Blue Heaven

Monday, 1:24 A.M.

CARRYING TWO HISSING Coleman lanterns, Jess entered the house from the barn. He put one lantern on the table and held the other up at shoulder height, so he could see the faces of everyone shining back at him. Monica held both William and Annie in front of her. Hearne sat at the table. Villatoro was behind him, holding the shotgun.

To Hearne, Jess said, “Can you still ride?”

“I haven’t forgotten how.”

Jess nodded outside. “Then take Chile into town. She’s still saddled, and that way you can avoid the road. You might be able to get to Sheriff Carey before daylight. Maybe you can convince him to get his men together and get out here.”

Hearne nodded, went to the gun cabinet, and pulled out another shotgun. “Should I take this?”

“Yup.”

Jess turned to Villatoro and the Taylors. “I’m not running. This is my place. I’ll know if they try to come because there’s only one way in with a vehicle.”

No one said a word. They were waiting for more from him, he realized.

“I know every inch of this ranch, and they don’t,” Jess said. “That’s our only advantage. We’re going to hold our ground. Don’t worry, I’ve been preparing for it all of my life.”

“But you’re old, Jess.” It was Annie, who sounded concerned. He didn’t even know she was there.

“Annie!” Monica said.

“Hell, let her be.” Jess laughed. “She may be right.”

AS JESS pulled Chile’s flank strap tight and adjusted the stirrups for the shorter-legged Hearne, the banker said, “Jess, let’s make a pact.”

Jess finished, turned.

Hearne said, “If I don’t make it, promise me you’ll take care of Annie and see her through. William and Monica, too.”

Jess tried to read Hearne’s face, but couldn’t get past the resolve in it.

“I’ll do the same if something happens here to you,” Hearne said.

“You trying to tell me something?” Jess asked.

Hearne simply looked at him, said, “I mean it, Jess.”

“Then okay,” Jess said after a beat. The pact seemed noble and worthwhile, he thought. He held out his hand, and Hearne shook it.

“Remember,” Jess said, “trust your horse to find the way in the dark.”

OUTSIDE, JESS stood with Villatoro on the front porch and watched Jim Hearne wheel on Chile and ride off into the dark. He could hear hoofbeats drum and recede into the meadow.

Jess handed the weapon he had taken from Swann to Villatoro. “You probably know more about handguns than I do.”

“I never shot anyone,” Villatoro said.

“You mean you can’t, or you never have?”

“I never have.”

“But you can do it if you need to?”

Villatoro didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Emphatically. Yes, I’m willing. I vowed to myself up in those trees that if I had another chance, I would fight.”

“Good.” Jess placed his hand on the man’s shoulder in an effort to reassure him.

Villatoro said, “My wife will never believe this. All those years, and I never had a gun pulled on me. I always wondered what I’d do if that happened, and now I know. I just stood there and waited for the bullet. I’m ashamed of myself.”

Jess looked up at the saddle slope hill where the access road was, saw no headlights, said, “Don’t be. Everybody freezes up sometime. Look at the bright side-you may get a second chance to get it right.”

Villatoro chuckled uncomfortably. “Some bright side,” he said.

Monday, 2:30 A.M.

MONICA FOUND JESS in the barn, sitting on an upturned bucket, the Winchester across his knees, a lantern hissing and throwing out warm yellow light. In the stall in front of him was a hugely pregnant cow, legs splayed, tail twitching with pain. She could hear the cow’s shallow breathing.

“I was wondering where you went,” she said. “I got the kids down again and realized you weren’t in the kitchen. Then I saw the light out here.”

She wore a heavy canvas ranch coat she had found hanging from a peg in the mudroom. It smelled of campfire smoke and hay.

Jess looked over at her. “These cows, they don’t pay much attention to the news of the day or our situation. They just keep having little ones no matter what I think about it or how much else I have to do.”

“I don’t know how you can concentrate on this right now.”

Jess shrugged. “Doing something normal helps me think.”

Monica stepped inside the barn, pulling the coat tight against the damp chill. “Is she okay?”

Jess squinted at the stall. “I’m worried about a breech with this one,” he said. “She had a breech baby last year, so I’m afraid it might happen again.”

“How close is she?”

“Any minute,” he said.

“And if the baby is breech?”

He held up a long rubber glove. “Then I have to reach in there and pull the calf around so it can come out. If that won’t work, I need to pull it out piece by piece.”

She flinched and nodded, looking at the moist and inflamed birth canal, then back at the glove.

“It’s a messy business,” he said, in response to her facial expression, which had given her away. Then he nodded at a bucket near him. “You can sit down, if you’d like. Annie used that bucket last night to watch the same thing.”

“Annie watched a cow being born?” Monica asked, moving toward the rancher. “How’d she take it? She didn’t say anything to me.”

“She’s pretty tough,” the rancher said. “She’s a good kid, if you don’t mind me saying that.”

Monica smiled and sat down. The bucket rocked a little, and she reached out for his arm to steady herself. She noticed how he stiffened at her touch.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she said, righting her balance. “She really likes you. So does William. He said you should come live with us when this is over.”

She looked over to gauge his reaction, and was rewarded with a look of surprise that almost made her laugh.

“He said that?”

“Yes. He told me when I tucked him in.”

Jess shook his head, looked down at his dusty boots. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether he was flattered or horrified.

“Jess,” she said, screwing up her courage, “what I wanted to talk to you about before…”

“Yes?”

She took in a breath and held it, then blew it out long. “I’ve known a lot of men in my life. I can’t think of one of them who would have done what you did.”

He wouldn’t look over at her, and she noticed how his ears turned red. He mumbled, “There’s a couple more. One inside the house, and the other on horseback right now.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” she continued. “You’ve risked everything for me, and you never even met me. Annie and William have never had a man like you in their lives before.”

He continued to stare at the cow. The vein in his temple pulsed. She noticed the wetness in his eyes.

“Jess, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“What do you think of what I just said?”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s real nice.”

There was a beat of silence while she waited for more.

“My wife always said talking was a problem for me,” he said sheepishly.

She was touched, and she reached for his arm again. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Especially after all you’ve done for us. You brought me together with my children. You don’t need to talk.”

“I don’t mind talking to you,” he said, his face red. “It’s just that I can’t think of the right words to say.”

It took her a few moments to summon the courage for what would come next. He picked up on the hesitation, and glanced at her but didn’t stare, making it easier for her. She said, “Jess, there’s something you might want to know. I know there’ve been rumors over the years about me, and I want to clear them up.”

She said, “Thirteen years ago”-he turned to her as she said the number, a puzzled look on his face-“I was seventeen and I thought I was a pretty hot little number. Actually, I was a hot little number. I wanted to grow up fast. So, along with three friends, we went to Spokane on a Friday night, to the university because we’d been invited to a frat party. At the time, it sounded incredibly adult and exciting… college boys, you know.”

Jess nodded. It was obvious he was a little uneasy with the story thus far but was too polite not to hear it out to see where it went.

“Not long after we got there, my friends and I got separated from each other, and even though I was the hot little number, I was a little scared because I was out of my league. There were so many people who knew each other, and a lot of drinking. I’d had way too much myself. Luckily, though, there was a boy I recognized at the party. A boy from around here. Even though we really didn’t know each other very well-he was three years ahead of me in school-it was great to see a familiar face. And he was a very nice boy, very friendly, very handsome. Smart, too. It was exciting. I wanted to find my stupid friends so they could see how well I made out, you know? So he said he’d take me through the frat house and we’d try and find them. And if we couldn’t find them there, we’d go from party to party on campus until we did.”

She saw Jess shake his head, probably not even realizing he was doing it. Did he disapprove? What? She continued.

“I was head over heels being with him. I wanted to acquire him, and I wanted him to acquire me. He was an amazing boy, the most charismatic man I’d met other than my dad. He lit up a room when he walked into it, and I wanted him, and I told him so. No college boy can resist that, trust me. That boy and I spent the next two days together locked up in his room. It was magical. You could just look at him and know something big was going to happen with this boy-like he was on the verge of something. I found out later what that was, but at the time I didn’t see it. I don’t think anyone did. Finally, my friends came and found me and practically had to drag me back to the Kootenai Bay.

“I still wanted to see him, so I called him. I was scared to death that I’d say ‘This is Monica,’ and he’d say ‘Who?’ But when I called the frat house they were evasive. They said he wasn’t there anymore, but they wouldn’t tell me how to reach him. It was weird. At first, I thought they knew who I was, and they were trying to shield him from me, but that didn’t make sense. Then I figured, well, stupid frat boys. He probably left the fraternity and went to another one, and they didn’t want to admit he’d left or something. I started to get worried. So I called the one friend who’d always been there to help me out and told him the situation, that I was scared something had happened to this boy. We drove to Spokane, and that’s when I found out my man had gotten sick…mentally. That he’d had some kind of real severe breakdown the week before and gotten arrested.”

When she looked at Jess, he was staring at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before.

“Jess, the boy was Jess Jr.”

“He told me he knew you.”

“Was that all he said?”

Jess swallowed. “He said you were wild. You aren’t going to tell me Annie is my granddaughter, are you?”

She hesitated for a beat.

“No, I’m not. Annie is Jim Hearne’s daughter.”

Jess was speechless.

“He was the friend I called to take me to Spokane to try and find out what happened to J.J. He was my father’s best friend, and I think he felt he owed something to me and to you. But one thing led to another. Neither of us planned it, and afterward, Jim felt horrible. He said he’d get a divorce if I wanted him to, even though he loved his wife, because he’d betrayed her with his friend’s daughter. I told him never to say that again, and to go home to Laura. I never told him I was pregnant. I let him think the baby-Annie-was J.J’s. But she wasn’t. J.J. never completed the act, but Jim did. So I know for sure. In a way, I think he knows, too, but he’s been too frightened all these years to ask. If you’re wondering why the local banker is on that horse right now, I think you’ve got your answer.”

“My God,” Jess said. “Now I know what Hearne was trying to tell me.”

She said, “I’m no victim. He didn’t take advantage of me like it sounds. He gave in to me. I was like that then. But I didn’t want to ruin a good man or bust up a marriage. I had some dignity, I guess. And Annie is such a joy, such a wonderful, wonderful girl. I’m blessed to be her mother. She’s a freak of nature because she’s special, and better than both her parents, I think.”

She tried to guess what he was thinking. It was as if he couldn’t quite process what she had told him, and she couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

“I wanted to tell someone so many times,” she said, “but I didn’t. I guess I was waiting for the right time, and that never came. When I was married there was certainly no point. My husband never knew who Annie’s father was. I kept that from him. So it’s amazing to me how things worked out. It’s like there was a reason we were brought together tonight, and the least I could do was let you know.”

He smiled sadly. “I was kind of hoping you were going to tell me I had a grandchild.”

“I’m sorry she isn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, excited. “I like ’em just the same.”

She laughed at that, and he smiled. “Jess, I don’t know how much you’ve heard about me,” she said, seeing his eyes flinch and knowing he had heard, “but I’ve made a vow to myself during all of this that I’m going to keep: My kids come first. If there is anything good at all to come out of all of this, it’s that I’ve learned that lesson. No more Tom Boyds, no more J.J.s, no more Jim Hearnes, no more anyone. Annie and William come first. I’ve made that promise with God.”

He nodded. “I think that’s good.”

“I think that’s good,” she mocked good-naturedly, causing him to smile again. “Yes, it is. I need to make my own way in the world without relying on any man to make things happen for me. I think that’s possible, don’t you?”

“Sure,” he said. “Might as well try.”

“I’ll prove it can be done,” she said, holding up her hand over her heart as if taking a pledge. “I may have to take the kids and move to somewhere I don’t have any history, but I’ll prove it can be done.”

He flinched again, which surprised her.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

He looked down. “Nothing, I guess.”

“What, Jess?”

He looked at his boots, at the cow, at the bare lightbulb, anywhere but at her. Then, when he turned his head and looked at her full on, he said, “However things work out, I’d kind of like to keep up with Annie and William. We can pretend they’re my grandkids.”

This time, it was Monica who was speechless.

“My own family got pretty screwed up,” he said. “I’d like to help your kids if I can, maybe make up for the damage I’ve caused around here.”

She reached up and blotted her tears with the rolled-up cuff of the barn coat. She was surprised that he continued.

“This place,” he said, gesturing toward the open barn door but meaning the ranch, “is the only thing I’ve got that connects me to my own father and mother, and to my granddad, who homesteaded it. They passed along a pretty good thing. They said to work hard and pass it on to my own kids. That’ll never happen. It doesn’t look like I can keep it, or leave it to anyone. Developers want it, and they’ll likely get it. It belongs more to the bank than it does to me.

“So,” he said, “there’ll be nothing for me to pass on. I’ll leave no mark on this valley. But if I can help out Annie and William, maybe help them get a leg up, well, that’ll be fine. It means I’ve got something to live for. I’ve got someone to defend. That means…everything.”

He turned away, the expression on his face telling her he thought he had said too much. But he hadn’t, and she leaned over and hugged him, buried her face into his neck, said, “You’re a good man, Jess. You’re such a good man,” and meant it, feeling such affection for him, wondering why she hadn’t called him years before to see how J.J. was doing, thinking how sometimes, it was the hardest men who were the softest.

Monday, 2:41 A.M.

JIM HEARNE thought, It feels good to sit a horse again.

He had slowed Chile to a walk once they entered the timber on the other side of the meadow. He wanted both to conserve her energy and give her the opportunity to pick her way through the gnarled undergrowth. She could see much better than he could in the dark beneath the closed kettle lid of the tree branches, so he gave her her head and let her go. She picked through the downed timber, placing each front step carefully, her back feet knowing instinctively how to mirror the movement to keep them going forward. He also slowed her down because he knew there was a barbed-wire fence ahead somewhere, the fence that separated the Rawlins place from forest service land. She would likely see it before he would.

She was purposeful, he liked that. He could see why Jess liked this horse. She was the kind of horse that was best if she had a job: cutting cattle, herding, or, in this case, delivering him to Kootenai Bay. He was glad he had a purpose, too, that he was doing something that might save the lives of the Taylors, Villatoro, and Jess. It was the least he could do. He was glad it involved doing something physical. He didn’t want to have the time to think about how his own actions had incubated the whole situation, how he was culpable. He was finally doing something good, doing something right, for Monica and Annie. This ride was his ride of redemption. When he thought about those words, he smiled. Man…

The rain had stopped, and the sounds of the forest returned: chattering squirrels warning of his arrival, the crunch of pine needles beneath the hooves of the horse, the panicked scuttling of creatures he never saw getting out of his way. Sitting the horse connected him to the ground, made him part of it. He could feel the softness or hardness of the ground transmitted up her legs through the saddle. It was as if sinews had reached up through the dirt and reattached themselves to him. He had forgotten about the feeling of being connected. It wasn’t something he felt in his car.

Could he convince the sheriff? He thought he could. Simply the fact that he was riding into town on a horse should tell Carey something.

HE COULD feel Chile hesitate, feel her muscles bunch beneath his thighs, and in a moment he could see the four thin ribbons of barbed wire coursing down through the trees ahead of him. At the fence he turned her to the right, uphill, parallel to the fence, and walked her up a slope looking for a gate. If he couldn’t find one, Hearne would need to do the old cowboy trick of detaching the wire from the posts to stand on while leading the horse over. It was a tricky maneuver that sometimes spooked horses because they thought the wire was water and felt a need to bolt or jump.

The trees cleared into a grassy mountain park washed blue with starlight. The sky opened. He could see better, but he couldn’t see a gate.

Hearne was studying the fence line with such intensity that he almost didn’t realize that the forest sounds had stopped and left only the soft footfalls of his horse and the creak of the leather saddle. Something had silenced the sounds. He saw that Chile was looking ahead, her ears alert, her eyes wide, her nostrils flared as if to woof.

Above, in the black timber on the other side of the meadow, a twig snapped.

Hearne signaled Chile to stop with a tug on her reins, and he sat the saddle, trying to make his eyes pierce the darkness of the stand of trees. He thought, The fence line goes all the way up to the road. If someone were to walk the perimeter of the ranch, they would likely use the fence line as their guide.

The voice came from the trees. “You need some help, mister?”

It was deep and had a Mexican inflection. Hearne froze.

The shotgun was deep in the saddle scabbard under his right leg, the butt poking out from the sleeve of leather. Hearne leaned back in the saddle, letting his right hand drop to his side. He felt the metal butt plate and slid his fingers around the stock.

Chile crow-hopped as a form emerged from the dark trees. The movement caught Hearne off guard, and he scrambled in the saddle for balance, but a light from a flashlight blinded him. There was a metallic click, and he never heard the shot.

Monday, 4:08 A.M.

AS THE CLOUDS parted to reveal a cream wash of hard, white stars, Newkirk felt a hangover of epic proportions forming in the back of his brain. His mouth was dry and tasted of whiskey and Gonzalez’s thumb, and his eyes burned for sleep. He looked at his wristwatch. Gonzalez had been gone for hours.

Newkirk and Singer were in the white Escalade, backed up into a stand of trees, pointed at the locked gate to the Rawlins Ranch. Their lights were off and the windows open, and they were far enough off the highway that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone on the road. Before leaving to scout the ranch house below, Gonzalez had parked his vehicle beside them. Swann was in Gonzalez’s pickup, slumped against the door. His sudden appearance at his home had surprised them all. Swann smelled of antiseptic, blood, and panic. Cuts on his face were stitched closed, and dark bruises were forming under his eyes. Newkirk thought Swann should have stayed in the hospital because the sight of him was sickening. But Singer welcomed the display of loyalty and had clapped Swann on the back. Now, though, Swann was sleeping and, Newkirk thought, useless.

Before joining Singer in his Escalade, Newkirk had parked the UPS truck deep into the trees down a logging road ten minutes from the ranch gate.

Gonzalez had taken the handheld radio and his scoped.308 Winchester rifle. Above them, resting on pine branches and swinging in the slight northern breeze, were the power and telephone lines Gonzalez had cut away from the utility pole hours earlier. Both Singer and Newkirk thought they had heard a muffled gunshot in the distance, and had waited for a second shot to confirm it that never came. Singer had tried to raise Gonzalez on his handheld, but there was no response. Singer assumed Gonzo had squelched the receiver, and they had no choice but to simply sit and wait.

Newkirk shifted in the seat and moaned involuntarily, his head pounding like the drumbeat of a marching band. Singer looked over at him, and he saw a slight curl of disdain on the lieutenant’s lips, knew the man despised weakness.

“You gonna make it?” Singer asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to hang in there. Drink some water.”

“Water’d be good,” Newkirk said, reaching for a canteen. He fought a crazy urge to confess he’d not killed Villatoro, that he’d let the rancher take him. Just to see the rage and confusion on Singer’s sanctimonious face. But he stanched it, like he did his thirst.

Singer had a police scanner and radio mounted under his dashboard. It had been silent for most of the night. There was nothing going on in town other than town cops calling in the ends of their shifts, and a license check of an abandoned car left in a bar parking lot. Singer told Newkirk he had been concerned the sheriff would call his men together to form a team for an early-morning meeting, but it hadn’t happened. Apparently, Carey was simply going to wait for the Feds to arrive, brief them on the situation concerning Monica Taylor and the missing children, and turn the whole case over to them. That Singer had been able to persuade the sheriff to put that off this long was a major victory for them.

On the bench seat between Singer and Newkirk was a detailed topo map of the area that included the Rawlins Ranch. On the map was a handheld, the volume down and the squelch minimized. Gonzalez had its twin out there somewhere in the dark. Singer’s cell phone was on but silent next to the handheld.

Newkirk couldn’t figure out what Singer was thinking. The plan the lieutenant had come up with had been simple: cut the power and phone, set up at the gate, wait for Rawlins to come to them. When the rancher got out of his truck to unlock the chain, they would cut him down in a cross fire. Then, using the rancher’s rifle, they’d take care of the Taylors, implicating Rawlins. Newkirk would get the UPS truck and drive it down and hide it in the rancher’s barn. That way, there would be a link between Boyd and the rancher-two secret pedophiles, one who kidnapped and delivered the children and the other who abused and murdered them. Just like Fiona Pritzle’s theory, only a little more lurid. Then call it all in to the sheriff after it was over; say, “It happened so fast, we had no choice but to return fire.”

But the rancher never came. And Newkirk knew that the rancher had Villatoro, so that might complicate things. But Singer didn’t know that.

Newkirk noticed Singer looking at his own wristwatch with more frequency as the night went on. If the lieutenant was worried, he didn’t show it. But he never showed anything.

When the handheld chirped, Newkirk jumped, causing the pounding to resume in his head.

Singer snatched the receiver, whispered, “Gonzo? Is that you?”

A beat. “It’s me. I’m approaching the gate. Don’t let Newkirk shoot me.”

A moment later, Newkirk saw a dark form emerge from the shadows of the heavy timber, a glint of a rifle barrel in the starlight as Gonzalez climbed through the barbed wire of the fence. Then the sergeant was at the driver’s side window, next to Singer.

Gonzalez said, “I walked the fence line and ran into your banker. Who the hell knows why he was out there, he surprised the shit out of me. I thought it was that cowboy trying to get away on his own on horseback. He won’t be a problem for us no more.”

“Jesus,” Newkirk said.

Gonzo’s teeth reflected blue as he smiled. “One shot and he went down. The horse ran off. I guess you didn’t hear the shot, eh?”

“We heard it,” Singer said, distracted. Then: “I didn’t expect that. I didn’t think Hearne would be around. How did that happen?”

Gonzalez shrugged. “Who knows? There’s always something.”

Newkirk thought, There’s more…

“I went down the road until I could see the house,” Gonzo said softly. “I thought I saw a light once through a window, but when I looked through the scope I couldn’t see anything. The house is dark, and nobody’s moving that I could see.”

“Is the rancher’s pickup there at the house?”

Gonzo nodded. “It’s parked in front. He’s there, all right. Another car is there, too. I’d guess it was the banker’s.”

“Maybe they’re sleeping,” Newkirk said, his voice a croak. “Maybe they don’t even know they don’t have power. Maybe the Taylors aren’t even there.”

Singer and Gonzalez both looked at him, said nothing, dismissing him. Newkirk closed his eyes, tried to shut out the hurt of humiliation, tone down the pounding in his head.

“Could you see another way out, besides this road?” Singer said. “The map shows a road out to the south, but it’s a hell of a long way to get to the highway.”

Gonzalez shook his head. “You mean if they walked out? Or took another vehicle? I don’t think so. There’s a big meadow in back of the house, and I could see it pretty good through the scope. I couldn’t see anybody on foot, and I didn’t hear any motors.”

Singer processed the information, rubbed his nose with his index finger while he did so.

The radio came to life. “This is USGID-4 in Boise for Sheriff Ed Carey. Come in, Sheriff Carey.”

“The chopper pilot,” Singer said, looking at the radio.

“This is Sheriff Carey.” He sounded wide-awake, Newkirk thought.

“The chopper’s fueled and ready, and we’ve got clearance,” the pilot said. “We’ve got just about everybody on board.”

“Well,” Carey said, “come on up. I’ll start a pot of coffee. When do you think you’ll be here?”

The pilot said, “ETA is 0600.”

“About an hour then,” Carey said.

“Roger that.”

“An hour,” Singer repeated.

“I wonder if Carey told him about this place?” Gonzo asked. Singer shrugged. “I doubt it. That would make too much sense.”

“What if they come over the top of us on the way to town? I think we’d be right on their flight path,” Gonzo said. “Or fly straight here? Shit.”

Singer rubbed his nose again. “We can use this to our advantage,” he said.

Newkirk wondered how.

Snatching the mike from the cradle, Singer keyed it and spoke, “Sheriff, this is Singer. Do you read me?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Carey answered. “I didn’t realize you were on the frequency.”

Newkirk listened for skepticism or anger in Carey’s tone. He heard neither, only a profound bone-weariness.

“Yes, Sheriff,” Singer said. “I’ve been monitoring communications. Right now, our position is directly across from the Rawlins Ranch. We think he has them in his house.”

Silence. Newkirk could imagine Carey, suddenly confused, wondering what to do next.

“Sheriff, we’ve cut off the power and communications to the subject’s home. We’re waiting for him to come out.”

“For God’s sake, Lieutenant,” Carey sputtered, “who authorized you to do that? Who do you have there with you?”

Newkirk saw the faint smile form on Singer’s lips. “Sergeant Gonzalez and Officer Newkirk are with me. Officer Swann is here, too. He checked himself out of the hospital so he could be of service. As for authorization, no one, sir. We took it upon ourselves as deputized officers. We want to make sure the subject doesn’t escape before you and the FBI arrive.”

“What if he’s listening to us now?” Carey said.

“I repeat, all power and communications have been cut off. There’s no way he can hear us, Sheriff.”

“Oh, yes, you said that. I don’t know, Lieutenant…”

“Would you like us to withdraw, sir?” Singer asked reasonably. “We can do so, but we risk the possibility of the subject escaping, or further hurting those kids and the mother. But we’ll withdraw if you give us the command, sir.”

Newkirk found himself marveling at Singer’s ability to turn Carey any way he wanted. The sheriff couldn’t risk making another mistake.

“I’m just not comfortable with you up there,” Carey said, his voice hesitant. “We don’t know if we’ve got the right guy.”

“Again, sir,” Singer said, “we will withdraw upon your command.”

“You shouldn’t have gone up there in the first place without talking with me.”

“I’m aware of that, sir. It was a decision we made after we saw Mr. Swann in the hospital, beaten within an inch of his life by the subject.”

Gonzalez turned away from Singer’s window, and Newkirk could hear him snort with laughter.

The radio remained silent for a few moments. Then: “Okay, Lieu-tenant. But stay put. Do not engage the subject in any way until we get there. I repeat, do not engage the subject.”

Singer looked up, made an exaggerated face of disappointment. “Roger that, Sheriff. We will remain in place without engagement unless the subject confronts us.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about…”

“Roger that, Sheriff,” Singer said, talking over him, then hanging up the mike and reducing the volume to zero.

“Okay,” Singer said, looking at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before dawn.”

Singer looked up. “Gonzo, you ready?”

Gonzalez nodded. Newkirk could see starlight reflect from his teeth.

“Newkirk?”

“Sure, Lieutenant.”

“We’ve been given our hunting license,” Singer said. “Let’s go finish this. Gonzo, do you have the bolt cutters in your truck?”

Monday, 4:55 A.M.

JESS NOW LAY on top of the rock ridge he had explored as a child, amid the slate, the dampness of the grass long since soaked into his jeans and ranch coat. His scoped.270 hunting rifle was next to him, as was the Winchester.25-35 saddle carbine and a box of bullets. He watched the sky lighten, felt the dawn breeze start to move along the ground with an icy pulse. He thought about how Monica and Hearne had been connected all of these years. How he’d hoped, as Monica told him the story, that it had been J.J. He was surprised how he’d unburdened himself to her in the barn like that. How his words had tumbled out as if he’d rehearsed them. Of course he’d said too much. But by saying what he had he felt somehow cleaner now, pleased he had a mission. It felt good.

His heart hardened when he saw the riderless horse cantering across the meadow toward the barn. He could see the saddle had slipped upside down, and could see the stirrups flapping as the horse ran. He knew how unlikely it was that Jim Hearne, ex-rodeo cowboy, had been bucked off.

Jess knew what it meant. He thought about Annie, and Monica. Jim Hearne had been a good man.

But now, they were on their own.

A BRANCH snapped up in the timber, in the direction of the road. Shortly after, a rock was dislodged, and he heard it tumble down the hill until it stopped with a pock sound against a tree trunk. He didn’t see anyone in the darkness of the timber, but he knew someone was up there, scouting.

Now there was a ping of metal, faint but distinct. And familiar. It was the sound of a link of chain being cut.

A moment later came the throaty sound of engines starting. Jess shifted where he lay and studied the timber where the road was. No headlights winked through the trees. Either the vehicles hadn’t begun to come down the road, or they were rolling with their headlights off. He guessed the latter.

He looked quickly toward his house. It was dark and still. He wondered if Monica and Villatoro could hear the vehicles idling.

There was no way to stop it now.

Monday, 5:10 A.M.

NEWKIRK NERVOUSLY rubbed his thumb along the wooden hand-grip of the shotgun on the seat next to him. It was still too dark to make out the two-track road, and the trees on each side of him were so dark and tall that it felt like he was moving through a tunnel. They were creeping down the hill, the Escalade in four-wheel-drive low so the lieutenant wouldn’t have to apply the brakes and flash brake lights. How could Singer even see where he was going?

The AR-15, a fully automatic rifle with a banana clip, was on the seat as well, next to Singer.

A pine branch scraped the side of the Escalade and showered needles through the open passenger window. Newkirk brushed them from his lap, and Singer corrected the wheel to the left.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Newkirk could tell they’d cleared the trees. The terrain opened up in front of them, lightened, but it was still too dark to see clearly. The sky to the east was gunmetal gray, though, as dawn approached.

Singer brought the vehicle to a gentle stop, having to tap the brakes.

Newkirk looked back, hoping Gonzalez had seen the flash of light and wouldn’t drive right into them.

“We’ll wait here until we can see better,” Singer whispered, almost imperceptibly.

JESS WATCHED the two vehicles emerge from the timber and stop, saw a blink of a brake light. Even though they were there, as he expected they would be, a part of him couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

Nosing the.270 over a piece of slate, he looked at the trucks through his rifle scope, thankful that it gathered more light than his naked eye. The white of the first vehicle was more pronounced against the dark, but he still couldn’t see inside. Minutes went by before he thought he could make out two forms in the front of the white car, and another two in the pickup behind it.

The crosshairs rested on the driver’s side window of the white SUV. It was too far for an accurate shot. Nevertheless, he worked the bolt of the rifle and chambered a round. The sound of the bolt action in the still morning jarred him, but he didn’t think it could be heard by the men in the trucks.

NEWKIRK CHECKED the time obsessively. He felt cold all over, and his nose ran freely. The ranch house, the barn, the other outbuildings began to take shape at the bottom of the hill. To their left was a grassy ridge with broken rocks on top. On their right was a gentle saddle slope with black fingers of pine reaching down the hill.

He looked over at Singer, who sat still, his eyes surveying the valley below. The man was so cool, Newkirk thought. Newkirk wished it would rub off.

A shiver started in his chest, ran up his neck, made his teeth chatter. He clamped his mouth shut, waiting for the shiver to run out. It had nothing to do with the cold.

JESS BREATHED in a long, quivering breath. The crosshairs trembled on the driver’s side window. He realized he had been holding his position too long, that his legs and arms were cramping up, causing him to shake. He tried to relax, tried to breathe normally to steady himself, flatten out his aim.

When had he last sighted in the rifle? He couldn’t remember. Jesus. It might be completely off.

Again, he glanced down at his house. No movement, no light. Good.

In the barn, the calf he had delivered the night before bawled for its mother.

Then the vehicles were moving forward, down the switchback. The white SUV was picking up speed, the men inside not nearly so worried about stealth now. The black pickup, the same vehicle Jess had seen the day before in front of his house, was right behind it.

There was a curve in the road about 250 yards away from Jess, where the intruders would need to slow down to make the turn safely. It would be close enough for a decent shot, but not a sure shot. Jess pulled the stock tight to his shoulder, eased his eye to the scope, saw the crosshairs bounce around on the side of Singer’s face. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened.

“Shit!” he said, remembering to thumb the safety off. But by the time he did and sighted through the scope again, the trucks had turned away from the curve and were barreling down the road away from him. He couldn’t believe he’d made such an amateur mistake in such a critical circumstance, and was furious with himself.

NEWKIRK REACHED up through the open window and clamped onto the roof with his hand to steady himself as Singer upshifted and the engine roared and they reached the bottom of the hill where the road straightened out. He saw the ranch house fill the windshield and Singer drove toward it. Gonzalez and Swann shot past them in the pickup on Newkirk’s side.

Both vehicles slid to a stop in the gravel, facing the front door of the house.

Training took over now, and Newkirk bailed out of the Escalade, keeping the open passenger door between him and the structure, aiming his shotgun at the front door of the house over the lip of the open window. In his peripheral vision, he saw Singer do the same after snapping back the bolt to arm the AR-15.

Gonzalez was out of his pickup, racking a shell into the chamber of his shotgun, the sound as sharp and dangerous as anything Newkirk had ever heard. Swann had stayed inside.

While Newkirk and Singer covered him, Gonzalez jogged across the lawn, up the porch steps, and flattened himself against the wall of the house next to the door. Newkirk shot a glance at the picture window. The curtains were pulled closed except for a narrow space between them. Another window on the far side of the house was covered inside with tightly drawn blinds. There was no movement behind either of the windows.

Gonzalez held his shotgun at port arms, then spun and used the butt of it to pound the front door.

“Jess Rawlins! This is the sheriff’s department. Come out of the house right now!”

The sound of the pounding and Gonzalez’s deep voice cut through the silence of the morning.

Newkirk racked the pump on his own shotgun, aimed again at the front door. Waited.

Gonzalez shot a glance to Singer, asking with his eyes, What now?

Singer nodded: Do it again.

This time, Gonzalez pounded the door so hard with the shotgun, Newkirk expected the glass to fall out of the panes of the window. He saw Swann open the truck door and slide out, stand unsteadily on the lawn with a pistol in his hand.

“Jess Rawlins! We need you to come out right now! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

Nothing. The pounding echoed back from the wall of timber to the north.

“Jesus Christ,” Gonzalez said, looking again at Singer. Swann limped across the lawn, climbed the steps to the porch, and struggled toward the corner of the house.

Newkirk thinking, They’re not there. No one’s inside. The chopper’s on the way. We’re fucked, but thank God it’s over. Thank God for that. But no…

Gonzalez stepped away from the front of the house, and for a second Newkirk expected the sergeant to try to kick the door down. But he must have decided against it, because he turned and took a step toward the picture window.

Newkirk watched as Gonzalez leaned over, trying to see through the slit in the curtains.

JESS WATCHED it all through the scope on his rifle, the safety off this time for sure. He had not taken a breath since Gonzalez had pounded on the door the second time and the sound washed up and over him.

Gonzalez was in front of the window, leading with his head, trying to see in. Jess was surprised to see that Swann was with them. His head was bandaged, and he appeared to be wearing a hospital smock.

Jess whispered, “Now.”

INSIDE THE front room, Eduardo Villatoro sighted down the barrel of the shotgun at the shadow on the other side of the curtain, put the front bead on the bridge of Gonzalez’s nose through the glass, and fired.

NEWKIRK HEARD the boom, saw Gonzalez’s head snap back and come apart at the same time, shards of glass cascading through the air, the shotgun clattering on the porch. The sergeant took two steps straight back away from the house and hit the railing and crashed through it. He fell in the grass with his arms outstretched over his head, his boots still up on the porch, shards of glass dropping from the window in a delayed reaction.

Swann cried out and flung himself against the outside of the house, near the door but away from the window. He held his pistol with both hands, the muzzle pointed down, ready to react.

“Goddammit!” Singer said, standing, raising the AR-15, and the morning was filled with a long, furious ripping sound as he raked the house on both sides of the window from right to left, then back again.

ANNIE HAD peered out from behind the cast-iron stove, where she and William had hidden, in time to see Villatoro raise the shotgun and fire. Her mother pulled her back down. After the blast, which was much louder than anything Annie had anticipated, her mother gathered her and William closer as bullets ripped through the walls, a few clanging off the stove behind which they hid.

PLACING THE crosshairs between Singer’s shoulder blades, Jess squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked, the scope jerked upward, over the top of the roof of his house. He quickly worked the bolt and peered back down the scope, saw Singer arching as if stretching his back, slowly turning around to face him, holding his weapon out away from his body.

Did I miss? No-Jess could see a bloom of dark red blood on Singer’s coat and a spray of it across the hood of the white SUV.

Jess quickly found Newkirk in the scope. The man was crouched, looking up, searching the ridge for the source of the shot. Newkirk looked confused, and very human. Jess shot him, saw Newkirk fall back into the door of the car, then roll away, under the car, out of sight.

When Jess swung the rifle back to Singer, Singer was gone, probably hiding under the SUV.

And where was Swann? Jess couldn’t see him on the porch.

NEWKIRK FELT as though someone had kicked him in the stomach so hard it took his breath away. He rolled under the car until his shoulder thumped the front differential, where he stopped.

The engine radiated heat above him, the grass was icy and wet beneath him. Slowly, the kicked feeling receded, and something burned. He imagined a red-hot poker pressed against his bare stomach. He knew what it was. He’d been shot. He always wondered what it would feel like to be gutshot, to have a bullet rip through his soft organs, opening up their fluid contents to mix together inside of him.

From where he was stuck under the car, he rolled his head back, looked around.

Gonzalez’s body was in the grass ten feet away. Steam rose from the mass of pulp that used to be his face. He could still make out half of Gonzo’s mustache, though. The other half was somewhere else.

He flopped his head the other way. Singer had pulled himself up again. His boots were there, near the front of the car.

“Newkirk, goddammit,” Singer was saying, his voice filling with liquid, “I’m hit. Where are you? I need cover fire.”

Newkirk kept his mouth shut, for once. He wondered where his shotgun was. Instead, he drew his service weapon, racked the slide, held it tight to him.

He was in the third person again, where he longed to be, hovering over the body of the man wedged beneath the car, watching, shaking his head with disappointment, relieved that it was all happening to somebody else.

Monday, Newkirk thought. It was Monday morning. The boys and Lindsey should be getting ready to go to school. Wouldn’t they be ashamed to know where their father was right now?

The car rocked, and another shot boomed down from the ridge. Then another. This time he heard breaking glass, and it cascaded down around him in the grass.

A long rip from Singer’s AR-15 made his ears ring.

Where had Swann disappeared to?

JESS HAD SWITCHED to the.25-35 when he was out of cartridges with the.270. As he levered in the first shell, there was an angry burst as bullets hit and ricocheted off the plates of slate and cut branches from trees in back of him. Something stung his face, and he reached up, saw the blood on his fingers. He rolled to his side, then pushed the barrel of the saddle carbine through a V in the rock.

Without the scope, he could barely see Singer’s coat through the broken windows of the SUV, but he could see it, and he fired.

Jess thought, I’m shooting men, but it doesn’t feel like it. He’d never had a wide-open shot in Southeast Asia, not like this. He could not think of the men down there as human beings but as enemy targets. Targets who would do harm to the children, Monica, him, his ranch…

ANNIE HEARD the back door smash in but didn’t see Swann until he jerked her out from behind the stove by her hair. She screamed and struggled, kicking at the floor, heard William burst into tears, and shout “NO!,” saw her mother wheel and both of her hands go up, pleading. Villatoro had been crouching behind a desk, but he rose when he heard the scream.

“Drop that shotgun or everybody dies,” Swann said to Villatoro.

Villatoro hesitated but dropped the shotgun on the floor.

Swann said, “You were supposed to be dead. That fucking Newkirk…” He shot Villatoro twice-bangbang-and the retired detective collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“Oscar, don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her,” her mother pleaded. “Take me if you need to take someone. Don’t hurt Annie anymore.”

Swann turned his attention to Monica and didn’t respond so much as growl, and he lifted Annie to her feet by her hair and pressed the muzzle of the hot pistol into her neck.

“Oscar, please…” her mother cried.

“Shut up,” Swann said. “I’ve got to use her to get out of here, to get that rancher.”

Monica glanced at the shotgun Villatoro had dropped on the floor, and Annie felt Swann tighten his grip on her and saw the pistol rise over her shoulder and aim at her mother. Villatoro was still.

Swann said, “Back off now into that room back there and take your boy. I’m going to lock you in because I may need you for later. But if you try and get out, she dies, you all die.”

NEWKIRK HEARD another bullet hit Singer, a punching sound, heard it go thump like when a baseball hits a batter. Saw Singer suddenly drop back into view, on the ground with him again, Singer squirming like he was trying to get ants out of his clothes. Inside the house there had been two quick gunshots. Newkirk thought, Hell has broken loose.

Newkirk and Singer were eye to eye. Singer’s coat was drenched with red. Newkirk could smell it, hot and metallic. Bright red blood foamed from Singer’s mouth and nostrils as he tried to breathe, but his eyes were blue and sharp, fixed on Newkirk.

“You hid,” Singer said, spitting blood as he talked. “You fucking hid…”

“It never should have gone this far,” Newkirk said.

“We deserved it, we earned it!” Singer said in a rage. He sounded like he was drowning inside, and he probably was, Newkirk thought. Singer’s lungs were filling up with his own blood. Bad way to go, but he wished he’d quit talking and twitching.

“It wasn’t worth it,” Newkirk said. He raised his weapon and shot Singer in the forehead.

Singer stopped squirming.

“There,” Newkirk said. “Enough.”

Then he heard the sound of a car coming down the road, and the faraway beating of a helicopter.

But behind him, the front door to the ranch house burst open, and there stood Swann, holding the little girl with his gun to her head, his mutilated face twisted in agony and fear.

“HEY, RANCHER!” Swann yelled toward the ridge, his voice cutting through the sudden morning stillness. “I’ve got the little girl here. I want you to stand up and throw down your weapon. We can work this out so nobody else gets hurt.” As he yelled, Annie could feel his arm tighten around her neck and the muzzle of the pistol press hard through her hair, biting into her temple.

Annie thought, If Jess goes for it, he’s a dead man. He should stay put. Look what happened to Mr. Villatoro when he listened to Swann. She hoped William wouldn’t try something stupid to save her and get himself hurt.

“You need to answer me!” Swann shouted, his voice cracking, revealing his fear. Annie craned her neck to see that the shouting had stretched Swann’s face, popped several of his stitches. Blood streamed down his face and dripped from his chin onto the top of his collar. It was soaking through his shirt onto her neck. It felt hot, like oil dripping from beneath a car. Be tough, she thought. Show grit. No crying. She was more angry than scared, and if he loosened his grip, she would fight her way free like a wildcat.

She felt Swann take a sudden gasping breath of alarm. She turned back around and couldn’t believe what she saw.

Jess Rawlins was running down the hill toward them, still holding his rifle, the barrel flashing in the morning sun.

“What are you doing, old man?” Swann yelled out. “You need to stop right now and drop the weapon. STOP!”

Swann jerked the pistol from her head, pointed it unsteadily out in front of them at Jess, and fired off three quick shots. She flinched with every explosion. Jess Rawlins jerked and stumbled, but didn’t stop coming.

The old rancher was close enough now that Annie could hear the sound of his boots crunching in the gravel.

Swann suddenly threw her aside like a doll so he could set his feet and grip his pistol to aim with two hands. He fired again, four shots in quick succession. At least two she could tell were hits. There were blotches of blood on the front of Jess’s jacket, but the man’s face and his look of pure determination hadn’t changed a bit.

When the rancher finally stopped it was to raise his rifle from twenty yards away, aim calmly, and shoot Oscar Swann squarely between the eyes. Swann dropped straight back into the doorway, his pistol thumping on the porch. Annie rolled away, unhurt.

MONICA ROLLED the dresser drawer as hard as she could into the locked door of the bedroom, and it swung open, the lock broken. She stepped over Villatoro’s body and grabbed William’s hand, pulling him through the living room behind her. She saw Swann’s trunk in the doorway. He was flat on his back, blood pouring from his ears, pooling on the floorboards. Annie was scrambling to her feet and running off the porch, toward someone out in the yard.

Monica heard it. The sound of a helicopter approaching, blades thumping bass.

She stepped over Swann’s body and saw everything at once. Singer, dead on the grass in front of his car. Gonzalez, splayed out and steaming, his face and most of his head gone.

The helicopter sliding over the southern hill, flying so low it was kicking up dirt and branches, coming straight toward the house. The sheriff’s SUV, siren suddenly whooping, speeding down the two-track toward the ranch, followed by two other departmental vehicles and an ambulance.

Jess slumped in the yard, sitting down, his rifle cast aside, his bare head bowed as if he were sleeping, his hat off, upturned in the grass next to his legs. Annie running toward him, her arms outstretched.

THE LAST THING Newkirk saw before he turned the pistol on himself was Monica Taylor and her two kids down on the ground with the rancher, hugging him, wailing, keeping him still in the grass as the sheriff bore down on them.