Louis listened for the click of a gun hammer.
“A weak cop doesn’t end up naked, spray painted, and handcuffed to a fire escape, right, Chief?”
Jesus, what am I doing?
He drew in a shuddering breath and forced out one last laugh. “And a weak cop doesn’t end up riding a fucking desk because he’s too scared to go back out on the street and do his job, right, Chief?”
“Stop!”
Louis froze. He shut his eyes, waiting. For a bullet, a blow to the back. Whatever it was he wanted it to come fast. Just let him come close. Just close enough, just one swing of the flashlight, one chance…
“Did she tell you that?”
The voice came from the same distance behind him but for the first time it sounded different, colored with a whisper of effort.
“She told me everything,” Louis said.
There was a long silence. It was so quiet Louis could hear the snow’s kiss as it touched the ground. Quiet, so very quiet.
Too quiet.
The ping had stopped.
Louis turned slowly. Gibralter was looking down at the tracking device in his gloved hand. It was now giving off a soft steady tone.
“He’s stopped,” Gibralter said. He looked off into the dark pines and then pointed his gun at Louis.
“Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 40
Louis could smell the burning wood before he saw the cabin’s lights. The scent drifted to him, faint but definite, and he stopped.
“Smoke,” Gibralter said softly behind him.
They moved on slowly, quietly. Finally, Louis saw a glimmer of light in the distant trees. The snow had stopped and a silver moon was out, bathing the forest in a sickly glow. Off in the distance was a small boxy shape — a cabin.
Louis stared at it in disbelief. They had found it. The whole scheme with Cole, the tracking device, it had actually worked. He felt a rush of adrenaline. It was replaced quickly with dread. Now what?
“Son of a bitch, there it is,” Gibralter said, his voice closer now. “Switch off your light.”
As they crept nearer, they saw it was not a cabin but a small rough-hewn hut. It listed slightly under the weight of the snow, a tendril of smoke curling from a pipe in the dilapidated roof. The place was probably a deserted storage hut left over from the long-dead logging trade. No wonder they had not been able to find Lacey.
As they came up to the small clearing, Louis’s eyes went to the red pickup parked in front. His pulse quickened. Lacey was here.
They had approached the hut from the front but the two front windows were boarded shut, the door closed. The light they had seen through the trees had come from a small window on the side.
Gibralter moved around to Louis’s left, standing about five feet away. He was surveying the hut and the truck.
“Let’s go. Stay in front of me,” he said softly.
They crept up to the truck. From his position near the front wheel, Louis could make out the outline of a shotgun in the rack. Gibralter peered inside the open bed and carefully lifted a tarp.
“He’s got an arsenal here,” he whispered, nodding toward the boxes. “Probably more inside.”
“Give me back my bullets,” Louis said.
“Forget it.”
“You’re going to need my help. Lacey’s dangerous and the kid knows guns,” Louis said. “You go alone, you’re going to lose.”
“This way,” Gibralter whispered, swinging his gun back over his shoulder toward the trees.
Louis had no choice but to obey. Gibralter followed him back to the cover of the trees. He seemed to be looking for something in them.
“Stop here,” he said. “Toss me your gun.”
Louis didn’t move. What was this? What was he doing now?
“Gun,” Gibralter hissed.
Louis pulled the empty gun from his belt and flung it at Gibralter. He caught it and stuck it in his parka.
“Get out your cuffs,” Gibralter ordered.
Louis stuck his flashlight into his waistband and retrieved his cuffs. Despite the cold he felt a hot flush of terror spread over him as he realized what Gibralter was going to do.
“Do it,” Gibralter said, pointing the gun at him.
Louis didn’t move.
“Do it! Now!”
With trembling hands, Louis slapped a cuff on his right wrist.
“Other one, over that limb,” Gibralter ordered, pointing with his gun.
Louis looked up at the bare limb. It was about three inches in diameter, sturdy but just big enough for the cuff. With a look at Gibralter, he snapped it on.
“Key.”
With his free left hand, Louis dug in his pocket for the key and threw it at Gibralter. It bounced off his chest and Gibralter knelt to pick it up from the snow.
Gibralter slipped it into his pocket then smiled at Louis. “Scared?”
Angela Lacey flashed into Louis’s mind. “Fuck you,” he whispered.
For a second, Louis thought Gibralter was going to laugh. Then, incredibly, Gibralter brought a finger to his lips, like a child signaling another to be quiet. He turned and headed back to the pickup truck.
Louis watched him as he crept around the back of the truck and toward the hut. He was moving toward the open window on the side and Louis knew he was going to try to take Duane Lacey and Cole by surprise, gun them down in cold blood.
Do something! Yell! Warn them! No! They’ll panic and end up dead.
He twisted the cuff against the limb, pulling it, but it wouldn’t move. He glanced back at Gibralter. He was nearly to the window.
With his left hand, he pulled the flashlight from his jeans. Reaching up, he placed it over the limb and grabbed each end. Using himself as dead weight, he swung his legs back and forth, trying to break the limb. It swayed but held. He edged the cuff out on the branch and tried again, his breath coming hard and fast as he bounced.
A loud snap split the quiet. He fell to the snow.
He scrambled quickly for the cover of the trees. From his position near the hut Gibralter looked back, scanning the darkness.
Louis’s eyes darted to the pickup. The shotgun, he needed to get the shotgun. He started toward the truck but a sudden light made him duck back.
The door of the hut opened. A figure came out onto the porch. It was Lacey. He was holding a shotgun ready at his side, surveying the trees. He waited for a moment then started toward the pickup.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye Louis saw movement. Gibralter, moving into firing position, raising his gun.
Move! Now!
Louis darted from the tree to the truck. Lacey had opened the truck’s door and started to turn, his ears picking up a rush of sound. Louis tackled Lacey, slamming him against the open door. Lacey let out a grunt but kept a tight grip on the shotgun.
Louis threw his full weight against Lacey, grappling for the shotgun as Lacey tried desperately to swing it down into position to fire.
“Get off me!” Lacey yelled.
“Shut up, goddammit, shut up!” Louis said.
A shot rang out. Louis wrenched Lacey into a neck hold and scuttled back for the cover of the open truck door. Louis slammed Lacey against the door and Lacey’s grip on the shotgun loosened just long enough for Louis to grab the barrel and twist it out of Lacey’s grasp. Louis tightened his arm around Lacey’s neck, pulling his back against his own chest. Frantically, he scanned the trees but there was no sign of Gibralter.
Lacey’s fingers tore at Louis’s arm around his neck. “You’re gonna die, motherfucker!” he yelled.
“Shut up! I’m trying to save you!” Louis hissed in his ear.
But that only drove Lacey into a greater fury. Louis swung the butt of the shotgun into Lacey’s face. Lacey stopped struggling, momentarily stunned.
A flash of silver caught Louis’s eye and he squinted into the darkness, trying to make out Gibralter’s outline in the faint illumination given off by the truck’s dome light. Gibralter’s badge glinted a second time as he emerged from the shadows in front of the truck.