Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Wolf looked at his phone again. No messages from Piper. Cell reception had been solid the entire way from Green River to Doyle, and Wolf had taken the opportunity to text an apology, with reasons—however weak they sounded to himself—laid out in full.

Now, with the whole day passed, she still hadn’t responded.

“Everything okay over there?” Brandenburg asked, sipping a cola cup the size of his head. The man had started the drive in silence and became more talkative after they stopped at the McDonald’s drive-through.

“Yeah,” Wolf said, pocketing his phone, but not before glancing at Piper’s last message one more time.

Don’t worry. I figured out everything and canceled the wedding plans.

Both parts of the message brought up questions in his mind. How did she figure out everything? She was an investigator for a law firm and a former cop. She had her ways. The second part of the text was the most concerning. She had canceled the plans. What exactly did that mean? That the wedding was off? What about the rest of their relationship?

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine,” Brandenburg said with a chuckle.

Wolf took a sip of the watered-down remnants of his Coke. “I’m just thinking about Hunt and his new vehicle, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Brandenburg said, the interior lightbar flash reflecting off his eyes as he turned his gaze back out the windshield.

They were a few miles from Doyle, which rose on the horizon, a cluster of gray buildings and green foliage doused in afternoon clouds that shaded the center of the valley ahead.

“I keep checking every vehicle, thinking it’s going to be him,” Brandenburg said.

Wolf was doing the same thing, eyeing every car for the green Honda Civic as they overtook them or passed in the other lane.

The seller of the vehicle in Green River had positively identified Lawrence Hunt, reporting he had paid cash for the car the previous evening with stacks of crisp bills, which he showed to Wolf and Brandenburg. The seller had shared the phone number he used for communications with Hunt, which Wolf forwarded to Patterson for tracing. That lead died.

Other than finding out Hunt had shown up on foot, looking tired, wearing a blue sweatsuit, and smelling strongly of body odor, they hadn’t learned anything new. The APB had been updated, and now they were returning to Doyle .

Wolf leaned forward in his seat, stretching his lower back. The drive up had aggravated a knot, and the drive back had tripled the tie on itself.

“All right,” Brandenburg said. “Here we are.”

They passed a sign letting them know they were entering Doyle. Brandenburg slowed down, The Lamb Motel approaching on the right and their current destination—D’s Diner—on the left.

Two motorcycles were parked in front, and as they coasted past, the SOV insignia sewn onto the saddle bags came into view.

“SOV,” Brandenburg said.

The sheriff hung a left beyond the building, and they entered a rear parking lot. The Subaru was there, along with a few other vehicles. Brandenburg parked, and they got out.

Wolf tumbled more than climbed down out of the truck, pain lancing through the length of his right side. Arms overhead, he stretched, relieving some of the tightness, but until he stopped riding in cars for hours and received a full-body massage from a highly trained individual, he knew the pain was going nowhere.

“You gonna make it?” Brandenburg asked.

“Yeah.”

“I thought I was in bad shape.” The sheriff led the way around the building.

Wolf limped after him. The scent of cooking food permeated the air, but he was immune to the lure of a meal after the earlier fast food.

They went to the front. Brandenburg pulled open the door, and the familiar electronic bell dinged overhead, barely audible over the din of talking voices and music. The place was packed compared to the previous evening .

Two bikers sat where the elderly couple had been before. They had clearly noted the arrival of the two lawmen but were concentrating on their food.

Dolores came out of the kitchen carrying three plates. She stopped dead as if bears had entered the building. But she recovered quickly, lowering her gaze and delivering the food to a booth nearby.

Wolf nodded to the sheriff to take the lead.

“Hello,” Brandenburg said. “Dolores, is it?”

“Yeah, Sheriff.” Dolores walked to a stack of menus on the counter. “Two of you?”

“We’re not eating,” he said. “We’d just like to have a few words if you don’t mind.”

She looked around. “Not a very good time, Sheriff. It’s just me here.”

“We won’t be but a minute.”

She looked at them defiantly, her eyes flicking to the two bikers. “I have to drop some drinks at a table first.”

“Go right ahead,” Brandenburg said.

They watched as Dolores filled fountain drinks and delivered them to a family. Wolf eyed the bikers. Their table had half-empty drinks on it and no food like they were camped there for surveillance.

Dolores took some requests as she passed other tables, wrote on her pad, went behind the counter, and wiped her hands, looking at them expectantly.

“Well?” she asked.

Wolf and Brandenburg sidled up next to two empty chrome stools.

“We’d like to talk to you about Lawrence Hunt,” Brandenburg said.

“Lawrence Hunt? ”

“You’re dating Lawrence Hunt, aren’t you?” Wolf asked.

She picked up a plastic cup, scooped some ice, and filled it with soda.

“Dolores,” Brandenburg said.

“Yeah. So what?”

“You are dating Lawrence Hunt?” Wolf said, clarifying.

“Yes.”

“I spoke to your son yesterday,” Wolf said. “I know you two have heard about what he did out there at the biker compound.”

“And?”

“And so, we’d like to know if you’ve spoken to him in the last week since that happened.”

“No.” The answer was too quick. “Is that it?”

“Who gave you that black eye, Dolores?” Wolf asked.

“I told you, I fell.” She began filling another glass.

Wolf and Brandenburg exchanged glances.

“Did they do that to you, trying to get them to tell you where Lawrence was?”

Once again, her eyes hopped on and off the bikers.

“Is Mitch here?” Wolf asked, looking at the kitchen door.

“No.”

“So, who’s cooking?”

“A cook we hired,” she said. “Imagine that.”

Wolf put both elbows on the counter, leaning closer. “Do you know why or how Hunt’s son disappeared? Any information that can lead us to Lawrence can help us stop any further bloodshed, Dolores. We’re just trying to stop the bloodshed. We don’t want innocent people getting dragged into this. ”

Dolores shook her head, mumbling something under her breath as she filled another glass.

“Where did Mitch go?” Wolf asked.

“He’s out of town. With Savannah, his daughter. They left together.”

“Where did they go?”

“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but they went down to Craig. To see his sister. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to keep waiting on tables, or I’m going to have some pissed-off customers.”

Wolf put a business card with his name and phone number on the table, carefully keeping it out of view of the bikers behind him. “If you ever want to talk, you can call me any time. Got that?”

She looked at the card, scooped up the drinks, and walked away without taking it.

He put the card on the spill mat next to the drink dispenser and stood with Brandenburg. The two bikers had been watching but turned back to one another and started conversing.

“Well?” Brandenburg asked. “What now?”

“Do you know either of these two?” Wolf asked, gesturing to the bikers.

“I’ve seen them around. But no.”

Wolf nodded, watching as Dolores pushed through to the kitchen. He moved to the door, drawn to the circular window giving a view into the back. Putting his face close, he put a hand up to block the glare, and the kitchen came into view.

A dark-haired man was manning the grill, cutting tomatoes, flipping meat, and preparing plates as if he had four arms. It was not Mitch .

Dolores’s head appeared underneath him on the other side, and the door swung out, colliding with Wolf’s elbow before he could back away. The door rebounded back, thumping against the body on the other side. The sound of plates crashing to the floor muted all conversation in the dining room.

Wolf fished his fingers into the door opening and pulled, revealing Dolores staring down at a heap of food splattered on the tile at her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She looked at him. Eyes bulging wide, she said, “Get out.”

“Hey, uh, Wolf,” Brandenburg said, grabbing his elbow and pulling. “I think it’s time we leave.”

“I’ll help clean that up.”

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Tears welled in her eyes. “I said get out!”

Wolf stepped back.

“Come on,” Brandenburg said.

Wolf allowed the sheriff to lead him out the front door.

“Nice one, pig,” one of the bikers said as they left.

Brandenburg walked quickly down the sidewalk, around the building, and to the rear parking lot. When he reached his truck, he turned around. “Christ, Wolf. That was bad.”

Wolf stared into the distance, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“We have to chill out on this angle,” Brandenburg said.

“What angle?”

“Whatever angle you’re looking from. Whether it's Dolores and this Mitch guy or a connection to Lawrence’s kid. We’re going after Lawrence Hunt. He’s pissed about what the gang did to his son, and that’s that. There’s no sense harassing this family.”

Wolf put his hands on his hips. “She’s holding back. I think she knows more than she’s saying.”

Brandenburg frowned, jutting his head toward Wolf. “She’s picking chicken fried steak off the floor because of us. Because of you. Shit, afraid to talk to us? Two bikers were in there watching. She wants to be left alone. This has nothing to do with her and her kid. This is Lawrence and his kid.”

“Why are those two bikers sitting there?” Wolf asked.

“Because they’re doing the same bullshit we’re doing in there. They’re looking for her boyfriend. If he shows up to see his sweetheart, they’ll nab him.”

Pain zinged through Wolf’s back, and he bared his teeth. Closing his eyes, he tried to stretch, but nothing helped.

“Shit, boy. You need some pain pills. Get in. We have some ibuprofen back at the station.”

Wolf got into the truck, resisting the urge to call out in agony as he sat in the seat. He felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone. Piper had finally responded to his message.

It’s okay.

He swiped up to see if there had been another response before this one that he’d missed. But there wasn’t.

Brandenburg backed out, left the lot, and drove down Main Street back toward the sheriff’s department headquarters.

Wolf pocketed his phone. He had given her a novella typed out with his thumbs, and she’d given him three syllables, vague syllables at that. He repeated the words in his head, this time picturing her saying them with sincerity. Then again, sarcastically.

When they got back to the station, Brandenburg parked next to Wolf’s SUV. Shifting into park, the sheriff shut off the engine and looked over at Wolf. “Well?”

The dashboard clock read 5:05 p.m. It had been a long, full day again. And still, they were no closer to finding Lawrence Hunt.

“I think I’ll head back to The Lamb. I’d appreciate some of that ibuprofen first, though.”

“I’ll go get it.”

They got out of Brandenburg’s truck, Wolf spilling out next to his driver’s side door. The sheriff went into the building, and Wolf climbed inside his vehicle, once again savoring the warmth that had accumulated on his leather seat as it radiated into his back.

Brandenburg came out with a handful of medicine packets.

Wolf rolled down his window and took them. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He tore one open and popped two pills in his mouth, swallowing them with a half-filled bottle of scorching hot water left in the center console.

“Listen,” Brandenburg said. “I think we’ve got it from here. We’ve got the whole of Colorado and every adjacent state looking for this Honda Civic now.” The sheriff leaned his hands on the door. “If anybody from Rocky Points asks me, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve produced results for us.”

Wolf nodded, the words ringing hollow to him. But in his current state, he really didn’t mind what Roland Thatcher, Gregory Waze, or anybody else who had a problem with him, thought. He had business to take care of at home with Piper, and he was going to deal with it. They had hit dead ends here anyway. Dolores, Mitch, their connection to Lawrence Hunt, Lawrence’s involvement with the gang, and his son’s disappearance were all problems for these men to deal with in their own territory.

Hunt had killed two people in Wolf’s county, and he had done all he could for now to find him.

“I think I’ll be heading back to Rocky Points,” Wolf said.

“Tonight?”

Wolf considered the question. “I think I’ll get a good night’s rest and head home in the morning. I’m not sure if my back can take another four hours in the car.”

Brandenburg reached in his hand, and Wolf shook it. “Either way, it was nice meeting you. Keep us posted. We’ll do the same.”

Wolf started the engine. “Will do.”

Three hours—and another packet of ibuprofen—later, Wolf lay on his motel room bed watching a forecast for the western US on the weather channel. Rain was moving in the next day, starting as thundershowers in the afternoon and continuing with a steady drenching that would last a few days.

Wolf shut off the TV and stared up at the ceiling. He checked his phone and, for the thousandth time, read there was no service, no Wi-Fi, and therefore no new messages. He could have gone up the road to tether himself back home, but his mood and his back kept him on the bed.

There would be time to talk tomorrow when he returned. It had taken him, Piper, and three movers with a truck two whole days to move all her stuff into the house; he was reasonably sure she would still be there when he got back.

He decided the best thing for now was to rest. So, as the light faded outside and the darkness grew in his room, he shut his eyes and fell asleep.