Moreau’s had enough of my bullshit, so she decides to leave it alone for now because she also knows she shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds her. Or in this case, delivers her a dump truck worth of evidence with a big bow on top.
“Wait,” she gives an exasperated sigh, “all this to say that there’s now a warrant out for Bowen’s arrest. We’ve already contacted Gunnison, but you should be careful and stay vigilant until we locate him.”
“Of course,” I assure her, “I’ll let Brett know.”
Once all of this is over…
What I won’t tell Moreau is that I’ve had eyes on Bowen for nearly two years. I never stopped. The feeds inside his house eventually died, their batteries drained. The cameras are too small to matter, so they’ll remain in place as long as the house still stands. But I—or my associates—have maintained the exterior cameras. I know when Bowen comes and goes, I know when other people come and go, and I make sure to know who those other people are.
Enter Valerie Marston—the “current girlfriend.”
I recognized her immediately, in my home, talking to my girl like she’s a perfect stranger, as if she wasn’t following Bowen’s orders to come here, find Brett, and lead him right to her. But when she set foot in my house, she didn’t know that I’d been acquainted with her since Bowen brought her home with him a few months ago. Since then, she’s made a pretty pet for him and I’ve watched their relationship blossom from 1,400 miles away.
“Oh,” Moreau pipes up, “and you also might be interested in knowing they took cadaver dogs out to Bowen’s property.”
“And?”
“No hits,” she replies. It stings, but I’m not surprised. “However, the dogs got really excited about the concrete slab in Jay and Hildy Rhinehardt’s barn…”
I laugh to myself, “I would’ve loved to see Hildy’s face when they started drilling into her floor.”
“The hits just keep coming, Colson,” Moreau doesn’t miss a beat, “Hildy Rhinehardt disappeared sometime last night after their property was searched.”
“Hell, I’d get out of Dodge, too, if I were her,” I snort, “I don’t suppose her husband’s out looking for her…”
She ignores my snipe at Jay and how the universe just delivered him the ultimate Fatality move, “I suppose not,” she replies, knowing she won’t gain any sympathy from me, “but we were able to get another warrant and search Jay and Hildy’s house this morning.”
“Find anything interesting?” I ask, lifting my rifle and taking another look through the scope.
“Maybe. Remember that box that Brett said she found in Bowen’s ceiling?”
●●●
It’s bittersweet when secrets come out into the open and everyone realizes the truth you’ve known for years. Nothing compares to that moment of validation, but the downside is that you have to relive the agony all over again just so everyone else can process it for the first time. I wish I could call Brett and tell her everything Moreau just told me, but I’m not allowed. I’m busy hunting for polar bears.
A few hours later, the feed on the front of the house detects motion. When I look, a familiar white Tahoe comes rolling up the drive and Valerie gets out carrying a bag. I watch her on the front porch, glancing around as she waits for Brett to answer. It’s clear that she’s expected, so I keep an eye on the interior feed as they mill around and eventually sit down in the living room.
No more than a half hour later, Valerie rises from the sofa. But something is…wrong. Brett’s not smiling anymore, her soft features replaced with a scornful look as she snarls something at Valerie. Not a minute later, Valerie is out the front door, making a beeline for the Tahoe. She practically peels out of the driveway, speeding toward the road, with Brett marching down the long driveway after her.
Where the hell are you going?
I pull up each feed along the driveway as she goes, making sure she’s the only one on that driveway. I see her stop at the road, the Tahoe long gone, and linger there for a minute or so.
A crack of thunder rumbles over the mountains as dark clouds begin to roll in. Just what I need. Cursing under my breath, I pull up a couple of the feeds closer to the house. With Brett at the end of the driveway, I need to find Bowen.
And I do find him, emerging from the south edge of the property and heading for the house. My position makes it impossible to see much, so I scan through the feeds for a better view and begin heading south along the slope. I watch Bowen head toward the house when, all of a sudden, the image jostles and a moment later, the screen goes white. I’m blind, and I don’t know which direction he went.
Brett’s outside. Did she lock the house when she left?
Then I see something dart in and out of the frame of the feed that went white. I bring my phone closer and wait for it to appear again.
A black blob fills the screen and then gets smaller. It bobs in and out a few times before I realize it’s a deer—a giant buck with a massive rack, and he’s nosing at the camera on the ground. It’s the same buck I caught on the trail cams who’s been tearing down our fences and destroying the fruit trees. I’d recognize him anywhere.
King of the fucking forest…
I cock my head, glowering at the screen as that son of a bitch nibbles at the camera and pokes at it with his snout. That asshole finally shows up and what does he do? He tears my goddamn camera off the tree. I’m surprised he hasn’t put his hoof through the screen as a final fuck you. And of all the cameras, this camera.
A deep growl builds in the pit of my stomach and then bursts up through my chest, “Goddamnit!” I drop my rifle and take off down the slope toward the tree line.
But then I stop, digging my heels into the pine needles and dirt.
Chess, not checkers…don’t let your emotions overwhelm your intelligence…
I stand there for a few moments, motionless while a firestorm raging behind my eyes. Against every fiber of my being, I reluctantly spin around with a growl and scramble back up the slope. When I get to the top of the hill, I take off in a sprint, running deeper into the forest.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Brett
Present
It seems like a dream, the one I have over and over, but this time I know I’m awake, standing in my bedroom with my arms out in front of me, aiming a gun at the doorway.
He’s standing in front of me, and he’s real. Black t-shirt, black boots, black camo pants…
Seeing isn’t always believing, but smelling his cigarettes is, and feeling the heat of his stifling presence is. Now he’s standing on my side of the glass, leaning motionless against the doorframe, and his deep brown eyes are looking at me like he’s starving.
Finally, Bowen rakes his black hair away from his eyes, “Brett Sorensen, whose pen is mightier than the sword…I didn’t mean to scare you,” he nods behind him to the hallway with that same wide, dimpled Cheshire Cat smile I used to love, “I was just cleaning out your closet.”
