Sweet Dreams (WJA Series Book 1)

Chapter 14

A FRESH SET OF tire tracks broke a trail through the snow that covered the ground like a white blanket. The rolling hills boasted tall, thin pine trees and patches of quaking aspen running up the draws. The ruts in the dirt road were deep, but the snow was hard packed. The BMW was able to make it through without scraping the bottom of the undercarriage.

Mark drove slowly over the crunching snow, wondering what he was going to do if he found what he was looking for. If he did not hand deliver the criminals to the police himself, the case would stay closed and be lost to the memories of the public. Then again, he wondered if something else going on, some sort of cover-up to protect someone or something. Pat sat in silence, fidgeting with the zipper on his coat.

He went over the items he’d put in his car right after he had the conversation with Detective Owens: zip-ties, a shovel, and some plastic. He also had a full gas can in the trunk plus a lighter in his pocket. He didn’t smoke, but he’d bought a pack of Marlboro Lights just to make it look at least semi-normal to purchase both a lighter and a fill-up on a gas can.

He glanced over at Pat, who appeared to be in his own world. He clenched his jaw. Was he losing his mind? Driving the fool bomber to meet his evil bosses—bosses who thought it was okay to bomb a supermarket filled with innocent people. He was insane.

The road crested a small hill, then dropped down to the other side, spilling out into a small valley. His adrenaline began to pump. A log cabin on the far side of the valley billowed gray smoke from the stacked-stone chimney. Several outbuildings stood off to the west side of the cabin. One looked like a storage shed and the other one looked like it was an outhouse. He found a wide spot in the road, turned around, and pulled the car off as far as he dared. This would not be a good time to get stuck.

Pat looked out the window and rubbed his hands together.

Mark sat for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He remembered how K smelled and that special smile she saved just for him and how it felt to hold her in his arms. He thought about Samantha and her blonde hair bouncing as she ran to meet him at the door when he returned home after a long day at work. She was so innocent and perfect, so full of life. Now she was dead, thanks to the jerk next to him. Nothing in the world would bring her back.

He flipped on the radio, tuning it until he found a station playing opera. He did not know why, but in times of stress, opera was the only music that could clear his head. He closed his eyes and listened as the rich sounds of La Boheme flowed through the car.

After a few minutes, he shut the car down, got out, and pocketed the keys. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, pulling zip-ties from his pocket. “Give me your hand.”

“Come on,” Pat squealed. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

He grabbed one of the kid’s wrists, slipped a zip-tie around it, and reached across the seat to attach his wrist to the steering wheel. “That’ll keep you here until I get back.”

He slammed the door shut, popped open the trunk and grabbed a handful of shotgun shells, shoving them into his pocket.

The shotgun sat in the back seat. He dropped more zip-ties into his other pocket and shut the trunk lid. Then he opened the back door to grab the shotgun. “How many should I expect?”

“Don’t know—I only saw three, but there could be more.”

Three.

He shut the door and started down the incline, keeping to the trees and cradling the shotgun in the crook of his left arm. After about ten minutes of hiking and moving from tree to tree in the crisp snow, he could see the cabin backed up to the side of a mountain that closed off the small valley. He made his way deeper into the woods, where the snow was softer and there was more cover.