Page 102 of Three-Inch Teeth

“Gotcha.”

“I’m detaching from Cates and his band of idiots,” Soledad said. “I’m going solo.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“You’ll hear from me when we activate, Sheriff Bishop.”

“Well, not yet,” Bishop said. “But I like the sound of that.”

Soledad stuffed the phone into his pocket. A car was coming, and rather than retreat farther into the brush, he quickly glided out onto the asphalt on his crutches until he stood astride the center line.

As the headlights of the car washed over him, Soledad slumped a bit and let his head loll slightly to the side. He needed to look damaged and unthreatening.

A dented 2012 Honda Civic with green and white Colorado plates slowed to a stop ten yards from him and the driver’s window rolled down. A white-haired birdlike woman in her seventies stuck her head out and said, “Are you okay? I could have hit you standing in the middle of the road like that.”

“Thank you for stopping,” he said with a faux grimace. “They left me here on the side of the road. I don’t even know where I’m at.”

“Do you know where the game warden station is?” she asked. “I haven’t been here in ages and I’ve got … business there with the game warden. My name is Katy Cotton. What’s yours?”

“Dallas Cates,” Soledad said.

“Who left you? Who would do something like that?” she asked.

“My friends,” he said. “Or at least I thought they were my friends.”

“That’s just awful. Do you need a ride into town?”

“God bless you,” he said. He clumsily made his way to the side of her car, as if he’d never used his braces before.

“Come around and climb in,” the woman said.

With lightning motion, he slid the thin blade out from its brace sheath and drove the point into her eye.

Then he dragged her body to the ditch on the side of the road and climbed into the Civic and drove away.

*

THE MUFFLED POP-POP-POP of gravel under tires made Joe bend forward toward the open shed door to hear more clearly. He’d been in solid darkness long enough without any artificial lights that he could make out vague shapes and shadows outside.

He grabbed his shotgun off the workbench and moved closer to the opening and stood framed within it. The moon was a slice like a fingernail clipping in the clear night sky, but the stars were so clear and sharp they cast a light blue glow atop the dry grass.

He turned his head toward the bank of trees on the other side of the meadow where the gravel road emerged and he could see it.

A vehicle was very slowly coming through the dark timber with its lights off. It was boxy and there were no interior lights.

It was a pickup, for sure, with a camper shell or topper covering the bed. Joe couldn’t see any figures inside.

The truck crept forward until it cleared the trees. It was barely moving, although there was no doubt it was headed for his home.

Joe stepped back into the shed so he couldn’t be seen. He removed his gloves and let them drop near his boots while thumbing the safety off his shotgun with a barely discernible click. Locating his phone, he turned his back toward the open door so there would be no glow from the screen as he touched it to life.

He texted Sheridan and Marybeth: Truck outside the house. DO NOT LOOK OUT OR OPEN THE DOOR.

He watched from the shadows as the vehicle did an extremely slow three-point turn in the yard in front of his front door. As the pickup faced him, he felt his insides clutch up and he raised the shotgun and fitted the butt against his shoulder. The vehicle had County 6 plates.

Joe couldn’t see the driver in the dark, nor a passenger if there was one. Reflections of the stars dotted the windshield and slid across it as the truck maneuvered. He thought he heard whispering from the vehicle as it executed the turns and began to slowly back up to the front door.

When a tiny red laser dot appeared at eye level on the door frame, it seemed incredibly bright in the darkness. Joe quickly looked away, but the red dot, like an angry apparition, lingered in his vision.

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