C. Box - Cold Wind

He nodded as if he agreed. The gun was in his lap but still pointed at her, almost casually. He said, “But you understand that if you play at this level, the concept of mercy doesn’t exist. You do understand that?”

Her mouth was suddenly so dry she couldn’t speak. She clamped her hands between her thighs so they wouldn’t tremble. She’d done well, she thought, up to now. But she was losing it.

“My girls. ” she said, her voice a croak.

“You should have thought of them before you went west,” Nate said. “That would have been a good time to think of consequences if you failed.”

“I know,” she said, and dropped her head. Tears fell from her eyes onto the inside lenses of her sunglasses and pooled there.

“There are people out there who want me gone,” Nate said. “They’ve sent a couple of professionals out over the years, but I put them down. And I thought I was off the map so far they’d never find me. But you did. A nice mom from Chicago. If it weren’t for what happened to Alisha, I could almost admire that.”

She began to weep deep down from her chest. She couldn’t help it and wished she could stop.

He said, “You obviously met someone in Wyoming who told you how to find me. And he or she probably helped you get your hands on a rocket launcher. I can’t imagine you can buy them on the street here as easily as I can buy a gun in Chicago.”

She said, “Yes. I met someone.”

Nate said, “What was the name?”

She told Nate, but said she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t feeding her a line. After all, she’d told everyone her name was Patsy.

He described the man’s physical features, and she agreed it was him. But it was hard to hear him through the roaring in her ears.

Finally, Nate said, “Keep your mouth shut. You never met me. This is over. We both lost our lovers. But always keep in mind that I found you and that I can find you again. This time, think of those two girls of yours.”

And with that, he was gone.

When she was recovered enough, she got out and stumbled toward the front of the car, not sure her legs had the strength to keep her upright. She pitched forward and caught herself on the hood and the metal was so hot it burned her palms. Despite the heat and the humidity and the sun, she felt a chill race through her.

She raised her head, looking for him. She wasn’t sure which direction he’d gone. The grassy hill between her and the city had a few couples on it sitting on blankets, oblivious to what had just happened. Or nearly happened.

Then she turned toward the pier itself. It was crowded with tourists, but one tall man with dark hair was among them. He paused at the railing, and she saw two objects drop and splash into the lake. The guns.

She looked at her watch. An hour before she needed to pick up the girls. Enough time for a drink, or maybe two. She needed them like she’d never needed a drink before.

Nate leaned against the railing on the pier away from the crowds. He didn’t throw the weapons into the water, but let the weapons drop out of his hands so his movements wouldn’t be obvious to anyone.

The name she’d given him had shocked him at first, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. The dots connected.

He checked his watch. He had time to return the rental and catch a red-eye back to Jackson Hole, to his Jeep, to his.500.

He wasn’t through, after all.

Driving north on I-25 approaching Chugwater, Joe scrolled down through the call records on his cell phone, looking for a number from several weeks before when Dulcie Schalk had called him from her cell to ask questions about a poaching case. He highlighted the number and pushed SEND. She picked up on the third ring.

“Joe?” she asked, her surprise obvious.

“Since it’s after hours I didn’t know whether to call the office, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” he said.

“We’re neck deep in work, Joe,” she said. “Getting ready for opening arguments next week. I really don’t have much time right now, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure,” he said, “but there’s some new information you need to know. I’d never call otherwise.”

“So this is about the Alden case.” It was a statement, not a question, and she sounded disappointed in him.

“Yup.”

There was a heavy sigh. “Joe, you know the situation. You’re personally involved in this whole thing, and it’s inappropriate to contact me after hours to lobby for your side.”

Joe eased his pickup over to the shoulder of the highway and parked. The few lights of Chugwater were in his rearview mirror. To the west, three heavy-bodied clouds sat suspended over the bluffs of the horizon, their rose-colored bellies lit by the setting sun. When he turned the key off in the ignition, the sweet smell of desert sage filled the cab. “I’m not calling to lobby,” he said evenly, “and I don’t have a side.”

The tone of his voice seemed to jar her. She said, “But I thought. ”

“I need you to listen to me for five minutes. If you think I’m lobbying you after that, I’ll hang up and wait for you to lose the trial. Is that the way you want to go here?”

“No,” she said, with a slight hesitation. “Okay, I’ve got five minutes.”

He filled her in on his conversation with Bob Lee and what Marybeth had found online about Rope the Wind, which had led him to Orin Smith.

“He’s in federal custody,” Joe said. “I interviewed him at the Federal Building in Cheyenne.”

“Under whose authority?” she bristled.

“Under mine,” he said. “But for the record, both the governor and the federal agent in charge knew I was there and what I was doing. In fact, the FBI listened in to the interview.”

He could tell by her silence that she had no foreknowledge of Orin Smith or his connection to Rope the Wind, and therefore Smith’s previous efforts to get a wind energy company started in Twelve Sleep County among the landowners. He wasn’t surprised, since the sheriff’s investigation had taken them no further than Missy. He hoped she wouldn’t get defensive and territorial and shut him down before he heard him out. Joe knew Schalk didn’t like surprises, and he’d seen how she bristled when others offered speculation with nothing to back them up. And like every county attorney Joe had ever worked with, she hated it when investigators struck out on their own.

She said, “This man, Orin Smith, he’s in federal custody? And I assume this testimony might help him out at sentencing? Why should I think he’s a credible witness?”

“Good point,” Joe said. “You have no reason to believe anything he says right now. He’s up for eleven counts of fraud, after all. I’m not sure I believe everything he told me. But please jot down what I relate to you and check him out on your own and make your own decision. And keep in mind Sheriff McLanahan wants a big simple win over a rich woman nobody likes. He’s never wanted to look any further than her, and he’s never focused on anybody else. Dulcie, neither have you.”

“Continue,” she said. Her tone was ice cold.

Joe said, “The other night, I heard Earl Alden described as a skimmer. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant at the time or why it would matter. But now I have a better idea.

“Alden was connected politically and professionally,” Joe said. “And that seems to be the way it works these days. Success has nothing to do with ideas or inventions or hard work. It’s about who you know and which politician may pick you to succeed. The Earl was a skimmer with no personal ideology. He gave big money to folks in both parties and made sure they knew it. That way he was always covered no matter who won. For The Earl it was like investing in research and development: He was never sure who would pay off. If there was an opportunity, he was right there with his hand out. And when it came to this big push for wind energy development, The Earl was right there ready to rock with the new administration in Washington and all their green initiatives.”