Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)
Jack waited until I'd ducked into the forest before he drove up the lane. I watched as he parked, got out, double-checked the other car, and murmured, "Yeah. His." Then he went to the front door.
I circled through the forest to get to a better spot. I heard Jack knock. Then he knocked again. A grunt.
"Hold position," he said. "Might be outside."
I waited as Jack circled the cabin. It was a nice place. Not large but clearly the property of a man with money and good taste. I could see the edge of a huge back deck, and I listened as Jack's footsteps tapped across the wood. They paused. A rap on glass, presumably at a patio door.
"Fuck."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just not answering."
"Ah, so that was the exasperated 'fuck,' not the dismayed 'fuck' or the concerned 'fuck' or even the annoyed 'fuck.' Normally, I can tell the difference, but the mike isn't good for conveying tone."
A short laugh. "Yeah." He rapped again. A moment. He sighed. "Ah, fuck."
"Now that one I know. That one says,
'Damn it, he's not answering and now I'm going to need to break in to see if he's there, which is not just risky, but if he's on the toilet it's really not going to get this meeting off to a good start.'"
"See? Two words. Didn't need all the rest."
I laughed.
Another sigh rustled over the mike. "Gonna try the front again. Peek in some windows. Probably in there. Don't want to piss him off."
"Can I take a look around out here if I'm careful?" I asked. "I'll stay in the woods and just see if he's out for a walk or something."
"Doubt it. But yeah. Stick close, though. He won't go far. Bad knees."
The forest around Duncan's cabin looked so much like the landscape at home that I half expected Scout to race through the trees to greet me. I could even smell water. The place wasn't on Lake Geneva itself, but was a short walk from a smaller lake, similar to mine at the lodge. Being off-season, the woods were empty. I could see a cabin on the neighboring lot, the windows dark, no sign of life. The only signs I did see were animals--a scampering mouse, a darting rabbit, a grouse making a last-second escape from a clump of ferns, startling me as it took to the air.
When I heard rustling in the undergrowth a minute later, I thought it was another bird or small animal and continued on. Then I heard the growl. I stopped. I peered toward the sound and made out a light brown flank. Then the sound of nails scrabbling in dirt as it decided I'd been sufficiently warned off.
I could have just moved on. But, well, maybe human predators aren't that far removed from the animal variety. I knew better than to turn my back on a potential threat.
I took out my gun. Then I carefully bent and picked up a rock. I pitched it into the thicket where I could see the flank. I wasn't trying to hit the beast, just get its attention. The rock cracked against a tree and a blur of brown fur leaped from the bushes. Seeing me, it planted its forepaws and growled. It was a canine, maybe two feet at the shoulder. A coyote--or a coydog--it gets harder to tell the full-bloods from the hybrids as the populations intermingle.
Coyotes are pack animals like dogs and wolves, but they're more likely to be found alone, and this guy was. I took out my earpiece and covered it so Jack wouldn't come running. Then I said, "Go on. Get out of here."
The coyote growled, a little less certain now. Ears flattened at the side of its head, tail stiff and horizontal. I took a deliberate step forward. Then another, my gaze locked with its.
"Go," I said, injecting a little growl in my voice as I waved my gun. Then, louder, "Go! Scram!"
I lunged. The coyote took off. They usually will. I have to deal with them and stray dogs at the lodge, and while I wouldn't suggest confronting one for fun, I can read the dominance and submission signals well enough. This guy had been uncertain, and belligerence from a larger predator was all it took to help it decide.
I pushed aside long grass to get into the thicket. It was bigger than it had seemed. Bigger than it should be, really, in the natural landscape of the forest. A large empty space blanketed by dead leaves . . . when most of the overhanging trees were evergreens.
"Jack?" I said.
There was silence at first, and my heart started to pound. I said it louder and he came on, his voice tinny and distant, as if we'd neared the end of our range.
"I'm in," he said. "No sign of him."
"I . . . think you need to come out here."
CHAPTER 44