When she asked what he’d been doing the previous night, Joe said he’d been out scouting and left it at that, and quickly changed the subject: “Have you heard anything from Sheridan?”
“The university’s closed today, too,” Marybeth said. “I texted her and asked how things were going. She sent me an answer that everything was fine. That’s all she said, and I didn’t ask any more. I may call her later today, though, since she’s likely just hanging out in her dorm room.”
“Let me know,” Joe said.
“I will.”
“So the girls are home with you today?”
“Yes, yes, they are,” Marybeth said. “Lucy got up, heard school was closed, and went back to bed. April’s making breakfast.”
“How’s that going?”
Joe heard the muffled sound of Marybeth covering the mic on the phone, and he waited until she was someplace — probably the hallway — where she felt free to talk. Her voice was a barely audible whisper.
“I don’t know what’s happened, but she’s been an angel. The good April is back. She even smiled this morning when she heard there was no school.”
“What brought on the change in her outlook?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m not going to ask yet. I’m stuck in the house all day with her, after all.”
“That’s good news,” Joe said. “Maybe she’s kind of getting over this Dallas Cates thing.”
His wife snorted and said, “That’s not likely. But I don’t know — maybe he’s getting a clue and not pressuring her to follow him on the rodeo circuit or something. Whatever it is, she’s not sulking and slamming doors, which is all I ask.”
Joe nodded to himself. He said, “I’m hoping to be home in a couple of days at the most. I’m ready to get out of this place.”
“Yes,” she said, “it will be good to have you back.”
“Marybeth, I love you and the girls.” It just came out.
She paused and said, “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Exactly what Sheridan said, and I’m not sure I completely believe either one of you. Now you’ve got me scared.”
“Don’t be,” Joe said. “I can’t tell you everything yet, but the FBI is manning up to get up here and take over. This should be done soon — or at least my part in it.”
“Good. Remember your promise.”
“I have,” Joe said.
“Joe,” she said, “did you try to call me last night? From a pay phone or something?”
“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I saw your text, but I thought it was too late to call back.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Someone called my cell phone last night. I missed it because I was in the shower, but it had a Medicine Wheel County prefix. They didn’t leave a message or anything, but I thought it was curious.”
Joe asked, “What time?”
“A few minutes after midnight.”
Joe thought back. He’d been on the ATV, retreating from the Sand Creek Ranch.
“It wasn’t me,” Joe said. The second he said it, he had a possible explanation.
She beat him to it, and said, “Joe, I had this premonition. What if it was Nate?”
“He’s here,” Joe said.
She paused and her voice rose. “And when were you going to tell me that little fact?”
“Soon.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No. But I think I found where he lives on the Sand Creek Ranch.”
“I hope he’s not…” she began to say, but didn’t finish the sentence.
“Me too,” Joe said.
“But if it was him, I wish I knew what he was calling about.”
Joe wondered the same thing, and was about to say something when he noticed Daisy had gone rigid and was staring at the door. Her growl came out as a low, cautionary rumble that ended with two heavy barks that shook the thin walls.
Joe said, “Gotta go.” Someone was outside in the hallway.
As he tossed the phone on the bed and reached for his shotgun, he heard the clumping of retreating boots.
He kept the shotgun aimed at the door for thirty seconds until Daisy calmed down and there was no more rustling outside. Then he went to his window and parted the moth-eaten curtains. They weren’t made of lace after all.
“Oh no,” Joe said aloud.
There, out in the parking lot, was Jim Latta walking from the inn toward his pickup. His shoulders were bunched and hands jammed in his pockets against the falling snow. His vehicle was idling in the lot, exhaust billowing from the tailpipe. When Latta opened his door, Joe caught a glimpse of a passenger — a young girl. His daughter, no doubt.
What he didn’t see was Latta opening his phone to call anyone.
Yet.
24
By the time Joe gathered his gear bag, unlocked the door, called Daisy, thundered down the stairs through the empty lobby — no sign of Alice, who was no doubt hiding after ratting him out — and swept ten inches of powder snow from the seat of his four-wheeler, Latta’s pickup was gone.
He mounted the ATV and it roared to life, and he gunned it and turned 180 degrees to follow the fresh set of tire tracks in the snow of the parking lot. As he cleared the Black Forest Inn property, he tried not to think of the cold already seeping into his clothing or the sting of heavy flakes in his eyes. He had to head Latta off before the game warden blew his cover. What he didn’t know was how he was going to do it.
The tracks were in the middle of the road, which said to Joe that Latta was driving cautiously on the unplowed highway. There might be a chance to catch up with him — but then what? He couldn’t — and wouldn’t — try to force Latta off the road. Not with Emily inside.
Within five minutes of leaving, Joe saw a faint pair of pink taillights through the heavy snowfall ahead. He knew it was Latta because there was no one else on the highway. Joe recognized where he was — on the flat stretch prior to the series of switchbacks that would climb the mountain on the way to Wedell. Now, for sure, there was no way to get ahead and ease Latta to the shoulder.
He maintained a cushion with the taillights in sight, hoping Latta wouldn’t see him in his rearview mirror or get on his phone yet. Joe put himself in Latta’s place and prayed the other game warden would wait to place his call when Emily couldn’t overhear. Wedell was eight miles away.
Joe thought: Use your tools and the terrain to your advantage.
Then he turned his head and called over his shoulder, “Hang on, Daisy,” and slowed the four-wheeler. He scoped out the timbered slope on his right for an opening in the trees, and when he found it, he turned the wheel. The path was little more than a game trail.
The front end of the ATV rose in his hands on the hill and he stood up from the seat and leaned into it. He could feel Daisy’s warm bulk against his back as he downshifted into a lower gear for the climb. Plumes of snow shot out from the fat rear tires, along with clumps of soil and grass when the treads ate through the ground cover. He flattened a dozen small treelings, and his front wheels glanced off downed timber and rock outcroppings.
Halfway up the hill in the deep timber, the ATV began to stall, wheels spinning madly, before his right rear tire found purchase on an exposed knob of granite and shot him farther up the hillside. Since he couldn’t risk spinning out again or even slowing down in the deep snow, Joe kept the throttle open and just tried to stay on, as if riding a runaway horse. Black wet tree trunks shot by him on both sides and he blasted through a low-hanging bough that dumped a foot of snow on him so he was temporarily blinded.
He slapped the snow from his face as he climbed, but his collar and cuffs were packed with it. He could feel small rivers of melted ice water course down his backbone into his Wranglers. His feet and hands were numb.