“You’re really irritating sometimes,” Joe mumbled.
“But what I can’t figure out is why they didn’t finish the job,” Nate said, looking over and locking his eyes on the side of Joe’s face. “They had you down from that shotgun blast, but they didn’t follow up. Guys like that, who hunt for a living, would know to find you in the grass and cut your throat or put one or two into your head. Why didn’t they do that?”
Joe shrugged. “I’ve been wondering that since I woke up in the hospital.”
Said Nate, “I guess maybe Camish was worried about Caleb since you shot him, or they were both tending to ‘Terri Wade’ or Diane Shober or whoever the hell she is. But it doesn’t jibe. They should have hunted you down and finished the job. Then they should have burned your body and buried the remains so deep no one would ever find you. That’s what
Joe said, “Not that you have experience in that sort of thing.”
“I do, though.”
“Nate, I was being sarcastic.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” Nate said. “Back to my point. Why didn’t they finish you off?”
Joe looked over. “I have no idea.”
“Maybe they aren’t as bad as you think?” Nate said.
“Not a chance,” Joe said. “They’re
Nate rubbed his chin. “Maybe we’ll find that lady wants to stay.”
“No way,” Joe said again.
“Another thing,” Nate said. “They called you a government man. I find that interesting. Not a game warden or a fish cop or whatever. But a
Joe said, “I’ve been called everything else, but I’ve never been called that before.”
“But that’s what you are.”
“I guess I never thought of myself that way,” Joe said. “I’m surprised they used that choice of words.”
Nate smiled slyly. “That says something about their worldview, doesn’t it?”
Before Joe could answer, his phone rang again. He expected a 777 number but saw on the display it was from MBP Management. Joe opened the phone, said, “Yes?”
She said, “Has the governor found you yet?”
“No.”
“He called here a few minutes ago. When I told him you weren’t here, he didn’t sound very happy.”
“I can imagine,” Joe said.
“He said he’s been trying to reach you all day.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“When he asked me where you were, I couldn’t lie to him,” Marybeth said. “I mean, he’s your boss. And he is the governor.”
Joe considered telling her it was better to apologize, but thought better of it and said, “I understand.”
“He asked what you were driving and which route you were taking.”
Joe frowned. “He did?”
“That’s not all,” she said. “He told me this thing is blowing up all of a sudden and he needed to find you. Then he hung up. You know how he is.”
The cutoff toward Rawlins was ahead, and Joe tapped the brake to release the cruise control so he could swing into the turn. “Yup,” Joe said, “I know how he is.”
He closed his phone and dropped it to the seat. They topped a rise before dropping down into Rawlins. When they crested the hill, Joe saw the blue and red wigwag lights, the phalanx of state trooper vehicles, and the long row of eighteen-wheelers directly ahead, all waiting to pass through the roadblock.
“Oh, no,” Nate said, sitting up straight.
Joe looked over and saw his friend strip off his shoulder holster and cram it beneath the bench seat like a high-schooler hiding his open container.
“I’m not going back to Cheyenne,” Nate said softly.
Joe considered braking and turning around, but he was on a one-way exit and the ditches on either side of the road were too steep for him to pull the horse trailer through without high-centering the rig.
“I’ve got to keep going,” Joe said, “unless you have any ideas.”
“You could let me out here,” Nate said. “Let me run for it.”
Joe looked ahead. He counted four highway patrol cars and a Carbon County sheriff SUV.
“They’ll run you down in two minutes,” Joe said.
“Not if I take them out,” Nate said. Joe knew the .454 rounds were capable of penetrating the engine block of a vehicle, and he’d seen Nate do exactly that.
