To my right, I heard the sound of the passenger door opening and then the thud of a body falling to the ground. I heard movement, clawing in the snow. At least the truck was between Mink and the vigilante.
Inches from my face, Shadow had his fangs bared. For a moment, I wondered if the wolf had been hurt. The growl coming from deep within his chest made the hairs rise along my arms. I pulled my .357 loose from its holster and readied myself to sit up and begin squeezing off what were likely to be the last shots of my life.
Shadow growled again. The return fire was bound to strike the carrier. In my carelessness, I had doomed this hapless animal, as well. For the briefest instant, the sound transported me back into Dyer’s house as I’d charged through the door with the bite sleeve on my arm. An idea came to me.
“I have your dog, Dyer!”
There was no response.
I tried again. “Your dog is in the back of this truck with me! I have it in a carrier! Listen!”
I knocked the side of the crate with the barrel of my pistol and Shadow let out another snarl.
“You’re going to kill it if you keep firing,” I said. “Or maybe I will.”
I heard the crunch of boots on snow. Heard him advance a few more yards, then stop.
“Let her go,” Logan Dyer said.
“No way! You’ll just start shooting again.”
“I won’t! I swear.”
I pretended to mull over his promise. “I have your word on that?”
“Yes!”
Now if only the angry wolf wouldn’t bite my face off. I repositioned myself in the truck bed, made sure the grip on my weapon was secure. Then with my left hand, I reached up and squeezed the lock to open the carrier gate.
Shadow came charging out and leaped gracefully over the edge of the truck onto the road.
“What—” I heard Logan Dyer say.
As he recoiled from the shock of seeing a wolf coming toward him instead of his hound, I sat up, took aim, and fired a shot into his chest. He toppled straight back. The carbine went flying.
I pulled myself out of the truck bed and barely managed to maintain my footing. I kept my weapon leveled at the man on the ground. My knee twinged with every step. And I was pretty sure I’d popped my stitches.
Shadow had gone bounding past Dyer, seemingly intent on making his escape, but to my surprise, the wolf had stopped in the road and turned. He was now watching me as I advanced on the unmoving vigilante.
I heard footsteps behind me. “Holy moly! Did you get him?”
“I got him. Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. Is that a freaking wolf?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Holy moly!”
I kicked the AR-15 away from Dyer’s outstretched arm. I stood with my gun pointed at his heart. His foot twitched, and then his hand, and then he let out a moan. For an instant, it seemed he might be rising like a zombie from the dead.
I bent down and poked his chest. There was no blood. My finger touched some kind of hard plate.
Damn, if the son of a bitch wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest.
*
I dragged Dyer to a birch at the side of the road and handcuffed him with his arms wrapped around the trunk. Shadow had retreated farther down the hill, but he continued to watch. I had a brief thought that if I left the helpless vigilante alone, the wolf might devour him. It would have been a fitting punishment in my opinion, but I was already going to have a hard time explaining the events of the past few hours.
So it had been Dyer after all. All the signs had pointed to him. He’d left a signed confession on his kitchen table. Who else had I been expecting?
I slapped his stubbled face to get his attention. “Dyer! Wake up!”
He groaned. When he opened his mouth, I saw his stunted tongue.
“Where’s Adam?” I said.
“Fuck you.”
“What did you do with Adam Langstrom?”
“Fuck you.”
“Talk to me. Tell me where he is.”
He started to giggle. I slapped him again—this time just for the hell of it.
Mink perched himself atop a snowbank and offered a running commentary that was heavy on constructive criticism on what I should be doing.
“You sure he can’t slip out of those cuffs? I knew a guy who could dislocate himself. How come your truck doesn’t have bulletproof glass? He shot it all to kingdom come. I’m lucky he didn’t hit my liver or some other organ. This has been an unusual night!”
“You lost your wig,” I said.
He clapped his hand atop his head and let out a curse. Then he slid down from his place of observation and began searching in and around the truck for his red-haired mop.
I told Mink to keep an eye on Dyer.
“Where are you going?” he asked, looking up from his hands and knees.
“I’m taking his snowmobile down the road until I can get a signal. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What about that freaking wolf?”
Good question.
Dyer had a nice sled, a Yamaha Phazer—vintage, but he had maintained it well. When I opened the throttle, I needed to hang on for dear life.