Rain (David Wolf Book 11) Read online

  “No, he’s not. You are. And as a groomsman at your wedding, it’s my duty to make sure your face doesn’t get all beat up before the ceremony.”

  “Oh, that’s your duty, huh? I thought it was to get tanked and ‘cut up the dancefloor,’ as you put it yesterday.”

  “Those are personal duties. Very different from a groomsman’s.”

  Wolf allowed himself a smile as they rounded a bend. The road swung to the right past a field of cows and led up into the trees of the eastern side of the Chautauqua Valley.

  The radio scratched with the voice of the Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department receptionist and lead dispatcher, Tammy Granger.

  “Unit five-one, do you copy?”

  Wolf nodded toward the radio and Rachette took it. “Unit five-one. Go ahead, Tammy.”

  “I have unit five-eight on the way to Eli Banks’s house.”

  “Yates and Nelson,” Rachette said. He thumbed the button. “Where are they?”

  “Just left the station.”

  “Copy that.”

  “You two be safe. Especially you, David Wolf. You’re getting married in two days, young man.”

  Rachette thumbed the receiver and put it in the air between them.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wolf said.

  Something between a laugh and a snort came through the speaker.

  Rachette hung up the handpiece and dug into his back pocket. “Dip?”

  “Nope.”

  It had been three years since Wolf had tasted the Copenhagen flaunted in his face and his sergeant detective knew it.

  The smell of snuff permeated the cab, so he cracked a window and welcomed in the scent of pine and decaying foliage. The aspens had turned golden, and their leaves shimmered as they fell onto the gravel road on a northerly breeze.

  “Damn fine day,” Rachette said.

  Wolf grunted an agreement.

  They climbed a few hundred feet, switching back and forth, then rounded another bend. The SUV rolled into a treeless meadow with a view of the western peaks and the gleaming ski lifts stitching Rocky Points Ski Resort. A dusting of snow clung to the highest elevations from a storm the night before.

  “That’s why you don’t have a wedding up on top of the hill in the fall,” Rachette said, pointing to the snow.

  Dozens of marriages took place there each year during the summer months. Rachette and his wife Charlotte, herself a deputy in the Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department, had an ongoing argument about whether the top of the resort was a suitable venue for Wolf and Lauren.

  Wolf and Lauren rarely listened to others’ opinions but had thought the same thing, deciding instead to get married in a tent on Wolf’s family ranch. If Wolf—born and raised in Rocky Points—had learned one thing in his forty-six years, it was that October 2nd at nine-thousand feet could deliver several seasons in one day, though rarely anything resembling summer. Add another three thousand feet and Mother Nature skipped fall altogether and went straight to winter.

  Rachette grabbed his empty Red Bull can from the center console and spat. “I can’t wait for the rehearsal up at Antler Creek tomorrow night.”

  Wolf nodded.

  “So … what’s the deal with that? Do we just order what we want? Or is it a set menu?”

  “Get whatever you want.”

  “Ah.” Rachette leaned back in his seat. “How many people coming?”

  “Ten.”

  Rachette whistled and spat again. “That meal’s gonna be expensive.”

  “Get what you want.”

  “You sure?”

  Wolf gave him a look. They both knew Lauren was more than well off. When her father had been killed and her mother died of cancer, she inherited Luanne’s Sweets and Treats. She’d since sold her shares for an eight-figure sum. Rachette would know a night for fifteen people—or a hundred or a thousand for that matter—at Antler Creek wasn’t going to break the bank.

  In truth, Wolf was self-conscious about the money he was marrying into. He’d grown up without much of the stuff. His father had been a sheriff, his mother a stay-at-home mom who worked the ranch and made crafts for extra cash. None of it had amounted to much more than a night on the town for his parents every now and then.

  Now he was technically a multi-millionaire.

  Rachette had been making money comments like this for months now. His detective wanted Wolf excited, to tell him about all the boats and cars he was going to buy, the chalet in Aspen, the new BMW motorcycle. But Wolf had no plans for any of the money and had told Lauren as much.

  Lauren was a brilliant woman though, and she’d suggested they get creative with giving it away once they were married. That was something he could get behind, although he’d told her he refused to put his name to any donations. He’d help with anything they needed, but Lauren and Ella would take the credit.

  “I saw your mom and Jack at the store last night,” Rachette said.

  Wolf nodded.

  “Jack’s a big boy now. Holy crap.”

  Wolf smiled.

  “That kid was a skinny twerp before he went to college. Well, he’s always been a head taller than me, but he used to be a twig. What’s he now, two hundred pounds?”

  “One ninety,” Wolf said.

  Jack’s new workout routine and nutritional philosophy had filled out his lanky frame. Since his arrival in Rocky Points two days prior, he’d been touting the benefits of workouts and high-protein foods to Wolf, suggesting that his father “needed to shed a few pounds” and “was getting a little soft in the middle.” Sometime between bites of steak he’d mentioned his new bodyweight.

  “That little vixen he’s dating, Cassidy, coming to the wedding?” Rachette whistled. “Damn, she’s quite the looker.”

  Wolf eyed him.

  Rachette squirmed and pointed through the windshield. “Watch the road.”

  “She’ll be there with her mother.”

  “When are they getting married? Jack and Cassidy. I mean, you know that’s coming.”

  Wolf stared ahead.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “I don’t know. She seemed a little … feisty?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She tore the cash-register guy a new one for charging her wrong for some eggs or something.”

  Wolf let out a breath. His mother had been showing signs of angry-old-woman syndrome. He’d been wondering if it had anything to do with an onset of dementia.

  “Sorry.” Rachette slapped him on the shoulder, then put both hands on the dash, studying the road ahead. “Anyway, it’s coming up.”

  A surge of adrenaline washed through Wolf as he thought about the ceremony, his yet-to-be written vows, his mother terrorizing local businesses back in town, the aunts and uncles he hadn’t seen in ages, the construction zone around his house—all of it. He figured there was no difference in the way he felt now to the moment if some guy had pushed him in a dark alley. He could count the number of hours he’d slept this week on one hand.

  “All right.” Rachette scooted forward. “You ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve been married before. It’s no big deal. Stand up there, say your vows, try not to—”

  “No! The turn! Turn here!”

  Wolf jammed the brakes and went into a sideways slide, almost dropping a tire into the drainage ditch.

  Rachette looked him up and down. “Ready for the turn. The turn. Holy crap, we almost flipped.”

  Wolf felt his face redden as they drove on in silence.

  Beacon Light Road switched back to the south and climbed around the mountain, putting the town below out of sight. They passed through dense forest, into a wide clearing, and then the terrain flattened out and three houses squatting in a meadow came into view.

  Wolf braked at a fork in the road. The left path wound to a single house, while the right led to two houses built near to each other.

  “Which one is it?” Rac
hette asked. “I can’t remember.”

  “Left,” Wolf said, taking the turn.

  The road led down through a dip filled with water from the recent rain.

  Wolf stopped at the top of a long, dirt driveway. “Here it is.”

  He vaguely remembered the last time at Eli Banks’s house. Sometime during college. There’d been multiple kegs and a lot of drunken people barbecuing and playing volleyball in the yard out front. Sarah had wanted to leave early, he recalled that. It was funny the memories one could dig up given the right locale.

  “Parked pretty good for a drunk.” Wolf nodded to a mid-nineties black Chevy pickup sitting in the driveway. Wolf had seen drunks part their vehicles in a whole slew of creative ways. The pickup was lined up straight with the path of the drive.

  “Probably got lucky.” Rachette rolled down the window, craned his finger into his mouth and flung his dip outside.

  The house sat one story high between widely spaced pines. The shades were drawn in the front window.

  Wolf turned onto the driveway and parked. “Front door’s cracked open.”

  Rachette eyed the road behind them. “Are we gonna wait for Yates and Nelson?”

  Wolf shut off the engine and rolled down his window. They sat in silence and listened to a fall wind passing through pine trees like a distant waterfall.

  A shout came from inside the house.

  Wolf craned his neck out the window.

  “You hear that?” Rachette stuck his head out, too.

  Wolf popped the door and stepped out onto the dirt.

  “Get out of here, assholes!”

  “Heard that,” Rachette said, and got out.

  The house door ripped open, slammed against the interior wall, and swung back closed. A hand reached out, and Eli shouted as it smashed between the jamb and the door. The door opened again and Eli emerged holding a double-barrel shotgun.

  Chapter 8

  “Down!” Wolf yelled as he ducked and moved to the back of the SUV.

  The gun blasted twice and shot whistled over their heads.

  Rachette came around, head down, gun in his hand. “Son of a bitch.”

  Wolf scanned the neighbors’ houses for people outside, and heard shot pellets tinkling on the nearest building’s metal roof. There was nobody within sight, in the windows or outside, and no vehicles parked near the properties.

  “Looks like they’re gone,” Rachette said.

  “I hope.”

  Eli shot again, this time only once. “Get out of here, assholes!”

  Wolf poked his head out and caught a glimpse of Eli bouncing off the entryway and stumbling back inside. The door swung shut behind him.

  Through the trees, tires crackled on the gravel road and a SBCSD SUV rounded the corner.

  Yates was driving and scratched the SUV to a stop. His eyes went wide at the sight of Wolf and Rachette huddling, their guns out. Behind the windshield, he raised his hands in a WTF gesture and pressed the radio to his lips.

  “… going on?” Yates’s voice floated out of the dash speaker.

  As detectives, Wolf and Rachette rarely lifted the two portable radios from their charging ports on the center console.

  Yates saw their hands up and put the radio back down. He shut off the engine and climbed out. Nelson stepped down from the passenger side.

  “What’s going on?” he said in a whisper that traveled the fifty yards.

  “We’re having a picnic!” Rachette said.

  “Shots fired,” Wolf said. “Call for more backup. And get back in. He has a shotgun.”

  Yates and Nelson flinched at the news and dove in the SUV.

  “I can’t tell if help just arrived or not,” Rachette said.

  “The more good guys, the better.” Wolf turned around and popped the rear hatch. They donned their Kevlar vests and Wolf shut the door.

  “What’s the plan?” Rachette asked.

  Wolf peeked out and locked eyes with Eli, his face against the window between parted curtains.

  Eli’s mouth moved as he noticed Wolf looking at him, and he pulled away.

  There was a boom and the window shattered into a thousand pieces. A shredded drape licked out into the afternoon, riding a burst of fire like a dragon’s tongue.

  “That’s shot number two,” Wolf said, and stepped out into the open. “Hey, you can’t shoot me, dickhead!”

  “What are you doing?” Rachette hissed. “Get down. I order you as groomsman to get your ass—”

  “He’s cracking open the barrel right now,” Wolf said. “I can see him. Fumbling with the box of shells on the coffee table. Dropped one. He fell on the couch when he picked it up … he’s up. He’s coming back to the window. Can’t hit me!” Wolf raised both his middle fingers.

  Eli wobbled into position and raised the shotgun.

  Wolf dove back behind the SUV.

  Two more blasts echoed into the trees.

  Wolf got to his feet and sprinted toward the house.

  “Stop!” Rachette yelled.

  Eli tried to rip off the drape nearest to him and cursed at a rod that bent but failed to budge. His head swiveled toward Wolf’s thundering steps, and his eyes went wide.

  Wolf moved fast, first taking the driveway, then cutting into the grass. His legs pumped hard, his feet pounding on crispy long grass.

  Eli saw Wolf and let go of the drape. “No! Stop!” He cracked open the double barrel, ejecting two spent shells out onto the porch, then disappeared back into the darkened house.

  Wolf put his Glock back in its holster, stepped onto the porch, and dove inside.

  Eli was standing over the coffee table, staring dumbly at the box of shells as Wolf sailed through the shattered window and landed on his back.

  The drunken man was thin and light, and he collapsed like a cardboard box into the coffee table. The table buckled while Wolf brought his feet up to stop his forward momentum, kicking the front of a television stand as he came to a halt. The TV lurched forward, tipping off its perch, and Wolf rolled out of the way just in time.

  Eli was not so lucky—the fifty-inch-plus flat-screen landed on his head.

  Eli lay still on top of a shattered coffee table strewn with shotgun ammo, the TV flickering on his skull.

  Rachette came through the window, a drape tangled around his thighs. The bar snapped off and shot inside the room, bouncing off Wolf’s shoulder.

  Rachette escaped from his fabric attacker with gun drawn. “What the hell? What are you doing? What the hell?” He unplugged the television, looked at Eli’s inert form, and stepped in front of Wolf.

  “That was straight reckless.” He bent down to cuff Eli. “Reckless!”

  “Letting that guy keep shooting up the neighborhood was reckless. Sometimes when an opportunity stares you in the face, you take it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll make sure to carve that on your tombstone.”

  Footsteps thumped outside.

  “You guys all right?”

  “Yeah!” Rachette said. “We’re fine.”

  “You going to tell Lauren on me?” Wolf asked.

  “Of course. I’m telling everyone about this.”

  Chapter 9

  “And Rachette said you jumped in the window and tackled him into his TV, and the TV landed on his head?” Butch Wannamaker, owner of Black Diamond Pizza, stood at Lauren and Wolf’s table, mouth open. “Is that true?”

  Lauren’s water glass stalled at her lips and her emerald eyes slid to his. “You did what?”

  “Rachette did that,” Wolf said.

  Butch blinked a few times and his smile dropped. “Wait. Rachette did that? He said you did.”

  “No. He did it.”

  “That’s … not like Rachette to give other people credit for things he did. If anything, he likes to—”

  “Could we get the check whenever you get a chance?”

  Butch nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back. You done?”

  “Yes,” Lauren said, pushing
her plate forward. “Thank you.”

  Butch winked and took her plate. “Be right back.”

  Wolf leaned back and felt the pizza heavy in his stomach. He sipped the last of his Newcastle draft and smacked his lips.

  “You ran toward him while he was shooting?”

  He lowered his mug and looked at her.

  “Dove through his window?”

  He sighed and set down the mug. “It was the safest thing to do. I didn’t feel like killing a man today. He was absolutely hammered. If he’d have even come close to killing me, I’d have shot him.”

  She rolled her eyes and picked up her red wine, then made a show of chugging the last few ounces and slapping the glass down.

  He laughed and squeezed her leg under the table.

  Her eyes narrowed and she smiled seductively. His body flooded with hormones like he was a teenager again, not an aging man sore from an earlier forty-yard sprint. In the subdued light of the pizza parlor, her freckled cheeks looked like cocoa flecks on caramel. She’d been wearing a lot of tube-topped shirts while doing chores outside the house and was as tan as he’d ever seen her.

  “You’re going to look beautiful in your dress,” he said.

  She smiled and put her head on his shoulder. When she sat up, a worried look creased her forehead. “Maybe I need another wine after all.”

  “It’s going to be great.”

  “I know.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

  “Hey, sorry.” Butch dropped the check. “Here. Take your time.”

  “Nah, there you go.” Wolf handed over his credit card.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Lauren checked her watch. “Geez, it’s only 8:10. This is our big date night alone before the wedding craziness?”

  “What can I say? We’re old.”

  “You’re old,” she said. “I’m not even forty yet.”

  He smiled. “We could always make a stop on the way home. Maybe along the river?”

  “Where? At one of your old hookup spots?”

  He felt his face drop and flush, though with every fiber of his being he wanted to act normal in response to such a benign comment. But the truth was, he’d been thinking of him and Sarah at that very instant. Before Lauren, there had only been his ex-wife.