Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(18)

“Yeah, that didn’t make it into my luggage.”

“Would you expect a sheriff in the States to hand you over a Federal fugitive on your say-so?”

“Actually, yes. The badge is usually enough.”

“Not here. Not with people who’ve never seen a USMS badge. For all we know, you bought that online.”

“So it appears we’re at an impasse.”

“Seems that way.”

He gets to his feet. Crosses the room and picks up his backpack. Then he turns to Dalton. “Gun or phone. Give me one.”

“What I’ll give you is a chance to explain yourself,” Dalton says. “In detail. And then we will fly you to Dawson. You’ll provide a warrant. You’ll provide proof.”

“How the hell would I get that in Dawson City?”

“It’s called the internet.”

Garcia shakes his head. “You’re being unreasonable, Sheriff.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” I say.

Garcia’s jaw clenches. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough to shatter the good-ol-boy persona.

“You’re making a very big . . .” He trails off before finishing that cliché, and his jaw tightens again. Then he hefts his backpack. “I’ll give you time to think about it, Sheriff. It’s late. You’re tired. You’re not working this through. So take your time. I’ll call again in the morning.”

He heads for the back door.

“Eric,” I say, leaping to catch Dalton’s arm. “Let him go.”

Dalton hadn’t made a move to go after him, but he grumbles, “Fine,” as if I had indeed yanked him back. Then I hurry to grab Storm. As Garcia strides past, she growls. He ignores her and keeps going.

As the door shuts behind Garcia, Diana spins on us. “You’re really just going to let him walk away?”

Dalton ignores her and watches out the window as Garcia disappears into the woods. Then he turns to me.

“See if Will’s radio is working,” he says. “By now, he’s out there with the boys. Nicki’s patrolling in town. Have her wake everyone Will didn’t roust earlier.”





SEVEN

Dalton has gone after Garcia. He gave him enough of a head start, before he left the house and loped silently into the forest to pursue.

I leash Storm and go out the front.

“You don’t think he’s really a marshal, do you?” Diana says as she jogs to keep up.

“I have no idea. That’s the problem.”

“But if you had to speculate . . .”

“If I had to speculate, I’d say he’s trouble either way.”

Which is not entirely true. If Garcia is a U.S. Marshal, he is a far more dangerous threat. That would mean his superiors know where he’s gone and what he’s doing. A Federal officer can’t just jump in a plane. Even on vacation, he needs to file his plans and check in daily. A marshal is not a bounty hunter. Not a lone wolf. That’s what makes Garcia’s story suspicious. I wasn’t lying when I said I wouldn’t know a USMS badge if I saw one. I’ve met FBI. I’ve met CIA. I’ve even met US Postal Service agent. I have never met a marshal. Which means I don’t know what their badge looks like or how they operate. Yet I cannot believe they operate like this—one lone agent flying into the wilderness.

So what is he? A bail bondsman is one possibility. A bounty hunter is another, and sometimes they’re the same thing, but that’s isn’t always the case. A bail bondsman is looking for a fugitive who skipped bail. A bounty hunter may be looking for anyone he’s paid to find.

If this is not an actual marshal, I’ll bet my inheritance he’s a professional, and not just some guy out to settle a score. Garcia knows what he’s doing. He knows how to act like an officer of the law. He has the badge and the confidence, as if he’s played this role many times. Which he might very well have done, if he’s a bounty hunter. Swagger into town, pick up his target, and if the local cops interfere, waving that badge probably would be enough, as he said.

When I reach the station, I hand Storm to Diana, go inside and call Anders. Tonight, I get lucky and the radios actually work, probably because . . .

“I’m five minutes away,” Anders says when he answers. “Three if I run.”

“You don’t run very fast then, do you?”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”

I tell him, starting with “Don’t come back to town.” Otherwise, by the time I finished, he’d have been here. It’s not a short story, as much as I condense it.

When I finish, he says, “Shit. You think he’s really a—” He stops himself. “Doesn’t matter right now. Point is to get him and bring him in, right?”

“No. We could have stopped him if we wanted to. Garcia thinks he’s giving us time to reconsider, but he’s got things a little backward, considering where he is.”

“In the middle of the Yukon wilderness, armed with a few protein bars and a bottle of water.”

“Yep. No gun. No phone. He’s screwed and—”

The station door opens, Diana leaning in. “Casey? Tell Will to come back to town. Now.”

“Uh, no,” Anders says on the radio. “I’m sure you have this under control. I’ll pull the militia back, but I’ll look for this Garcia guy—”