Two men walked briskly down Live Oak Drive, both dressed for cold-weather hiking.
“Spitzer and Marsdon. Looks like they’re heading out for the trails. What’s Mac doing there? This gets weirder and weirder.” Jack touched the holstered gun he’d bought at a pawn shop after his department-issued Glock had been taken from him at the Para compound.
Cait eased her door open. “Coming?”
“Wait, they’ll see you.” Jack waved her back. They gave the men a good head start, then hurried to the corner of Live Oak.
He and Cait kept their distance as Marsdon and Spitzer took a series of side streets and ended up by a trailhead that led into the Foothills Open Space and the Cibola National Forest.
The Sandia Mountains were sheathed in a rosy sunset glow as Cait and Jack followed. “It’s late for a hike. They’re headed for the Domingo Baca trail. Doesn’t it connect to the La Luz trail that goes up to the top of the Sandias?” Cait asked.
“To get from Domingo Baca to La Luz, you’d have to bushwhack all the way. There’s no official route.” He clambered over an exposed tree root. “The west side of the Sandias is brutal, steep and rugged. I managed to finish the La Luz trail run four years ago, but I thought my lungs were going to bust.”
Cait swallowed hard. The image of an athletic Jack pounding up the mountain contrasted with how she’d found him at the Para compound the night before. When this is all over, we’ll run the trails out here again. Jack will heal and get back to his old self.
He pushed ahead to the top of a low ridge and ducked behind a bushy pinon tree. “Stay back. They’re arguing.”
Cait stopped behind him and strained to hear what was going on below. Two men faced each other, bodies rigid, shoulders tense, arms akimbo. Their voices grew louder. One man advanced toward the other, who took a step back.
Suddenly Jack pulled Cait down. “Marsdon’s got a gun.”
Mac Spitzer moved backwards, hands held high.
Jack darted down the hill and concealed himself behind a thick juniper bush.
“What are you doing?” Cait hissed.
Jack arrowed down the trail, and dropped behind the remains of a lightning-killed tree. “Stay there,” he said.
The words were barely out of his mouth when Cory Marsdon pulled the trigger. Mac Spitzer stumbled and fell, clutching his side.
“Police. Give it up.” Jack pulled out his gun. Marsdon swung his arm up the trail and fired.
Cait collapsed, a bolt of intense pain slicing through her upper left arm. She moaned and drew her knees to her chest. “Ughh.” It felt like she’d been struck with an axe.
Marsdon ran toward them, gun in one hand. Spitzer knelt, hand to his chest.
Jack hesitated, then aimed and fired.
Marsdon swayed. Kept coming. He recognized Jack and lowered the gun. After a last step forward, he toppled over.
By then, Mac Spitzer was back on his feet, jogging up the hill as if he’d miraculously recovered. He halted by Marsdon and pointed at the prone man.
“He tried to kill me. He’s the one who picked up my phone in my office last night when you called. You’re looking at our dirty cop.”
***
Jack holstered his weapon and knelt by Marsdon. The man grabbed at his arm and pulled him down. Face pale and sweaty, the wounded detective gasped like a fish out of water.
Shrugging off his jacket, Jack draped it over Marsdon’s chest. He crouched to hear as the stricken man struggled to speak.
Jack put his ear by Marsdon’s face. His expression changed as he listened. He felt inside Marsdon’s coat pocket for something.
Then Spitzer pulled at his shoulder. “Step away. That’s an order.”
Marsdon’s cell phone in hand, Jack rose. He slipped the device into a back pocket. Pulse ramping up, he faced Spitzer. His boss kicked away Marsdon’s gun and took out his own.
“He needs help. I need to stop the bleeding.” Jack tried not to stare at Spitzer. He recognized the thick outline of a bulletproof vest underneath the man’s thick coat. Marsdon hadn’t worn protective gear.
“Throw his phone over here. Move away from him.” Spitzer backed up and aimed a semi-automatic at Jack. “Now.”
“Forget the phone. We need to help him. Thank God you’re ok. I saw him shoot you.” Jack’s thoughts spun like windblown leaves as he tried to stall the inevitable. He’d read the situation completely wrong. Now he and Cait were in a bad place. The only thing he could do was act stupid and stall for time.
“Get down on the ground. I’m sorry, Jack. I really am.” Spitzer sounded apologetic but firm, a superior talking down to a clueless subordinate.
***
Hunched on bent knees, head on the ground, Cait clenched her jaw to keep silent as waves of agony pulsed through her. She was riveted by the exchange between Jack and his boss. It would be over soon. For Jack and her. She peed her jeans from pain and the awareness that Spitzer was going to kill them both.
This was the end of the road for the couple yearning for happiness. They’d planned to marry and make a life for themselves. Instead they would be shot to death in the shadow of the Sandias. Their ghosts would forever haunt the lonely trails spidering up into the mountains. A tragic finale that would devastate their families and friends.
Mac Spitzer ignored her. He was preoccupied with Jack, who babbled about how shocked he was to see his boss shot, insisting that Spitzer see a doctor.
Cait played possum. She took slow, shallow breaths and watched through half-closed eyelids.
Anger and sadness welled up. If she was going to die, she might as well go out fighting to save Jack.
She shifted her bloody left arm an inch. The movement felt like the stab of a spear. It took all of her resolve not to cry out. Her right hand and arm worked fine. Fingers probing the soil, she closed her hand around a baseball-sized rock. Brain neurons and muscle fibers communicated back and forth, rehearsing a throwing trajectory.
Plan A was futile. Impossible to sit up quickly and hurl a rock before he plugged her like a beer can. Plan B was dubious too.
She shifted her head to see her target better. Clenched her teeth and slowly positioned her right arm. Clutched the rock and calculated. Then she lobbed it as best she could.
The chunk of granite sailed true. Smacked the gun tip with a clank. Spitzer fired and missed, the shot whining into the brush.
Jack leaped at the captain and knocked the gun from his hand. The weapon flew into a clump of chamisa.
Spitzer kicked at Jack, lost his balance and went down on his back. Jack landed on top and pinned him, ramming an elbow into Spitzer’s throat.
Cait ran for the gun, found it and seized the grip in in her good hand. Pointed it at Spitzer, bit her teeth and squeaked out an order. “Hands up. Now.”
In a flash, Spitzer jabbed both hands at Jack’s eyes. Jack managed to grab Mac’s wrists, but the captain slammed his head at Jack’s chin and wrenched himself free. Dazed, Jack rolled to his side and grabbed at his opponent. Spitzer snaked out of reach.
Cait aimed at Spitzer. “On the ground. Hands out in front of you.”
“Darling, Jack says you hate guns. You won’t shoot little old me.” Spitzer got up. He took a step toward her and held out a hand.
Darling this, you snake. Cait fired low and missed. He charged her and she fired again. Spitzer screamed and fell backward, clutching a bleeding knee.
“He misunderstood me. I never said you couldn’t shoot.” Jack tentatively touched his jaw. “Ouch.”
Cait handed him the gun and grabbed her cell. After reaching a 911 dispatcher, she tended to Cory Marsdon, conscious but pasty from trauma and blood loss.
It wasn’t long before they heard sirens and the whump of helicopter blades. Marsdon would be carried by emergency responders to the trail head and airlifted out.
“Take Cory’s phone.” Without taking his attention from Spitzer, Jack handed the device to Cait. “Keep it safe.”
Jack’s own cell chimed. “Can you please answer that?” He kept his eyes on his boss.
Cait spoke to the caller. “You’re from internal affairs? Jack’s busy right now. He’ll call back as soon as sheriff’s deputies and EMTs get here. He’s anxious to tell you how Captain Spitzer almost got away with murder.”
Then, overcome by shock, she keeled over.