Once Quiet (Jack Widow Book 5) Page 16

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Widow.”

  “Sure.”

  “Mr. Widow, I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t.”

  “I have to ask one more thing.”

  He waited.

  “Tomorrow, when you get up and have breakfast and make your call, Casey will be going out to do a cattle run with Mr. King. That would be a good time for you to leave. Before he gets back. He likes you and I don’t want him making a big deal out of your leaving.”

  Widow nodded.

  Crispin smiled and walked away from the fire and left him there to feel its heat.

  CHAPTER 32

  A NIGHT SPENT in a strange big house was especially strange for Widow because he hadn’t been a guest in someone’s house in longer than he could remember.

  Widow was a creature of silence. He liked it. But when it came to sleeping, he was more accustomed to hearing far-off police sirens or the rocking of Naval ships or the outside noises. In a new house, there were always new sounds to get used to but he wouldn’t be there long enough to get used to them.

  At first, Widow slept for a few hours and then he woke up for no reason.

  He stayed in bed listening to the sounds of the Sossaman house. He heard wind rustling against the space between the exterior stones. He heard the wood in the walls breathing and settling. He heard the tick tock of a clock in the room that he hadn’t even noticed before. Then he heard something else. It sounded muffled. It was outside the house.

  Widow sat up in bed and looked around the room, tried to hone in on the location of the sound. It came from the back corner of the house, the opposite side to his room. He got up and walked over to the window. He crossed the window but stayed far out in front so as not to cast a shadow over the curtain. He put his back to the wall and leaned forward, tried to look without moving the curtain. He peered through the crack between the curtain, the blind, and the wall. He saw nothing but the dim exterior light that splashed down over the back patio and extended out to the edge of the river.

  Widow backed away and moved his ear closer, closed his eyes tight and tried to listen for the noise. He slowed his breathing and concentrated. He could hear the rushing of water from the river behind the house. He heard the wind again, blowing against the stones outside. Then he heard a dog barking. It was the family dog.

  He peeked back out the window through the crack between the curtain and the wall. He couldn’t see it.

  He waited, taking deep, slow breaths. Then he saw the back end of the dog, who ran through the splash of light, down by the water’s edge. He was in and then he was out. Fast.

  Widow didn’t see the animal’s details, just a blonde blur running from side to side.

  He stood back. Decided he wasn’t going to be able to sleep without knowing what got the dog so riled up in the first place.

  Widow left his room, headed down the stairs and down to the kitchen. He left the lights off, found his way back down the hall and almost tripped down the step into the hall because he had forgotten about it.

  He found the door to the back deck. He didn’t open it, not yet. He wondered if there was a security alarm box. He studied the door. It had six short, square panels of glass. He looked out them and saw the deck under the ambient light.

  He saw no sign of an alarm or wires or sensors to indicate that there was one. Which wasn’t a good idea, he thought. Crispin should definitely have an alarm installed. They were way out in the middle of nowhere.

  The backdoor had a simple deadbolt lock. Widow unlocked it and cracked the door just slightly ajar, in case he missed a sensor, which he doubted. There was nothing. He opened it up just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

  Widow stepped out onto the deck. He hugged the inside wall of the pocket before the backdoor, staying in the shadow.

  Normal nighttime forest sounds calmly emitted from around him. He heard crickets, distant rustling leaves, the rushing water below the deck, and the barking dog. And nothing else.

  A normal person’s instinct would’ve been to call out to the dog, to calm him, to stop him from barking. This wasn’t Widow’s first instinct.

  He wanted to know what had the dog barking.

  Widow’s eyes scanned the deck, which he had already seen was empty. He looked beyond it, past the edges of wooden railing. He studied the darkness beyond the river. But there was nothing to see but more darkness. What he automatically searched for were flashlights, reflections, or big movements like hedges swishing around harder than the wind could do. But he saw nothing.

  The moon was out. He could tell because of the cold blue light over the trees, but he couldn’t find it in the sky. It could’ve been behind cloud cover. The sky wasn’t overcast, but there were languid clouds hanging overhead.

  As he saw it, he had only two real approaches. He could crouch down and move slowly to the stairs and down to the backyard. Or he could just go for it, which was what he decided to do. Quick was the right course to catch someone, if there was someone out there. It was also dangerous because he was unarmed and if someone was out there, they may not be unarmed.

  The trick was to get out of the light as fast as possible and into the darkness. If there was a threat out there in the darkness, unless he was equipped with night vision or thermal goggles, then he’d be just fine.

  Widow took the chance and sprinted straight out to the stairs and down them in long strides. One. Two. Giant steps and he was on the dirt. He crouched and rolled and landed out of the cone of light. He slammed up, back against the wall.

  He waited.

  The sudden sight of a six-foot-four man running out of the house would’ve spooked anyone who was out there. They would’ve made noises, flashed the lights, or fired their guns, if they had any. None of this happened.

  Instead, the one thing that Widow hadn’t factored in was the dog.

  The family dog heard him and came running. Up close, Widow could see he was primarily a golden retriever mix. He came running up to Widow and barked and snarled.

  Widow stood up and felt stupid.

  The dog continued to bark at him. He didn’t attack or anything, just barked.

  Widow kept his eyes on the woods across from the river, but saw nothing. No signs of a threat. No swishing bushes. No flashlights. No reflective surfaces. Nothing.

  He walked over to the dog and knelt down. He slowly moved his hand up from under the animal’s snout and stuck it out. The dog stopped barking and stared at him. He tilted his head like he was confused.

  Widow said, “Come on, boy.”

  The dog walked over, slow and sniffed Widow’s fingers. Then he stepped back, not out of fear or a sense that Widow was a bad guy, but more like he didn’t like Widow’s unfamiliar smell.

  Widow took his hand away and smelled it. There was still the aroma of dish soap from the minutes he’d spent working in the kitchen before Crispin had called him away. Maybe the dog would have preferred the odor of the trash Widow had removed earlier.

  As he thought of Crispin, he recalled her telling him to leave the next day. Having one of the most beautiful women that he had ever seen ask him to leave her home didn’t feel too good.

  He looked at the family dog, without knowing his name. Widow asked, “You think that’s why she asked me to leave?”

  The dog sat back on his hind legs and barked once, which seemed like he’d been trained to do this act.

  Widow grinned and nodded. He said, “That explains it then.”

  They both stayed there for a beat and Widow stood up. He scanned the woods one last time and shrugged.

  Whatever it was that had gotten the dog barking was gone. He went back inside and back to bed. The dog ran off to the front of the yard to bark at something else.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE OLDEST WATCHER CLUTCHED his back tight against a tree. This watch belonged to him and his son.

  The son whispered, “Is he gone?”

  “Shut up
!” the oldest watcher said. Then he breathed slowly, trying to slow his heartbeat. This stranger was going to be a problem for them. He knew it.

  In his opinion, they should’ve shot him. The problem was if they fired a single shot, then the jig was up. The family would know that they were in the woods across the river.

  The damn dog was bad enough, but they didn’t have to worry much about him because he was a country dog and country dogs barked. That was just a slice of life, like country boys having that innocent, sweet look that he liked.

  The oldest watcher found himself staring at his son. Too bad the boy had grown out of being a boy. Too bad he never got to spend much quality time with him, like he had wanted, because he’d been locked up for so much of his son’s life.

  The oldest watcher had been well behaved ever since he had gotten out. He knew that the Feds were looking over his shoulder. Besides that, he had to take care of his grandfather in his final days. It was his responsibility. He was the first-born.

  The son stayed quiet, but seemed to be eager to see if the stranger was gone.

  The oldest watcher peered out from behind the tree. He had the M40 hugged tight to his chest. They had been watching the house in the dark, but after the stranger noticed the reflections from the scope earlier, he felt the need to add an extra layer of caution. He pulled back as soon as he had seen the stranger scramble out of the back doorway.

  He had whispered to his son to stay still and keep his mouth shut.

  The oldest watcher noticed that the dog had stopped barking. To be safe, he remained still for another five or ten minutes. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like it was forever.

  After he felt safe and his heart had slowed, he peeked around the tree and studied the backyard and deck, carefully. He saw no one. No dog. No stranger.

  He said, “I think it’s okay.”

  The son came out and said, “Pa, I don’t understand. Why’d we hafta come this close?”

  “Don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

  The son started to move his mouth again, but the oldest watcher said, “I said don’t!”

  The son didn’t say anything else.

  The oldest watcher stared at the house. He wasn’t sure exactly where the youngest boy’s room was, but he knew it was in the front, out of sight from his position. He stared and a grin grew on his face, the kind of grin that would terrify his brothers and his son. If only they knew. If only they had that special gene that he had inherited from his grandpa.

  CHAPTER 34

  FBI AGENT ESCOBAR failed to use her turn signal in the very northern part of Idaho and she caught the attention of an Idaho State Trooper.

  He pulled out from the median, flashed his lights and pulled up on her tail.

  She looked in the rearview mirror and whispered to herself, Damnit!

  The lonely Idaho highway was mostly deserted. How did she come across the only other car and it was a state trooper?

  Bad luck, she thought.

  Escobar pulled off the road to the shoulder, slowly. The tires from the unmarked FBI car steadily rolled and bounced over the poor state of the shoulder. Rocks and dust and dirt kicked up and she slid the drive selector to park on the steering wheel. She looked back and adjusted her rearview mirror, stabilized it and peered at the state trooper’s car.

  Damnit! she whispered again.

  The whole trip from Seattle to Eureka, Montana, was only around eight hours. With her sort-of-stolen, sort-of-borrowed unmarked Crown Vic, she could’ve made it in less, a lot less. But she had made several stops and was taking her time because the date when they were going to pull the plug on Liam wasn’t for another twenty-four hours, at least. And there was no real guarantee that he’d die right away. In fact, he might not die for months or years. Science wasn’t quite clear on this point.

  Plus, she was trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. She’d already received numerous notifications on her phone telling her that she had missed calls from her field office. And she had received several voicemails, as well. She didn’t listen to any of them. She knew what they said.

  She knew because her boss was also sending her text messages, a lot of them.

  The messages popped up on her lock screen, which gave her no choice but to read them.

  The first ones were of concern, like: “Hey. You okay?” and “Hey. Where are you?”

  Those turned into ones of outrage and then finally to fear.

  She had only been out of Seattle for several hours, but she had been out of the office, without checking in, for most of the workday.

  Her boss would soon figure out that she had checked out a car and never cleared it with him. Nor did she tell any of her colleagues. Nor did she fill out the paperwork correctly. And she had forged his name. All of which, on the surface could only amount to a woman taking the day off, using the Bureau’s gas card and vehicle to do it.

  She figured that eventually someone in her office would figure out that she had gone rogue. The first step would be for the IT guys to start sifting through her emails. She deleted the email from a stranger. The one that led her to a link about Liam Sossaman. But the FBI’s IT guys were not just good; they were some of the best. They were only matched by the guys at Google and Apple and some at Microsoft. That was only because those companies paid more.

  Ultimately, the IT guys would find her emails and they’d realize what she was doing.

  Right then, in that moment, she hadn’t been caught. She was still safe, on her mission.

  She took one more look in her rearview.

  She asked herself, What if you’re wrong?

  She started to doubt. She started to question her plan. She had no way of escape. She knew that. But she was prepared to go all the way to the end.

  She felt adrenaline seep into her veins. Her heart raced. She feared that the FBI might be onto her too soon. Maybe she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough.

  She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop now. She’d spent ten years trying to do it their way. She’d spent ten long years, trying to let the good guys with the badges and the guns do their job. She had tried to wait it out.

  She couldn’t wait anymore. She had to get some answers before it was too late.

  Escobar slowly retracted her hands from the steering wheel. She reached down with her right hand and pressed the seatbelt button. The locking mechanism released and the belt slipped away and reversed up, across her chest and back into the default position.

  Then she reached up and underneath her coat.

  Escobar moved her eyes to the side mirror. The state trooper was stepping out of his cruiser. The blue and red lights washed over his aviator sunglasses, reflecting back at Escobar.

  She felt around for the lock button on her shoulder holster rig. She found it and unsnapped it. In one quick motion, she jerked a department-issued Glock 22 out and chambered a round. Then she slipped it back into her holster, leaving the button unsnapped. She kept the Glock loose.

  The state trooper was a young guy, probably not even thirty. She watched him approach. He kept his eyes on her plate and then on the back of her head through the rear window. He had his clipboard out, like he was going to write a ticket.

  That must be a trick, a ruse. He was pulling her over because the FBI already was onto her. She knew it. Had to be. The state trooper looked at her plate a second time. Now she was sure that he was onto her. He was probably going to tell her that she had been speeding. He was going to insist that she wait there while he wrote her a citation. But that wasn’t what he was going to do. He had looked at her plates—government plates.

  She had to be strong. There was no going back now. Justice had to be served.

  The state trooper stopped a foot from the driver side door and tapped on the glass next to her head with the end of the clipboard.

  He said, “Roll your window down.”

  Escobar kept her hands in her lap. She still wasn’t sure what she was g
oing to do.

  She reached up with her left hand and pressed a button on the door’s control panel. The window buzzed down all the way.

  The trooper said, “Ma’am, I need your license please.”

  Escobar asked, “What’s the problem?”

  She smiled at him. The trooper said, “License please, ma’am?”

  Escobar considered flirting with him. Maybe she could get out of a ticket. That always worked in the movies and she had heard of it before. Plus, she was no stranger to flirting with men to get her way. So, she gave it a shot. She smiled. She spoke in her best seductive voice, but he wasn’t biting.

  She had got a good cop on a lonely road.

  She reached her right hand in toward her inner jacket pocket. She felt her fingertips brush by the Glock. She stopped on it.

  She paused a long, long moment. Then she pulled out a black, leather wallet and flipped it so that her badge and FBI ID would show.

  The trooper saw it and bent down. He stared at it. He asked, “You’re an FBI Agent?”

  “Yeah, I sure am.”

  The trooper said, “Can I see that, ma’am?”

  Escobar handed the badge to him. He turned and pulled his sunglasses off his face. The sun was in his eyes, so he turned away from the car, tried to get a better look at the badge and photograph. It all looked real.

  Escobar released the badge, let him take it. She reached back into her coat. Again, she felt the cold Glock at her fingertips.

  But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t murder an innocent cop. She wanted revenge, but this guy was just doing his job. He hadn’t killed her sister.

  She started to prepare to give it all up.

  But the trooper came back and returned her badge. He said, “Agent Escobar, the speed limit out here is fifty-five.

  She looked confused. She released the Glock and took the badge back.

  She asked, “How fast was I going? I wasn’t speeding.”

  “Agent Escobar, you were doing thirty-five.”