Page 80 of Wild Wolf
Apparently, I hit the target because he groaned, and that backed him off.
It gave me just enough time to draw my sidearm, take aim, and squeeze two into him as he charged again.
This time, I didn’t miss.
The bullets tore through the synthetic fibers and pelted into his chest with two thumps. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
Oren fell to the ground and writhed in agony for a moment. He squirmed and twitched, trying to suck in a few last gasps of air.
Finally, he went still.
I climbed to my feet and approached with caution, my heart thumping, my veins alive with adrenaline.
I angled around the body. With the thick fabric costume, I couldn’t check for a pulse. I didn’t want to get close—not with those razor-sharp claws.
I left him where he lay and marched back to the meadow to rejoin JD and Taryn. I caught both up to speed and asked Taryn if she was okay.
She nodded. “I don’t think I’m ever going to beokayafter something like this, but I’d be dead if you two hadn’t shown up.”
Jack had called the sheriff, and it didn’t take long for first responders to arrive. The island swarmed with deputies, EMTs, paramedics, forensic investigators, and the medical examiner. Dietrich was on scene to snap photos.
I led the sheriff and the others into the woods, through the thick underbrush, to the spot where Oren lay—only, he wasn't there anymore.
I stared at the ground in disbelief. I knew I had tagged the son-of-a-bitch with two solid, center-mass shots. I heard them hit.
There was no blood on the ground. Not a trace.
Never trust the dead.
“He was here a minute ago,” I said.
Through the trees, to the east, an outboard cranked up. The sound warbled as it sped away into the distance.
I raced between the trees, leaping over more fallen logs and other obstacles. I sprinted to another channel and arrived just in time to see Oren zipping away in a 25-foot center-console. He still wore the werewolf suit but without the wolf mask. He looked back over his shoulder as he got away, crashing into the swells.
I darted back to the sheriff and told him Oren was getting away.
He frowned at me. "I thought you said you shot him.”
"I did!"
"Get better aim.”
42
JD and I ran back to the zodiac while the EMTs did a cursory evaluation of Taryn. She was a little traumatized, but she’d be okay.
I pulled the spike from the shore, hopped in the boat, and JD fired up the engines. We spun around and sped out of the channel as fast as the boat would go. The storm had whipped up angry waves, and we crashed against the swells, heading out against the incoming set. Rain pelted down, and lightning flashed in the distance, followed by another cannon crack of thunder.
In this weather with six- to eight-foot swells, Oren would be lucky to hit 25 to 30 knots in that center-console.
With two outboards and a shallow draft, we were a little faster. But it was still a roller coaster ride, bouncing around through the peaks and valleys as the stinging rain pelted down. Briny air swirled, and the outboards howled.
I scanned the horizon, looking for the fugitive. The white boat with red trim was a tiny speck ahead of us. I pointedJack in the right direction, and we kept in pursuit. Oren headed back toward Coconut Key, but there wasn't anywhere to hide. Daniels had put a BOLO out on the suspect and notified the Coast Guard.
The weather kept Tango One out of the air, but I felt confident Oren wouldn't get far. He could try to make a run for Cuba, but that would be a long haul in weather like this.
I knew damn good and well the little bastard wasn’t an immortal werewolf. My bullets had either gone through soft tissue, and he was hanging on by a thread. Or the little weasel had the presence of mind to wear a bulletproof vest. My guess was the latter. He played possum after the initial shot. Either way, I knew from past experience that he was in a world of hurt. You don't take two bullets to the chest at close range without suffering repercussions—even with a vest. He likely had a few cracked ribs, at minimum.
