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After Riley left, Wolf couldn’t sleep. By five a.m., he gave up, threw on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and started a pot of industrial-strength coffee. The first mug did nothing to ease his exhaustion. In fact, the high-test brew put a jangled edge on his nerves.
“Screw this.” He stomped to the sink and tossed the dregs. Yesterday his students took their last final. He had no classes and was too worked up to sit around and brood. He thought he’d matured enough that ethnic insults no longer burrowed under his skin like painful splinters. Consider the source, and all that.
Wrong. He was spoiling for a fight.
Needing a mission, Wolf decided to pay an early morning call on his uncle. He pulled on hiking boots, grabbed a jacket, and headed for his Jeep. Ray rose at first light no matter how many conversations he’d held with a bottle the night before. Though Wolf didn’t know when the FBI would raid Onward’s camp, he figured spending the day with Ray would put him close to the action. Maybe the agents would call on his uncle as a guide and he could tag along.
Fear for his missing assistant ratcheted up with each hour of silence. He wished the kid would answer his damn phone. Maybe Tom would be rescued by day’s end—if he needed rescuing. Perhaps the brash student had pulled off his pose as a rabid racist. If Tom had been welcomed into the brotherhood, Wolf hoped he’d gained concrete evidence of their planned violence. Empty threats would be worthless in court.
Cool morning mist dallied. The clouds seemed tethered in the mountain valleys. As his Jeep hurtled ahead, Wolf’s mood improved. He tuned to a country radio station and sang loudly to “Thank God, I’m a Man!” His stomach joined in, growling for a manly meal.
He pulled into the Gas-N-Go country store less than a quarter-mile from his uncle’s turnoff. His mouth watered as he shut off the ignition. The owners offered a sinful selection of doughnuts, including Ray’s favorite cream-filled long johns.
Mary, the rotund grandmother who ran the store with her husband, Bob, unhooked the front chain and flipped the store sign from “Closed” to “Open” when she saw Wolf.
“You’re up early, and it’s not even hunting season.”
Wolf stopped in with Ray quite often so Mary knew him well. They chatted about the weather—sunny with a high expected in the eighties—as he filled a bag with day-old sweets. “Them are half-price. Leftovers. Sorry we haven’t got fresh. Coffee’s not ready neither.”
He smiled as she counted out his change. “This’ll do fine, Miss Mary. Thanks.”
Once he turned down the rutted road to Ray’s cabin, the sweet aroma of chocolate and grease sabotaged his willpower and he pulled out the top pastry. He was licking chocolate off his fingers when Ray ran out of the woods, arms windmilling, eyes wide with fright.
Wolf slammed on his brakes and jumped out. Ray practically plowed him over. “Get back in. Now! Turn around. We have to get the hell away. Fast.”
“What’s wrong? Where are we going?”
“I’ll explain—after we grab weapons, food, and camping gear. You put Smoky in his pen. Put out plenty of food and water. Don’t know when we’ll get back.”
Was Ray hallucinating? His uncle went through some bad times after his last tour in Bosnia. Gory flashbacks. Frightening delusions. Maybe yesterday’s excitement triggered old nightmares.
Wolf did as his uncle bid. If Ray was in his right mind, he had solid reasons. If his uncle were delusional, Wolf stood a better chance of calming him if he humored him first.
“Smoky,” Wolf called to the hound. “Time for breakfast.” The dog bayed a welcome, bounded out of the woods, and skidded to his side. He knelt and patted Smoky’s head, coaxed him into his run, and closed the gate. He lowered a bucket into the well to bring up fresh water and fetched a bag of Kibbles N Bits from the back porch.
Tasks complete, he entered the cabin. His jaw dropped when he surveyed the jumble of camping gear and weapons piled by the front door. The arsenal included bows and arrows, hatchets, bear traps, knives, and guns.
“We going to war, Ray?” He kept his voice calm.
His uncle fixed him with a cold stare. “Damn straight, son. You’ve been drafted whether you know it or not. Carry this load to the Jeep, will you?”
Wolf’s heart beat faster. What’s going on? He picked up as much of the weapons cache as he could carry and dumped it in his backseat. Ray was right behind him with pup tents, a camping stove, backpacks, bolt cutters, and a saw.
Ray opened the passenger door and climbed inside. When he spied the bag of fried treats, he shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ. You stopped at Gas-N-Go?”
That cut it. Wolf snapped. “Dammit, Ray, what’s the matter? You drunk? Stoned?”
“Wish I were. Mary and Bob will tell the cops you came by. That’s the final nail in your coffin. Reliable eye witnesses to place you here round the time of the murder.”
“What murder? We’re not going anywhere till you make some sense.”
“Smitty,” Ray replied. “They slit his throat and scalped him. I’m pretty sure they used your great grandad’s blade. They’re planting the knife and Smitty’s scalp to frame you.”
Wolf grabbed his uncle’s arm. He wondered if he’d have to squeeze each detail out of the agitated vet. “Ray, who are they?”
“Nick Monson, a deputy. He slit Smitty’s throat. I didn’t know his pal, the guy calling the shots. The boss man had wavy silver hair, dark eyes, fancy gold watch. Late forties? Oh, yeah, and a strawberry birthmark below his chin. ”
Dread cramped Wolf’s stomach. His mouth went so dry he wondered if his tongue could unglue itself to form a word. Ray wasn’t hallucinating. The order giver had to be John Hunter. He’d noticed the birthmark when his date had reacted to Hunter in the restaurant.
Is he framing me for murder because of Riley?
No. That was insane.
“Ray, we need to call the sheriff or the FBI. And I mean right now. Any so-called evidence they’re using to frame me is circumstantial. Plus you can testify, set things straight.”
His uncle’s snort was derisive. “Boy, you’re dreamin’. They’ll say I’m lying ’cause you’re kin, or they’ll label me certifiably crazy. Besides they don’t plan to arrest you, you fool. You’re gonna be shot resistin’ arrest.”
Wolf stared at Ray, wondering if his uncle intended to counter this insanity with his own brand of crazy. Why all the weapons? Did Ray envision some kamikaze last-stand against authority? That would spell more death, Ray’s included.
He grabbed his uncle’s arm, forced him to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to hole up somewhere and shoot it out with the law. If that’s what you’re thinking, my answer is no.”
Ray shook him off. “Wrong enemy, son. We’re going hunting. I know where Onward’s gone to ground. They’re meeting tonight north of Twin Peak. There’s a clearing. Fairly level. An old logging road runs within a mile of it. That’s how the Onward members will arrive.”
His uncle’s tobacco-stained teeth appeared in a twisted smile. “I’m sure Deputy Nick will show. And, if there’s one thing I learned in Bosnia, it was how to make a man talk.”
Wolf didn’t like the haunted look in his uncle’s rheumy eyes or the not-so-subtle hint that Ray’s thoughts ran to kidnapping and torture. But he saw no point in waiting for authorities to arrest—or shoot—him. If Ray had a notion how to track Onward, maybe they could extract Tom and find proof Nick had wielded Wolf’s knife.
“They’re sure to have lookouts,” Wolf said. “We won’t be able to use the logging road.”
“Don’t have to. There’s another way in.” Ray grinned. “When old Murph had his still, he kept chickens roosting in the trees. His own low-tech warning system. We’ll cut in the back way.”
“Aren’t those trails closed to the public this time of year?”
Ray pulled a gooey long john out of the pastry sack and took a big bite.
“Damn, these are good. Hope they’re not our last.” His tongue chased a smear of chocolate around his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve yet to see a trail that’s closed to me. Now move it.”
“Not quite yet.” Wolf pulled out his cell phone.
“Don’t be an idiot!” Ray grabbed for the phone. “I heard tell these phones have some sort of GPS implants. Don’t go giving the law any help tracking us.”
“I won’t,” Wolf answered. “They’ll know I was in the neighborhood soon enough. I’ll just send a text message, then trash the phone. I have to warn Riley that Hunter’s tied to the terrorists.”
He paused realizing her phone could be tapped. So what? He didn’t care if eavesdroppers heard him identify Hunter. The more people who heard his side of the story, the less likely they’d be to shoot him resisting arrest.
Wolf’ flipped open the phone. “If we find any evidence, I need a way to get it to Riley. I sure don’t want to draw Deputy Monson a treasure map.”
“Who’s this woman? You sure you can trust her?” Ray asked.
He hesitated. Should he tell Ray? His uncle would think he was really around the bend to trust anyone with Yates blood.
“I trust Riley to do what she believes is right. But, if they convince her I’ve killed someone, she may not consider my capture a bad thing.”
Ray shook his head. His eyes told Wolf he pitied him. “Do what you must. But you’re the crazy one.”
After he sent the message, he stomped his phone with his hiking boot. Then he picked up a concrete block by the side of the road and dropped it on the slender tech package. It felt strangely good to obliterate his high-priced toy.