Chapter 4

I froze, duty and fear and feelings all balled up. I had just left my badge, keys to the truck and letter on Walt's desk. My gun was my own, but in good standing. I was not under investigation, nor had I any obligation here, except…I did.

Ferg stepped up. "I can go—"

And the line on hold popped up. Lucian almost looked frightened after the call.

"That was Janine over at DM, officially notifying us that Walker Browning's escaped."

He had reason to look frightened. He knew it was too many bad guys against too little us. It was the odds we pretended not to see, the ones which only happened rarely, but anytime was too often in a tiny department.

"Browning headed toward Walt's cabin?" I asked, already heading back to Walt's office to retrieve my duty items.

"No," Lucian said. "Witness reported leaving in an old tan Mercury, driving toward the Rez."

Okay, so an automatic WTF escaped me…I try to limit myself when Ruby's there, but Lucian's almost worse. He hates it from a woman. Ruby's seen stuff, but she still flinches at my language. Lucian just puffs up in outrage. Walt's the only one who ever just laughed at it…said once he'd heard worse the first five minutes as a raw recruit at Boot Camp, on of his rare references to his tour of duty in the Marines. I would almost die to see those pictures.

And it hit me. I couldn't respond to Walt. I might shoot him myself, or by mistake. Or in my frame of mind, not by mistake. I wasn't sure of myself anymore.

I took advantage of my Undersheriff presence, unused since Walt's self-proscribed exile, to organize our response to the crisis. "Ferg, head to Walt's. You take lead if there's a crime scene. Eammon should be in shortly, we'll radio him in to be your backup. I'll head over to the Rez. Maybe I can get Mathias to help."

"Yeah, right," said Ferg, already yanking out vests, with the skepticism I felt, but I couldn't let Browning terrorize anyone again. "You need backup, too, Vic."

"I can go," said Lucian. "I'll call Ruby and ask her to come back. This is a real situation."

"Lucian," I said, because he actually might be a help, but probably couldn't keep up with me over the terrain I'd be covering, "You know I can't deputize you. Only Walt can."

"That guy is bad news, Vic," said Ferg. "Sheriff was lucky to get off a shot to disable him…He might be slower now, but worse wounded, like an animal."

"If I locate him, I'll call it in," I reassured him. "By that time, Eammon should be finished up there and can find me," I reasoned, as he handed me my vest. I didn't put it on, but would. I knew all too well how dangerous Browning was. I'd seen dozens of Brownings in Philly. They were mostly gangbangers, there.

If I'd known where he was, I would have sent Henry out to Walt's cabin with the Ferg and taken Eammon had that had been an option. Henry would have known what to do there. No one ever talked about his prowess with weapons, but he had been deputized a number of times over the years. I had heard rumors about a tomahawk, among other things.

Mathias replied as I expected, but at least I had tried. On the radio, Mathias was at least consistent. "I have no jurisdiction over a white dude, Philly, you know that."

I knew that. "I know, but if anyone sights him, can you radio me?"

I could hear him think, maybe pressing his lips together as made his executive decision. "I believe we could do that for you. We don't want him here anymore than you do."

"Thanks.

The truck and I flew to the Rez, but the chatter tried to stop my heart. Ferg, panicked, Walt wrestling with an intruder, protecting Dr. Monaghan in the bedroom. They had been in the bedroom together.

I tried to ignore the life being sucked out of me, and the desire to respond as backup after all, but Ferg called in saying the situation had been handled "with an assist from Zach?"—of all people!—they had the suspect apprehended and cuffed, on the way to the hospital. Where Walker Browning should have been, too…who had helped him escape?

Mathias broke in, just as I heard an ambulance headed to the cabin was turned back. I heaved a sigh of relief at that.

"Your suspect has been spotted in an old tan car driving down Warlance Road past the convenience store. Sketchy enough, but…

I keyed the mike. "Ferg, I'm at the Rez near the spot where Browning was spotted past the convenience store on Warlance Road. Can Eammon break away to follow me in as back up while you and Zach process the crime scene?"

In the background, I heard what sounded like Eammon saying, "Sheriff, here are your pants."

Shit. My heart plummeted from where it had been. They'd been naked together in the bedroom…well, it may not have been the first time. What had I expected after telling him about me and Eammon like that?

I passed the convenience store and soon after saw tracks veering off the road on a dirt trail up into the scrub.

"I'm going in at the RedRoad 4 trail head. Moretti out."

As I hung the mike back up, I could hear Walt in the background, shouting, "Give me that. Vic, Vic! Do you hear me? Stand down. I'll be out there in half an hour and we'll go in together."

Fuck that, fuck him. That's what partners would do. Not cheaters. We were both cheaters, and we both knew that. We couldn't trust each other anymore, so we couldn't partner anymore. Simple as that. I didn't want to be the one to freeze up and not pull the trigger, the most likely scenario here for Toxic Vic to notch the next death on her bedpost.

I was out of the car and up the path at a trot in a minute, hauling on my vest, scouting likely locations where any ambushes might originate. A few hundred feet up, the tracks stopped, and a tan Mercury per the description sat there. I approached it cautiously, but it was empty, keys gone, doors closed.

I kept moving. Sitting duck? Maybe, but I kept an erratic path and once in the brush used some of the tricks Henry and Walt had taught me over the years. Nothing, so I kept moving as quietly as possible. I didn't have Henry's natural stealth, but neither was I a moose. It took me a while to get up the incline.

I rounded the first bend, hanging to the trees, and got a glimpse of metal, before I dived for cover. The report from the weapon…I estimated it to be a rifle or shotgun…was nothing more than a tiny crack, more of a pop, from distance, but I was fortunate not to be hit.

I heard brush from another direction, thinking it couldn't possibly be any kind of backup for me—and went flying avoiding a volley of reports smashing into the tree next to me.

Shit. Two of the cocksuckers?The vest had save me from most of the inevitable splinters…a shotgun blast, there was only a little blood, from my left arm somewhere, I could deal with that, but the arm was almost numb. From behind the tree, I saw that the guy who'd emerged a few feet to the right of me was none other than Walker Browning with some sort of a handgun, looked like a Glock similar to mine. The shotgun still glinted from a distance.

"Not you again, bitch! Now you'll get a taste of the Rez!"

Walker fired again, but didn't nick the tree, not a real good shot, maybe, and concentrating, I popped off two. He went down easy, not wearing a vest. He could afford hubris when on the Rez, I guessed, but I was not taking any chances whether he was down and out, or playing dead. Like a wounded bull, he tried to stand as I charged him, and when I connected I kicked him where it hurt just like my brothers had taught me eons ago as a twelve year old in Philly. He screamed and dropped his gun. Who knew a burly man like that could squeal like a girl?

I got his gun, his hand in a wristlock and flipped him, even as he moaned and covered his genitals with his other hand. I cuffed the available one, then yanked the other away from the genitals so it could join its friend in bracelets. He was still making mewling distress sounds. I grabbed zip-ties from my pocket (I had learned well from Walt, whose capacious pockets were always filled with surprises) and secured his ankles.

Yeah, yeah, try and get away now, you scumbag! Anybody try and I'll take them down, too!

He had switched to words. The language was impressive, and my subconscious took lessons even as I worked.

I stood, a little wobbly because my left arm hurt like a sonafabitch, and forced myself through the opening in the trees nearer to where a familiar figure was still standing, no doubt trying to ascertain the outcome of our little scuffle. It was indeed our jailbird, who had taunted us repeatedly. When he saw it was me who had prevailed, he raised the shotgun to fire.

My hand automatically responded, even as I went down, gasping like a fish. The rifle reports stopped, but so had I. Time stopped. All I heard were the birds tentatively resuming song in the branches, and Walker Browning moaning to himself behind the stand of trees.

Then, it seemed like ages later, I heard as if from a distance, "Over here, Walt!" I kind of remember the next few minutes as a kind of chaos, but I took comfort as I recognized the familiar securing of the perimeter and comforting triage of the injured.

"Get an ambulance to the trailhead, Ferg." It was Walt, wearing one of the green vests I had forced him to wear on the Branch hunt. Ferg must have forced the issue, good man. In a moment of trivial clarity, I observed that at least Walt had clothes on at this point.

"Eammon has the radio."

"Now!"

He scooped me up and was striding along with me. The pain was unimaginable. I knew the vest had saved me, but there was blood on Walt's shirt where his coat was open. I saw gauze there, so it must not be my blood—yet.

"I'll get blood on you." "I tried to struggle, but it hurt and I saw stars. Then I remembered the pants comment over the radio and tried again, with more heat. "Don't touch me with those dirty Donna hands, you sonafabitch. Put me down, I can walk."

"No."

It wasn't that I minded being carried, it was that I didn't want to be carried by him, when I knew where those hands had been…

"Put me down!" I hated when my voice rose. I had much better luck with cretins using my lower registers.

"No."

"Shithead!"

The jostling had its effect, and I thought it must've been a relief for him. I stopped talking, biting my lip against the pain, and I kind of faded away for a bit.

I remember the ambulance had not arrived yet when we got down there. I heard later it had dropped Monte Ford at DM and then raced on up to us. Walt deposited me at the base of a pine, only breathing a little harder than usual, but Ferg had been winded just trotting behind him.

Gotta get that youngster in a training program, I thought in one of those lightheaded moments you get, before I remembered I didn't work at ASD anymore.

Then, I'm a little fuzzy on this, but I swear he kneeled beside me on one knee, kissed my forehead and caressed my cheek.

"Wake up, Vic. The ambulance is here. You're gonna be fine." He turned his head to Ferg. "Ride with her. Try to keep her awake. After they've got her safe, you head back to the cabin to finish the crime scene."

And he was gone back up the path. I know, I had supplied him with yet another crime scene to secure, this time with Eammon.

It hurt a lot. I wasn't sure how long I could endure it. I faded out again, until roused as the EMTs as they began to poke me for an IV, and performing triage. Ferg was sitting anxiously by the rear door.

"Ferg. go back. Assist Walt. He needs you. I'm fine. Go."

"Eammon's with him, and Walt told me to stay with you." I had done what Walt wanted before, and he always seemed to get hurt when I did.

"That's true, but those were his orders." The Ferg looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Had I said that aloud?

"No, you, Ferg. He was a victim today, too. Don't let him start thinking. I'm refusing to have you ride with me. Nothing personal. Go back and help him, then do the cabin."

"You sure?"

"Why're you still here, Ferg?" I heard my voice go lower, knew it was a Walt-ism, but I was becoming breathless, and didn't have much more to offer.

He began to back out of the ambulance.

"Walker Browning?" I croaked.

"Him, and his little friend, too, Vic. You got 'em both."

"Alive?"

No answer. Hmmm…maybe I should have put my gun on Walt's desk and left the office earlier that evening.

At the hospital, they did a bunch of tests and more assessments before surgery to remove a few stray splinters and a couple of bone fragments from my humerus. I didn't think it was humorous at all until they gave me the first shot, after which I thought everything was very humorous.

I remember lying on the gurney, Walt striding up looking as grim as I'd ever seen him. His face swam into my vision, de-blurred a little.

The drugs tried to let me smile. "I told Ferg not to let you start thinking. I wagged the finger that didn't have the oxygen monitor on it in his face. Stop thinking!"

"Just hang on, Vic. You're gonna be fine."

I began to laugh. Must be happy juice they gave me.

I heard a sing-song voice, reciting. "I see Paris, I see France, I heard Eam give Walt his pants…"

I was out.