Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

“You just called it off,” she said. “Just like that?”

She sounded angry.

“I thought you’d be happy with that,” I said. “No one gets hurt.”

“And I don’t have to share you with her… is that what you think of me?”

“Uh… what?”

“You really think I want Sara gone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I tried to get her back, Baptiste. I pleaded with Sky.”

“I know you did.”

“You say that… but you don’t want anything to do with me now.”

“What are you talking about?”

She started to cry. “You haven’t touched me since she was taken.”

It had been longer than that. I hadn’t touched her since the day we’d caught those kids, when Sara had let them go and then run away… the day when we’d finally talked about being together.

I’d been in a holding pattern. I hadn’t decided what to do. And with Sara being taken from me…

“I’m sorry, Kayla,” I said. “I love you.”

“That’s your stock answer, Baptiste. You love me… you love Sara… is there any woman you don’t love?”

“I can’t deal with this right now. I have shit to deal with.”

“You can’t blame me for this. It’s not fair. I didn’t do this to her.”

She turned away.

I grabbed her shoulder and brought her back to me.

I kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you, Kayla,” I said. “It’s just hard to focus on anything other than getting one of our people back.”

“Do you blame me for what’s happened?”

“What? No… it’s not your fault. If anything, it’s my fault. I should have dealt with Justin a long time ago. And I still haven’t dealt with him. I should have let him die in that ditch.”

“Do you still want me?”

“Yes. I still want you.”

“Then prove it.” She was still crying.

“Like right now?”

She nodded. “Upstairs.”

She turned and walked over to the stairs.

I followed.

We went into my bedroom.

We took off our clothes and we laid together under the sheets.

I rubbed her back, her shoulder, and her neck, occasionally pressing my lips against her skin.

That was all she seemed to need.

After a few minutes she fell asleep.

Today is Friday, January 11th.

I received a message this morning before I’d even woken up.

It was sent from Gerald Archibald, but it wasn’t Gerald Archibald. It was Ryan Stems. Evidently, Matt hadn’t switched back to disabling their access.

We need to talk. This whole situation has gotten messed up. Let’s meet. Just the two of us. Hwy 652 over the Abitibi River at noon. Bring an appetite.

“It’s a trap,” Kayla said when I showed her my tablet. “He wants to take you into custody for the attack on Archibald.”

“He doesn’t need to trap me,” I said. “If he wanted to he could crash through our gates and shoot every last one of us.”

“That’s a happy thought.”

“It’s a happy day.”

“You’re not going to go…”

“I’m a curious person, Kayla. I have to find out what he wants.”

“He wants you dead.”

“I don’t think so. Gerald Archibald might want me dead. Maybe. But not Ryan Stems.”

“You are going to feel pretty stupid when he shoots you in the head. And you know what? I’ll just laugh and say ‘I told you so’.”

“You’d laugh?”

“I’d laugh.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss. “Seriously, though… don’t go.”

But she knew I was going.

I told Lisa what was happening, and she and Graham went with me with the cart to 652, while Kayla and Matt headed over to the Marchands to see about setting up another defensive line across the road.

“He’s going to kill you,” Graham said.

“He won’t kill you,” Lisa said. “But if he does… well, oops.”

I laughed. I guess it was a nervous laugh.

“So if he tries to take you?” Lisa asked.

“Run up and shoot him,” I said. “Or shoot me. Just shoot somebody.”

“Will do, boss.”

Graham stopped the cart at a driveway to one of the burnt-out houses, two back from the bridge.

I hopped down and started walking toward the river, with just my SIG and my vest. Graham and Lisa had a third helmet with them, but it wouldn’t do me any good back on the cart.

As I approached the bridge I could see Stems through the metal gate, sitting at what appeared to be a folding wood table, like you’d see at a garden reception. He was sitting alone, but I could see a couple of trucks on the far side of the bridge.

He raised a hand straight into the air, some kind of wave.

I did the same.

I reached the gate and pulled out my key.

“It’s a good gate,” Stems said. “I’m not even sure we could bust through it without a tank or something.”

“Then I guess you’d better get yourself a tank,” I said.

“Working on it.”

I disabled the alarm with my dongle, and stepped through the gate. I relocked and reactivated on the other side.

“We’re thinking of getting our own gate,” Stems said. “Come and sit down, Baptiste. I think you’ll like what we’ve got for lunch.”

It was a little cold for dinner on a patio, but I sat down.

There was nothing on the table.

“Where’s Sara Vachon?” I asked.

“We’ll talk about her. Don’t worry… we’ll get there.”

I saw a young woman walking toward us. It was Stems’ young wife, Anna, carrying two plates.

She placed one down in front of me, and then the other in front of Stems. On my plate was a stack of four pancakes, with a square of butter on the top.

“Thank you,” I said to her.

She nodded and walked back toward the trucks.

“There’s more,” Stems said. “Hold on.”

Another young native woman came to the table with a porcelain pitcher of syrup and a matching bowl. In the bowl were fresh bananas, cut into pieces.

I thanked her.

She smiled and kept standing by the table.

“All the way from Georgia,” Stems said.

“That’s something.”

He smiled. “I’m trying to impress you, Baptiste.”

“I’m already seeing someone.”

“These bananas came up the Mississippi on a barge. Then they put them on a truck and drove them across Michigan and dropped them off in Sudbury. That’s where we got them.”

“The Mississippi doesn’t run through Georgia.”

“That was the abbreviated version. Anyway, Anna’s sister Genevieve went down to Sudbury and picked them up just for us.” He looked up at the young woman beside the table. “Thank you again, Genevieve.”

“My pleasure,” she said. She smiled at me again and then she left the table.

I had a feeling that Stems was trying to keep me distracted with his cavalcade of pretty girls. Apparently my reputation has spread.

“You’re supposed to ask how she got to Sudbury,” Stems said. “Come on, Baptiste… you have to know a little bit about the local geography to get the full effect.”

“I know the fastest way to get from Mississauga to Markham during rush hour. That’s about it.”

“Humour me.”

“Okay… so how did she get to Sudbury?”

“Through Timmins. You see Baptiste, I can send my wife’s little sister — with a light escort — through a town run by a motorcycle gang, without the slightest need to worry for her well-being. Because the Mushkegowuk Nation is strong enough to earn their respect.”