Chapter Twenty-Two
Smoke hurried into his parents’ home and found his mother watching the news on her tablet.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him as she got to her feet. “I thought you’d be at the hospital—”
“Do you know where Nate is?” Smoke interrupted.
“Why?”
“I need to find him.”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“What about a cell phone? Do you have his number?”
“Yes, I’ve got it. Just give me a second to grab my phone.” She picked it up from the table. “What’s going on?”
“Kini has been taken.”
“What?” His mother stared at him like he’d dropped a hand grenade on the table and asked her to defuse it before it blew up.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I know. It sounds crazy, but that’s what I think happened.”
“What’s this got to do with your cousin?”
“She and I had an altercation with Freddy Alvarez. He’s my number one suspect, and Nate probably knows where to find him or has his phone number. They were tight.”
“Yes, a couple of years ago, but not so much anymore.”
“It’s the only lead I’ve got, Mom.”
She read him Nate’s number and Smoke added it to his contacts, then he called his cousin. After two rings, it went to voicemail. He texted a simple message: Call me, Smoke and hit send.
Now what? Standing around waiting for a phone call wasn’t going to help Kini, but running around like a chicken with its head cut off wasn’t any better.
His phone chose that moment to ring. River’s ringtone.
“Smoke,” he said.
“There’s a Deputy Blackwater here. He says two young men were found in the desert about six miles from town. Dead, shot execution style. One of them, a Freddy Alvarez, filed a harassment complaint against you yesterday.”
Shit. Freddy was dead? What the fuck is going on?
Smoke balanced precariously on the edge between action and complete shutdown. If Freddy was dead, where was Kini? Cold fingers wrapped around his neck, strangling his ability to breathe.
Get a grip, asshole. Losing his shit wasn’t going to help. Focus. “So?”
“So, the police are asking nicely if you’d answer some questions.”
“I never touched him.”
“Harassment, not assault.” River paused, then said, “We need this cleared up, so it doesn’t distract us from the important shit.”
“Blackwater wants to bury me.”
“The fucker has a serious hard-on for you. We’ve got someone here who has volunteered to act as your…advocate.”
“Not a lawyer?”
“Nope, doctor.”
“She’s out there—” Smoke’s throat closed, making speaking, breathing impossible. If this shit with Blackwater ended up harming Kini in anyway, the asshole was going to disappear. Permanently.
“We’ll find her,” River said. It was a promise from a battle brother.
“On my way,” Smoke said, heading for the door as he ended the call.
“Smoke?” his mother asked.
“Backup is here.” He didn’t wait for any more questions.
He parked his hog outside the hospital entirely illegally on a strip of landscaped rocks rimmed with drought-hardy plants. He’d driven there, somehow, but didn’t remember a second of the trip. All he could think about was Kini covered in bandages and bruises, lying in a dry ditch somewhere.
The sun was going down, and soon it would be too dark to see much.
Smoke strode through the building, heading for the ER, where he figured someone in charge would be, but there were so many people in the waiting room, he literally couldn’t get through the crowd.
“Hey, Army,” someone called out from behind him.
He turned to find River waving at him. Smoke followed the other man until they were away from the worst of the crowd.
“We’re in the human resources office. It’s the only place in the whole building that’s not in use in dealing with the outbreak.”
“Officially?” Smoke asked.
“Yep. Rodrigues announced it ten minutes ago.” He looked at Smoke sidelong. “Ready?”
He shrugged. What was there to get ready for? He hadn’t done anything to anyone.
Yet.
“Rodrigues reached her bullshit limit two seconds into her conversation with Blackwater and the sheriff,” River said in a satisfied tone. “Told them that if this was a fishing expedition, she was going to use their balls for bait.”
Huh, that was going to piss Blackwater off. Big time. The sheriff…Smoke didn’t know the man well enough to say.
River stopped in front of a door, opened it, and went in. Smoke followed, noting the sheriff and Blackwater standing at the rear of the room next to a desk.
Another man, wearing scrubs, a hospital gown over top, booties on his shoes, and a plastic hat over his hair stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the room.
“Dr. Gunner Anderson, this is Lyle Smoke.” The doctor nodded at him, but offered no handshake.
“Oh, isn’t this nice. We all know each other now,” Blackwater drawled. “Do you want to exchange cell phone numbers, too?”
“Dale,” the sheriff said softly. It was a warning.
River’s cell phone pinged. He checked it and swore. “I’ve got to go.” He was gone a second later.
“Well?” Dr. Anderson said, looking at his watch. “Get on with it?”
“In a hurry, Doc?” Blackwater asked.
“Yes, you effing moron,” the doctor said, giving Blackwater a hard stare.
The deputy stared back, or tried to, but the doctor never flinched. Finally, Blackwater looked at Smoke. “Where were you an hour and a half ago?”
“At the post office.”
Blackwater frowned. He hadn’t expected that answer. “And after that?”
“I went to Freddy Alvarez’s house, found two of his relatives, one alive, the other dead. Called that in, then went to his aunt’s home. Didn’t find him there either.”
“So you could have—” Blackwater said, his tone triumphant.
“Why were you looking for him?” the sheriff interrupted.
Blackwater scowled at his boss, but didn’t say anything.
“My partner, Kini Kerek, has been kidnapped. She’d kicked him in the balls yesterday, so I thought he might be stupid enough to take her.”
“You saw no sign of him?”
“No.”
“She was taken about thirty minutes before we think he was killed,” the sheriff said. “It fits.”
“Sir,” Blackwater began. “This man—”
“If he’d killed Alvarez, he’d have that nurse back safe and sound,” the sheriff said, his voice certain.
“He could have killed her, too,” Blackwater shouted.
“I don’t think so,” the sheriff said. “He looks like a man ready to rip your fool head off for wasting his time. He looks like a man who cares for this woman.” He turned to Smoke. “Sorry, son, but we don’t have the manpower to deal with this outbreak, investigate several murders, and look for the nurse. River said we’d have more hands by tomorrow, but the clock’s ticking now.”
“I know. I’ll find her.”
“Any ideas on where to look next?”
Smoke shook his head. “Nothing solid. My cousin Nate and Freddy used to be good friends. I’m trying to find him.”
“All right,” the sheriff said. “Keep my office informed. As soon as I can spare a few men to help you look for her, I’ll let you know.”
“But, Sheriff,” Blackwater said, his voice only a decibel or two below a shout.
“No, Dale, we’re done here.” The sheriff looked his man in the eyes. “Done.” He nodded at the doctor then Smoke as he left the room.
Blackwater stared at Smoke, his mouth twisted with hate. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze promised death.
Smoke allowed the trained killer inside him out so the other man could see the bastard on his face. You’re not so tough, asshole.
Blackwater left.
“Thanks,” Smoke said to the doctor.
“That guy hates your guts.”
Smoke snorted and turned to leave. He should get a fucking award for acting the part of a rational human being in front of Blackwater. Wouldn’t be able to hang on to the calm for long. If he didn’t find Kini soon, he was going to lose control and start hurting people.
“Watch your back. He’s a coward,” the doctor said. “They never come at you straight on.”
Smoke saw the jagged edge of horror on his face. Not a combat stare—that said you were willing and able to fight, to kill. What was on Dr. Anderson’s face was the look of someone who’s seen and endured terror, torture, slaughter, and was powerless to stop it. “Where did you serve?”
It was the doctor’s turn to snort. “I wasn’t military. Doctors Without Borders, three years working in Syria.”
“Shit. That was some rough time.”
“I wasn’t in prison,” the doctor snapped. “I chose to be there.”
“Whether we choose it or not, Dr. Anderson, when you’ve lived through nightmares, you take the prison with you.”
“Gunner or Dr. Gunner, your choice.” He studied Smoke for a moment. “Do these cops have any idea what you are?”
“What am I?” Smoke heard the threat in his own voice and flinched.
Gunner smiled, baring his teeth. “I’ve had many conversations with your friend River. He’s intelligent, skilled, utterly unafraid, and can think his way out of shit most people would drown in. I thought he was the deadliest man I’d ever met, until you.”
What the fuck was he supposed to say? No, I’m a cream puff. “Sorry, man, I’m just not that into you.”
Gunner laughed. “Okay. Just remember, even idiots get lucky sometimes.”
Good advice.
Smoke left to track down River. He tried to call his cousin again. Still no answer. That left him with only one option.
He found River talking to Dr. Rodrigues.
“Do not get into a pissing match with the police,” Rodrigues ordered without preamble.
“No, ma’am,” Smoke agreed.
“Having said that, find Kini. She’s running out of time.”
“I will.”
She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd of people.
“When does our backup get here?” Smoke asked.
“About sixteen hours.”
“I’ve got my cell phone, but there may not be service where I’m going,” Smoke said.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Only one place that’s come up that doesn’t belong. One of our tribal elders ran across an abandoned farm with squatters living in it and some dead bodies buried nearby. No one has had a chance to check it out yet.”
“Is there anyone in town I can ask for help to look for you, if you don’t show up in twenty-four hours?”
“My dad or grandfather. Either of them knows where I’d go to ground.”
“Need anything else?”
Smoke thought about it. He had his weapon, ammunition, water, and food all at his grandparents’ house. The rest of his stuff, what he needed for this operation, was at his folks’ place. Kini had been right. He always had a go-bag ready. “I’m good.”
River nudged him with one hand. “Stay that way.”
Smoke gave him a nod and left.
He went home first, grabbed his backpack, then took a couple of minutes to explain to his parents what was going on.
His father grabbed his rifle.
“No,” Smoke said. “I work for the CDC. If you or anyone else gets involved, there could be trouble.” He paused. “If I do need help, I’ll get in touch, but this is my hunt. My fight.”
“You call if things get too hot.” His father smiled, but it was cold. “There’s more than one way to fight this kind of stupid.”
Once, when he was about thirteen, a man had shot up the grocery store in town then taken off into the desert to hide. This man had lived in the area for a few years and thought he knew the desert, thought no one could find him.
Smoke had gone out with his father, grandfather, and a few other Navajo. They found him within the first day but hadn’t done anything but watch the hidey hole the man was in. When he tried to leave to get food or water, they fired at him, not to kill or even wound, just to force him to stay in his hole. They kept him there for three days. On the fourth day, the man had begged to be arrested. Had whined that he was going to die of thirst if they didn’t let him out.
So they called the police and he was arrested, charged, convicted, and served time.
He never came back to Small Blind, Utah.
There were lots of ways to hunt and trap whoever had taken Kini. The army had sharpened some of those skills into fine, almost invisible, points.
He went to his grandparents’ place. For all he knew his AR15 was still in the refrigerator stashed behind the jug of milk.
It took him about five minutes to gather everything he wanted and fit it into his pack. Unfortunately, he also managed to acquire his very own babysitter sitting in a dinged-up truck parked a couple of doors down the street. Not far at all from his jeep.
He recognized the guy as a relative of his ex, Lacey. Blackwater wasn’t giving up.
The jeep wouldn’t do him much good after a certain point. But a dirt bike, now that would be a lot handier. Tommy had one he usually kept in the shed behind the house.
“Who’s that?” his grandfather asked as the two of them looked out the partially repaired front window. Only half of it had glass, the other half was still covered with plywood.
“Blackwater,” Smoke said flatly, turning away from the window and going into the kitchen. “Is Tommy’s dirt bike running?”
“Yes. You’ll need gas, but there’s a can out there.” His grandfather smiled grimly. “Let me check to see if anyone is watching the back of the house. There’s nothing between us and the desert other than a runoff ditch.”
Grandpa went out, fooled around with the barbeque, and unhooked the propane tank. He took it to the shed and came back with another one he connected to the barbeque.
“I didn’t see anyone,” he said when he came back into the house.
“I take it we’re having burgers tonight?” Grandma asked.
She got a smile for an answer.
Smoke shouldered his pack and weapon and went out to the shed, filled the bike’s tank, then walked it into and out of the ditch. He watched for anyone following him but saw no one as he pushed the bike deeper into the desert.
The Rogerson place was about ten miles from town at the end of a dirt road. He’d start there. Beyond the buildings was a dry canyon that ran hard with runoff when it did rain. Past the ravine was about a hundred miles of unoccupied desert bordered by the Grand Canyon on the south. It looked like the whole area was uninhabited, but it wasn’t. There was lots of wildlife that made their home in the desert. Deer, coyotes, rabbits, vultures, and men. The native people had been in the area for thousands of years.
If Kini was out there, he would find her.