"Recruit you for what?" I ask.
"No idea. They sent some guy to find me out here, make me an offer I couldn't refuse. I refused it. By hauling him into a tree like that she-cat hauled Silas, tying him to a limb and handing him his fancy satellite phone. Came back a few days later, and he was gone. I figure they sent someone to fetch him. Didn't really care one way or the other, as long as they didn't bother me again. They didn't."
"And you have no idea what they wanted you to do?"
"Hell, yeah, I have an idea. I just didn't bother asking him to confirm my suspicion. Thing is, kitten, I wasn't a bad sheriff, but a man like me? He's got one real skill. One real talent. And it ain't chopping down trees."
*
We've been walking for almost two hours, and the mountain is finally getting close when Dalton slows, his head tilting in a way I know well.
"You hear something, boy?" Cypher asks.
"Wondering if we're going to get there before nightfall."
"You afraid of the dark?"
"Just cautious."
"Too fucking cautious. You get that from your daddy. Always looked ten times before he leapt, and by the time he did, there was nothing left to leap at. He--"
"Boss?" Anders says. "I need a piss break."
"You gotta announce it, too?" Cypher waves at the side of the path. "No one's stopping you." When Anders glances my way, Cypher says, "Seriously? You think you got something she ain't seen before, boy?"
"Go on," Dalton says. "Just don't wander far."
Cypher's what-the-hell look turns to what-the-fuck when it's not Anders who lopes off into the forest--it's Dalton. Anders pulls his hood up, shielding his face.
"What--" Cypher begins.
"Ty?" I say. "While we're waiting, I've got a question for you. Eric says you claim you once took down a grizzly with your bare hands. He thinks it's bullshit--don't give me that look, Eric, you know you did--and I say it's possible. So how did you do it?"
I watch the wheels turn in Cypher's head, as he tries to figure out what's going on. But whatever his act, he's not a stupid man. He glances in the direction Dalton went and then eases back, saying, "You calling me a liar, boy? Fuck, yeah, I took down that bitch. Your daddy was there. Just ask him. We were out hunting, and this new idiot decided--"
A yelp resounds through the forest. Then Dalton's "What the hell? Shawn?" followed by a stream of indecipherable babble. Anders and I jog toward the voices as Cypher lumbers along behind us. We get about twenty paces. Then we see Sutherland lying in the snow with Dalton standing over him.
When Dalton reaches down, Sutherland balls up like a hedgehog, earning a grunt of disgust from Dalton as he pulls Sutherland to his feet.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Dalton says.
"I wanted to help. I heard you were going after the guy who tried to kill me, and I wanted to be there."
"We have no fucking idea if this is the guy."
"Which is why I came. So I can ID him. If it isn't, that'll save you bringing him back. If it is, then you can make him tell you where he's holding Nicki."
"How will you ID him?" I say as I walk over. "You never got a decent look at your attacker."
"I saw him in the forest, when he chased me back to Rockton."
"I saw that guy, too. Which means I can ID him ... as the guy who chased you back to Rockton. Not necessarily the person who attacked you last night or the one who took Nicole."
He stares at me. "But it's the same person. There's no way it can't be."
Dalton lets him go. "There are a hundred fucking ways it might not be the same person. That's why we have a goddamn detective in Rockton. To make sure it's him before we ship an innocent man down south, and then the real guy takes another victim."
"He killed two women. Held Nicki captive in a cave. Tried to kill me--twice. And is that all you're going to do? Ship him down south?"
"And what do you suggest?" Dalton says.
"If I can ID him?" He nods at Anders. "I hear Will's a good shot. Accidents happen."
Dalton wheels with a snarl that sends Sutherland staggering back. Cypher grabs Sutherland by the scruff of the neck.
"You want to take a swing at him, Eric? Aim for the kidneys. It'll hurt like hell but he'll be fine."
"If I wanted to take a swing at him, I would have, and I sure wouldn't do it with someone holding him."
"Good answer. The second part, at least. Not so sure about the first. At the very least"--he gives Sutherland a hard joggle--"maybe we can shake some sense into him."
"I was just saying--" Sutherland began.
"Fucking bullshit is what you were saying," Cypher says, tossing him aside. "What'd you do down south? Some damned office job, I bet. Push papers all day, go home and watch a cop show, see them send the bad guy to prison and tell yourself they're cowards, a real man woulda put a bullet through the fucker. Which only proves you've probably never even thrown a punch in your life, got no goddamn idea what it means to take a life. You think you're a man? You don't go telling a cop he should 'accidentally' shoot a perp. You do it yourself. I see that knife in your pocket. We catch this guy, we'll hold him down, let you take care of his worthless ass."
"Hell, no," Dalton says. "We are not--"
"I was making a point, boy. I'd be happy to hold Roger down for this office drone. He'd drop his damned knife and run. The point--" He grabs Sutherland before the other man can escape. "The point is that you don't ever call someone else a coward for not pulling that trigger. You want it done? You do it. Otherwise, they're not the fucking coward."
"Sun's dropping," Anders says.
Dalton nods. "I know. I'm going to need to ask you to escort Shawn back..." He trails off and murmurs, "Fuck," under his breath. He glances at me. I subtly shake my head. We can't afford to lose Anders, in case this turns out to be a trap. Nor, however, can we bring Sutherland along.
"I'll hang back," Sutherland says. "I'll be fine." He pulls that sheathed hunting knife from his parka pocket. "Whatever this jerk says, I'm not going to just stand there while someone attacks me. I made the choice to come out here. I'll live with the consequences."
"Or die with them," Cypher mutters. "Which all things considered, might not be the biggest loss in the world."
FIFTY-TWO
Sutherland is lagging behind, and he's acting as if he's being respectful, but there's a hangdog quality to it, like a kid dragging his feet because he's been scolded. It's pissing off the guys. These aren't men who can muster much sympathy for a guy like Shawn Sutherland. Cypher can obviously be a bully. Dalton isn't, but he can play the part. Anders can't even fake it, yet like Dalton, his problem with people like Sutherland is not that they can't throw a punch--it's that they seem incapable of looking after themselves and unwilling to learn. They really are, as Cypher said, the average citizen who expects the police or the army to protect them, that being their tax-given right, and any failure in that task leads to armchair-quarterback griping.
It isn't about physical strength. It's about being capable. Being able to protect yourself by strength or speed or wits or sheer resourcefulness, and if you can't do any of the above, then don't come running into the forest, where others have to take care of you, diverting them from their task.
I do feel sympathy for Sutherland. He's been through hell, and he's trying to be helpful. He's just not cut out for it. But then I wonder whether I'd be as quick to cut a woman the same slack. I have no patience with damsel-in-distress syndrome, and if a woman pulled this crap, that's what I'd accuse her of--getting attention by putting herself in harm's way and making others look after her. And maybe, if it was a woman, the guys would cut her that slack while I got pissy, a weird co-gender bias, where we have less patience for weakness among our own.
Even if I do feel bad for Sutherland, I don't fall back to chat and make him feel better. There's someone else who needs my support more.
"The militia aren't trained for this," I say to Dalton as we walk. He glances o
ver, and I continue, "That's what you're thinking. That they have, once again, failed in their duties, this time letting Sutherland escape."
"Goddamn comedy of errors," he mutters.
"Because they've trained to guard the town, not individuals."
"Then the fault lies with the fucking idiot in charge--"
"That'd be me," Anders says.
Dalton glances over. "What?"
"I train the militia, Eric. I'm their direct supervisor. That makes me the idiot. Yes, I know, you meant yourself. You hire them. You help train them. But they report to me. They're my responsibility. So unless you were going to say I'm the idiot--"
"Course not."
"Then shut up. This isn't about blame. Well, not unless we can blame the dumb-ass who escaped protective custody without stopping to think he was going to cause trouble for the guys trying to look after him. Casey's right. The militia isn't trained for this. We aren't trained for this."
"You know what your problem is, boy?" Cypher says to Dalton.
I wince. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to know."
"Like I'm pretty sure you're going to tell him anyway," Anders mutters.
"Your problem is a lack of options," Cypher says. "How many people in Rockton have actual law enforcement background? Anyone besides her?" He hooks a thumb at me. "Dollars to donuts, the answer's no."
I open my mouth to say Anders does, but he shakes his head, telling me not to bother. Cypher has a point, and, damn it, he's going to make it.
Cypher continues, "You don't get a lot of cops in Rockton, and that's not because they need protection less than the average person. It's a matter of statistics. For every cop, you're going to get five office drones, four shop clerks, three factory workers, two schoolteachers, and a fucking partridge in a pear tree. And of the lot of them, you know who'd make the best militia goon? The goddamn partridge. Hell, when I came to Rockton, there wasn't a cop in the entire town. That's why they made me sheriff. A fucking hit man was the closest thing they had to someone with law enforcement experience."
"Hit man?" Anders says. "Tell me that's a joke. You..." He trails off, as if remembering Cypher saying he knew the value of a human life and had worked for people who didn't give a damn about it.
"Shit," Anders says. "A damn hit man."
"A damn good hit man. Like I said, I got one talent. But general talent of the criminal variety? That's what you need more of on your team, boy. If cops aren't an option, get yourself some guys who've spent time on the other side of the law. They know how to do the job. Am I right?"
"Why are you looking at me?" Anders says slowly.
"Oh, come on. Is it that big a secret? I saw those biceps of yours in the station. Saw part of that tat, too. Both are the product of some leisure time courtesy of the Canadian penitentiary system."
"No, both the product of some hard-assed work time courtesy of the American army."
"Ah, so that's why you gave me that look when I talked about soldiers. Didn't argue, though, did you? You avoided jail by joining the army."
Anders's eyes slit now. "I beg your pardon?"
"Get your back down, boy. You know what I mean. Escaped the streets to make a life for yourself in the army. You get my respect for that more than if you'd spent time in jail. Only idiots get caught."
"The streets I grew up on were in a suburb," Anders says. "And the only gang I ever joined was the hall-monitor club in middle school, which I quit after the first month because they abused their power."
"Yeah, hall monitors can be nasty little pricks. First job I ever pulled was on one of them, back in grade eight." When Anders and I both stare at him, Cypher chuckles. "Oh, I'm kidding. Might have, though, if someone had offered me lunch money. But what you need to hire, Eric, is a few good criminals. No shortage of those in Rockton. And on that note, it's time to pipe down. We're almost there. Don't want Roger to hear company coming."
We spread out. Dalton goes into the woods, me following and taking up a position between him and Anders, who stays on the trail with Cypher. We walk about another hundred meters, until we can see a dip at the foot of the mountain, where Cypher claims Roger has set up camp. That's when Dalton signals Anders, who falls back temporarily to tell Sutherland to stay behind.
We get another hundred meters. I still can't see down into that dip, but Dalton motions for us to stop. Then he scales a tree. As he's going up, I gesture, asking if I can do the same. He nods.
I was never much of a tree climber in my youth. On my parents' list of approved childhood activities, it ranked just above trampolines, which they declared the greatest menace to children since the invention of the motor vehicle. But climbing is useful for doing exactly what Dalton was--getting a better vantage point.
I shimmy up the trunk until I reach a branch big enough to support me. By that time, Dalton is already stretched on a limb. He's alternating between looking at his target and glancing at me, to be sure I don't tumble to my doom. Once I'm stable, he turns his full attention to the scene below.
There is a campsite down there, with an old army tent, heavy canvas and low to the ground. The trampled snow suggests someone's been there for a while. Is that someone Roger? Or is this a well-constructed trap?
There's no sign of Roger himself. The campfire looks cold, no wisps of smoke or burning embers. I see none of the scattered detritus I expect at an active shelter site. Just a dead fire and a tent.
Dalton climbs down. I do the same, and by the time I reach the bottom, he's waiting.
"No sign he's there," I say. "The tent's closed, so I can't see inside. Like Tyrone said, it's a strategically located campsite, with no easy access for an ambush. If that means Roger is worried about an attack, he's not likely to nap midafternoon. I see plenty of foot trails coming and going. They seem to come from average-sized boots, and Tyrone does not have average-sized feet. But there's no way I'd call that solid evidence."
"Yeah," he says. In other words, he concurs and has nothing to add.
"I'm taking Ty and closing in," he says. "You and Will stay behind. Keep a wider view of the situation."
Dalton and Cypher begin a direct approach on the camp. If Roger's there, that'll trap him between the mountain and two lawmen.
When Dalton and Cypher begin down the dip, I move forward, keeping an eye on Dalton's back. If Cypher is going to attack, he'll swing behind and tackle him, getting Dalton on the ground as fast as he can.
I'm watching for that move when I hear a rustle behind me. Anders is standing ten meters away, poised and scanning the forest calmly, having heard nothing. I'm turning back to Dalton and Cypher when I catch a louder crackle and realize what it is.
Sutherland.
I madly gesture for Anders to stop Sutherland from getting closer. Anders nods, and he's taking off when I see a blur in the forest. A blur that is not Sutherland.
Someone is between Anders and Sutherland, and I can't run to find out who because that's not my priority. I have Dalton covered, and I cannot turn my back on him while Tyrone Cypher is at his side.
Anders picks up speed. He's spotted the third party. My gaze swings from Anders to Dalton, still creeping up on that tent, too far away to hear what's happening back here. Cypher is close beside him. Too close beside him.
Damn it, Eric, move away. Pay less attention to that tent and more--
Dalton wheels. He shoves Cypher hard, and the big man staggers, and I run forward, my gun out. Cypher lunges at Dalton with a roar. Dalton dives out of his way and comes back, ducking Cypher's swing and grabbing his arm, wrenching it behind his back, which would be the perfect move--if Cypher was in any mood to consider the ramifications of a broken arm. But he's a bull seeing red, and when Dalton gets his arm in a lock, he heaves, bucking.
Behind me, Anders shouts, "Stop!" Of course it doesn't work--there's no way the two men can hear him. I'm running. Dalton has Cypher in a headlock, down on one knee, and the big man is still bucking and writhing, and Dalton's shouting at him to stop,
just fucking stop, you goddamned idiot. Cypher doesn't stop, and Dalton shoves him to the ground, one foot on his neck. I race down the incline, mouth opening to tell Cypher I've got a gun on him--not that I expect he'll care. That's when Cypher does stop. Completely stops. And says, "Huh."
I follow his gaze and see a snow-covered metal bear trap, jaws wide.
"Yeah," Dalton says. "Huh. I saved your foot, you idiot."
"You coulda said that."
"I tried, but you were bellowing like a damned--"
"No!" Anders's shout rings through the forest. I turn and scramble back up the incline. I see Anders running, and I realize he wasn't yelling at Cypher to stop--he was yelling at the guy he'd been chasing. Who has stopped. He's looking in Anders's direction, and behind him is Sutherland, running toward him as fast as he can, knife drawn.
"Shit!" I say, and I break into a run, but I know it's too late. Anders is only about twenty meters from the man, and even he's not going to make it in time. Sutherland is almost on him, and Anders shouts, "Don't you dare! He's standing down. He's not--"
Sutherland tackles the man, who's been staring at Anders in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell Anders is yelling. Sutherland and the stranger go down. Sutherland raises his knife, and Anders shouts at him to stop. Then Anders is slipping, trying to run faster than he can in snow, and he goes down hard on one knee.
Sutherland stabs the man. The blade rises and falls over and over, blood arcing, red dotting the snow. I'm yelling, Dalton's yelling, and then Anders is back on his feet, and he's running, and Sutherland just keeps stabbing. I see Sutherland's face, and I shout instead for Anders to stop. Please stop. Stay back.
But there's no way Anders can stop when someone is being murdered in front of him. He grabs Sutherland, and the hysterical man swings the knife. Anders says, "Hey!" and avoids the blade. He backs up, one hand extended as Sutherland snarls, frothing mad, hunkered down and dripping with blood.
"Hey, now," Anders says, his voice low, soothing. "You don't want to do this, Shawn." He keeps one hand up, warding off Sutherland while the other hand slides to his holstered gun. "Just put the knife down and--"