once taking his eyes off Petilune, he growled, “You got what you came for, asshole. Let her go.”

Dee nodded and said something to the man holding Petilune. The girl dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Kit jumped off the dock and carried her limp body to the steps. After carefully removing her bindings, he cradled her tenderly in his arms. When he looked up at Dee, the hate in the boy’s eyes was enough to scare the crap out of Josh.

Dee nodded with satisfaction as Jackie Goggles shut the van doors with a loud clunk. He said to Kit, “Inside and take your pet with you.”

Kit set Petilune on the steps and stalked toward Dee, shouting, “Fuck you, man. You’ll never get away with this.”

“Looks like I already have, loser.”

“I’ll come for you,
Wiinuk!
. There’s no place you can hide from me.”

The sweet tang of burning wood assaulted Josh’s nostrils. He spun, lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted on Dee as the big man took aim at Kit.
Trust the training
. Squeezing off a round, Josh watched Dee’s shoulder jerk, his arm bucking at he spun from the impact. Twisting to find his next target, Josh gasped as Kit folded into a heap on the ground.

Someone screamed. Then his leg exploded in agony as he tumbled toward the hard ground. A second blow to his kidneys bent him in half. The phone vibrated in his pocket next to his heart.

Marcus. It was Marcus.

Please don’t, don’t come, don’t...

––––––––

H
is cell phone buzzed. It was Det. Calhoun. “Talk to me, Marcus. What’s going on?”

Not bothering to hide his panic, Marcus bellowed, “I don’t fucking know! Josh went around back, the others are at the store. He told me to wait, see if somebody leaves. See where they go.”

He slapped the steering wheel hard. The sound reverberated, a jarring reminder of how helpless he was, parked on the highway, staying out of trouble. Doing what he was told while Josh was there, planning who the hell knew what. And putting himself in danger.

Minutes, then hours, and finally days ticked off inside his head. Calhoun kept up a chatter, keeping him informed. They’d had to call people in. Laramie PD wasn’t exactly flush with personnel which meant adding Cheyenne PD to their rescue unit. Men and women hustled to get to a staging area, suit up, and get instructions. They’d add emergency vehicles, just in case.

Wars came hot, fast—unexpected—but battles needed planning. There’d been little warning for this. Marcus understood all that. It didn’t help.

The hill jutting against the narrow berm on the south side of the highway shut off his view of all but the entrance to the parking lot. He’d see someone leaving, turning right or left, but other than that he was deaf, dumb and blind.

Words squawked. He ignored them. Calhoun and his people were scrambling. Meeting an impossible deadline.
There in forty-five
. Marcus suspected that would be far too late. He debated taking the turnoff onto the fire service road, following Josh around back. If nothing else, he’d at least see what was happening. At that point he cared less where the assholes got to than needing to know that Josh wasn’t lying dead in a pool of blood.

And Petilune. God, what if the girl was there too?

Calhoun asked a question, repeated it. “Marcus! Do you know this Three Bar Guest Ranch?’

“What? Yeah. It’s new. Why?”

“Manager reported a break-in. One of the cabins. Said it looked like a bomb had gone off in there.”
Oh sweet Jesus.
Calhoun’s voice jerked, fading in and out. Marcus guessed he was mobile, but not driving. Maybe reading from a file. The detective confirmed it, explaining, “There was a report of vandalism a few weeks ago. Kid kind of crap.”

Marcus laughed, dry and hoarse. It wasn’t funny. “Not kids. Josh and me think Kit’s been crashing there all this time.”

Calhoun swore steadily. Marcus repeated it, echoed it, hated it. It had all happened right under their noses. Centurion’s version of Armageddon. His friends, neighbors all put at risk. For what?

Strangers had come, blindsiding them, hitting on their futures. Shattering innocence. Leaving a trail of violence and mayhem. How did that happen? How did somebody like Kit, or the dealers, just waltz right in and nail them all where they lived?

Bam. One salvo and it had been a done deal.

How?

Calhoun growled through the speaker, “We’ll find out, Marcus. Just hang in there. We’re on our way.”

Marcus shuddered, unaware he’d been speaking out loud. He disconnected from Calhoun and texted Josh:
Coming in
.

The road behind him was clear. He scanned the entrance to his store, did a quick calculation, decided against it—too many imponderables. The engine roared to life. He turned the wheel hard and popped the clutch, sending the truck fishtailing across the road diagonally, aiming for the blank spot in the treeline. He was used to the vehicle—its quirks, the rattles and gasps, how it wheezed under a load, the crash like a parade of metal trash can lids clanging together when he hit a bump. He’d be going in like a brass band at a football game.

Gearing back, he tapped the brakes and slowed, using night sight to find his way. Once past the sharp bend ahead, he’d pull over where it opened up enough to park. Then he’d walk the rest of the way. Josh would kill him if he barged in, maybe ruined whatever he’d planned. Worst yet, alerted Dee and his henchmen they had company before Josh was willing to spring his surprise.

It was all guesswork. It kept him thinking positive, that Josh had it all under control. He’d just be backup, cleanup, coming in after his man had taken them all down.
Keep thinking that, Colton, and you’ll end up dead, too.

Killing the engine, he grabbed the Browning and loaded up his pockets with shells. The shoulder holster wasn’t a good fit, digging into the soft flesh at his waist. He’d told Josh he knew how to adjust it. He didn’t. Now it irritated him.

Irritation was distracting. He couldn’t afford it. Neither could Josh. Marcus slipped it off and tucked the 9 mil in the small of his back, praying he wouldn’t embarrass himself by shooting a hole through his ass.

Josh wouldn’t approve...

He checked the time. Thirty minutes, probably more, especially if part of the team was coming from Cheyenne. That was a long haul from there to Laramie, then the additional mileage to Centurion. The total mileage eluded him...

We’re on our way.

The time bomb ticking away in his head pumped adrenalin, enough he barely registered passing Josh’s truck, legs pumping, muscles screaming. Skidding to a stop, Marcus bent over, his lungs damn near collapsed from the effort. He sucked air, tried orienting himself but heard nothing except a whine and the blood pumping through his veins.

He smelled it before he saw it, though his brain fought him on the significance. Ducking behind a dense line of pines, he paused as the taste of hell coursed to the back of his throat, leaving him gagging and dropping to the ground. He shimmied under the lower branches, elbows and knees driving him forward until he spied a figure, dark against the yellow and orange backdrop.

A sharp pop followed an explosion of sound, then yelling, followed by chaos. Marcus rolled, positioned his shotgun, and took aim. The shadowy figure moved, stepping awkwardly.

Recognizing the limp, Marcus grunted, “Fuck,” and gathered himself, preparing to stand. He glanced at the ground, willing his body to
move, move, move, dammit
. When he looked up, a smaller man lunged toward Josh, swinging something big and thick, aiming low and hard. Josh went down amid a crack as the weapon connected and dumped him to the ground. He howled in pain, the explosion of agony cut short in a grunt as a boot connected, once, twice.

Marcus lunged to his feet and bolted toward Josh’s assailant, fighting low-hanging limbs and rough ground and the shock of watching the stranger raise the weapon for a final, killing blow. Tossing the shotgun, Marcus reached for the pistol and emptied the clip. Bullets zinged and ricocheted in all directions.

Terror, insanity, and despair rocked a world lit in hellfire. Josh’s assailant was panic-running like the devil himself was after him, his body canted left as he dragged his leg toward the van. Doors opened, closed. The engine fired up, tires spun. Marcus ejected the clip, slapped another one in, kept running, circling on the edge of the parking area.

He had no clue who or what was in the van. The drugs for sure, otherwise why take it? He didn’t give a shit about that. He feared they’d gotten Petilune. He couldn’t allow that.

The passenger door swung open. Someone yelled, the wounded man jumped in. As the door swung shut, Marcus planted his feet and took aim, hands shaking with the effort. The gun bucked violently, bullets pinging off gravel and metal.

The van teetered on two wheels, then settled and accelerated toward the tight turn at the corner of the building. It was no longer white, having taken on the garish reflection of his world going up in flames.

Marcus took a breath, held it, let it out... squeezing the trigger steadily, making adjustments as time slowed to a crawl. He had one and only one chance. Tempted to shut his eyes, he bit his lip instead, drawing blood. Fired.