Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ZACH
Even though Sofie drives slowly and veers around the bigger holes and washboards, I’m sweating and hyperventilating by the time we reach the pavement.
“What does your dad do outside of hunting season?” I ask to distract myself from the pain.
“Fishing is permitted all year, plus there’s wildlife and habitat research to complete. Education and outreach. He also collaborates with law enforcement.”
“Seems like a big job.” We round a broad curve, and the lake comes into view. The cloudy sky has turned the surface leaden and thick.
“He’s very dedicated.”
I detect a hint of pride in her tone, and defensiveness. As if she’s used to standing up for him. “But unpopular sometimes?”
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s part of the job. Hunters come in two varieties: Those who are respectful and understand the need for limits and regulations. And those who feel entitled to take what they want and don’t like anyone getting in their way.”
“Does poaching happen a lot?”
“It’s hard to say. He’s responsible for thousands of acres. If someone takes an animal illegally, and Dad doesn’t catch them red-handed, the only reasons he’ll find out is if another hunter sees something or the poacher leaves evidence behind.”
“Which of those happened today?”
Her gaze meets mine for an instant, as if she’s trying to read me. “A decapitated bull elk.”
“Someone left an entire elk behind?” I’m not much of a hunter, but an elk would feed a family for a year, at least. “And this isn’t the first time?”
“Dad thinks it’s a trophy hunter.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Say you really want a mountain lion’s paw, or a Bald Eagle’s tail feathers, or the antlers from a Big Horn Sheep.”
“People kill Bald Eagles?” My neck prickles. “That’s awful.”
“Sometimes these trophy hunters use illegal methods, too.”
“Do they go to jail?”
“Depends. For hunting a federally protected species like Bald Eagles, or illegally trapping or baiting any animal in order to hunt it, yes. But most other violations don’t equal time in jail.”
“No wonder he carries a gun,” I say, mostly to myself.
She releases a soft sigh. “Thankfully he rarely has to use it.”
“You worry about him.”
Sofie turns at a light, which takes us into town. Above, to the left, Bear Mountain is hidden by the clouds, though a dusting of snow coats her flanks.
“He’s very cautious, but plenty of hunters aren’t happy to see him when he’s out patrolling. Add in that they are all carrying guns, are often drunk, and if they haven’t been successful, are pissed off, it can be a very stressful job.”
“Does he ever deal with stuff not related to hunting and fishing crimes?”
She stops at a four-way intersection, then turns left. “He helped solve a murder once. This guy killed his business partner and then claimed it was a hunting accident. Oh! Another time, there was a survivalist living illegally out in the boonies who was trying to build a bomb. Federal agents did most of the work, but Dad was part of the team that brought him in. ”
I think of that trailer slash meth lab. Rowdy Whittaker has likely seen it all.
“Do people bury stuff out in the woods?”
She frowns. “Besides a dead body?”
“Maybe to cache something.”
“During the Centennial Trail Race, runners could leave supplies ahead of time at the way stations. I remember because Dad was part of the search team when one of the racers went missing.”
“I’m not talking about athletes.”
She turns into a parking lot. Four large dumpsters line the opposite side. One is blue, with the symbol for recycling on the side. The others are dark gray with black lids. At the end of the row is a wire mesh bin half-full of flattened cardboard.
“What, then? Buried treasure?” Sofie says.
I think about changing the subject, then remember her question about keeping her in the dark. “I came across this shallow hole. It looked like something had been buried there. Do animals dig out places where they bed down?”
Sofie turns off the engine and sits back. “How big was it?”
I recreate the shallow bowl shape with my hands. “One had shredded bits of decayed wood at the edges.”
“Were there scrape marks in the ground? Like from animal hooves?”
At the time, I thought maybe they were from bear claws. In Alaska, a grizzly will completely destroy a decaying log in search of grubs, but I don’t think grizzlies are as prevalent in Idaho. “Could be. I took pictures, but the phone was in my pack.”
A wary look passes through her eyes. “Sounds like a salt lick. Hunters use them to bait animals.”
“They’re illegal, right?”
“Yep.” She cocks her head and peers at me. “Where did you see it?”
If she’s right, my two-day mission for Sheriff Olson was a waste. “On the other side of Crooked Pine Pass.”
Her gaze turns wary. “Zach, that’s Sage Creek Outfitters’ territory. Their clients come from all over the world. And Finn River Ranch guests who hunt almost always work with Sage. Did anyone see you take those pictures? ”
My neck prickles. Was someone watching me in that hollow? “Wait, are you saying that’s why I was attacked? Why my pack was stolen?”
“Do you know how much those guides make just in tips? If one of them got caught baiting, that could end their career. Not only that, but a scandal like that could destroy Sage Creek Outfitters.”
As terrifying as that attack was, knowing it was some local looking to protect his way of life is ten times easier to bear than the alternative.
“You should tell my dad.” Sofie shoots me a stern glance.
“Why? It’s not like I have any proof. If you’re right, then whoever came after me has covered up those holes by now.”
Her expression turns apprehensive. “Gabe guides for Sage Creek.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“But it couldn’t have been Gabe who attacked you. He was at The Limelight. We both saw him.” She turns sideways in her seat. “If we tell my dad about the salt lick, he’ll get to the bottom of this.”
After what Sofie said about her dad’s duties, it seems unlikely that he wouldn’t be involved in a smuggling investigation suspected on state or federal wildlands. Yet Sheriff Olson didn’t mention collaborating with anyone. That could mean he’s keeping it quiet. Is it because he’s protecting his son at the same time?
Shit. More secrets?
“What were you doing all the way out at Crooked Pine?” Sofie asks.
Moving carefully, I open the car door. My side gives a tight pang, but I use the edge of the seat to help get me to my feet.
For the second time this morning, I endure Sofie’s frustrated sigh. Even though just a moment ago, I trusted her with my question, until I know more about what’s going on here, it’s best not to share any more.
By the time we leave town for the ranch, I’m in so much pain that when Sofie insists on dropping me at the employee entrance so I don’t have to deal with the bus, I can’t argue.
At the curb, Sofie’s quiet.
My frustration is like a pot ready to boil over. It’s not like I expected to find the rest of my belongings or my savings, but searching for them was a waste of time, not to mention humiliating .
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
“Of course,” she replies.
There’s more I want to say, but the words dance around on my tongue.
“See you later?” she asks.
The hopeful edge in her tone is like a steamroller to my heart. “Yeah.”
Though it’s the weakest form of assurance I can possibly make, I want it to be true.
“Okay,” she says with a little nod, like she’s afraid to ask for more.
Moving carefully, I roll forward and step out of the Wagoneer.
The walk to the lodge is short, but being in motion hurts so badly that I’m breathless by the time I get to Stu’s office. I’m also pissed as hell.
When I enter, Stu’s normally stoic face is tense with concern. “Zach. I heard about?—”
“Why are you and Sheriff Olson keeping this investigation secret? What are you really after?”
Stu sits back and crosses his arms. “First of all, are you all right? Sounds like you should have gone to the emergency room.”
I stare him down. “Don’t play me. I need to know what I’m really doing for you and the sheriff.”
“You’re doing exactly like I said.”
“Why isn’t Rowdy Whittaker part of it?”
He rolls his lips, like he’s thinking. “When the time is right, he will be.”
“Why keep it from him?”
“Because discretion isn’t his strong point. Our guests value the high-level security we offer here, but they value their privacy even more.”
“You think one of the guests is involved?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But they could be benefitting.”
Now I get it. If prime B.C. weed or pills are being smuggled into the area to sell to Finn River’s high-society members, and someone is trafficking across federal and state public lands to do it, that would certainly be big news. News that a stickler like Rowdy Whittaker wouldn’t hesitate to make public—even if it snubbed the rich and famous. Why would he protect them when he works a dangerous, thankless job for peanuts just so they can play in his backyard?
“Discretion,” I say, the word bitter on my tongue.
“Two weeks ago, the nineteen-year-old daughter of an oil baron overdosed at her family’s vacation home. The only reason I found out about it is because they needed security approval to land a medevac. She lived, but it’s the second such incident in six months.”
It’s not like I read the papers, but a hot bit of gossip like this not being front-page news is telling. “And you think her hookup is connected to the trafficking.”
He nods, his eyes steely and hard. “My goal is to protect the members of Finn River Ranch. If I’ve got someone delivering fentanyl or Oxy into this community, I want it shut down. So does Sheriff Olson. So do our members. But we want it done quietly. Do you understand?”
“I never agreed to stick my neck out for this.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Then you might want to distance yourself from Rowdy Whittaker’s daughter.”
“The fuck?”
He arches an eyebrow, like a challenge. “She stirs things up. Pokes her nose where it don’t belong. And she’s persistent. Won’t let things go, even if it’s in her best interest.”
The pain in my rib is like a blow torch in my side, making it hard to concentrate. Won’t let things go… like The Winter Range Project. Like her brother in his struggles. Like me?
“The sooner we can shut down this pipeline, the safer we’ll be. And that includes you. Meanwhile, your best defense is to fly low.”
He’s not wrong, yet how much lower can I get?
“Now tell me what you found up there,” he says, leaning on his desk.
Stu cuts me loose for the rest of the week and calls Henry on my behalf for a ride. Though Sofie would surely appreciate knowing my plans, I’m not in the habit of sharing, and grappling with that right now feels beyond my capacity. Not with Stu’s words rattling around in my brain.
Won’t let things go, even if it’s in her best interest.
He’s got her pegged, yet why would he warn me like that? As if her “interests” could oppose mine. It makes no sense.
Henry’s waiting at the curb. He jumps down when I cross the road and walks to the passenger side, his face etched in worry.
It’s nice to see him, but the words get caught in my throat. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Sure.” Henry opens my door.
The climb into the cab is daunting, but I grit my teeth and breathe through the sting while Henry hurries to his side and jumps in.
“You doin’ okay?” Henry asks.
“Fine.” It’s bullshit, and from his scowl, he knows it.
Once I’m settled, he cruises out of the lot. “I feel terrible about what happened. If Barb and I had been home?—”
“It’s not your fault.”
He heaves a giant sigh. “Any idea who done this to you?”
I’m not ready to talk about this, not after my conversation with Stu Valentine. “Did you come out to the Whittakers?”
If Henry notices I sidestepped his question, he doesn’t show it. “Rowdy’s a good man.”
“What happened to his wife?”
Henry’s lips press together like he’s holding back a reply. He sneaks a quick glance at me before returning his focus to the road. “She fell for one a’ them rich guys. Owns a bunch of magazines.”
I recoil, making my side explode with hot pain. “She left them?”
“Yep.”
“When was this?”
Henry is silent for a moment, tapping the steering wheel like it’s helping him think. “Maybe five, six years ago.”
I don’t know Sofie’s age, but it’s not like it matters when her mom left. Any age is too young. “Where is their mom now?”
“Far as I know, Los Angeles. I don’t think she’s been back to Finn River.”
No wonder Sofie reacted the way she did. First her mom leaves, and now it sounds like soon Jesse will too, despite everything she’s done to take care of him.
“Damn.”
“Yep. It was hard on those kids. Still is.”
I coax a slow breath into my aching lungs. Everything hurts. I’m exhausted and my mind is a mess. I wish I could hold Sofie again. Especially now that I know about her mom. No wonder she’s so driven to keep her family together. No wonder Jesse taking off for L.A. is so terrifying.
“I lost my dad five years ago,” I say. “Cancer.”
Henry winces. “That must have been awful.”
“It destroyed my mom. I did what I could, but…” Moving carefully, I shift to the side so I can slide out my wallet and pluck the picture of me and William.
“He’s what matters now.” I soak in the warmth of our smiles. Our childhood is gone forever, but I have to believe we can be happy like that again someday.
Henry gives the picture a quick glance, then inhales a slow breath and nods like he understands. “Any chance this attack on you is related to what you told Sheriff Olson? About that murdered girl and your stepfather?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I gaze out the window, the bright autumn sunshine making me squint. The storm from the other day dusted the mountain peaks with fresh snow. It won’t be long before the foothills are white, and winter tightens its grip on this valley.
“You think they’ll try again?”
I side-eye him, then slip the picture back into its place. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be caught in the middle of it if they do.”
Henry gives a chuckle. “News flash, kid. We happen to specialize in being caught in the middle. And if they come anywhere near the ranch, Barb’s a crack shot.”
He’s kidding—I think, I hope . But the idea of anyone taking on my battles doesn’t sit well with me.
“Zach,” Henry says, his voice sober. “I think your best bet is to trust the sheriff to help you. Whoever did this needs to be caught.”
I don’t answer, but Henry doesn’t appear to need one. We turn up the drive, the crackle of the truck’s thick tires on gravel filling the silence.
When we pull up in front of the house, Barb and the dogs are already hurrying toward the truck. Barb’s soft brown eyes are tense with worry when I step down from the cab, but to my relief, she doesn’t try to hug me.
Honey and Rex spin around us, wagging their tails. Honey jumps up to get closer, and though it jostles my busted rib, I scratch her soft head and behind her ears. It’s only been two days, but I missed them.
“Hungry?” Barb asks.
“A little.” I reach back into the cab for my backpack to cover the emotions rising up my throat. Because I missed Barb too. More than I realized.
“Go wash up, and I’ll have grilled ham and swiss with home fries ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and head for the house. Honey and Rex trot alongside me like a couple of escorts. When I swing open the farmhouse door to enter the house, I catch Barb and Henry locked in a tender embrace in front of the truck.
We happen to specialize in being caught in the middle.
I shake my head. Was it a mistake to stay in Finn River?
Not that it matters. I’m stuck here for the near future.
When I join Barb in the kitchen, there’s a paper tote bag with handles on my place setting.
When I look up to ask Barb about it, she’s watching me over her shoulder. “Go on.”
I peek inside the bag, the crinkling paper too loud in my ears.
It’s a new burner phone. A nice one.
“I traded in a couple of the ones the boys left behind. There was enough left over for some minutes too.”
My heart climbs into my throat. I can’t touch the thing. It feels wrong. Why would she do this for me?
It’s too much. Too thoughtful. Too… generous.
“I’ll repay you,” I say. Damn it. What have I done to deserve such kindness?
“You already have.” Barb slides the tray of homemade wedge fries from the oven. “But if you’re gonna be bullheaded about it, you can make me some more of that special feed you cooked up for that rescue. I’ve never seen a sick colt gain so fast. In six months, he’s going to be completely rehabilitated.”
Tears burn the edges of my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to throw the phone against the wall and run. Run hard and long. Away from feeling like I don’t belong. I’ve done too much wrong to deserve something this good.
But I force my emotions down. This isn’t the time or the place.
I swear silently to work extra hard to do right by the Huttons.
“Thank you,” I manage.
Barb has her back to me, but when she turns, her eyes shine with emotion. “You’re welcome.”
Thankfully, our lunch conversation is ruled by the upcoming football game between Western Idaho State and the University of Montana. Two of Barb and Henry’s sons attended Western, and one of them was their star receiver, but Barb’s parents both graduated from U of M, dividing her loyalty. It makes me think of William, who wants to play for McKenzie Valley High’s team next year. But doing so would mean him leaving Eagle Ridge Outdoors, the alternative school run by Evan and his family, and where he’s been since I got temporary custody.
I’m torn—playing high school football would expose William. Make it easier for Kristov to worm his way back into his life. But holding my little brother back doesn’t sit well with me, either.
It reminds me of Sheriff Olson’s recent update about the custody case, and the pressure to fix things before all hell breaks loose.
Yet if I return to Alaska, I’m as good as dead. If I don’t go, and Kristov somehow gets custody, I might as well be.
There’s no way he attacked me outside The Limelight. He’s too busy recruiting girls to turn tricks and murdering anyone who dares to cross him. But would he hire someone? Would he be that bold? Sofie’s right—one swing to my head would have been fatal.
Or was I targeted thanks to the work I’m doing for the sheriff? Maybe the trafficking is more sophisticated than he thinks, and someone’s been keeping tabs on me.
If wealthy Finn River Ranch members are part of the distribution chain, whoever is in charge of it would be quick to eliminate anything getting in the way.
Could Jesse be involved? If he’s an addict, he might not hesitate to tip off his supplier of a coming crackdown.
Or it could be a pair of Sage Creek hunting guides—Gabe and one of his buddies—intent on erasing any evidence of baiting the game their clients pay big money to hunt.
Would Gabe attack me to drive home the threat he made in the bar?
I won’t know unless whoever went at me tries again. Stu’s warning to fly low flashes in my mind.
But it’s much too late for that.