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  The timestamp told him the text came in only an hour ago. He lowered the phone, letting Burton’s face slide up into view.

  Wolf felt a stab of guilt for leaving a part of the story out. “I should tell you that it looks like Jesse does have an alibi. His girlfriend says she was with him all night. Or something. I don’t have the exact details.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  Wolf shrugged. “I’m relaying what MacLean heard from Roll.”

  “I have to go get him.”

  “Go get him, where? He fled from law enforcement down in Ridgway. He’s on the run.”

  Burton stood, and then his ample frame tipped back, and he landed heavily on the couch. That didn’t stop him, though, and he bounced back hard to his feet. “Move.”

  Wolf stepped aside, letting the awakened bear march into the kitchen and down the hallway.

  Chapter 2

  “What are you doing?” Wolf called as he watched Burton disappear upstairs.

  He hiked up after him, then choked as he stepped through a cloud of expelled gas hanging over the steps. “My God.”

  Burton was inside the master bedroom, passing the doorway with a duffle bag.

  “Burton.” Wolf followed the noise into the master closet. One side was empty, female clothing conspicuously amiss.

  “Where’s Cheryl?” he asked.

  Burton grunted. He had the duffle bag on the ground and was stuffing it full. Satisfied with the debris he’d packed in, he got to one knee and then struggled to his feet.

  Wolf watched him get up, aware the seventy-year-old was in worse shape than the last time they’d seen one another. As far back as Wolf could remember, Hal Burton had always been overweight and in less than optimal shape, but he had always moved with spry athleticism despite his bulk.

  Without warning, he pulled down his sweatpants, revealing a bare, white, hairy rear end.

  “Hey, come on.” Wolf turned and stumbled out, glancing around for something to gouge out his eyeballs.

  Burton emerged wearing a fresh pair of jeans, a flannel, and white socks, holding a pair of hiking shoes.

  Wolf stepped into his path. “Where are you going?”

  “You saw that text. I’m going to get my nephew.” Burton pushed past and walked down the hall.

  “Where is he?”

  “South.”

  “He’s not in Ridgway anymore. He fled. So, where do you think you’re gonna go?”

  The stairs sounded like boulders were being dropped onto them as Burton lumbered down.

  Wolf followed. “Ruins. He said ruins, so which ruins? Mesa Verde? Canyon of the Ancients?”

  Burton continued walking to the kitchen, sat on a wooden chair, and began lacing up his shoes.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  Nothing.

  “All right. Then I’ll call Ridgway, let ‘em know you just got a text from your nephew.”

  “No, you won’t.” Burton finished one shoe and slipped on the other.

  Wolf pulled it off his foot and threw it over his shoulder down the hallway.

  “What the hell?” Burton’s bulging eyeballs were more marbled than a ribeye. “Go get my shoe.”

  “Burton. You’re not driving anywhere. Five minutes ago, you were passed out drunk, dead to the world. There’s no way you’re getting behind the wheel.”

  Burton gave him a smartass smile, which degraded into a sneer.

  “And I will bring you into the station in cuffs if you try.”

  “Oh yeah. David Wolf, the sober saint.”

  Wolf said nothing.

  “You’re talking to the former sheriff, remember?”

  “Join the club.”

  Burton leaned back hard. “I have to go get him, Wolf. You heard him, he didn’t do it, and they even say he has an alibi.”

  “Then let the sheriff’s department go get him.”

  Burton shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Where is he?”

  Burton shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you. You’ll tell them.”

  “It’s something to do with ruins, right? He used all caps the second time he said the word in that text.”

  Burton rubbed his face with both hands.

  “Well?”

  “Yes, it’s something to do with ruins.” The old man stared at him. “You can make a decision, I guess. You can either drive me down to where I need to go, or you can get your ass out of here and let me get on with my life.”

  “They have a BOLO out on your nephew, did I make that clear enough? Did you hear me the first time? He’s wanted for the murder of that guy they’re talking about in the papers, Alexander Guild.”

  “You said it yourself, he has an alibi.”

  “Your nephew is running from the cops. Guilty people run from the cops.”

  They stared at one another again.

  “I could take your phone down to the station. Show MacLean. He lets Sheriff Roll know. They start looking down in the Canyon of the Ancients. There’s another choice I could make.”

  The wind outside howled. The house creaked.

  “That’s where he is, right? Canyon of the Ancients is more remote. Not a pay-to-get-in type of place like Mesa Verde.”

  Burton shook his head. “They’d never find him. He’s talking about some ruins me and him found a dozen years ago. It’s off the beaten path. And if you did that, you’d be putting my nephew in danger, damn it. He says he’s scared.”

  Wolf put his hands on his hips and looked out the sliding glass door. “Roll’s been calling up here all morning. There’re people looking for him. People on the clock, losing sleep. Away from their families.”

  Burton shook his head. “He’s got an alibi and the text said he thinks somebody’s after him. Kyle’s family, whatever that means. I’m not willing to give up his position. And you know how shit could go down. You set loose a mob of men carrying guns on my nephew, and something bad could happen.”

  Wolf shook his head. “But why run? Why not just go to the sheriff’s department if he’s in so much trouble? Especially if he has an alibi? They could protect him.”

  “I’m not leaving him hanging when he asked for my help.” Burton raised his voice. “You gonna leave me hanging when I’m asking you for help? After all we’ve been through?”

  Wolf stared at him.

  “Come on,” Burton said. “You could drive me down. You don’t even have to do anything.”

  Tears welled in Burton’s eyes, and Wolf realized there was a history at play in all of this. A past that had awakened the alcohol-sedated animal that lived inside the former sheriff.

  “I know exactly where he is,” Burton continued. “I’ll get him. And then we’ll bring him to Ouray. I’m not going to … I can’t let my brother’s kid down on this, Wolf.”

  Wolf went to the door and looked out the glass. He checked his watch, thinking of Sheriff MacLean’s request to come see him in his office, and the coming events of the next week.

  Something big was going down behind the scenes, and he was pretty sure it was happening this Tuesday, when the County Council was set to have their monthly meeting. Something that involved him.

  His mother used to tell him growing up, “Not everything’s about you, honey,” but he was getting the sense that this time his mother’s advice was wrong.

  Maybe his cop intuition was off, but he’d caught too many glances from MacLean and Undersheriff Wilson over the last two weeks and walked in on a few too many heated conversations that cut off the moment he entered the room.

  And it wasn’t just MacLean and Wilson. Something was bothering his entire detective squad—something that had all three of them—Rachette, Patterson, and Yates—avoiding eye contact the last week. Talking in huddles. And when they did look at him, they were the looks you gave a man after he accidentally drank a Coke tainted with Ebola.

  And if that failed to inject him with doubt, there was the article in the Rocky Points Ga
zette that had come out right around the same time the strangeness began two weeks ago. Written by a hard-nosed young reporter named Marty Jordan, the piece addressed the state of the Sheriff’s Department.

  Headlined “On Shaky Ground,” the article focused on last summer’s murder case, the investigation and prosecution of which had already spanned the last nine months, and threatened to go on for many more months if not longer, given the way the defense team was fighting tooth and nail against an under-budget, ragtag prosecution team led by DA Sawyer White.

  Wolf had spent many hours on the stand over the last winter and spring, as he’d had an integral role in capturing the slime bag killer now trying to weasel his way out of jail with his team of high-priced lawyers.

  Naturally, the topic of Wolf’s collapse on the mountain during the investigation had been the big point on the stand, and in Marty Jordan’s subsequent article. Wolf had cringed as he read the references to his episode as a panic attack.

  Of course, technically it was the right term, and with the help of his wunderkind shrink, Dr. Hawkwood, he’d come to terms with it. But that article. He despised the pleasure that journalist took in raking him over the coals again.

  “What do you say, Wolf?”

  Wolf snapped out of his thoughts. “What are we talking here? Nine-hour drive? Fifteen?”

  “Two. Three, tops.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Takes three just to get to Ridgway. Canyon of the Ancients is west of there. I can’t think of any closer ruins he’s talking about.”

  “Okay, four. I don’t know.”

  Wolf lifted his phone and checked the screen. With a huff he put it in his pocket. “I need to tell MacLean about this.”

  Burton shrugged. “Tell him you’re helping me out and you’ll see him tomorrow morning at the office. Tell him I’m distraught and I need you to escort me down to Ridgway. Hell, tell him I’m drunk and you have to drive me, I don’t care. He doesn’t need to know we know where Jesse is.”

  “He’s waiting to see me later today. Says he needs to talk to me.”

  Burton looked out the window.

  “And you don’t think there’s going to be blowback for breaking procedure on this? You think we’re going to be able to keep this hidden? I’m telling you, I’m already in hot water right now.”

  Burton’s face crumpled. “For what?”

  Wolf shook his head. “Where have you been, old man?”

  Something akin to shame flashed in Burton’s eyes. Wolf looked at the cluster of empty bottles on the counter and knew exactly where he had been.

  “What happened between you and this kid?” Wolf asked.

  Burton sat back and the chair creaked. He looked at the floor between them. “Nothing happened between me and this kid. That’s the problem, okay? Don’t you get it? My brother died, and I haven’t seen this kid in years. Too many years.”

  “You said a dozen years.”

  Burton looked at him. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  Wolf sucked in a breath and watched a cloud skate past the top of Rocky Points Resort outside.

  “Okay. Fine. But we go get him, and we bring—”

  “And we bring him back into custody up in Ouray County. I’m not looking to go on the run for the rest of my life with my nephew.” He raised his arms and looked around. “And risk all this?”

  They stared at each other again.

  “I’m going to bring him in from the cold, Dave. I’m not gonna sic the dogs on him. I’m gonna be there for him.”

  Wolf let out his breath and nodded. “When’s the last time you showered?”

  “Who gives a shit.”

  “I do. The upholstery of my car does. Those jeans do.”

  “I’m not exactly certain.”

  “Get certain and get in the shower.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Now.”

  Chapter 3

  “I hear Wolf’s on the chopping block.”

  Detective Heather Patterson was walking to her desk and skidded to a stop so fast her coffee spilled onto her hand. “Ah, crap.”

  Deputy Hanson turned from a conversation with Deputy Wilhelm. “Whoa, easy there, Patterson.”

  “What did you just say about Wolf?” She stepped close to Hanson.

  “I…” Hanson straightened. “Sorry, I was just…”

  “You were just saying you hear Wolf’s on the chopping block?”

  Hanson looked at Wilhelm. Wilhelm looked at his watch. “Gotta go.” And he walked away to his desk.

  “Why did you just say that to him? Why are you spreading that rumor?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “From whom?”

  “Rachette.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Hanson raised his eyebrows. “He said you guys had to attend interviews with the council about his inability to lead.”

  “Ability.” She wanted to reach up and knock him on the head. “Ability to lead, dumbass.”

  “Easy.” Hanson walked to his desk and sat down.

  She walked to her own desk, wiping her hand on her jeans.

  Surrounded by idiots, she thought. And, then, as she sat in her chair, she wondered why her pulse was still thumping through her body.

  It was just a real-life example of the telephone game they used to play in elementary school, when a person whispered something about a monkey in a tree in someone’s ear, the next person added on a few new words, until the last person talked about shoving bananas up somebody’s butt.

  Or was it that Hanson had just said what she’d secretly been thinking for the last few days? Is that why she hadn’t been sleeping?

  And why was this the second time she’d heard somebody relaying the same rumor about Wolf today? Why now?

  She thought back to the interview in the windowless room in the Town Hall building. The way the County Council sat behind those folding tables, looking at her, scrutinizing her every word, scribbling notes on their yellow legal pads.

  Her heart rate went right back up.

  “I believe David Wolf still exhibits all the traits necessary to be a good leader,” she had told them.

  A good leader? She remembered holding back from using the word great, hesitating for just a millisecond when she said it. At the time, she’d wondered why she’d hesitated, and couldn’t come up with an answer for herself. A few of the council members had picked up on it, looking over the top rims of their eyeglasses, pausing their notes.

  “I think he’s a great leader,” she had said, correcting herself.

  Did it look like they didn’t believe her at that point? She had been mulling over that moment for days now.

  “On a scale of one to ten, can you please rate David Wolf’s ability as Chief Detective?”

  She’d rated him a nine. Then she’d spouted some drivel about how David Wolf was not a perfectionist, and how she admired that about the man. And that’s why she’d given him a nine, because Wolf himself would disapprove of being rated a ten.

  She shook her head, feeling she might puke from the memory.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath. She’d been trying, genuinely trying, to make him look good. Great! Damn it. But she may have undermined his chances.

  Chances at what?

  She sat back in her chair and stretched her protesting back.

  She’d been assured by her aunt—and Rocky Points mayor—Margaret Hitchens that there was nothing to worry about. That the interviews—the confidential interviews—were standard procedure. She trusted her Aunt Margaret. But as rumors blazed through the department like wildfire, she wondered if she could trust Mayor Margaret.

  Her phone rang, Rachette’s name popping up on the display.

  She pressed the button. “Have you been telling people Wolf’s on the chopping block?”

  “What?” Rachette huffed into the phone. “No. But I’ve heard the same thing today.”

  “Yeah? Well, Hanson seems to think he heard it fro
m you. So…”

  “What? Bullshit. I told him about my interview. I didn’t say he was on the chopping block. Hanson said that?”

  “You told him about the interview? They were supposed to be confidential.”

  “Confidential? I thought they meant they would keep our answers confidential. Not that I care. I told them what I told you I told them. That Wolf’s the man.”

  She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed. “Whatever.”

  They sat in silence for a beat.

  “MacLean told us it was just council procedure,” Rachette said. “And that’s it. I don’t think we should worry about these rumors. Hanson’s an idiot.”

  “Who else did you hear it from?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  “Well, Yates said he heard it from somebody.” She could hear Rachette speaking to someone else. “Who’d you hear it from? Yates says he heard it from Hanson.” Rachette’s voice faded slightly. “No, dude, I told him about the interview, not that he was getting fired.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Rachette came back on the phone. “Does Wolf know about these interviews yet?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t tell him because MacLean told us not to, but with all your blabbing, I’m sure he has audio files of all of us by now.”

  “Shit. Okay, my bad. We gotta tell him.”

  “You think?”

  They said nothing to each other for a while, listening to the static.

  “You guys on your way back from Carl and Minnie’s?”

  Today was Sunday and their entire detective squad was on patrol duty, something that happened every three weeks with their schedule. Earlier in the day, Rachette and Yates had been called to a domestic disturbance involving a crazy couple who lived in the woods northeast of town. Minnie Yorberg had apparently taken a baseball bat to the two home computers, and her husband, Carl had called 9-1-1, fearing for his life. With Wolf at Burton’s house on the BOLO for Jesse Burton, it was more action in one day than they’d seen in the last month.

  “Yeah, we’re on our way back,” Rachette said. “Got Minnie with us. Carl’s following in his truck. He wants to press charges.”