Chapter 21 #2
The three-foot-high split rail fence between the back of their property and the neighbor’s side yard should have been easy to scale, but it was overgrown with a mix of English ivy, blackberry brambles, and huckleberry bushes.
Gabe hoped any sound he made would be attributed to the wind or small nocturnal animals.
Nevertheless, he managed to scale the fence and land, punctured and sticky and on his knees, in Mr. Cleveland’s yard.
Hoping that Mr. Cleveland was not awake at this hour, or at least not looking out his windows, Gabe skirted the perimeter of the property and eventually took cover behind an ancient, moss-shrouded maple tree.
Leaning back against the knobby trunk, he texted Casey again.
G: where the fuck are you? call asap.
Next was Elton.
G: Are you awake? Don’t call. Can’t talk.
While Gabe waited for a reply from one—preferably both—of them, he darted across the yard to the next house.
If he didn’t end up having the real cops called on him, it would be his lucky day.
What was he thinking? He’d found a body Monday and an almost dead one earlier today; maybe the cops would be lucky.
This particular address had an abandoned summer-rental air to it, but Gabe still didn’t want to linger.
He had a vague idea of which direction he should go, but he really wished he and Casey had thought to plan an escape-bad-guys route.
His phone vibrated.
COF: Am now.
G: There’s a situation. unknowns at my house. Poss armed? Pick me up somewhere?
It took a long minute for Elton to respond.
COF: You can get to Island Way by cutting directly opposite from your house. Meet by the egg booth. Knute’s driving.
Knute’s driving? Gabe’s eyebrows shot up. Knute was still at Elton’s? Huh. The emerging secrets of Elton Cox.
Tucking his cell phone away, Gabe began cutting across a multitude of private properties to reach the meeting spot, risking dogs, trampolines, play equipment, and a sleeping llama.
The burst of speed he put on when he saw the shaggy beast groggily raise its head was Olympics worthy.
No doubt the next community safety gathering was going to be all about some scruffy guy looking to rob locals in the dark of night.
Gabriel Karne, llama thief.
The egg booth, where one of the local farmers sold her eggs and locally grown produce on the honor system, ended up being a twenty-minute fast walk.
When a sweaty Gabe arrived, shoes and feet damp from dew—or whatever it was called after midnight—and various types of foliage lodged in his hair, a black Dodge Charger was idling along the side of the road.
Thankfully, there was no sign of Foxy and his pal.
Gabe snorted quietly. Of course Knute’s car was a Charger, the top choice of retired cops. He flung the passenger door open and practically dove into the backseat.
“Drive already,” he hissed.
Knute hit the gas and they peeled out, gravel spitting from underneath the tires.
“Maybe try not to bring any attention to us?”
“Where are we going?” Elton asked.
“Not your place, Elton. I don’t trust that these guys haven’t scoped your address out already.” Gabe sat back to fasten his seat belt.
Knute cleared his throat. “We’ll go to my place. If these guys are after you, I’m not a known connection, so they shouldn’t be able to track you there.”
“That sounds fine. Don’t kill us before that.” Maybe Knute was one of those retired cops with his own artillery in the basement. Gabe could hope. “Have you talked to Casey at all since pizza, Elton?”
Elton shook his head. “No, why?”
“Shit. Shit. Shit. He isn’t home yet, and yes, he’s a grown man, but I’m worried. It’s not like him. And now, with this happening—”
“Have you talked to Greta?” Elton interrupted.
Calling Greta hadn’t crossed Gabe’s mind. But in his defense, he’d fallen asleep and woken to scary people trying to get into the house.
He wasted no time fishing out his phone. Nothing from Greta. He pressed Call.
“Hey, Gabe, what’s the emergency?” she asked, her voice sleepy. “Does Casey want Bowie back? We’re enjoying having him. Such a good boy,” she crooned.
“Greta, do you know where Casey is? He didn’t come home, and now there are two goons at our place, so I took off.”
“Crap.” Her tone turned professional, sharp. “Have you checked his phone’s last location ping?”
Gabe made a sound that Greta must have correctly interpreted as “I am such an idiot” because she said, “I can do it, one sec.” Gabe heard rustling and murmuring, probably Greta telling Abby to go back to sleep and then moving through their house.
“Sure would be nice if the head office would spring for dedicated work phones. The truck was parked at the office, so I doubt he has a sat phone with him.”
He should have done this when Casey hadn’t responded to his earlier text. Instead, he’d shut his eyes and fallen asleep in front of the TV like some 1950s sitcom character.
Greta came back on the line, her tone concerned. “Gabe, it’s showing his last location as The Valley. I’ll drive up as soon as it’s light—”
“Greta, there’s some bad shit going down,” Gabe interrupted.
“Can you round up search and rescue type people to go with you? Safety in numbers?” Morning seemed very far away, but the sky would start to lighten before five a.m., and he knew Greta wasn’t going to waste any time. “I need you to find him.”
What if whoever had attacked Casey last fall had been lying in wait for him?
Stranger things had happened in the last few months.
But he also couldn’t help but wonder if the two men who’d shown up at the Geoduck and then their house might have had something to do with Casey’s absence.
If either of those were the case, he didn’t want anyone up there on their own.
“Will do,” she said, her tone serious. “I’ll give Tor at Mountain Rescue a call as soon as we hang up, and he and I can get everything organized before dawn.
It’s not that long from now, best to be ready for first light.
If Casey’s injured and has been out there for hours, he’s going to be feeling rough, he may even need medical support.
But here’s the thing, Gabe”—as if she knew he was about ready to lose his fucking mind—“Casey is fit. Casey is knowledgeable. He knows what to do and how to help himself if something’s happened.
We have an idea of where he is. We will find him. ”
“Soon, okay?” Gabe snapped his mouth shut so he didn’t do something stupid like beg her to promise him Casey was okay. Ranger Man not coming home was not something he was willing to entertain.
“As fast as we can. I’m not the best tracker around here for nothing.”
Gabe set the phone down on the seat next to him and stared out into the dark. He didn’t know what to do.
“If anybody can track Casey down, it’s Greta,” Elton said into the quiet. “And he can take care of himself, don’t forget that.”
“I’m trying not to.”
Knute pointed his car toward Westfort. “Once we’re home, I’ll brew up a pot of coffee thick enough to stand a spoon in, and we’ll wait for the FBI and Greta to call.”
Lovely. For a few minutes there, Gabe had managed to forget that he was also going to have to talk to a G-man at some point too.