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“Oh. Yes. Thanks to my son, the whole department heard.” Pescoli glanced at her partner. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be pissed that I didn’t tell you personally.”
“I was just going to offer congratulations.”
“Good.”
“Just thought I’d acknowledge it. You can tell me about it later, when we’re not in the middle of this.”
“Maybe then I’ll be in the mood to talk about girlie stuff.”
“Not likely.”
She finally scared a smile out of Pescoli, who changed the subject with, “Okay, I think we turn off in about a quarter of a mile.”
“Got it.” Alvarez said, focusing again on the task at hand. She called Watershed and Zoller, explaining their position, as Pescoli cranked the wheel and the Jeep veered off the main highway and headed deeper into the mountains. The plan was to park the cars out of view from the cabin and hike in. Pescoli and Alvarez would secure the front of the building, Zoller and Watershed the back. Two other units were patrolling the area and were on standby should they need to be called in. Alvarez prayed that wasn’t the case, and that the capture of Maurice Verdago would be swift and without incident.
Then there was Manny Douglas, jonesing for a story, anxious to be a part of the action and record it all, though Pescoli had been firm and succinct when she’d ordered him to stay put. When, if ever, had that happened?
“Here we go,” Alvarez said, checking her GPS, which could be spotty in these desolate areas, but today, at least was working. The lane into the cabin showed tire tracks. “Someone’s been here recently.”
“Maybe it’s just Samuels,” Pescoli said.
But Alvarez could feel her excitement, the electricity in the car, and it infected her as well.
Pescoli checked the rearview. “Zoller and Watershed caught up.” Her hands flexed and opened over the wheel, her gaze focused hard on the narrow, winding double set of ruts cutting through the stands of hemlock, pine, and spruce. No lights glittered through the massive trunks; no sounds reached their ears as they pulled closer to the lake and Vincent Samuels’s hideaway.
“Let’s hope this isn’t a bust.” This all felt a little rash, which, of course, was the way Pescoli ran all aspects of her life, personal to professional. Alvarez had been cautious and played by the rules ever since a collar that had gone terribly wrong while she was with the department in San Bernardino.
Maybe too much so.
Still, she was nervous going into this. As Pescoli cut the lights and drove around a final bend in the lane, she checked her service weapon and thought of Dan Grayson still fighting for his life in a hospital bed at Northern General.
“Any closer and Verdago might see the headlights.” Pescoli parked below a rise in the road and Watershed’s county vehicle tucked in behind her. Without a word, they climbed out of their SUVs and walked along the lane until they saw the cabin, dark except for the light in one window, a flickering golden patch that reflected on the snow. Through thickets of trees the lake stretched wide beyond them.
The rustic cabin with its crumbling rock chimney and paned windows was small and square. Set on the forested shores of the lake, the building was slightly decrepit with a tiny porch tacked on right in the middle of the structure. Its snow-flocked roof sagged a bit, yet the cottage had a quaintness and serenity good enough to grace a Christmas card. May joy and peace be with you this holiday season . . .
Verdago’s hideout? Oh, God, please let this go without incident, Alvarez thought, switching off the safety of her sidearm.
As the scent of wood smoke wafted in the cold winter air and snow fell in fat, heavy flakes, Alvarez began to sweat.
A single-car garage had been built ten feet off the front porch of the cabin and tire tracks in the snow led to the lowered door.
Someone was home.
Alvarez’s stomach tightened. She caught movement in her peripheral vision and spied Watershed.
Armed with a rifle and his sidearm, he checked the garage and shook his head, indicating the building was locked tight. He held out a gloved hand and spread his fingers wide, indicating he needed five minutes to get into position and secure the back of the house.
As he and Zoller slipped through the trees flanking the lake side, Alvarez hit the stopwatch feature on her phone. They’d go in when everyone was in position, but these last minutes of waiting would be excruciating, her muscles jumping.
Like San Bernardino.
Was it possible that this was a setup? Were they being lured into a deadly trap? Her mind jumped ahead to all the ways this capture could go wrong.
A shadow passed by the window.
Something felt off about this and she wondered if they should hold off, call in the backups, warn Brewster what was going down....