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F
ry ’em.” Luther Hindenburg tapped a nail-bitten finger on the Formica table for emphasis. “That’s what I say. Fry ’em on the
first offense. Not the second or thirty-third, for fuck’s sake. And none of this waiting around for years on appeal. If a
guy gets the death penalty, he oughta be cold meat by the following evening.”
There was a rumble of agreement down the long row of folding tables. Calvin swallowed a bite of gluey pancake and opened his
mouth.
But he was beat to the punch by Harvey Johnson, waving a sausage on a fork. “And why’s it so damn hard to convict these guys?
Pedophiles that’ve raped dozens of kids, and slimeballs that’ve killed their entire family? I tell you why. Defense lawyers.
Where’s it say these guys have a right to one of them slick attorneys?” Harvey shoved the entire sausage in his mouth and
chewed aggressively.
Calvin knit his brows. “Well, technically, the Bill of Rights—”
“If they can’t afford to pay one of those bottom-feeding scum-suckers, these criminals ought to get up and defend their own
sorry asses in court.” Harv banged his fist on the table, hitting a puddle of pancake syrup and coming away sticky. Not that
he noticed. “I’d like to see that.”
A round of nodding heads and mumbled assent.
“Yeah.” Luther laughed. He was completely bald—probably shaved his head—and owned the hardware store in town. Luther could
sling a newly repaired lawnmower into the back of a pickup without breaking into a sweat. “Can you see some murderer trying
to explain himself?
I didn’t mean to do it, really. Her head got in the way of the shotgun.
”
Loud masculine laughter reverberated through the hall.
It was Tuesday morning, and they all sat in the former Elks Lodge in Winosha. The Elks Lodge was now used mostly by the Kiwanis
Club, since the last two Elks were ninety-two and ninety-four, respectively. It was a dark-timbered building with a concrete
floor. At one end was a podium. Over the podium was a dusty mounted elk head, so old the fur was molting onto the floor in
tufts.
This was the annual Kiwanis Club pancake breakfast fund-raiser and he, Calvin, was the guest of honor. He was a little vague
on what, exactly, the Kiwanis were raising money for, but he was certain of his part here: make a speech that would get out
the vote. Fortunately, he would be preaching to the choir. As far as he knew, the Kiwanis in Winosha were one hundred percent
Republican, except for Ed Riley, who lived in the woods and never bothered attending meetings.
“That’s exactly why I feel,” Calvin finally got his two cents in, “that when I’m elected, there must be a three-strikes law
instituted in this state. And I will do my level best to see such a law enacted. Furthermore—”
“Yeah, Cal, but what about them defense attorneys?” Harvey asked rather pointlessly. Harv was a small man, only about five-four
or so, but he enjoyed picking arguments. Fridays he’d get drunk at the bar and try to take out a tourist or two in a fistfight.
That was in summer. In winter he drove his snowmobile through town after midnight. The next morning the wobbly tracks could
be seen between the bars and his home.
Calvin summoned up his best we’re-all-boys-here smile. “Of course I agree with you, Harv, but—” The cell phone in his breast
pocket started vibrating against his chest. Calvin winked and reached for it, never breaking eye contact with his audience.
“But what you got to keep in mind is all the representatives from the blue districts that I’ll be contending with once elected.
Like Madison.”
Everyone chuckled except Harv, who looked annoyed. “Yeah, but wasn’t Madison—”
Calvin glanced down at the vibrating cell in his palm.
Good God.
“Excuse me.” He gave an all-encompassing smile. “Important call.” He rose.
“But—” Harv started.
Calvin ignored him and walked away. He found the back door and pulled it open as he answered the cell.
“What is it?” he muttered into the phone.
“I’m here,” Hank grunted from the other end.
He frowned. “Where?”
“Here.”
Why did ex–special forces guys think it was macho to use as few words as possible? Was it something they taught in the military?
Or was it because only nonverbal, almost insane men chose to go into the special forces? Ones like Hank. At least he’d called
finally. After giving Hank the extra five hundred dollars yesterday morning, Calvin hadn’t heard from him since. He was beginning
to think the man had disappeared into Canada.
He took a deep breath. “Where is here?”
“The cabin.”
Calvin rolled his eyes. Was that so hard to say? “Good. Is, ah, the package there?”
“What?” Hank blew out a long exhale. Probably smoking again. Filthy habit.
Calvin checked over his shoulder. No one about. The back of the Elks Lodge led out onto a concrete patio, crumbling at the
edges. Beyond that was a small strip of mowed grass, then a wooded area. “The
package.
The one you went to find.”
“You mean the girl?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you just say the girl?”
“Because,” Calvin said through gritted teeth. “I’m at the Kiwanis annual pancake breakfast.”
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“I forgot the question now.”
Calvin sighed and did a neck roll. Hank always said he’d been in the Rangers and told stories about Afghanistan, but really,
were the Rangers that hard up that they’d take on a guy like Hank? Not that it mattered. Even if Hank had never been in the
Rangers, he had killed people. You only had to look into his dead eyes to believe that.
“Is she there?” Calvin asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Checked the cabin and woods. There’re some tire tracks in back—”
“Shit!” Calvin exclaimed. Had the idiot missed her?
“But they belong to a car. Not a truck. She hasn’t been here.”
“Good. Then you wait.”
“You don’t even know if she’ll be here.” Hank’s smoker’s voice didn’t raise or lower. He kept the same level tone always,
so it was hard to tell if he was mad.
“She’ll be there.”
Silence from the other end.
Calvin gritted his teeth. “You don’t—”
The door behind him opened, and Luther stuck his head out. “All right out here?”
Calvin twisted his mouth into a smile. “Sure. Sure.” He tilted his head, indicating the phone. “You know how the guys in Madison
are.” He twirled a hand, miming long-winded.
Luther’s eyes widened. “Good. Just checking. Herb said you can start your speech any time.”
Calvin nodded, the smile still stretched on his face.
The door closed.
“Who was that?” Hank wanted to know.
“Doesn’t matter. You don’t move until that girl shows up. Do you understand?”
“Fine.”
“Not even to get a Big Mac.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You don’t have to tell me my job.”
“Well, good then.” Calvin blew out a breath. “Remember, you still have three thousand coming. Be a shame to lose that much
money because you couldn’t hold out.”
“I can hold out.” The other man’s voice should’ve been angry, but it was just as robotic as before. “I held out in Afghanistan,
you know. I can hold out here. I’ve got water and jerky and my rifle.”
“Okay.”
“This baby’ll blow your head off at two hundred feet—”
“Ah—”
“And I always go for the head shot, you know.”
Too much information.
“Good.”
“Not all snipers do.”
“Ah.” Calvin hesitated. “Be sure and call me when it’s time.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Hank broke the connection.
Calvin hung up and pocketed his cell phone. Then he took out a linen handkerchief and carefully blotted the sweat running
down his face.
So close. So damn close.
I
t was midmorning by the time Turner found the back road near Rhinelander. She slowed to look for the number to Calvin’s cabin
and shifted down into third as the road became rougher. Beside her, Squeaky was taking his morning nap, unperturbed by the
jolting of the pickup.
Rhinelander was a tourist destination, and most of the lake cabins looked like the yuppie idea of roughing it. She drove past
a drive decorated by a bare wood arch festooned with deer antlers. The mailbox read 1408. She was looking for 1475, and the
numbers were rising. Time to park the Chevy and do some reconnaissance. She chose the next drive. It led to a bright green
bungalow decorated with ornamental birdhouses around the front steps. A sign over the door read OUR HAPPY HIDEAWAY. The grass
beside the drive was midcalf length and dry as straw. Even taking into account the drought, she doubted that it had been cut
in the last month. Nobody home.
She got out of the pickup and waited for Squeaky to jump down, then slammed the door. Turner checked that she had her cell
phone and a bottle of water and set out with the dog trotting along happily. Squeaky was always up for a walk. She followed
the road but kept close to the tree line in case she had to duck into it. Squeaky loped in and out of the forest, disappearing
for minutes at a time only to reappear, head and tail high, wearing a doggy grin. They crossed three drives before they saw
anyone else. A gold SUV passed them, kicking up dust in the road. Turner repressed the urge to break stride and kept walking
casually. When she was within several lots of Calvin’s cabin, she walked into the shade of the trees and stepped more carefully.
She wore a black T-shirt and jeans, but the paleness of her arms and face would stand out to anyone looking.
And she had to assume John was looking.
The trees were tall here, mostly pines, but some shorter aspens and birch, as well. The deciduous trees were already turning
color, despite the fact that it was only August. They must have been stressed by the drought. Beneath her feet was the decaying
leaf litter from the previous fall. It should have been moist, but the heat and sparse rain had made the forest floor dry.
The leaves rustled and sent up puffs of dust that gritted in her mouth. Spiny branches from the understory scraped her now
and then, subtle hurts that were not initially painful but then welled blood in pinpoints on her skin.
Turner looked into blinding sunlight on the opposite side of the road. A fire-engine mailbox stood there with the number 1475.
She huffed out a breath of air and backed another step into the forest. Then she squatted, watching Calvin’s mailbox and the
lane that led to his cabin. It was still. As far as she could see, the lane was deserted. She felt something on her arm and
looked down. A tick was slowly crawling toward her shirtsleeve. Ew. She flicked it off and went back to watching the lane.
The rumble of a vehicle engine drew near and a red pickup drove by.
The problem was that she couldn’t assume that John wasn’t there just because she couldn’t see him. That would be—
A big shape came up fast on her right. Turner gasped, twisted to face it, and fell on her rear.
Squeaky skidded to a stop beside her and cocked his head.
“You big idiot,” Turner muttered to the dog.
He seemed to take her words as a compliment. He wagged his tail and tried to slobber on her face. She ducked just in time.
She was getting good at it. Squeaky was very affectionate.
“Okay,” she said to the Great Dane. “I’m not going to learn anything sitting here all day. We better go check out the cabin.”
She stood carefully and laid a hand on the dog’s collar. If she could, she’d leave him behind. But then he’d start howling
and that she didn’t need. Better to bring him with her. She waited a moment longer, watching the road and listening. The only
sounds were Squeaky, panting softly beside her, and the wind in the treetops. Nothing was on the road. Turner stepped out
and walked swiftly across, expecting a shout at any minute to signal that she’d been spotted.
None came.
She made it to the side of the road and walked into the trees without breaking her stride. Then she paused, hand on her chest.
Her breath was coming more swiftly than a quick stroll across a road should warrant, and she was sweating. She took two steps
forward and her cell went off, making her drop to the ground in reaction.
“Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” Turner fumbled the cell out of her pocket and pressed the
Answer
button. “Yes?”
“Where are you?” John asked.
Was he in earshot? She concentrated on steadying her breath. Then she said low, “You know I’m not going to tell you.”
“Yeah. But I have to ask anyway.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against a tree trunk. “I know.” Out of nowhere she felt tears prick at her eyelids. “What are
you doing this morning?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” His voice was gentle. “What did you have for breakfast?”
She wrinkled her nose. Oh, yeah. Breakfast. “Nothing. Squeaky and I forgot to eat.”
“I can’t imagine Squeaky forgetting.”
She looked at the big dog. He’d been circling the tree, nose in the leaf litter, but now he came back to her and plopped on
the ground with a groan. “Well, he hasn’t complained, at least. What did you have?”
“Granola bar.”
“Ick.”
“It’s not that bad.” He sounded a little defensive. “It’s peanut butter flavor.”
“Double ick.” She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what you usually have for breakfast?”
“Nope. Only on the road. Mostly I’m a Wheaties man.”
That she could see. She smiled. “So how do you start your morning at home?”
“The usual. Shave, shower, breakfast.”
“Every day?”
“Sure, every day. Unless, of course, you’d stayed over the night before.” His deep voice was intimate in her ear.
She inhaled. “You’re making quite a leap.”
“Am I?”
“I—”
“I see you staying at my place someday, don’t you?”
She swallowed, unsure of what to say. “John . . .”
“Someday soon.”
“Anyway, how would that be different?” She watched a red-headed woodpecker circle a tree. She couldn’t believe she was sitting
here. She couldn’t believe she was listening to this.
“First of all, we’d probably still be in bed.”
“On a weekday?”
“Maybe not a weekday.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” She wriggled a little on the leaves. Squeaky looked up. Good thing he was a
dog and didn’t know when she was blushing. “I meant afterward.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Afterward.” His voice was teasing. “First we’d spoon for a bit, and then I’d get hard again
because you’d be naked—”
“John—” she warned.
“And then we’d—”
“After we get up!” She cringed and looked around, hoping her voice hadn’t been too loud.
“Spoilsport. Okay.
After
we get up, I’d naturally make you pancakes with fresh strawberries.”
“You know how to cook pancakes?”
“Hey, you’re dissing me.” He was laughing now. “There are pancake mixes.”
Okay, she’d concede that, but . . . “How do you know I like pancakes?”
“Two words. Whipped cream.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Squeaky took that as a sign that he should lay his head in her lap. “How did you find out
I like cream? I never mentioned it.”
“The only milk you have in your fridge is whole. And besides, you’re a cat.”
“A cat?” Her brows knitted. “Where did you get that idea? I don’t even like cats.”
“FBI secret. And cats often don’t like other cats.”
“Uh-huh. Are you a cat, too?”
“No, baby. I’m the big bad wolf out to get you.”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, and she had the uneasy feeling he wasn’t. She didn’t want to go there, so she
tried a different question. “Why did you decide to become an FBI agent?”
“Special agent.”
She rolled her eyes. “Special agent. Why?”
“All the usual reasons. Love of country. Desire to put bad guys away. And you get to carry a really big gun around all the
time.”
“You’re blowing me off. What’s the real reason?”
He was silent a second. A faint tapping came from his end of the phone. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that.”
“You’re stalling,” she said gently.
“Yeah.” He laughed quietly. “My dad was a police officer. I guess law enforcement’s in the genes.” The tapping came again.
“So why not local law enforcement? Why aren’t you a cop?”
He sighed, then said abruptly, “He was killed.”
She watched the woodpecker complete his circle around the trunk of the pine in front of her, leaving a row of holes behind.
The bird inched up and started another row.
“I was in college,” John said so low in her ear it was almost a whisper. “My first year. There was a bank robbery, and Dad
was off duty. He drew, but the robbers got the drop on him. Shot him three times in the gut.”
She sucked in her breath at the violence of the words. The woodpecker suddenly flew.
“He bled out before they could get him to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Gunshots to the stomach tend to be fatal.” He stopped talking, and Turner listened to
his breathing over the wire.
And that faint tapping in the background.
Her eyes widened as she looked at the row of horizontal holes in the pine in front of her. It was a woodpecker. On John’s
end of the phone. He was sitting near a woodpecker. Like the woodpecker she’d been watching.
He was in the same woods as she.
She silently lowered the phone from her ear and looked around. She couldn’t hear tapping. John’s woodpecker was out of her
earshot. She raised the phone back to her ear and heard his voice. Plus the woodpecker in the background.
“. . . why I probably went into the FBI instead of the local police. The feds are the ones who investigate bank robberies.
And I dunno, the elitism may have played a part.”
“In what way?” She gently shoved Squeaky’s head off her lap and stood. Calvin’s cabin was to her right. She grasped the dog’s
collar, cautiously walked a couple of steps, stopped, and listened.
“Guess I wanted to be the best at what I do.”
“That makes sense,” she replied absently. She couldn’t hear the woodpecker yet. She moved further into the forest.
“So why did you become a librarian? Was it cover for what you’re doing now?”
“What?” His odd question brought her back to the conversation. “No. What gave you that idea?”
“You’ve spent the last four years like a nun, haven’t you? Or an undercover op.”
“Don’t be silly.” She had to concentrate, but his words were distracting. A nun? She almost tripped, but caught herself in
time. She took a breath and continued walking.
“When’s the last time you went out on a date, honey?”
“I—” Her mind went blank. She couldn’t think of when she’d last dated. She rounded a stand of birch.
“Got any close friends? ’Cause I couldn’t find any when I looked.”
“That’s ridiculous!” She caught herself and lowered her voice. “I have plenty of friends. There’s my assistant at the library,
Kate, and Missy and Hope from church—”
“Do they know about the red shoes in your closet, Turner? Did they know your glasses were fake?” His voice was tender now,
and it scared her.
Almost as much as the realization that she could no longer hear the woodpecker over the phone. She stopped and swiveled her
head without moving her feet. The trees were secondary growth, their trunks only three or four feet around, but that was enough
to hide a man.
“Do they know you do the
Chicago Tribune
or
New York Times
crosswords but don’t bother with the local papers?” John continued relentlessly.
She could glimpse the back of the cabin now. He must be close. She tried to still her chest, regulate her breath. Overhead,
the tree leaves rustled in the wind, branches creaking.
“Do they know you like to read Graham Greene and that you make tuna casseroles for Tommy?”
She took two careful steps.
“Do they know you’ve planned on revenge for four years, huh, Turner? Do they know how relentless, how strong, how goddamn
driven you are?”
Oh, Lord.
He was ten paces away. She could see the back of a man’s head, one shoulder, and a bent, trousers-clad leg that ended in
a tan cowboy boot. It had to be John. He was sitting under a big pine, his left hand holding the phone to his ear. It was
a miracle he hadn’t heard her yet. And how was she going to get in the cabin with him sitting there?
Beside her, Squeaky whined.
