Though the doctor, a neurologist, tried to be encouraging, there was something in her eyes that warned Cade against expecting miracles.
“Some people recover, if not fully, then nearly,” she’d said to Cade, “but some people don’t. We’re doing everything we can and I, personally, have talked to my colleagues around the country who have dealt with this kind of trauma. That’s the good news, that we’re linked by computer to the best hospitals in the world, so I can assure you we are giving your brother the best level of care possible.” She smiled and touched Cade on the arm. “I hear the sheriff’s a fighter, so try to have some faith,” she suggested while her eyes had soundlessly warned him to brace himself.
He’d left Northern General and Missoula with the feeling of doom dragging him down.
It hasn’t yet been a week, he reminded himself as the attack had been Christmas morning, but New Year’s was fast approaching, and in a few days he wouldn’t be able to offer himself that bit of false hope.
Then there was Hattie and the girls.
What a mess that was.
The bartender, a redhead with a tattoo peeking from the open collar of her blouse and who definitely didn’t look old enough to serve, slid an old-fashioned glass filled with peanuts his direction. He caught it before it went past and she offered him a sexy little smile. He tipped his head, silently thanking her, but that was the end of it.
There had been a day when he’d taken any subtle flirtation as an invitation and reacted. Usually, whatever had ensued had ended up badly.
But he wasn’t interested, he thought, downing his beer and leaving enough cash on the bar to cover a hefty tip.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever again.
Alvarez didn’t share Pescoli’s enthusiasm that they were going to catch Verdago, haul him off, and extract a confession for the attempted murder of the sheriff and the killing of Judge Samuels-Piquard. Just because a vehicle that looked like Carnie Tibalt’s was heading in the general direction of Vincent Samuels’s cabin, didn’t mean that Verdago was holed up there, and the picture of the van wasn’t as clear as it could have been, the image of the driver and his companion blurry. She wasn’t even sure that the passenger was a woman, much less Carnival Tibalt.
“You said there are dozens of places to hide in this section of Montana. Verdago might not be at Samuels’s cabin.”
“Maybe.”
“But you think he’ll be there.”
“I’m hoping.” She hit the wipers as the snow that had been falling off and on all day was definitely on again, dusk descending, darkness ahead as the lights of the city faded behind them. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Yeah,” Alvarez said as Pescoli drove north of the city,
“Maybe Verdago will be sitting around a table playing poker with the Zodiac Killer, D.B. Cooper, and Jack the Ripper.”
“Fun group,” Pescoli said dryly.
“Masters of evasion.”
Zoller had rounded up Pete Watershed and they were following, about a mile behind, keeping in contact via the radio and cell phones. Of course, Manny Douglas was probably in the mix as well, following at a distance, but wanting to be on the scene and, probably, getting in the way. Though Pescoli had ordered him to back off, that was unlikely. The man wasn’t stupid; he wouldn’t blow the assignment or get in the line of fire. Hopefully.
“Did you know that Brewster had a rifle stolen recently? Remington .30-06. Same caliber we’re looking for. Stolen right after Thanksgiving and, I checked, he reported it.”
“Coincidence?” Pescoli asked.
“Maybe. Common gun.”
“What the hell is that all about? His house is broken into and then the attacks?” Pescoli’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. I’m going to do some more digging.”
“Good.” The road wound upward, through the forest, where the frozen conifers, covered in white, knifed upward, seeming to pierce the darkening sky.
They talked about the break-in at Brewster’s house, trying to fit it into the mix, and all the while Alvarez’s nerves were strung tight as she thought about the upcoming confrontation. Would they find Verdago, armed to the teeth? She glanced at her partner and noticed, as Pescoli turned a tight corner, the ring on her left hand. “So, you gave in to the ultimatum, huh? The one you went off about the other day in the diner.”
“What?”
“You’re engaged,” Alvarez said.<