Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(86)

Which was part of his motivation, Joe thought but didn’t say. Duane was, in his twisted way, striking back.

“And Dr. Arthur,” Hewitt said, “he either let her die or he helped it along. I kept wondering why he didn’t do more, but I actually trusted his judgment.”

“Yup,” Joe said. “Or maybe he’s just a really bad doctor.”

“I want to kill him.”

“I know you do. But we’re not going to let you.”

“Then go find the son of a bitch and keep him away from me.”

“Yup.”





TWENTY-SEVEN


FROM HIS BUNK IN THE COUNTY JAIL CELL, NATE LISTENED to the chaos over the radio down the short hallway from the empty sheriff’s department lobby. He grew more and more anxious by what he heard, and his eyes felt hooded by a shroud of upcoming violence. His breathing became shallow and his hands tingled.

He was furious and desperate at the same time. All hell had broken loose out there: the county attorney had been shot and killed by an unknown assassin, the home of the local doctor had been raided, hostages had been found, and the suspect was on the run.

But his feelings of impotence and rage had begun fifteen minutes before the radio in the lobby had begun to squawk. They’d begun when he was awakened by a heavy whump against the frosted, wire-reinforced glass of the only window in his cell that faced outside. The blow to the window had a lot of force behind it; enough that it had cracked several of the glass panels.

The impact had awoken something primal inside him because he somehow knew what had caused it. When it happened, he sat up in bed wanting to render his own particular kind of justice in the worst way. Starting with the incompetent and feckless sheriff who had caged him on bogus charges with bogus evidence, all the while Liv and Kestrel were vulnerable.

Nate wanted out of that jail and he wanted out now.

*

FIVE MINUTES LATER, Nate heard someone enter the lobby and clomp around. That got his full attention. Sheriff Kapelow sounded flummoxed when he called out, “Ryan? Justin? Is anybody here?”

“Back here,” Nate answered.

In a moment, Kapelow made his way down the hallway and he stood on the other side of the bars. He carried what looked like a bundle of feathers in his hands.

“Where are they?” he asked Nate.

“Out doing your job,” Nate said. “I heard about it all over the radio somebody forgot to mute.”

Kapelow shook his head, not understanding.

“They’ve got one of the shooters of Sue Hewitt and they’re looking for the other one.”

“They can’t do that.”

“They deliberately cut you out,” Nate said. “So did the chief of police and Joe Pickett.”

“They can’t do that,” Kapelow protested. “I’m the sheriff.”

“And a piss-poor one. Now, let me out of here.”

Kapelow just stood there, stunned. The significance of what Nate had told him reflected in his slack face. He looked even more feckless and deflated than Nate had thought possible.

“You’re holding one of my birds,” Nate said, gesturing at the crumpled falcon Kapelow carried.

“What?”

“That’s part of my Air Force.”

“I found it outside. It looked like it crashed into the side of the building. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Hand it over. It might still be alive.”

The sheriff contemplated the request for a minute, then unlocked the upper half section of the door and opened it. He thrust the falcon toward Nate as if handing off a football.

Nate gathered up the bird and cradled it like a baby. It was one of his best performing peregrines, a bird that had worked with him for several years. It still wore the tooled leather hood Nate had placed on it before he was arrested. The falcon had flown blind from his mews through the night and it had broken its neck when it smashed into the jail cell window.

“Is it yours?” Kapelow asked. “Is it dead?”

Nate nodded. He couldn’t speak.

“How did it know how to find you? Here, give it back to me,” Kapelow said. “I’ll go throw it in the dumpster. Then I’ll go find my men and take charge of the operation. Oh, there will be hell to pay.”

Nate looked up slowly from the peregrine through an opaque film of pure red. In a series of lightning-fast movements, he dropped the body of the falcon, shot out both of his hands, grasped the back of Kapelow’s head, and pulled him over the bottom door into the cell.

While the sheriff thrashed and tried to fight back, Nate took the man’s weapon out of the holster and tossed it out into the hallway. He did the same with the pepper spray and cuffs on the sheriff’s belt. Then he pinned the man down on the floor by placing his knees on Kapelow’s shoulders and leaning over until they were nose to nose.

“You’re letting me out of here,” Nate hissed.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Kapelow said. There was panic in his eyes.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Nate said as he reached down with his right hand and took a firm grasp of Kapelow’s left ear.

“Where is your keycard?” Nate asked.

“You’ll go to prison for this,” Kapelow said. “You’re assaulting a peace officer.”