Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rachette sat quietly in the front seat of his truck, facing the windshield, binoculars raised to his eyes. The house was mostly dark except for the uncovered window in the living room, which bobbed in the eyepieces.

He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his hands together, still chilly from the earlier reconnaissance of the place he’d done on foot. He had gotten the address easy enough earlier that morning at work by looking up the plates of the Ford Fiesta in the DMV database. A search on Google Maps had shown the place was south of the pass, surrounded by trees, sitting on a good portion of land.

The neighboring house to the north had been furnished inside but was vacant and listed on the property rental sites. Earlier in the day he had gone on his phone and pretended to book it, and the sites told him it was free for the night.

That left the house to the south, which he had just returned from checking out. There had been an older couple inside, looking like they were planted on the couch for the long haul, a TV visible through shutters on the window.

There were no dogs. Not there or here at the house.

He picked up the computer printout of the two men again, looking down at their rap sheets. The skinny guy with the Fiesta was Steven Carlton. He had a prior arrest for possession of Schedule II drugs with the intent to sell. He’d gotten off his first offense with community service and probation. Must have had a good lawyer.

The bigger guy, named Calvin Engelhardt, also lived in the house. He had a more active sheet, with time served in jail down in Denver for reckless endangerment.

Rachette put the paper back on the passenger seat and raised the binoculars again. Everything was a green light except for this chick sitting on the couch. A skinny blonde dressed in a tattered patchwork dress had arrived an hour ago, pulling up in a new Toyota 4Runner. She had gone inside wearing a backpack and had been hanging out on the couch ever since.

She was clearly into Engelhardt, laughing and looking over at the big man every chance she got, and he was giving it back to her, cracking jokes, pleased with himself as he watched her laugh. Even from this distance, Rachette could tell Carlton was into her, too. But she was obviously having none of his skinny ass. He was a third wheel that wouldn’t fall off.

It was like a terrible deadbeat reality show, and Rachette was hooked. He lowered the binoculars again and shook his head. Damn it. He’d give it another ten minutes, and then he was going to have to leave. No way he could bring an innocent bystander into this.

Just then, there was movement inside. Glassing the house again, he saw her stand up, the two men rising with her. She reached up and gave Engelhardt a long hug on her toes, then Carlton a quick obligatory wrap of her arms, and went to the door.

Carlton sat back in the chair, looking at the two of them as they went outside, shutting the door on him.

Rachette followed the girl and Engelhardt as they walked to her 4Runner. Giggling floated through the still air and into Rachette’s window.

The two of them kissed, and Engelhardt’s hands groped her chest. When he grabbed her backside, she tried to stop him, but he was having none of it and continued to pull her close.

Squealing came through the air now, and Rachette reached for the door handle.

Then Engelhardt stopped, releasing her and backing away, a confident smile on his lips. The woman shook her head with an admonishing grin, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and waved with her fingers as she climbed in behind the wheel.

The 4Runner howled to life, and she backed out, turned around, and came straight toward him.

Rachette already had his tinted passenger window rolled up, but he ducked down out of sight just in case as the vehicle passed, rising again when she was long gone.

Now, he was in business.

He got out and shut the door quietly, tucking the unregistered, silenced Heckler and Koch USP Tactical he’d been gifted from a friend in Nebraska sixteen years ago into the back of his pants.

He removed nitrile gloves from his pocket and put them on. He went over the plan again. Like a shipbuilder, he scoured every move he was going to make, looking for leaks in his logic—what was going to be their reaction as he came in, how he was going to make them admit what they had done.

Rubbing his hands together, feeling the synthetic rubber on his fingers, he knew he couldn’t actually kill these guys, but the effect of him walking in on them was going to make them shit.

And if he had to? Well…that’s why he had the HK.

Damn it, he felt nauseous. He sucked in a deep breath, upping his pace toward the house to a jog. He wanted to catch them while they were still hanging out in the front room. As he approached, he could see Engelhardt was still standing. Rachette wanted to catch him before he receded to a back room or something.

Running full out now, he climbed the steps up onto the darkened porch and rang the doorbell. He pulled the gun and waited, sidling up to one side of the door, aiming.

He heard the TV mute inside and then a long, silent pause. Then the door swung open.

Engelhardt looked outside. His right hand was behind the door, probably holding a gun.

Wearing long black sleeves and pants, Rachette appeared from nothing when he put the silenced barrel to Engelhardt’s face.

“Show me your hands,” Rachette said. “Slowly.”

Engelhardt blinked, eyes crossing as he looked up at the gun, then showed both of his hands, which were both empty.

Rachette kicked the door, and the big man stumbled back. He moved in quickly while Carlton was still sitting on the couch .

“Show me your hands,” Rachette said, pointing the gun at him now.

Carlton raised his hands to his side.

Rachette closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt.

“Move back,” he said to Engelhardt, waving the barrel. “On the couch.”

Engelhardt remained where he was, looking like he was ready to pounce.

“On the couch!” Rachette said, putting both hands on the grip of the gun.

The big man swallowed whatever thought he had and sat next to his roommate.

Rachette moved quickly to the window and grabbed the string for the blinds with his left hand, keeping his aim and attention on the two men.

The string didn’t work as he pulled down. He tried again, angling it the other way, and finally, they lowered with a clang. He fumbled grabbing the bar to twist them shut, but his hands were jittery and ineffectual with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. On the second attempt, he got hold of it and turned the plastic stick. The outside darkness disappeared as the slats closed, along with any view of him inside should somebody walk past.

But they wouldn’t . He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What are you doing?” Carlton asked, his voice tight with fear, looking at Rachette’s gloved hands.

Rachette lowered the weapon, eyeing them both with what he hoped looked like a menacing glare.

“Which one of you cut my brake lines?” He watched their faces. Engelhardt frowned, playing dumb, while Carlton shook his head and closed his eyes.

Rachette aimed at Engelhardt. “It was you.”

“No, it wasn’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rachette bared his teeth, extending the gun another inch toward the big man.

“You see this silencer on the barrel?” he asked. “These gloves? I have a roll of plastic in the car and some tie-downs, so I can easily move your dead bodies. I have a route planned to a mineshaft over near Dredge, where I’m going to drop the two of you inside. I don’t have a phone on me. Nobody knows I’m here. Nobody knows I’m looking for you. I’m not fucking around. I want to know who cut my brakes and tried to kill me and my family.”

Engelhardt scoffed. “I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

“What?” Carlton eyed his roommate. “Dude, shut up. Look, sir. We didn’t…we…”

“Yeah, we did,” Engelhardt raised his eyebrows, staring at Rachette. “We did cut the brakes on your truck. So, what are you going to do about it?”

Rachette shook his head.

“But you don’t have any proof,” Engelhardt said. “We ditched the cable cutters. You’ll find nothing here. We also didn’t bring our phones, so there’s going to be no evidence we were ever at that baseball game.”

Rachette stared mutely at the man. Never did he expect them to admit what they had done and his bluff to be called so quickly. Never did he think his resolve would be tested so immediately.

“Look at him,” Engelhardt said to Carlton. “He’s not going to hurt us, are you? You’re a cop. You can’t do something like that. You can’t just kill us in cold blood. Think of what life would be like for you after that.”

Rachette shot at the couch next to Engelhardt. The gun snapped, and a blast of fire came out of the suppressor. The cushion next to the big man shifted positions, spitting out a piece of foam from the tiny hole.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Carlton said. “Come on, man. It was him. He did it. It was him. I’ll admit it. You don’t have to kill?—”

Engelhardt reached over and punched his friend in the side of the head, silencing him.

“Ah!”

“Freeze!” Rachette said. “Stop it right now!”

Engelhardt leaned forward and stood up.

Rachette backed away a step, keeping the gun pointed center mass.

And then, a sound came from outside and penetrated through the blood rushing in his ears. It was the low rumble of approaching tires. Light streamed in through the cracks of the blinds, straight on at first and then at a severe angle as the vehicle parked in the driveway.

Engelhardt remained where he was, listening and watching, too. He smiled. “What are you going to do, cop?”

It was the girl, damn it. She had returned.

Rachette shook his head. “I’ll arrest you.”

“You don’t even have any handcuffs, do you?”

Shit. He didn’t.

Engelhardt smiled wider. And he took a step forward.

Rachette tightened his grip. His voice shook, and every muscle flexed as tight as ski lift cables. “You step back, asshole. I swear to God I’ll kill you right now. I swear to God. You want to test me? Keep stepping forward. Take another step.”

Outside, a car door thumped as it closed.

Engelhardt lifted his other foot. He put it forward, balancing on one leg. He put his arms out to his sides like he was on a tightrope. “You’ve got two kids. You’re not going to throw all that away.”

Knocking at the door, an insistent pounding against the wood behind Rachette that made him jump. “What the hell?”

“Rachette!” the voice came from the other side.