CHAPTER
9
THE WOMAN CLIMBED out of her ride. It wasn’t police wheels. It was a plain, decades-old pickup truck with a four-speed stick drive and three transmission antennas drilled in the cab’s roof. It also had a white custom camper with side windows and a flip-top gate on the back with the word “Chevy” stenciled on it. The truck’s pale blue was not the original color.
Samantha Cole was not in uniform. She was dressed in faded jeans, white T-shirt, a WVU Mountaineers windbreaker, and worn-down calf-high boots. The butt of a King Cobra double-action .45 revolver poked from inside her shoulder holster. It was on the left side, meaning she was right-handed. She was a sliver under five-three without the boots, and a wiry one-ten with dirty blonde hair that was long enough to reach her shoulders. Her eyes were blue and wide; the balls of her cheekbones were prominent enough to suggest Native American ancestry. Her face had a scattering of light freckles.
She was an attractive woman but with a hard, cynical look of someone to whom life had not been overly kind.
Cole stared at Puller’s Malibu and then up at the house where the Reynoldses sat dead all in a row. One hand on the butt of her gun, she advanced up the gravel drive. She passed the Lexus when it happened.
The hand was on her before she realized it. Its grip was iron. She had no chance. It pulled her down and then over to the other side of the car.
“Shit!” Her fingers closed around the long, thick fingers. She could not break the grip. She tried to pull her gun with her other hand, but it was blocked by her attacker’s arm pinning hers against her side. Cole was helpless.
“Just stay down, Cole,” the voice said into her ear. “There might be a shooter out there.”
“Puller?” she hissed as she turned to him. Puller released his grip and squatted next to the right front fender of the Lexus. He flipped up his night optics. He had one M11 in hand. The other pistol was parked back in its rear holster.
“Good to meet you.”
“You nearly gave me a heart attack. I never even heard you.”
“That’s sort of the point.”
“You about crushed my arm. What, are you bionic?”
He shrugged. “No, I’m just in the Army.”
“Why did you grab me?”
“Your guy named Wellman?”
“What?”
“The cop on guard duty tonight?”
“Yeah, Larry Wellman. How’d you know that?”
“Somebody strung him up in the basement of the house and then stole his ride.”
Her face collapsed. “Larry’s dead?”
“Afraid so.”
“You said there might be a shooter?”
He touched his optics. “Saw a flash of movement through a window of the house when I heard you pulling up.”
“From where?”
“The woods behind the house.”
“You think they… ?”
“I don’t presume. Why I grabbed you. Already killed one cop, so what’s another to them?”
She gave him a searching glance. “I appreciate that. But I can’t believe Larry’s dead. No wonder he didn’t answer my call.” She paused. “He’s got a wife and a new baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You sure he’s dead?”
“If I weren’t I would’ve cut him down and tried to resuscitate him. But trust me, it would’ve been pointless. He hasn’t been dead long, though. Body’s still warm.”
“Shit,” she said again, her voice shaky.
He drew in her scent. Her breath smelled of mints with the tobacco lapping right underneath. No perfume. She hadn’t taken time to wash her hair. He glanced at his watch. She had gotten here two minutes ahead of her own deadline.
He saw her eyes start to glisten; a wobbly tear freed itself and slid down her cheek.
“You want to call it in?” he asked.
She answered in a dull, tired voice, “What? Oh, right.” She hastily wiped her eyes and pulled out her phone. She drilled in the numbers. She spoke fast but clearly, also putting out a BOLO on the missing police cruiser. The woman had gone from emotionally paralyzed to professional in a few seconds. Puller was impressed.
She closed the phone.
“How many officers do you have available?” he asked.
“We’re a rural county, Puller. Lot of space, not a lot of dollars. Budget cuts have wrecked us; cut our force by a third. And three of my guys are reservists who are currently in Afghanistan. So that translates into us having a total of twenty-one uniforms to cover about four hundred square miles. And two of them are banged up from a car crash last week.”
“So nineteen. Including you?”
“Including me.”
“How many are coming now?”
“Three. And that’s a stretch. And it won’t be fast. They’re nowhere near here.”
Puller looked toward the woods. “Why don’t you stay here and wait for them and I’ll go check out whatever it was I saw in the woods.”
“Why would I stay here? I’m armed. Two’s better than one.”
“Suit yourself.” He eyed the woods, did the run-through logistics in his mind. It was so ingrained in him that he thought about it thoroughly without seeming to think about it at all.
“You ever been in the military?” he asked.
She shook her head. “State police for four years before I came back here. For the record, I’m a hell of a shot. Got the ribbons and trophies to prove it.”
“Okay, but you mind if I take the lead on this search?”
She looked out at the dark woods and then at his large, muscular physique.
“Works for me.”