Aimee Thurlo - When Lightning Strikes

Mr. Silentman, who’d been silent until now, suddenly spoke. “In that case, we’ll take care of things from here, Mr. Jones. Lightning is your operative and will handle your case exclusively. You can expect results, and soon. One more thing. May I assume that this paper sack contains what I asked for—an item of her clothing with her scent on it?”

Jones nodded. “It’s a blouse from her laundry hamper.”

“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Mr. Jones. Lightning will be in touch just as soon as we have something.”

After the client left, Daniel waited for Silentman’s final instructions.

“Your usual backup is ready, Lightning. He’ll meet you in the garage by the agency’s SUV. Your cousin will deliver him to you.”

“I really prefer to handle this on my own.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” Silentman said handing him the paper sack. “Here. Should the right opportunity arise, your partner will put this to good use.”

Daniel didn’t argue further, knowing it would be futile. After parking his pickup in the warehouse’s garage, he went to retrieve the SUV. The agency’s sport utility vehicle was equipped with a lot of extras. It came with camping gear, a cell phone and pager, flashlights, shovels, special “run flat” tires that would allow them to be useable even after being punctured, and a global positioning system that enabled the operative to determine his exact location at any time.

Taking the paper bag containing Hannah Jones’s blouse, he walked across the garage. Suddenly, an enormous black-and-gray German shepherd mix came bounding across the covered parking area toward him. Right before he reached Daniel, the dog stopped abruptly as if he’d suddenly hit the brakes. Unable to counter his momentum, the wild-looking dog slid a few inches farther, then came to a rest sitting perfectly, his front paws touching the tips of Daniel’s boots.

Daniel stared at the dog, then nodded to his cousin, Ben Wanderer, who followed half a dozen feet behind. Ben’s code name was Wind and he specialized in a different type of case—those requiring subtlety, a low profile and a minimum amount of violence. He’d just returned from assignment today.

Daniel glanced back down at the dog. The massive beast’s head came up to Daniel’s belt, though Daniel was five foot eleven.

“Why the hell did they name him Wolf?” Daniel muttered, glancing over at Ben. “You can tell he’s mostly German shepherd.”

The animal’s eyes seemed to narrow, and Wolf growled low and deeply.

“You could try explaining genetics to him if you feel that strongly about it,” Ben said with a shrug.

Daniel stared at the dog, whose eyes remained riveted on him. “Maybe not,” he said, wisely recanting. “Time to go to work, Wolf.”

The animal trotted off, leading the way back to the SUV and waiting by the passenger side for Daniel to open the door. When Daniel reached for the back door, Wolf barked once.

Daniel muttered a curse. “Yeah, yeah. I forgot. You ride shotgun.” He opened the front passenger’s door and Wolf leaped up gracefully onto the seat, then turned to look forward, sitting upright.

As he backed out of the parking space, Daniel waved at Ben, then caught a glimpse of Riley Stewart coming to join his cousin. Ben and he had accidentally discovered that the muscular blonde was a member of the Pack a few months ago. They’d been dressing in the locker room at the gym in Farmington and Riley had just returned from the showers. As they’d each seen the very small tattoo of a gray wolf inside their left forearms at their pulse point, a spot normally concealed by their wristwatches, the three had known they were brothers in arms.

That knowledge had strengthened their friendship although they’d never spoken of their affiliation or their assignments. Neither Ben nor he knew Riley’s code name, but an awareness of the role they shared had created a formidable bond between them despite the fact that agency policy dictated the investigators remain anonymous, even to each other, except under dire circumstances.

The reasoning for that rule was admittedly sound. As investigators, their ability to go undercover as well as their safety would have been severely compromised if their identities weren’t guarded.

As an added precaution for the investigators who lived and worked in the same area, the agency’s P.I.s, as a general rule, were prohibited from actively trying to identify the other members of the Pack, or if by chance they already knew another member, from fraternizing in public. This would prevent someone who knew one of them was a Gray Wolf from identifying the others by checking on his associates.

The tattoo itself carried the most risk, of course, but it served a vital function. Special care had been taken to make it small, and easily concealable by a wristwatch, but in case one of the investigators ever needed emergency assistance—when undercover and with a fake ID, for example—the small tattoo would always insure allies had a way to identify each other.

As Daniel pulled out into the street, Wolf moved sideways, panting in Daniel’s ear.

“Wolf, give me some room, will ya? Only ladies are allowed to blow in my ear.”

The animal gagged as if he’d just eaten grass.

“Can the sarcasm.” He’d never wanted to work with a dog, but Handler hadn’t given him a choice. Since all the Gray Wolf operatives were expected to work alone, Handler provided Wolf when backup would be a benefit.

The problem was, Daniel had never been a dog person. As far as he was concerned, having an animal around, especially one the size of Wolf, was just one more complication. Still, he couldn’t deny the big beast was smart, and had made himself useful on every job they’d been paired for.

“For your information, our mission this time concerns a lady, so try to keep the dog hair and slime off the seats.”

Wolf stared at him a moment, then turned to look out the window.

A BRIEF STOP at the tribal police station in Shiprock gave Daniel his first lead. One of his ex-colleagues had reported passing a car driven by a woman resembling the photo Daniel had showed him, though he’d only had a glimpse of her and couldn’t be sure. He’d thought he’d heard her honk as he drove by and glanced back, but she’d turned off the road and had seemed to be all right, so he’d gone on to answer the emergency call he’d been assigned.

On the strength of that information, although the description of the car didn’t seem to match Hannah Jones’s vehicle, Daniel drove farther into the Reservation until he reached the narrow paved road that led through the foothills and piñon forest. Out of habit he checked his rearview mirror periodically and, before long, spotted a vehicle in the distance.

Heeding the prickle at the base of his neck, he turned off the road at the next dirt path, then looped back. He’d either lose whoever it was, or end up behind them, if he was being followed.

He waited, watching in both directions, but the highway appeared empty. Confident now that the vehicle he’d seen hadn’t been a tail, he continued on his way.

Daniel kept turning off on side roads, looking for houses where Hannah Jones might have gone to ground, but he found no sign that anyone had passed that way recently. Eventually, he reached a place that had a new gate locking the access road and a fence that suggested there was a house or dwelling somewhere farther up the hill. The Private Property sign on the gate backed that idea up.

There was only one way to find out if Hannah Jones had come this way. Daniel parked beside the padlocked gate and climbed out of his vehicle. Checking the ground he saw footprints.

Retrieving the paper sack from the back of the SUV, Daniel came around to the passenger side and opened the door. He held up the cotton blouse the deacon had provided in front of the dog’s nose, allowing him to catch the scent.