Death Canyon (28 page)

“Bullshit.”

Sighing, Ricker checked his nose, which was still bleeding. “Okay . . . okay. Have you heard of EcoAmicae? Well, they . . . this guy . . . their leader . . . he also runs other organizations, underground. Ones that do their work in the shadows.”

“Eco-terrorists?” Jake asked.

“Kind of, yeah. He gave us our assignments. He recruited us, told us about what was happening here and how we could stop it. And I don't mean protests.”

“He wants you to kill me because he thinks I'm involved in the development?”

“Not me,” the man said quickly. “And I don't think he cares whether you die or not, really. I think he just wants you to get the message, like everyone else.”

“And what's that message?”

“Well, in layman's terms, I guess it's that if you mess with Mother Earth, you will be struck down by her. Like the avalanche.”

“And you buy into this bullshit? But you intended to start the avalanche,” Jake said, pressing him. “It wasn't going to be Mother Nature by any stretch. It was coincidence, the way it happened.
You intended to hurt someone and someone else got hurt. You are still accountable. Cops and lawyers call it transferred intent.”

“Yeah. Well, I don't know anything about that, man. Pretty weird coincidence, though, don't you think?”

Jake gave him a look that shut him up for a moment, then he continued.

“Anyway, yeah . . . so that's it. We were never aware of any of the other projects, the missions. It was kept that way, I think, so that we couldn't be arrested for conspiracy or something. . . .” Jake had no doubt any court in the land could and would find a conspiracy here.

“So the other murders—the man in the river and the bear attack. You know nothing about them. That's what you're saying?”

“Nothing, I swear to God. But I don't doubt the Shaman would do that.” He paled, realizing the name had slipped even before Jake did.

“The
Shaman
?” Jake asked. “Who the hell is that?”

“I don't know, man, really.” He squirmed. “Listen, my buddies are going to start looking for me if I take any longer . . .”

“Name?” Jake raised his voice.

“Dude, look . . . I'm sorry. I don't know. I swear it.”

He's being honest again.

“What's next? Are more going to die?” Jake's voice was a growl again.

“No, it's over. Word came around this morning, we're done.”

“Done?” Jake doubted that, thinking about the shooting at his house. “If you hear anything else, contact me. Do you understand?” Jake handed him a card from his bed-and-breakfast.

“I am not a person you want to lie to.” Jake pointed casually at Ricker's broken nose. “And one last thing, do you know whether
this organization or the Shaman have any connection to the police here in Jackson?”

“Wouldn't surprise me. The Shaman seems to have friends in high places.”

Jake got out of the car. In a way, Jake felt a bit sorry for Ricker—he was just a lonely guy who finally found something to be a part of. The Shaman and his crew took him in and made him feel important. Wanted. This was the danger with such groups.

Jake turned back. “Oh, and, Graem? Don't you dare try to follow me.” He took out a buck knife and jammed the blade into Ricker's rear tire.

Back in the parking lot, Noelle was leaning against the side fender of Jake's vehicle, looking down and nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Where the hell have you been?” she shouted when she finally looked up and noticed him. “I was scared to death, Jake. I don't want to do anything like that ever again.”

Jake consoled her. “You're fine and so am I. I just had a bit of an extended chat with Graem. He became rather helpful after I mentioned jail time.”

“Really? You have enough evidence to put him away?” Noelle looked like a child, and Jake regretted frightening her.

“Something like that. Let's get out of here. I need a place to stay tonight, if it's okay. I got shot at earlier outside my house.” He let out a burdened sigh.

“What? Jesus, Jake! Weren't gonna mention that?”

Jake put his palms up toward her, apologizing. She shivered and shook her head as he opened the passenger door for her. On the way home, Jake told her about the gunshot and the propane explosion. The story made her gasp. Jake tried to calm her by telling her
that if the man had intended to kill him, he would have shot for his chest rather than the tank. Noelle wasn't convinced.

It was nearly 9 p.m. when they got back to Noelle's cabin. The remnant glow of the sun was barely hanging over the valley. In the distance, coyotes were yipping and barking. The few early-bird tourists in the adjacent campground had started fires for warmth and comfort, and the smoky pine scent was wafting to the cabin. It was almost summer. Soon the valley would be buzzing with visitors—
potential victims,
Jake thought.

As they entered the cabin, Noelle spoke. “I've got a gun—like, a shotgun, you know. We should bring that out, I think. Uh, I don't have anywhere for you to sleep, though. Obviously no spare bedroom.” She was talking fast. Jumpy. Jake couldn't blame her, given the circumstances. He slowly sat down in an attempt to downplay the situation.

“We don't need the shotgun, Noelle. Nobody knows I'm here.” Jake laughed. “And I can sleep on the floor, no problem. I have a feeling I wouldn't get any rest no matter where I slept tonight.”

Ignoring Jake's comment about the gun, Noelle thought for a moment and then kicked down on one of the floorboards, causing its far end to jut diagonally into the air. She reached down and brought out a dusty over-under shotgun and a box of shells.

“Wow, has anyone shot that thing since Antietam?” Jake gave the weapon a dubious look.

“Ha. Well, maybe not. My grandfather gave it to me when I moved here. I haven't shot it since he showed me how it works.” She was trying to load two shells into the chamber backward. Her hands trembled a bit.

“Whoa. Let's leave it unloaded, Noelle.” Jake got up and held out his hands, in which she rested the gun. He checked that the
chamber was empty and clicked the safety on, then leaned the barrel against the cabin's wall. “Fear and loaded weapons are not a good combo.”

Noelle seemed to be looking for something to do. “These two sleeping bags will serve as a pretty good bed.” She took the bags and laid them on the floor. “One on top and one on bottom.” Then she threw a pillow from her own bed on top of the pile.
Is she nervous 'cause I'm here?

“No, no, what will you use for a blanket?” Jake asked.

“I've got this.” She held up the corner of a light cotton throw. “It hasn't been very cold in here the last few nights,” she lied.

The two stayed awake for a long time in the dark, talking about the day's events, but also sharing bits of their own personal histories. At a quarter after ten, they each slid into their separate beds and bade each other good night. A few minutes later, Jake heard Noelle get out of bed. Then she lay down and positioned her body firmly against his. She whispered in his ear, “I was worried about you today.”

By the dull yellow light from the porch lamp, Jake could see that she was wearing a light blue tank top that was just loose enough so that it draped freely over her body, begging the question of what lay beneath. It didn't cover her well-defined stomach. She looked gorgeous. He pulled aside the top bag and allowed her to come into the warmth. Her legs were smooth against his, and he put his hand on her bare hip. “You were just cold.” She pulled herself up on top of him and began kissing his lips and neck.

Jake slid his hands up beneath the tank top. His hands were cold but Noelle didn't notice. His touch felt wonderful. He held her there on top of him with his hands on her rib cage while she continued kissing him. She pushed herself down against his support,
wanting to kiss him deeper and harder. She playfully bit at his lower lip. “Don't get yourself killed, Jake. Please.”

He didn't say a word, instead sliding his hands around her breasts and taking the soft weight of them into his hands. She stopped kissing him and sighed smoothly through a wide smile. Then she sat up, still on top of him, and pulled the tank top off. He couldn't help but smile too.

She took a hair tie from her wrist and flipped her hair into a ponytail. Then she lowered her face to his and began to kiss him again while unbuttoning his shirt.

Jake woke at sunrise with Noelle in his arms. At some point during the night, they had migrated from the cold floor up to the bed. He pulled himself out from under her and slipped on his jeans and walked over to the small kitchen. Coffee. The thick glass jar that held the instant mix was nearly empty. Not even enough for one cup.

He looked at Noelle on the bed. She was sleeping peacefully. Her presence was especially ethereal when she slept. It was the most at ease that Jake had ever seen her. Her hair lay in wispy curves on the white pillow. Jake smiled.

He decided to head into town to retrieve some coffee. He hoped Noelle would appreciate the gesture. The air was brisk, barely forty degrees. He shivered and hurried to the SUV. He opened the tailgate first and grabbed a thick fleece, pulled it on, and jumped in.
Starting the engine, he turned off the heater fan so that it wouldn't blast cold air on his already cold feet.

Jake stopped at the first breakfast spot coming into town, the Cowboy Café. There was a line in front of the to-go counter. Mainly locals with their plastic carryout mugs ready for the morning fill, but a few tourists were perusing the volumes of brochures conveniently set within view of the queue. Jake grabbed a ten-dollar bill and the tattered punch card for the diner from his wallet. The line moved along quickly.

“Two mediums, please.”

The woman asked if he'd brought his mug.

Typical Jackson.

“Not today. Give the family tree my condolences.” She didn't laugh.

“It's three twenty-five,” she said, sliding the steaming paper cups across the counter.

The change in his hand, Jake wandered back into the cool air, thinking about his night with Noelle. He drank from the coffee in his right hand and looked meaningfully at the paper cup in his left.

It's been a long time since I did this.

The sun felt good on his shoulders and he felt a strange, unexpected serenity.

He knew he shouldn't get involved, but here he was. Spending the night, bringing her coffee. He couldn't help but think about how it would all end—broken hearts and estrangement.

It's probably nothing, anyway. I'm overthinking it like always.

He took one more sip, squinted to look up at the bluebird sky, and headed back to the car.

As he walked, something caught his eye. A man was leaving the diner, wearing khakis and a down sweater. Familiar, though he couldn't say who. Thin, harsh face.

Someone from a long time ago.

Jake took a few steps, south along Cache Street, to get a closer look. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the man pause fifteen feet in front of him. He was reading the paper. Jake turned his back so he wouldn't be recognized. A moment later the target started walking along Cache again, still reading the paper.

Jake watched with his peripheral vision so he wouldn't lose track of his target and then followed, still going south. When the man stopped to cross the street, he looked back north. Jake got a second-long glance at his face, and it finally clicked.

Holy shit!

The man got in a truck and pulled a U-turn, headed north. After he passed, Jake jogged back to his vehicle, the hot coffee sloshing in his hands. He got in and peeled out. There were now four or five cars between him and the truck. Jake wiped the hot liquid from his hands onto his pants.

There was no easy way to pass until the extra lane by the airport, another four miles. Until then, Jake could only hope the man didn't turn. The traffic was spread out and he couldn't see the truck anymore.

It occurred to him that this was the moment he had been fearing.

The moment when the war comes crashing into your living room.

There was no way out now. They were really after him. They had been after him all along, but now that notion slapped him in the face. As he approached the airport, he was struck with the irony; there was no easy escape for Jake Trent.

The sun was heating up the SUV. Jake removed his fleece and turned off the heat.

When the two-lane stretch began, Jake gunned the engine. He
passed one car, then the next and the next. He could see the truck again. There was only one vehicle between them. It followed the truck closely—too close for Jake to squeeze between it and his target.

What the hell is he doing here?

It was Jake's worst nightmare—seeing the man who had vowed to kill him, alive and well in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

But how does it fit with Parrana? With the Dairy Ranch Development? The camp? The car and J.P.?

The passing lane was coming to an end. The space between the vehicles lengthened slightly. He could probably make the pass, but it would require him to pull up on the truck's rear bumper with a lot of speed, which would let his target know he was in pursuit.

For all Jake knew, his target might even know his vehicle. He decided to hang back and use the car between them as a buffer. They passed the park entrance that led to Noelle's cabin.
So much for nice gestures.

For the next forty-five miles, Jake stayed within visual range of the truck. At that point, there was a T in the road. A right turn went east toward the old cowboy town of Cody. Make a left and you were headed to Yellowstone. The truck went left.