CHAPTER
FIFTY-SEVEN

Savage River
Detective Darren Fletcher

The forest service kid had driven the Jeep off the trail about a quarter of a mile down the road, so they’d had to hoof it up the hill the last bit. Fletcher had approached the house slowly, cautiously. It was dark, and he thought no one was around. Disappointment and worry crowded into his thoughts—he’d missed her. Shit, maybe he’d chosen the wrong campsite. Then he heard the distinct crackling of campfire embers. A dog’s throaty bark covered the noise he made as he moved toward the house. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, saw the outline of a man opening the front door. Surreptitiously. Fletcher announced himself, heard Sam’s responding shout and then all hell broke loose.

Fletcher wasn’t ready for the shots. When Sam called out he’d started to lower his weapon, and that nearly cost him everything.

The man who’d been going into the doorway began to fire. Fletcher instinctively ducked, but quickly realized the man was firing into the house, not back out toward Fletch. So he called out again, screaming this time, running as fast as he could toward the door. His Maglite showed the outline of the man, and he had a clear shot through the open door. He squeezed the trigger once, and the firing inside the house stopped. Sam was shrieking. He didn’t know if she was hit or scared, but the simple fact that she could call out was good news. She wasn’t dead. Yet.

Two steps closer now, and he was at the base of the steps. A shot came from his right. Fletcher swung his weapon toward the new shooter. The two other tac team guys were bringing up the rear, they’d cleared the woods around the house as they came in. It was either them, or …

A voice called out, strong and true. “Thor, steh!” The dog whined but stopped barking. “Braver hund. Detective Fletcher, this is Alexander Whitfield. I have Colonel Culpepper in my sights. Permission to fire.”

“Where are you, Whitfield?”

“Eighty degrees to your east, sir. I have a clear shot in my scope. You hit him, but he’s not dead. I’d like to remedy that situation.”

The man’s voice had a cadence to it, a bit flat on the vowels. Not local.

“I’d like to keep him alive if we can, Sergeant. You down with that?”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I, sir?”

“No, you don’t. Come on out. I’ve got him now.”

“I’m just gonna hurt him a little bit then. Make sure he doesn’t pull any punches. Firing.”

A single shot rang out, and Fletcher flinched. He didn’t like people shooting around him in the dark. Jesus. Fucking yahoo.

A screaming groan emanated from the cabin, and Fletcher took the opportunity to rush inside. He sprayed the beam of his Maglite across the room. Culpepper was on the living room floor, moaning in agony. Fletcher went to him immediately, kicked his weapon away, then looked for Sam. He couldn’t see her, and felt the panic slide in. But then, in the meager light, she stumbled toward him with three children in tow. Sam was trembling, shaking, and when he put his arms around her, he felt the slick stickiness of blood on her shirt.

He stepped back, holding both her arms. “Are you hit? Are you okay?”

“No. I’m okay. It’s his blood.” She gestured to her right. “He’s been hit a couple of times. But the kids are just fine.”

“Jesus, there were kids in here?”

Sam nodded. “Maggie’s.”

Fletcher resisted the urge to pull her into his arms.

“Thank God you’re all right. That all of you are all right.”

Sam smiled at him, then turned back to the kids.

“Come on, guys. We’re going to go outside and find your mom. Don’t look, okay?”

She guided them past Culpepper’s now-still form and herded them out onto the porch.

There were steps beside him, and Whitfield appeared on the porch, night-vision goggles around his neck. He looked utterly wrecked, hair sticking up, blood on one shoulder. He nodded tersely at Fletcher.

“Son of a bitch slipped past me. Sam, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Xander.”

“Thank Christ.”

Fletcher heard a note in Whitfield’s voice, one of genuine concern, genuine … something else. Anger flared up—she was his, damn it—though he shoved that right back down where it came from. She’d been pretty clear earlier she wasn’t interested. Why in the hell his feelings were somehow hurt by the possessiveness he heard in Whitfield’s voice … He was imagining things. That was it. He was simply overtired and hearing things.

Xander took three steps to Sam and checked her over, just to make sure, then checked the kids, too.

“Where’s Maggie?” Sam asked.

“I’m here. Don’t shoot.” A tall, fit woman stomped onto the porch. The kids crowded around her. The youngest finally started to cry. Maggie holstered her weapon and pulled her little girl into her arms.

“Thank you, Sam. Thank you for keeping them safe.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I didn’t do anything. It was all you.”

They heard movement. Culpepper had come to and was trying to prop himself up.

Three weapons pointed at him immediately.

“You have to listen to me,” Culpepper said, the pain in his voice making Sam wince. She should want to help him, to be a doctor, to follow her code. She didn’t move a foot.

Fletcher went to him instead. “Shut the fuck up, Culpepper. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

The colonel looked smaller when he was on the ground, bleeding. Xander had popped him in the thigh, high and right. An impressive shot. Fletcher had caught him in the shoulder of his gun hand, which effectively ended his ability to shoot. Not a bad shot, either.

“Detective, you don’t understand. I’m here to protect them. You’re all in danger.” Culpepper wheezed out his proclamation.

“Yeah. Danger from you. You stupid son of a bitch.” Maggie edged closer, her weapon trained on her rapist. “I wouldn’t have said anything. I took your money and kept my mouth shut all these years. Why did you think I’d disgrace myself, admitting I’d been tainted by you?”

She hauled off and kicked him in the side. Fletcher grabbed her and pulled her back.

Culpepper laughed, a high, tinny squeal.

“It wasn’t me. I swear it. I had no interest in seeing those boys dead.”

Xander had crossed his arms on his chest, across the top of his gun, was staring down at Culpepper with loathing. Fletcher was just waiting for him to draw a knife and stab it in the man’s chest. He stepped closer.

“No, you just snuck up here loaded for bear to tell us you had our backs, right?”

“I did. I wanted to make sure you were safe. Xander, I’ve lost so many of you. I didn’t want to lose you, too. This is all my fault, but no, I didn’t kill them.”

“And that’s why you left Susan Donovan tied up in your house? Is that why you shot and killed Gino Taranto, dumped his body in the river? Is that why you shot my partner, you piece of shit?” Fletcher demanded.

Culpepper didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry then, Mr. Culpepper, but I’m going to place you under arrest now.” Fletcher read him his rights, and Culpepper lay there quietly, pathetically bleeding on Xander’s kitchen floor.

When Fletcher finished, Culpepper simply said, “It wasn’t me. I’d like my lawyer now.”

Xander blew up. “Even now, you can’t tell the truth. Even now, you’re lying, covering things up. You killed King, you bastard. How could you do that? He was one of us.”

Fletcher saw Sam step forward and take Xander’s arm. Maggie signaled with her head toward the open door. Sam dragged Xander away, out the door, yelling all the while.

Well, that went well.

Fletcher waved to the forest service kid, motioned for him to come over.

“Yes, sir?”

“Call an ambulance. We need to get him to a hospital.”

“Can’t get an ambulance up here. We’ll have to Medevac him. I already radioed. The Search and Rescue guys are sending a chopper up.” He headed back down the drive to the Jeep.

People moved around slowly now that the threat was over. Fletcher felt strangely let down. He always did when a case was done. Honestly it was just beginning—there was so much that needed to be handled, so many loose ends that needed to be tied up. But for now, he could go to sleep tonight knowing he’d taken a killer off the streets.

But could his heart recover from the blow of seeing Sam and Xander standing together, talking together, so obviously connected? He didn’t know.