used for another purpose.
His stomach clenched.
Joe looked up to see Nate gesturing at him furiously to come over to where he stood at the water’s edge.
As Joe walked over, he had a sickening premonition of what he might find. Nate bent down and pointed toward the discharge pipe several inches below the surface of the river. A long white ribbon of some kind had caught on an underwater twig and undulated in the flow. Nate reached into the water and pulled the ribbon free, stretching it across both of his hands so they could look at it.
It was human skin. White human skin. On the bottom of the ribbon was a dark blue stencil of some kind, a series of three consecutive horizontal lines. Through his horror, Joe realized what they were.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. “That’s the top of some lettering, T-E-E.” He looked up at Nate. “From the word ‘ABDUCTEE.’ It’s from Deena.
She had it tattooed across her abdomen. The son of a bitch skinned her.”
Now, Joe was angry. Everything he had been feeling previously—
frustration, embarrassment, outright fear as they descended into the trees—channeled into rage.
“Let’s find him and take him out,” he said over his shoulder to Nate as he strode to the pickup. Tilting the bench seat forward, Joe drew his shotgun from its scabbard. It was still loaded with double-ought buckshot shells.
Nate followed. “Joe, calm down.”
“I’m calm,” Joe said through clenched teeth. He was thinking of Deena, of Not Ike, of Tuff Montegue and Stuart Tanner, of the circus of humiliation and depravity Cleve Garrett had brought into his valley.
“Let’s talk about this for a second,” Nate said. Joe racked the pump.
“We need a strategy,” Nate said. “So take a breath.”
leve Garrett’s Airstream Trailer was still attached to his pickup and it was pulled into the fifth and last space in the campground. It looked like a big, slick metallic tube in the dark trees. Behind the trailer, through thick stands of willows, the river flowed wide and shallow.
Joe cranked the wheel of his truck to block the road, and turned off the motor. Garrett could not drive out of his site now, and there were too many thick trees all around for him to use an overland escape route.
The blinds were pulled down tight on all of the trailer windows, and Joe wondered if he had been either seen or heard by the occupants inside. Joe and Nate slid out of the cab. As they had planned, Nate pushed his way into the brush and vanished within it to take a position behind cover near the front of Garrett’s pickup. This way, Nate could cover Joe as well as see if anyone inside tried to escape out the back of the trailer.
Joe stood behind his pickup, keeping it between him and the trailer. He had switched his radio to PA and the mike cord stretched across the cab and out the open window.
When he assumed Nate was in position, he keyed the mike. “Cleve Garrett, come out of that trailer now.”
He watched the windows carefully, saw one of them near the front shiver as someone looked out.
“IF YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS, LEAVE THEM INSIDE. OPEN THE DOOR AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, PALMS OUT.”
The front window blind shot up. Joe crouched down and raised the stock of the shotgun to his cheek. He put the bead on the front sight to the window. A face appeared, pressed against the glass.
“Joseph?” Not Ike mouthed. “Joseph?” His words were silent on the outside.
Not Ike looked confused but okay, Joe thought with a rush of relief. Garrett probably had a gun at Not Ike’s head, shoving the big man’s face into the glass.
Not Ike was mouthing something through the glass. Joe could read it: Creepy like guys, Joseph.
A louvered pane near Not Ike’s head was being cranked open. Joe hoped Nate had a better angle on the window from where he was hidden in the brush. Maybe, Joe thought, Nate would be able to see Garrett inside and fire if Garrett lowered his gun or was distracted.
“Joseph, that’s you, isn’t it?” Joe could now hear Not Ike.
“It’s me,” Joe said, talking into the mike so that Garrett would be sure to hear him as well. “Plus about twenty officers more on the way. The trailer is surrounded.”
There was a beat and Not Ike’s face was pulled from the window. Maybe Garrett would speak now, Joe hoped. Maybe Garrett would try to make a deal. “Nobody needs to get hurt,” Joe said, willing confident gentleness into his voice. “No one needs to get hurt at all. Just leave any weapons inside and come out.”
There was movement inside the trailer, and it rocked slightly.
With a metallic click, the door burst open. Joe swung the muzzle of his shotgun to it, saw the door slam against the outside of the trailer, saw the doorframe filled with Not Ike. Garrett was behind Not Ike with his forearm around the big man’s throat and a pistol pressed into his ear. Because Garrett was much shorter, all Joe could see of him were his eyes over Not Ike’s shoulder.
“We’re coming out,” Garrett shouted.
Not Ike stepped out of the trailer, Garrett pressed tightly behind him. Not Ike took several steps forward, grinning at Joe as if he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening. Joe didn’t lower his shotgun. For a brief, electrifying moment, Garrett’s and Joe’s eyes locked.
“Let him go,” Joe said, close enough now not to need the microphone. “Lower the gun and drop it into the dirt.”
Garrett looked furtively to his side.
“I don’t see anybody else,” Garrett said. “Where’re your troops?” “They’re out there,” Joe lied, thinking: Nate,
