From the hotel roof, Savage and I watched the Forest Service helicopter drop its load; it hovered for a moment, then flew off down the valley. Obviously, the pilot hadn’t expected to be shot at. He’d totally missed the fire in his fluster. But in its wake the shooting stopped. A terrible silence followed, broken only by the sound of local traffic below the hotel and the wind through the trees around the ski slope.
“Movement,” Savage told me where he peered through his binoculars.
I lifted the Swarovskis and watched as whatever passed for the Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office SWAT used a fire truck to pull the gate down. The ringing clang came many seconds later. Then the vehicles went flooding in.
For what seemed an eternity, we waited. A half hour later, I lowered my glasses and took a deep breath. “If they arrest her, can Grazier get the charges dropped?”
“Something this big? Hell, I don’t know.” Savage thoughtfully lowered his binoculars. “Either she’s eluded them and made her way out, or they captured her.”
Karla Raven wasn’t the sort to be captured unless she was completely disabled. Which meant . . .
“Let’s get back to the others. Any news is going to come on the local radio, maybe television.”
My heart had lodged in my throat as we made our way to the staircase and down into the hotel. At the suite door, I knocked the predetermined two and two. Edwin opened, worry etched into his young face.
“Anything?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “We been calling the chief’s phone. No answer.”
“That’s not necessarily bad,” I told him as I entered the suite. Falcon sat in a defensive position on the bed, a pillow clutched to his chest. His expression was vacant, eyes empty. Not good.
Cat was poking at the room’s coffee machine, desperate enough that she was using the last packet of decaf. Her movements reeked of weariness; her normally lustrous eyes reflected the dullness of fatigue and exhaustion.
The anthropologists remained seated on the suite’s small couch where Savage had placed them. Kilgore France still clutched her pack as if it contained gold. Farmer, his face in a pensive frown, had the satchel on his lap. I didn’t need a degree in psychiatry to know that they were emotionally overwhelmed.
“The sheriff’s office is in the compound now,” Savage told everyone as he followed me in and shut the door. “From here on it’s just a matter of waiting.”
Edwin asked, “Anyone think to call Winny? Tell her to stand down?”
“No.” Savage walked into the center of the room. “Would you mind?”
“Bet she gonna be pissy as hell ’cause she didn’t get no action. Be our luck she run into some woman wearing pink and beat the holy crap out of her.”
I settled on the couch arm, extending a hand. “Dr. France, I’m Doctor Timothy Ryan. We haven’t really been introduced.”
“My pleasure. Call me Kilgore.” Her shake was firm, but I could see confusion and worry in her eyes.
“Reid Farmer,” the bearded man introduced as he offered his hand. “Unlike Kilgore, I’m no celebrity. Just a contract archaeologist in way over his head.”
I liked the resilience they both seemed to display. It wasn’t just anyone who could be yanked out of a kidnapping in the midst of a gunfight and still remain poised. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the time. I can’t wait to hear your impressions of the tomb.”
“You’re a medical doctor?” Kilgore asked.
“Psychiatry, actually . . . with a PhD in psychology.”
Farmer’s expression tightened. “You’re here to debrief us? Counseling? Heal our trauma?”
In spite of my gnawing worry about Karla, I smiled. “No. I’m part of General Grazier’s team. But you’ve been through a tough time. It wouldn’t be unusual if you had issues, flashbacks, nightmares. For the record, I’m not a sit-on-the-couch-and-tell-me-about-your-childhood kind of psychologist. I’m more of the ‘Let’s-have-a-cup-of-coffee-and-figure-out-how-you-can-cope,’ kind.”
“Grazier? Who’s he?” Kilgore asked uncertainly.
“Savage’s boss.” I pointed where the major bent over Edwin’s shoulder. “Right now we’ve got a missing warrior.”
“Chief Raven,” Kilgore said with a nod. “To hear Edwin and Cat tell it, she walks on water.”
Oh, do I hope!
“Actually, she’s just an extraordinary . . .”
The suite door burst open and Karla Raven stormed in. I leaped to my feet, surprised to see that her midnight hair was slicked back to her skull and hanging down her back. Her black clothing appeared soaked, and her boots squished with each step. Not only that, but I could see the slow fuse burning behind her gray eyes. Her normally calm face had flushed to the point I could see the scar on her cheek.
“You’re alive!”
“Far from dead, sir.”
“By fucking damn!” Winny Swink bellowed as she swaggered into the room on Karla’s heels. As full of herself as a buccaneer, she used her foot to slam the door behind her. A bottle of Herradura tequila, the cap missing, was clutched in her right hand. “Whooow!” She shook her fiery red hair back and forth. “Now that’s what I call riding the wings of angels!”
“You want another to match the first?” Karla asked, eyes narrowed as she pointed at Swink’s right cheek. I could see the bruise forming under the major’s fair skin.
“Might be worth it, bitch.” She tossed Karla the tequila bottle, saying “Drink or fight. Your choice.”
Karla caught the bottle, a curling splash of amber liquor squirting from the open top. Then she tipped it back and chugged.
I could only gape. In the futile hope I could control the situation, I stepped forward and grabbed the bottle away, saying, “My turn.”
“How come you’re not dead?” Edwin asked, rising from his computer.
Karla, like a pirouetting dancer, feinted and easily wrenched the bottle from my fingers. “You heard Winny. Wings of angels, man.” She took another swig.
“We heard gunfire,” I said as Winny and I both grabbed for the tequila bottle. Fortunately, I’m much taller than Swink.
Karla grinned as she wiped at the tequila dribbling down her chin. “Haven’t had that much fun since Qal’ah-ye Sabir!” She reached into a pocket and tossed me a radio wrapped with a black wire that led to an earpiece. Water leaked from the case.
“You should have heard those guys!” Karla leaped like a tigress and snatched the bottle out of my hand. She danced away from my pursuit, gulped a drink, and in falsetto, mimicked, “It’s just a woman! Run her down! Run her down!”
Savage, his expression somewhere between amused disbelief and relief, asked, “What kind of a body count am I looking at, Chief?”
Karla took another swig of tequila, then tossed him the bottle. He caught it, heedless of the liquor that splashed on his arm. Got to hand it to Savage, he was smart enough to fake taking a drink.
“About eight, sir.” A pause. “Of mine. Not counting the ones in the two vehicles. Don’t know how many were in the crash.” She waggled a cautionary finger. “Reckless driving on mountain roads can be deadly. And I don’t know what happened in the house.”
Cat gasped. “You mean my gas killed people?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Cat. Looked to me like they were just out. And yeah, your stuff took out that whole house. I saw guys in masks trying to clear it.”
“Hey, I got two!” Winny declared triumphantly.
“You were there?” I asked, whirling just in time to see her rip the tequila bottle away from the unwary Savage.
“A-fucking-mazing!” Winny gloated before she tilted the bottle and chugged the añejo. They’d bought—or stolen—good stuff. “Loved that big son of a bitch!”
“What big son of a bitch?” Savage demanded.
“Never would have thought you for a truck driver,” Karla chided as she grabbed the bottle back and tilted it to her lips.
“It was the big Sikorsky CH-54,” I supplied, figuring it out. “You stole it from the Forest Service?”
“Never flown one,” Winny said as she grabbed for the bottle. “It was just sitting there on Sardy Field. Looked like a hell of a lot more fun than some damn hospital ship.”
“The heavy lift?” Savage asked.
“Should have seen her,” Karla chimed as she held the bottle out of Winny’s reach. “Her and that bucket full of water.”
“Biggest problem was finding Karla.” Winny started climbing Karla’s body, levering the tequila into reach. “’Specially since she dropped her damn phone. But then the top of this tree blows up. And I look down and half the compound is rushing toward that same tree.”
Karla surrendered the bottle, saying, “Yeah, and you should have seen the two guys closing in. They look up just as the downwash hits them.”
Swink held the bottle up to the light. Most of the tequila was gone. “Silly son’s o’ bitches started shooting at me. So I just lined up that big ol’ fucking bucket . . .” She demonstrated with the tequila bottle, holding it high over her head, and pouring. Her aim was good; it splashed into her mouth.
“That’s Winny’s kill,” Karla told Savage. “She dropped a couple of tons of water on those two assholes. The weight of it blew them right off the mountain.”
Winny chortled as she lowered the bottle. “Well, it was just downright rude of them to start shooting holes in my bird.”
“We didn’t see the chopper land,” Savage chimed in. “How’d you evac Raven?”
Karla skipped close and grabbed the tequila bottle. “Damned bitch almost smacked me out of the tree I was hiding in. She just swung that bucket into it. So I grabbed hold and crawled inside. If she’d had a bit more velocity, she’d have punted me into next week.”
“But she’d emptied the bucket. Why are you all wet?” I asked as I snatched the bottle away from her. “And why does Winny have that bruise on her cheek?”
“’Cause I decked the bitch!” Karla pawed at me for the bottle.
Winny Swink started crowing like a rooster. “Hell, Skipper, she was in a damn hot fight up there. Thought I’d cool her off. On the way back, I dipped her sorry butt in the lake.”
Karla turned blazing gray eyes my way. “When she finally set us down, she was laughing so hard I thought her ass was going to fall off. So I clocked her one, just to bring her back to her senses.”
“I am not forgetting that.” Swink’s green eyes narrowed as she pointed a hard finger. “You and I are going to go around for that, bitch.”
“I gave you a hand up afterward, didn’t I? Said I owed you one for saving my ass. That—you sorry APD-addled bitch—is called a thank you, by the way. And I promised, and delivered, a bottle of hooch.” Karla’s crooked grin expanded. “Major, that was a hell of a snatch you made up there. I pay my debts.”
“Damn straight! So hand me that bottle.” Winny gulped tequila and grinned stupidly, her anger forgotten. “Haven’t had that much fun since I stole that Raptor! Hell, maybe this was even better.”
Karla feinted and ripped the tequila bottle away, amber liquid spraying the wide-eyed anthropologists in the process. Karla tilted it up, drank, and shoved it at Swink, declaring, “Drink up, Major. Last swallow is yours.”
Winny upended the bottle, and I watched her delicate throat work as she drained the dregs.
“Oh, dear,” I murmured, pondering the effects of tequila on Karla’s Prazosin, and the “do not consume alcohol in excess” warning. I dropped wearily to the couch arm.
“Who are these people?” Dr. France asked cautiously.
“My patients,” I replied flatly.
“Your patients? As in mental patients?” Dr. Farmer asked. “And they’re just running around?”
“Actually, they’re escaped mental patients.” I winced at the expressions on their faces.
Karla dropped, lunged, and tackled Winny Swink. Their bodies slammed onto the floor, the tequila bottle rolling away. Karla pinned her immediately. I cocked my head as both women burst into maniacal laughter.
Reid Farmer—gaping at Winny and Karla—said, “About that counseling you offered, Dr. Ryan. Just wanted you to know, I’m feeling much better, thank you.”
On the bed, Falcon looked catatonic.
“Yeah, I do good work, don’t I?”