CASSIE RODE WITH HER HEAD bent forward so when the branches reached out for her in the dark they wouldn’t claw her face. The horses were nose-to-tail now and she’d learned to surrender her trust to both Gipper and Bull to lead them in the right direction.
They’d climbed up the mountain and were exposed briefly above the timberline before plunging back into the forest on the other side. The moon was as thin and pale as a fingernail clipping but the stars were bright and hard. She’d looked around her in the open to confirm that Pompy and Thomsen were right behind her.
They seemed to be on a game trail because they were no longer pushing through downed timber or meandering through the trees. She could see her breath in pale puffs and her fingers were cold.
The men didn’t talk at all. Not that they should, but the fact they didn’t drove home how serious it had become. She wished she could talk to Leslie and tell her what they were doing. It always felt good to talk things out.
But not now.
When they left the timber and found themselves in a starlit mountain meadow, Bull turned his horse to the side and stopped until everyone was accounted for. In the stark pale light the old man looked tough.
“How close are we?” she whispered to him.
“Couple of miles. We’re close.”
When they were gathered in the meadow and the condensation clouds puffed out and rose from both the men and their horses, Cassie leaned forward in her saddle to address them. She spoke softly.
“Remember, this is the guy who’s killed dozens of women and never got caught. He faked his own death and wiped out some good men in my sheriff’s department, including my fiancé. When we get close to those cabins we need to keep alert.”
“For what?” Pompy asked.
“Booby traps—ambushes. I don’t know.”
Pederson said, “I think your friends might have already found one.”
Cassie nodded.
“I can’t see worth shit,” Thomsen said.
“None of us can,” Bull said. “What you need to do is keep all your senses wide open. Don’t get keyed up and distracted. Look around you. Listen. Smell. Remember that he can’t see shit either.”
A half hour later the game trail merged onto a rough two-track. Pederson dismounted and shined a mini Maglight on the road. Cassie could see fresh tire tread tracks in his beam.
“Somebody’s been up here, all right,” Pederson said as he climbed back on his horse.
Bull led them right down the middle of the old road. Now that they didn’t have to worry about the terrain or overhanging branches, they picked up speed.
*
RON FOLLOWED THE ORB of his headlamp down a different two-track. It was so dark that his world was only what he could see when he turned his head one way or other.
But he hadn’t gone a half mile from the cabin when he gleaned an idea of what he would find further down the road. Acrid smoke—the smell that came from burning fuel and plastic—crept along the ground.
He no longer thought an animal had tripped his wire. No elk, moose, or bear would smell like that. He knew how animals smelled when they were set on fire because as a teenager he’d observed them. Animals smelled of burnt hair and fat, like grease. No, this smell was from burning vehicles.
Then the pleasant smell of pine. The kind of smell that came when a tree was split or felled. Or blown to pieces.
Ron rounded a long oxbow turn in the road and orange light emerged through the trees in front of him. He reached up and choked his headlamp off. The light from the fire up ahead would be enough to see.
He paused and reached back to touch the grip of his pistol to assure himself it was there. Then he checked the loads in his shotgun and thumbed the safety off.
Then he cautiously walked ahead.
He was the Lizard King.
It was carnage. Mangled ATVs were thrown about like toys. Pieces of metal, plastic, and body parts flickered in the light of a gasoline fire from one of the four-wheelers. Lodgepole pines had been blown backwards exposing bright yellow-white fibrous breaks.
There were weapons, satellite phones, and clothing strewn about on the road. A boot with a man’s severed foot still in it sat upright like a bowling trophy.
He paused and counted the destroyed ATVs. There were six of them.
Then he heard a grunt.
Ron stepped around a burning four-wheeler and saw a man on the ground crawling toward the dark timber on the side of the road. He was using only his hands in an awkward swimming motion to advance himself. His legs didn’t seem to work. Blood glistened in the firelight on the back of his jacket.
Broken spine, Ron guessed.
He looked around to see if there were other survivors. He saw none. The fires crackled.
Then he approached the crawling man and stopped his progress by pinning down the man’s boot with his own.
“Hold up there, son.”
The wounded man looked back over his shoulder. His face was pale and his eyes were wide and scared. He was wearing outdoor clothing and tactical gear that looked straight out of the box. He had a nice haircut and bright white teeth. Ron checked to see if the man was armed and he appeared not to be.
“Who are you?”
“Nobody,” the man said.
That told Ron everything he needed to know. The wounded man was evasive, meaning he was up there to find him. Otherwise, he’d have asked for help. Plus, he was scared because he knew who had asked him the question.
Ron kept his boot on the man’s leg so he couldn’t move and he bent over to fish a wallet out of his cargo pants. He lit up his headlamp and flipped the wallet open.
“Avery Tibbs of Grimstad, North Dakota. You’re a long way from home. What is it you do there?”
“Please…”
“Please what? I asked you a question.”
The man looked over his shoulder and said, “I’m the county attorney.”
“Ah.”
“Look,” Tibbs said, “I have a lot of discretion. I have a lot of power. I won’t prosecute you if you let me go. In fact, I’ll vouch for your humanitarian instincts if you can get me to a hospital. I can’t feel my legs right now.”
“Really,” Ron said. “All that?”
“I just want to get home. I shouldn’t even be here. This agent from the FBI dragged me here despite my better judgment. He’s dead now, so we can make a deal.”
“You’d make a deal with me?”
“Absolutely. Of course. The only reason I’m here is because of Agent Rhodine and someone named Cassie Dewell. I’m just following up on a local problem. So if we can come to an agreement I can promise you you’ll walk. I mean, you aren’t responsible for this debacle, are you? We just blindly drove into it.”
Ron closed the wallet and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. The pocket was still filled with Tiffany’s collar so fitting the wallet in was difficult.
He said, “You lawyers always think you can talk yourself out of everything.”
“That’s not the right way to look at it,” Tibbs said quickly. “Not the right way at all. Look—we can decide who to prosecute and what to ignore. I’m a fucking master at ignoring things. We can spin this so you rescued me…”
“So you’re telling me the law is flexible?” Ron asked.
“Absolutely it is,” Tibbs nodded.
“Then that means there is no right or wrong.”
“Not in a court of law.”
Ron lowered the shotgun and shot Tibbs in the head.