Game of Fear (Montgomery Justice #3)(4)
Not murder. Assassination.
Like Patrick Montgomery.
Gabe reeled back. Also just like his father’s death five years ago, there was no motive. No suspects.
With a sharp curse, Gabe hit the “Off” button on the remote. He should let the past go. His small flash of insight wouldn’t change a thing. He was SWAT. He was no detective. When this job was over, he’d have to face reality. He wasn’t a cop anymore, not the kind he’d wanted to be.
The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Yeah?”
“I got somethin’.”
Gabe blew out a breath. Ernie the Rat. Slimy little guy who acted as one of Gabe’s informants. “Hope it’s better than last time.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, you wanted the scoop on cops in bed with Jeff Gasmerati. I got some news.”
“Fine,” Gabe muttered, still not convinced, but he refused to ignore a lead. He hadn’t followed his gut when his best friend, Steve Paretti, had started acting strange. The guy had turned out to be the worst kind of cop. Gabe wouldn’t let another dirty cop get away with it. “You know where.”
“Got it. Usual time?”
“Yeah, make it good. I’m in no mood for crap tonight, Ernie. I’m warning you.”
“I won’t let you down, big guy.”
Gabe hung up. He felt dirtier than pond scum, dealing with the likes of Ernie Rattori. But Gabe would stoop to any depth to do this job.
Hell, the *s in Internal Affairs looked like choirboys next to him.
With Gabe’s bum leg, undercover vermin catcher was the only help he could offer the sheriff’s office anymore. Everyone thought he’d quit and bought the cop bar on a whim when the owner had retired. Captain Garrison was the only one who knew the truth—that this undercover op’s sole purpose was to bring down the Gasmerati organization and its ties to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. If Gabe could find the proof.
He headed back to Sammy’s to finish out his shift before meeting Ernie after the place closed. The sooner he got this investigation wrapped up, the sooner he could come clean with everyone—his old teammates, even his family.
Eight years ago he’d promised he wouldn’t become his father, and here he was, lying to everyone he cared about.
Just like his dad.
The whirr of the circling Bell 212 helicopter rotors echoed through the cockpit. New Mexico’s Wheeler Peak, barely visible in the dusk, loomed just east, its thirteen-thousand-foot summit laden with snow. Deborah Lansing leaned forward, the seat belt straps pulling at her shoulders.
Far, far to the west, the sun was just a sliver in the sky.
“It’s almost dark, Deb. We have to land,” Gene Russo, her local Search and Rescue contact, insisted.
“The moon is bright enough right now that I can still see a little, and we have the spotlight. Those kids have got to be here somewhere!”
Deb squinted against the setting sun; her eyes burned with fatigue. They’d been at it for hours, but she couldn’t give up. Not yet.
“All the other choppers have landed, Deb. This is too dangerous. Besides, do you really think your spotlight’s going to find a snow-covered bus on the side of the mountain with all these trees?”
“Five more minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
A metallic glint pierced through a thick carpet of snow-packed spruce.
“There! I saw something.” Deb’s adrenaline raced as she shoved the steering bar to the right and down, using the foot pedals to maintain control.
“Holy crap, Lansing. What are you doing?” Gene shouted, holding on to his seat harness. “You trying to get us killed?”
He didn’t understand. The bird knew exactly what Deb wanted, and she didn’t leave people behind to die. Not after Afghanistan. She had enough ghosts on her conscience. She tilted the chopper forward and came around again, sidling near the road toward Taos Ski Valley where the church bus had been headed before it had vanished.
She dipped the chopper, scouring the terrain with the spotlight. A metallic flash pierced her gaze once again. “Gene, did you see that? Just south?”
The gray-faced spotter shook his head. “No, I’m too busy trying not to puke all over your windows.” He swallowed deeply and adjusted his microphone. “Could you fly this thing steady for a while?”
She sent him a grimace. “Sorry. I really think I spotted something. I had to go closer. I didn’t want to miss it. I need to swing by one more time. Really look this time, okay?”
Gene groaned. “Deb, I know you’re used to Denver terrain, but you can’t treat the Sangre de Cristo Mountains this way. These gullies and drafts can buffet a chopper, especially in some of the gorges. Your lift will disappear, and you’ll fly into the mountain.”
A peak rose toward them, and Deb pulled up on the collective control stick. The Bell followed her lead easily, but the sun was gone now. The near-total darkness made flying treacherous. The moon was the only thing making the deadly terrain remotely visible outside the spotlight’s range.
“At least there aren’t Stingers or RPGs shooting at us,” she said.
Gene shot her a look. “You were in the military?”
“Flew rescue missions,” Deb said. She shifted the steering bar. “I know I saw something down there, too. I’ve got that buzz. Come on, baby,” she urged the chopper.