Sully
Almost forty hours since I left Pippa asleep in my bed.
So much for being able to focus better once I had some relief from the sexual tension between us. It’s a joke. I still can’t stop thinking about her and every time I do I get hard.
Christ, she’s magnificent. All lush curves, dark, long hair, and untamed passion.
“Coffee’s hot,” James calls over.
Jonas had us set up camp for the night when the sun started going down. I’m making sure the horses and Hazel are looked after before we settle in. The others are already sitting around the small fire James built.
Yesterday, one of the FBI dogs had hit on a scent a bit north of Yokum’s cabin. They followed it for about a mile and a half before losing it at the edge of a creek. I took the drone up and searched the area for most of the day yesterday before I spotted something from the air. Nothing more than a speck of light, but enough to catch my attention.
The low sun had caught on something reflecting off a smooth shiny surface, out of place in the rugged surroundings. I flew the drone over for a second, lower pass, but couldn’t identify the object. Still, since it’s the only location of interest we’ve been able to pinpoint since the dogs lost the trail, it’s worth checking out.
This morning the team set out early. It’s nothing to fly quite a distance over rugged terrain, but it’s not quite so easy to traverse the same path on horseback. Those few miles as the crow flies turned into many more on the ground.
I grab my mug from my saddlebag, walk over to where the others are gathered, and pour some coffee from the kettle next to the fire.
“We’re not far,” I announce, taking a seat on a boulder and pointing at the ridge behind us. “Right over that crest is a shallow canyon with what looked from the air to be a small water basin. The vegetation around it is denser than on this side.”
Where we are is pretty exposed. The few firs provide a little shelter for the animals, but other than that it’s mostly rock up here. We’re used to sleeping under worse conditions than this, but at this age, I’d much prefer my bed than a night under the stars with nothing more than a sleeping bag between me and the rock-hard surface.
“We’ll head out at first light. Fingers crossed we find something. A storm is supposed to come through late tomorrow and I don’t want to be stuck another night on this mountain, especially in bad weather.”
Weather up here can be unpredictable. A simple rainstorm in the valley can produce a foot of snow up in these mountains. Even in May.
After a dinner of barely passable MREs, I roll out my sleeping bag and crawl in. For a while I listen to James sharing his daughter’s latest escapades before my thoughts drift back to my favorite subject, Pippa.
Knowing Jonas wants us back at base camp sometime tomorrow gives me hope I may actually make it home before my sister and her boyfriend get here on Saturday. Don’t want to load that mess on Pippa’s shoulders, she has enough on her plate.
I fold my arms behind my head and look up at the clear night sky. A familiar sight, no matter where in the world we were at any given time, providing a bit of comfort regardless of the dire circumstances we might find ourselves in. A moment of respite in a fucked-up world when it was safe to let my mind drift.
“Hey, Sully,” Bo calls my attention. “Guess this means your woman is no longer on Ewing’s radar?”
I push up on my elbows and look over to the fire.
“How do you figure that?”
“If the feds’ suspicion the disappearance of Yokum is connected to the case of the dead hunters is correct, then there’s nothing linking it to her or that animal rights group.”
“Depends,” Jonas pipes up. “Yokum’s disappearance could have everything to do with baiting. Congresswoman Yokum may spend most of her time in Washington these days, but she’s still one of the most vocal proponents of legalizing wildlife baiting. Just because we haven’t found any evidence yet doesn’t mean her son didn’t do his own share of baiting. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Don’t think Pippa was ever a serious suspect in Ewing’s eyes anyway,” James contributes. “But you’ve got to admit, it looks like more than a coincidence that group is somehow involved.”
I’m not going to argue that. The first person to come to mind would be its founder, Cade Jackson, although I may be negatively biased toward him. I have no doubt he’s being vetted by law enforcement, like I’m sure the entire group is.
At least I hope so.
“Looks like those are his.”
Bo holds up the pair of glasses he just found on the edge of the water. The distinct glasses look like the pair Yokum was wearing in the picture Agent Wolff showed us. One lens is cracked but the frame appears intact.
“Tom Ford?” Jonas asks.
Bo checks the writing on the inside of the temple. “Yup.”
That was the brand listed on Yokum’s description. For the life of me, I can’t imagine wearing a five-hundred-dollar pair of glasses traipsing through the wilderness, but then I also didn’t know designer hunting gear existed. It does, and it’s the most ridiculous fucking thing I’ve ever heard of, but Leroy Yokum is decked out in it, tip to toe.
To be honest, I didn’t think someone like him would get as far as he did—at least without leaving tracks all over the place—but apparently, he is more of an outdoorsman than his designer garb might suggest.
“I’ve got a shell.”
I twist in the saddle to see James crouching on the opposite bank of the small, shallow basin of water I’d seen from the air yesterday.
“Two of them,” he corrects.
I dismount Cisko, pull my camera from my saddlebag, and walk over to snap a few pictures. Whenever we’re helping out law enforcement, we try to record whatever we encounter in terms of evidence.
“Two sets of tracks coming over the ledge over there, but only one set on this side of the water,” Jonas indicates, keeping his eyes on the ground as he guides his horse, Sugar, to the opposite side of the canyon from where we came in.
“Someone was hunting, and it wasn’t for game,” Bo observes.
Sure looks that way. It would be a fair guess in this case Leroy Yokum was the prey, which would suggest this is indeed connected.
I make sure I record the shells before walking over to the sets of tracks. I start snapping pictures of those, putting my phone beside them for size comparison, when Jonas calls out.
“Bring that camera over, Sully. We’ve got blood.”
Not only did we have blood, we found Yokum curled up behind a fallen tree, twenty-five feet farther. It’s clear he was trying to find shelter and a miracle he was even able to make it that far with the two bullet wounds in his back.
We were able to raise base camp on the satellite radio and are now waiting for the FBI helicopter to get here. There’s a level section of rock at the top of the ridge where it should be able to land. There was no way Agent Wolff was going let us haul Yokum’s body out on a mule. If I were him, I’d want to see and collect every piece of evidence myself.
When Congresswoman Yokum finds out her son has been murdered, the shit is going to hit the proverbial fan. I just hope I can be home before Saturday morning.
Pippa
I keep my eye on my side mirror where I can see my pickup following me.
It actually hurt me to hand over my truck keys to Sloane, but it was the only way to get the rig to the ranch. The only thing scaring me more than her driving my pickup, is the thought of Sloane behind the wheel of my motorhome.
I wanted to get it over with before Sully’s sister arrives tomorrow. I don’t know when Sully will be back, I don’t know how things are going to go between Sloane and her mother, but I do know I’ll feel better with an escape route, should I end up stuck in a shitshow by myself. I won’t hesitate to hop in my rig and find a quiet spot to hide out until things settle down, I have enough going on as it is.
A heavy breath of relief escapes me when we pull up to the cabins. I tuck the rig as far out of sight of the ranch as I can get it, between Sloane’s cabin and the empty one at the end. Call me ridiculous, but I like having my home-on-wheels nearby. It has been my gateway to the world this past year and a half. My path to freedom, and despite the fact I seem to be setting roots down here, it gives me comfort to know it’s within reach should I want it.
“When can we go camping?” Sloane asks when I join her by my pickup.
I grin. I’m not so sure camping without amenities is something she would enjoy—from what I’ve seen the girl is quite attached to her phone and social media—but if she wants, I’m happy to let her tag along if and when we get a chance.
She’s actually been a pleasant surprise. Very savvy on the computer, which has been a blessing, since I’m not. The past two days she’s gotten more done than I likely would’ve in a month. I’m pleased I was right and Sloane simply needed to feel like she had a place and a purpose. Her whole demeanor has changed almost overnight.
It wouldn’t be a hardship to take her out with me for a few days, but it’ll have to be on a weekend when the Pit Stop is closed and we don’t have things on the schedule. Heck, she may not even be here after this weekend if she and her mom can resolve their issues.
“I wish I knew, but if you’re still around next time I go out, you’re welcome to tag along.”
“Oh, I’ll be here,” she states firmly.
I decide to let it go and pluck my keys from her hand.
“Come on. We should get going.”
Ira already has the big bay doors open when we pull into the Pit Stop. It’s not quite nine in the morning and already it’s getting warm. According to the forecast, we’re supposed to have a bout of unseasonably warm weather over the weekend and well into next week. They expect temperatures could hit the nineties and with no AC in the shop, keeping the air flowing is about the extent of what we can do.
The new window is installed and when the sign goes up this afternoon, we’ll be back on track. Despite the damage to the place, we’ve had a pretty decent first week of business. Mostly coming from folks either familiar to Ira or to me. Ira hasn’t been bored yet, so I’ve taken over work on Sloane’s Honda. Ira helped me drop the engine and I’ve decided to rebuild it. The after-market parts I ordered should be here by Monday and between Ira and myself, I think we can have it back up and running the second half of next week.
Technically I’m not supposed to be working, but I’m only doing a favor for a friend. The cost of parts is less than I would’ve had to pay for someone other than Sloane to set up social media accounts and design a website.
Besides, I get the sense local law enforcement has their hands full with more important things at this time.
I leave Sloane in the office and walk into the shop to find Ira coming out from underneath the Subaru he has up on the hoist.
“Hey, I thought they were picking that up this morning?”
He scowls as he walks toward me.
“Not anymore. We had another visitor sometime overnight.”
“What?”
I swivel around and look for anything broken or damaged I could’ve missed.
“A little more subtle than that this time,” Ira clarifies. “If it wasn’t for the fuel tank door left open on the Outback, I would’a missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“Water. And it wasn’t just the Outback, all three cars parked outside had a wet spot underneath the fuel tank door.”
Shit, Sloane’s car was inside in the farthest left bay, but we had two vehicles dropped off yesterday that were parked outside. Those were supposed to get oil changes this morning.
Water in the gas tank can kill an engine if you try to drive the vehicle. The fix can be as simple as draining the tank, but that takes time and is very inconvenient. The worrisome part is that if Ira hadn’t noticed and those cars went back to their owners, it could’ve done serious damage not only to the vehicles but to the reputation we’re trying to build.
“Did you call the police?” I ask him.
“Yup. They said it could be a while before someone can come out.”
To be honest I’m not surprised.
“Yoohoo!”
I turn to the open bay door and see Marcie heading this way.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when she reaches me, dropping air kisses that never reach my cheeks.
“Can’t I come by to check how a friend is doing? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
I haven’t exactly lived in Libby ‘ages’ and Marcie is not a clingy person, so I’m calling bullshit.
“More like a month. Maybe,” I counter, staring her down. “And I talked to you last week.”
She doesn’t hold out long before she caves, rolling her eyes at me.
“Okay, fine. I’ve got a headlight out. My regular mechanic doesn’t have time to fix it before the weekend, and I was going to take the trailer out to this new spot on Lake Koocanoosa I found on the satellite map, a little south of Eureka. I don’t wanna get pulled over by some overzealous deputy. I swear that sheriff has it in for me.”
I chuckle because Marcie drives like a maniac and has collected at least four speeding tickets since I’ve known her.
“Don’t start with me,” she mutters. “He’s been on my case with all that stuff about Fair Game having anything to do with those bodies they found. I’ve been so busy pulling all the reports, call logs, putting together timelines, I’ve barely seen the inside of my real estate office.”
“It’s not merely the sheriff anymore,” I share. “The FBI is involved in the case now, and Sully and his team were called in to help find another missing hunter they think may be connected.”
“No shit?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Wow. Can’t believe the feds are involved now.”
I shrug. “Kind of inevitable when it’s the son of a well-known politician who’s missing.”
Behind me I hear Ira cough as I watch the blood drain from Marcie’s face.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, putting a hand on her arm.
She doesn’t respond but instead asks me a question.
“Do you know who the politician is?”
“Someone by the name of Yokum.”
Marcie takes a step back and pulls her arm from my hold.
“The congresswoman?”
“I believe so.”
I’m not up to date with the different political roles here in the United States but that sounds familiar.
Then Marcie backs out of the garage.
“I should be on my way. I forgot I have an appointment.”
Before I can stop her, she darts toward her car, gets behind the wheel and, spraying gravel, peels out of the parking lot.
“Was it something I said?” I mutter, turning back to where I left Ira standing.
But he’s no longer there.