Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(3)

The man didn’t stop until he was inches away from Joe.

“I need to pat you down for weapons.” He had a deep bass voice and spoke with a blunt Eastern European accent.

“I left ’em in my truck,” Joe said, feeling both angry and violated. The man was just too close. “Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”

“Sorry, it’s my job,” the man said without a real apology, and Joe found himself being expertly patted down, all the way to the top of his lace-up hunting boots. When the man was done, he stepped back.

“You’re clear,” the man said.

“I already told you that.”

Joe and the bodyguard stared at each other for several beats. The man didn’t blink. He had a wide Slavic face, close-cropped black hair, a downturned mouth, and a square jaw not quite as wide as his thick neck. Joe could only guess the man was armed because of the bulges and protrusions beneath his matte black–colored tactical coat.

“Please forgive Zsolt,” Price said with an embarrassed grin as he joined the two. He pronounced the name Zolt. “He kind of overdoes it sometimes, but he’s a good man to have around.”

“I’m law enforcement,” Joe said through gritted teeth.

Price arched his eyebrows. “I thought you were a game warden.”

“Game wardens are law enforcement,” Joe said to Price.

“If you say so,” Price said, obviously unconvinced.

Joe didn’t move. Inside, he seethed even while he offered his hand to Price.

“And you must be Joe,” Price said with a grin. “‘Good old Joe,’ I’ve been saying.”

Before Joe could confirm it, Price chinned toward the jet. “Is the wrangler waiting for us somewhere?”

“His name is Brock,” Joe said. “Yup, he’s waiting inside for us.”

“You can call me Steve-2,” Price said. He pronounced SteveTwo as a two-syllable word. Instead of grasping Joe’s hand in return, he offered an elbow bump. It was an obvious holdover from the pandemic. Either that, or Price was a germophobe, Joe thought.

“That’s Tim out there with the camera,” Price said. “He’s my personal assistant. You’ve met Zsolt Rumy. As you probably guessed, he oversees security.”

Rumy nodded at the mention of his name. Joe nodded back.

Price sidled up close, man-to-man. “I know you’re probably asking yourself why a dude like me needs security.”

“Not really.”

“I sometimes wonder myself,” Price said.

One of the crew of the jet had opened the cargo hold door and Joe could see what looked like dozens of large duffel bags, gear boxes, and backpacks inside.

Joe narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure Tim told you we’re taking horses.”

“He did. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“We may need to winnow down some of your stuff if it’s too much.”

“Are you saying we don’t have pack animals?” Price asked with a look of genuine concern. “My understanding is we’d have pack animals to transport everything we need.”

“We’ve got horses and panniers,” Joe said. “They’re waiting for us in the parking lot. But we need to limit the weight on each animal to no more than thirty percent of its body weight. We’ve got five packhorses in addition to the horses we’ll ride.”

Price frowned. “How much does a horse weigh?”

“Depends on the horse.”

Price closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then slowly reopened them. “I was under the assumption all of this was already sorted out in advance.”

Joe said, “I told Tim to limit your baggage to five hundred pounds.”

Price glared at him. “You know, good old Joe, I can do math in my head. In fact, I’m quite good at it. I’m a coder and a programmer and I’ve designed world-class proprietary algorithms. Are you telling me that your packhorses can only handle a hundred pounds each? I find that hard to believe, since most human riders weigh well above that.”

“They do,” Joe said. “But we need to plan for the weight of hauling elk back down the mountain.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll get it figured out,” Joe offered in an attempt to be conciliatory. As he said it, Joannides approached the group.

Price turned to his assistant. “If we need to leave things behind, they’ll be yours.”

“Yes, boss,” he said through gritted teeth as he turned and walked away.

Joe felt embarrassed for the man, which Price seemed to pick up on.

“I hope that’s not the first of many misunderstandings,” Price said. “Sometimes I think Tim tells me what he thinks I want to hear rather than what I need to hear.”

Joe was glad Joannides was out of earshot.

“Since you’ve been communicating with Tim,” Price continued, “it’s important that you know I’m not some kind of prima donna. I take what we’re about to do very seriously and it’s extremely valuable to me. I appreciate you and the wrangler taking your time to do this.”

Joe nodded.

“As I hope Tim conveyed to you, I only want to participate in an authentic, fair-chase hunt. Pretend I’m just a normal person who hires you to guide him.”