In the Ground (David Wolf Book 14) Read online

  The road to Dredge looked different under a morning sky devoid of clouds. Wolf cracked the window to test the air and was rewarded with a chill swirl to the face.

  He rolled it back up and sipped his coffee, checking the rearview. Rachette and Yates, followed close behind, rounding the bend behind him.

  His thoughts returned back, for the what seemed like the thousandth time, to Deputy Cain squeezing his arm the night before. Not in a very long time had a touch sent so much electricity flowing through his body. The way she’d held the sustained pressure, and swirled her fingers as she let go.

  And then there was that brushing of their legs in the casino at the bar. That had been something, hadn’t it? At first it had been a clear mistake, but not pulling her leg away was no error. Of course, he’d kept his leg still, too. It had been like a mini game of chicken, and for a few moments neither of them had backed down.

  Or it had been two innocent, incidental contacts with Deputy Piper Cain. My God, he head to get ahold of himself. He rolled down the window again, this time all the way, dousing any heat coming off his body with a roiling blast of frigid air.

  He took the wheel with both hands and let the air clear his head for a full few minutes.

  As he came around a bend the valley opened up. Aspens shimmered along the river, the sunlight poking through, and he could detect the scent of the river. Another good day to be out on the job and not behind the desk if there ever was one. With MacLean’s triumphant return from his battle with cancer he was bound to have many more of these days.

  His phone vibrated in the center console, bringing him back to the present.

  He picked it up and saw a missed call from a phone number he didn’t recognize. There was a voicemail, so he pressed the button and put it to his ear, rolling up the window so he could hear.

  “Hey, it’s Ned. He’s back. Out petting his dog right now. You said call, so I called.”

  Wolf frowned and lowered the phone, momentarily confused by what he’d just heard. And then he remembered Ned Larson had been the neighbor and he was talking about Rick Hammes.

  Wolf slowed to a stop on the side of the road, hoping he was still inside one of the rare eddies of cell reception in this area and dialed the number back.

  “Mr. Larson? This is Sheriff Wolf. You just called me?”

  Wolf lowered his window and held up a finger to an approaching Rachette, who had stepped out of his own car and was walking up. “I’m just making sure I heard your message correctly, sir. Did you say Rick Hammes is back at his house?”

  “Yes, sir. He already came over and yelled at me. Bastard thinks I fed his dog steak. I know about the damn dog not being able to digest meat, and I didn’t feed him no T-bone. I told him he’s lucky I fed him at all. Well, I didn’t tell him that. The man’s scary as hell. Don’t—”

  “Sir,” Wolf interrupted him. “Is he still there now?”

  Rachette narrowed his eyes, waiting for Wolf’s answer.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wolf nodded for Rachette’s benefit.

  “Looks like’s he’s settling in,” Ned said. “He never said anything to me about leaving again. I tell you I’m not going to watch his dog again if—”

  “Sir,” Wolf stopped the man’s rant again. “I have to go. Thank you very much for the call. I appreciate it.”

  Wolf hung up. “He’s there. Who do we have up there at Mary Dimitri’s?”

  “Chavez,” Rachette said. “He stayed the night.”

  “Who’s at the mine?”

  Rachette shrugged.

  Wolf thought about it. “Okay. Get Chavez over there, I’ll figure out who was at the mine and have them head over there, too. But tell Chavez not to engage,” Wolf pointed at Rachette, “and make that clear to him. He’s just there to make sure Hammes doesn’t leave.”

  “And if he does leave?”

  “Then tell Chavez to follow him. At a distance.”

  “What about Cain?” Rachette asked. “I’d trust her on the job more than Chavez. He’s a good guy and all, but he’s green as they come.”

  Wolf nodded. “I’ll call Cain. She might not be available, so get Chavez, go.”

  Looking through his phone contacts, Wolf realized he didn’t have Deputy Cain’s phone number. He dialed Tammy.

  "Yes, sir. What do you need?" she said in a sing-song voice.

  "Tammy, who do we have up at the mine right now?”

  “Deputy Nelson.”

  Wolf filled her in. “Can you call Nelson and tell him to make his way down to Hammes’s house?”

  “Will do.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Do you have a phone number for Deputy Piper Cain, the satellite unit up in Dredge?”

  “That cute girl who came in to apply this winter. Sure do.”

  “Yeah. Wait, what?”

  “I have the number. Just a second.”

  “No, the part about applying. What did you say?”

  “Yeah. She came into the department this winter with her resume.”

  “Oh.” Wolf’s world rearranged, memories of Deputy Cain coming out of the recesses of his mind, shuffling, forming a full picture.

  He’d looked at her resume as it came across his desk. That’s why she looked familiar.

  He thought of the way she’d been acting yesterday, how when he’d asked about her past she’d looked at him with that unreadable expression. This winter he’d hired Deputy Chavez by recommendation from Wilson, who knew him through a friend of a friend, but Wolf had put the next hire on hold when the storm had hit—a seven day onslaught of snow not seen in five decades that had shut down the entire town, even the ski resort, crippling the ski lifts.

  Wolf had meant the pause in hiring to last a week, but it had stretched to two, then a whole month. Once again he’d been playing catch-up and the storm’s aftermath only made getting back to normal harder.

  Those are excuses, he told himself, using a voice that sounded a lot like his father’s.

  “Hello? You there?”

  “Sorry, yeah. Can you please patch me through to her cell?”

  "Yep. I’m patching it." A few seconds later, there was a crackle and then it began to ring in his ear. She picked up quickly.

  “Deputy Cain here.”

  "Deputy Cain, this is Sheriff Wolf."

  "Oh, hello. How are you?"

  "I'm good. Um…how’s your father doing?"

  "He's doing well. He got a good rest last night and seems to be doing better. Thanks for asking."

  "Right. Actually, I'm not calling for that. I mean, I'm glad he's doing well, but listen, are you able to leave your house?”

  “Yes. I’m already out on duty. I have regular help that comes to stay with my father when I’m at work. Yesterday was just different. It was…”

  “It was what?”

  “It was my day off.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that. Well… Listen, Rick Hammes is back in town. I just got a call from his neighbor. I've got Deputy Chavez en route. I'd like a little bit more experience backing him up. If you could please go there right now, that would help."

  "Yes, sir. I’m close already.”

  "We should be there in about twenty minutes," he said. "We'll see you there. Do not engage. I repeat: Do not engage. We have reason to believe he’s probably armed, and we already know he’s dangerous."

  "Yes, sir.”

  Wolf shifted into drive and pushed the accelerator.

  Deputy Piper Cain lowered her phone, her adrenaline spiking her heart rate. She clicked off the gas pump, cutting short the Jeep’s fill-up, and waited for the receipt to spit out of the machine.

  Why did she just tell him it had been her day off yesterday? Because she didn’t want him to think she was a monster for leaving her father unattended at home. But it had come out like she was looking for a pat on the back for working above and beyond her duties. She wasn’t.

  She hung a left out onto Main street and sped up to fifty
miles per hour, driving through a red light and a four-way stop on the way through downtown, past the road to Mary Dimitri’s house, the casino, and toward the county road to Hammes’s house.

  The dashboard clock read 8:05. Her still-wet hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and now sweat was beading on her forehead from the adrenaline. A nice wakeup call if there ever was one.

  When she reached the dirt county road, she pressed the gas harder, flying across the base of the valley. When she hit seventy miles per hour, she decided that was a little too fast and let off the gas.

  She needed to calm down, but images of Rick Hammes flashing through her mind were making it tough, with that big, muscular body, satanic tattoos crawling all over his skin, and his long hair always pulled into twin braids, like he was trying to look like a horned animal.

  Wolf had said he was sending Chavez over there. She remembered meeting that deputy yesterday, all the while wondering why they’d hired him and not her. The kid was no more than twenty years old and had the eyes of a trapped deer. She just hoped the kid had gotten the same orders as she did and was keeping his distance.

  Rick Hammes picked up the longest of the already smoked cigarette butts from his ashtray and lit it, sucking on it until he hit the filter. His lungs burned, but he kept it in as long as he could, savoring the slight nicotine buzz. He picked through the tray, looking for more signs of tobacco, but found nothing.

  Dex whined, cowering onto his cushion in the front room.

  “What are you complaining about?”

  Dex put his chin down and looked up at him.

  He should have stopped and got some smokes on the way back this morning, but he thought he had at least a couple more packs in his stash. One of the reasons he bought cigarettes in bulk was so he wouldn’t run out. Damn it. The trips north had screwed up his schedule.

  His body ached from the early drive and he was ravenously hungry. At least he wasn’t hung over. He’d been smart last night to cap it at three beers.

  Waiting for the pan to warm up so he could make his six-egg omelet, he took off his shirt and stretched his arms overhead, feeling his muscles stretch and his joints pop. He bent over at the waist with straight legs, placing both hands on the carpet with ease.

  “You seeing this, Dex? Both hands flat.”

  Dex yawned.

  Hammes straightened and looked himself in the full-length mirror. The Sigil of Baphomet tattooed on his chest was a bit asymmetrical now since his pecs had grown a few inches in all directions. That was one good thing prison had given him—another thirty pounds of pure muscle. He was a veritable god now.

  The squeaking of brakes drew his attention to the front of the house.

  Dex got up, growling and whining at the window.

  "What is it, Dex?"

  Hammes looked outside and saw nothing. Probably Larson driving in or something.

  But he hadn’t heard that old bastard’s loud as shit truck, so who was it? Hammes pulled up the blinds all the way and leaned into the window, looking both directions.

  “What the hell?” A vehicle was parked across the street, way down the road to the left, just where the bend came into view. Even though the truck was in shadow he could see the light bar mounted on the roof and a round logo on the side. “What’s a pig doing up there, Dex?”

  Dex whined in response.

  He couldn’t see inside through the glare on the vehicle’s windshield.

  “What’s going on around here?”

  Dex whined again.

  He’d heard from Mary about her boyfriend getting killed up at the mine. In fact, she’d even had the audacity to ask if he’d done it.

  Hell no. Like he was itching to get back in prison or something.

  The strange thing was, when he’d rolled through town this morning, he’d swung by Mary’s house but hadn’t stopped, because there was a cop parked out front and an X of crime scene tape stretched across her front door.

  So what the hell was going on? She wasn’t answering her phone this morning either. Or any of his texts.

  Staring at this cop, some things clicked into place. Come to think of it, that was the same cop car he’d seen outside her house. Same logo. Same model SUV. Same cop.

  Did they think he had something to do with that asshole’s murder up at the mine? Mary must have been feeding the pigs information. And the reason her house was sealed up? Maybe she was giving them DNA evidence or something. One of his used condoms from last week or something. Damn, he’d left a toothbrush over there.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Dex again.

  Mary had spoken about how much of an asshole Oakley was. She’d even requested Rick rough him up to teach him a lesson. Maybe Mary had decided to teach Oakley a lesson herself, killing him. And then what? Now she was telling the cops he did it?

  Was that it?

  It was outrageous, but a surge of certainty flowed through him. “She’s playin’ me to the cops, Dex.”

  Dex lowered his head and made another gagging noise. “Get back outside with that.”

  He opened the front door and pushed Dex out and watched him retch again onto the front lawn. At least it wasn’t coming out of his backside anymore. It was going to take a while for the rain to clean the front yard after what that dog had done.

  He stepped outside and picked up the steak bone lying in the dirt. And then that old bastard feeding his dog this shit?

  He dropped the bone in the metal bowl sitting by to the door. Everyone was out to get him.

  Up the road another vehicle pulled up. He didn’t see it, but he heard the crackle of tires, another squeal of brakes, and a car door thumping shut. He backed inside, shut the door, and looked out the window again.

  It was that hot chick with the badge that he’d seen around town walking across the road, looking toward his house.

  “What the fuck.” He started pacing furiously. The walls pressed in on him. The ceiling seemed to shrink a few feet. His skin prickled with sweat. That helpless, trapped feeling set his heart racing. It was like that first year in jail all over again. It was happening. They were gonna put him back in.

  “The hell they are,” he said, marching to his room. He reached into his nightstand, knocking over a beer bottle onto the carpet, and pulled out the nine mil.

  Piper parked along the right side of the road and hopped out, heading for the passenger side of SBCSD vehicle and knocked on the window.

  "Chavez, right?”

  “Yeah. Hey. Cain, right?”

  “Yep. So, how's it going?"

  His eyes darted between her and out the windshield toward Hammes’s house. “I just got here. I haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Why are you parked in plain sight of the house and not on the other side?” she asked.

  His eyes flashed. “Because I need line of sight. That’s why.”

  She softened her face, nodding. “Okay. Yeah, sorry, makes sense. But this guy was put in jail three years ago for shooting at a vehicle. I’m not sure how he got out, but I’m not one to believe he’s reformed all that much. We don’t want to start anything. He’s not going to take too kindly to cops staking out his house if he sees us.”

  Chavez upturned a hand in response.

  “So why don’t you back it up, park behind my vehicle on the other side of the road, out of sight, and we’ll wait for the sheriff there.”

  "Okay, yeah." His eyes darted toward the house, then he jolted in his seat. "Shit, there he is."

  She looked and saw Rick Hammes marching down his pathway from his front door to his gate. He was shirtless, his tattooed skin rippling with muscles that flexed into striated rocks as he hopped the fence, landed deftly on the other side, and continued toward them at a full speed-walk up the road.

  "What the hell is he doing?" Chavez said, popping open his door and getting out.

  They walked to the front of Chavez's vehicle and, standing next to one another, put their hands on their weapons.

  “Now ca
lm down,” she said, seeing Chavez’s hand flicking open and closed.

  Hammes continued up the shoulder of the road, looking left and right into the forest, pointedly ignoring their presence as he closed in fast.

  “Okay, stop right there, please,” she said, hearing a bit of a wobble in her voice as it came out.

  Hammes put both hands up over his head and skidded to a stop. “Oh! Hello officers! Why, what are you doing here?” He took a step forward, putting his arms out at his sides. His eyes were popped wide. Veins bulged through his inked skin, which was stretched impossibly tight over his rhinoceros muscles.

  “I’m just trying to go for a nice nature walk. And it looks like you apparently have a problem with that? Because you both have your hands on your guns, and you’re parked here because you’re watching me. What’s that about?”

  “Sir,” she said, searching for the words, but Hammes threw her off as he took another step forward. His pectorals bounced like water balloons before contracting into river rocks.

  He was a good twenty paces away, but she felt the heat rising with each step the man took.

  “Just stay right where you are,” Chavez said, pulling his gun and holding it pointed at the ground.

  “Whoa, pig! The fuck are you doing?” Hammes came to a stop and put his arms at his side again.

  The dog began barking down the road, sounding even more vicious than the previous day. Seemingly fueled by concern for its master, the pit bull turned into a monster.

  Chavez flicked a glance toward Piper. “What do we do?” he asked under his breath.

  Piper stepped forward, keeping one hand gripping her gun and holding up the other. “Sir, we’re here waiting for our sheriff. That’s why we’re parked here.”

  “For what? Why are you watching me?”

  “We were coming to talk to you.”

  “About what? What’s Mary saying I did?”

  Cain shook her head, momentarily confused by the question.

  “What’s she telling you?” Hammes asked. “Well? Come on, you want to talk, I’m right here. Talk away. Why are you pigs watching me? What’s that bitch saying? You think I’m going back to jail, you got another thing coming.”

  "Sir. Please go back to your house and we’ll come talk to you when we’re ready. We’re not here to bring you to jail. We’re just here to talk.” Piper was pretty sure she was lying and it sounded like it to her own ears.