Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Sheriff Roy Tuck stood at the front of the cramped briefing room, his weathered hands resting on the scarred wooden podium. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of his deputies. Tuck scanned over each of them, reading their readiness. They were all good people, salt of the earth, but none of them had ever dealt with a threat quite like this. The man they were after wasn’t your run-of-the-mill criminal. Hatch had made that painfully clear.

“Listen up,” Tuck said, his gravelly voice cutting through the thick, stale air. “We need to presume this guy is highly trained and extremely dangerous. This ain’t some backwoods meth cook or a drunk driver. This is a whole different ballgame.” He paused, locking eyes with each deputy, making sure they understood the gravity of the situation. “No one’s playing hero here. I don’t want anyone going off half-cocked thinking they can bring him in without backup. Am I clear?”

A round of, “Yes, sir,” followed, but Tuck didn’t miss the mix of excitement and unease in their expressions. It was the biggest thing to hit this sleepy town in years, and they all felt it.

Deputy Jackson, tall and wiry, with a sharp jawline to match his quick wit, raised his hand. His other hand absently petted his bloodhound, Rufus, who sat attentively at his feet. “Sheriff, I don’t want to state the obvious, but how are we supposed to track this guy? We don’t have a scent trail. No scent, no track.” He glanced down at Rufus, whose ears twitched as if sensing the challenge ahead.

Tuck reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an evidence bag containing a crinkled Fireball candy wrapper. The red cellophane caught the dim light as he held it up. “Will this suffice, Jackson?”

Jackson leaned forward, squinting at the wrapper, then grinned, his eyes darting between Tuck and Rufus. “I’ll be damned. This ol’ boy here can track a gnat’s fart in a field of manure. That wrapper’s plenty.”

A ripple of nervous laughter moved through the room. Tuck’s expression turned serious again. He shot a glance out the window, where the late afternoon sun was sinking low, casting long shadows across the parking lot. Time was slipping away.

“We’re losing daylight. I want to get a move on before nightfall. Rufus’s our best shot at getting a trail before this guy vanishes.”

One of the younger deputies, Sarah Chen, raised her hand. “Sheriff, if this guy’s so dangerous, why’s he still hanging around? Shouldn’t he have skipped town by now?”

“Good point, Chen. My gut’s telling me he’s still here. Not sure the reason.” He paused, brow furrowing. “Maybe he’s tying up loose ends. Maybe he’s waiting for something. Or someone. Either way, we need to find him before he disappears… or decides to make more trouble.”

Jackson gave Rufus a reassuring pat, the bloodhound’s ears perking up. “Ready when you are, Sheriff. Just give the word.”

Tuck’s gut tightened. Hatch’s warning echoed in his mind. This wasn’t a game. Every minute they weren’t on this man’s trail was another he could be slipping away or setting up for something deadly.

Tuck continued, his voice full of resolve. “We start now. I’ll coordinate with the state police. Chen, you’re with me. Jackson, you and Rufus take point on the ground. The rest of you, set up a perimeter. No one’s going home until we have a lead.”

He took one last look around the room, making sure to look every deputy in their eyes. “Let’s find this bastard before he disappears.”

Hatch stepped into the sheriff's office, the faint aroma of brewed coffee and old paper greeting her. The air was cool, the hum of an aging air conditioner blending with the occasional ring of a desk phone. The walls were lined with community bulletins, faded wanted posters, and a large corkboard pinned with maps and notes. Behind the front desk, a pleasant woman with short, graying hair looked up from her computer and offered a warm smile.

“You must be Hatch,” the woman said, standing and extending a hand. “I’m Pearl. Welcome.”

Hatch returned the handshake. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Pearl. The sheriff in?”

“Right this way.” Pearl gestured toward a hallway at the back. “He’s in the briefing room. You’re just in time.”

Hatch followed, her boots echoing faintly against the scuffed tile floor. As she approached the doorway, she heard the sheriff’s voice—a steady baritone delivering the final details of an operational plan. She lingered for a moment in the hallway, catching bits of his instructions about patrol rotations and crowd control.

When she stepped inside, the deputies were rising from their chairs, hats in hand, preparing to clear out. The room was utilitarian, with a rectangular table at its center, a whiteboard covered in scribbled notes on one wall, and a bulletin board peppered with photographs and maps on another.

The sheriff looked up at her entrance.

“Well, well, if it ain't our new liaison," Tuck greeted, his voice just loud enough for Hatch to hear. "Guess you’ve got some friends in high places.”

“Seems so.” Hatch met his outstretched hand with a firm grip. “I was advised to lend a hand where I could.”

His voice cut through the room. “Hold up, folks. Take your seats.”

The deputies exchanged glances before settling back down, their curiosity evident as their eyes flicked toward Hatch.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Hatch,” the sheriff said, stepping forward. “She’s here to assist with our efforts. You’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

“Not here to take over. Just to help capture this guy as quickly and safely as possible,”

Hatch said. “The man we’re after isn’t just skilled—he’s elite. Disciplined, methodical, and dangerous. He’s the kind of operative who doesn’t get found unless he wants to be—and trust me, he doesn’t.”

“That right?” Jackson chimed up. “Well, we’ve handled our fair share of trouble around here.”

“I can guarantee nothing like this.”

His mannerisms spoke volumes to his distrust of the idea of her inserting herself into their investigation. “How so?”

“Let’s just say, he’s good at evading, blending in. Knows how to cover his tracks, literally. Men like him are adept at one particular skill ... surviving.”

“Great.” The deputy let out a low whistle.

“Listen up, folks. This is not a pissing contest!” Tuck’s voice was commanding, silencing any further signs of protest. “Hatch has got some experience with this kind of situation, so give her your full cooperation.”

The deputies acknowledged her, but Hatch could see the skepticism lurking behind their eyes. Small towns like this didn’t usually deal with men like Bishop. That unfamiliarity made them nervous.

Tuck turned back to her. “I had the team ready to head up the west ridge, but something tells me you’ve got a different plan.”

“I followed a broken trail down by the river,” she replied. “He crossed to the other side. The tracks went cold over there, but the terrain’s dense. If I were him, that’s where I’d hide. Thick cover, tough to track.”

Tuck stroked his stubbled chin, mulling it over. “Sounds like the right call.” He barked orders to his team. “Change of plans. We’re starting on the far bank of the river. Let’s get moving.”

The deputies snapped into action, grabbing rifles, radios, and tactical gear as they filed out of the building. Boots pounded against the pavement as they spread out, voices clipped and urgent over the crackle of radio chatter. Vehicles roared to life, the low hum of engines rising to a steady rumble as headlights pierced the dimming evening.

“Chen, you go with Jackson,” Tuck said to his deputy before turning to Hatch. “How about you ride with me?”

Hatch grabbed her go-bag from the back of her SUV and tossed it into Tuck’s vehicle, the familiar weight of her gear grounding her as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Tuck handed her a radio. “Signal’s iffy up in the mountains, so keep this on you. In case we get split up.”

Hatch clipped the radio to her jacket and settled in as Tuck started the engine. The SUV rumbled to life, joining the convoy heading toward the riverbank. Tuck glanced over at her, curiosity still bubbling beneath the surface.

“The people you work for have certainly got connections. Getting assigned to the senator’s security detail and now this. Must mean you’re pretty damn good at what you do.”

Hatch let the silence stretch for a beat before responding. “I go where they tell me to.”

“Modesty.” Tuck chuckled, shaking his head. “Good quality. Rare these days.”

“There’s always someone better out there.”

“Let’s just hope this guy isn’t one of them.”

“Time will tell.”

Tuck grunted his agreement. “We usually deal with tweakers and bar fights. Small town stuff, you know.”

“I do. Born and raised in a town not so different from this one.”

“You don’t say.” Tuck eyed her with a bit more reverence. “Where at?”

“Colorado. Four Corners area, just outside Durango.” She took stock of the lawman at the wheel. “You remind me of someone.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a guy.”

The laugh that escaped her felt good, a release of the tension she’d kept walled up inside her. “He was—is.”

Tuck didn’t press, and she offered nothing further. “You were right back there, when you said we’re not accustomed to situations like this? This’s a whole different beast.”

Hatch turned to the darkening trees beyond the window. “The battlefield may change, but the mission stays the same. Find the target. Eliminate the threat.”

He pressed on the gas. “Let’s just hope we’re not too late.”