A hawk calls from the mountaintop. Our heated voices drift from the cabin, spoiling the peaceful chirp of the birds in the Acacia trees. My heart thumps in my chest, the sound louder in my ears than any other. A branch cracks. I freeze. The thumping in my chest reaches a crescendo. I don’t dare to move for the fear of making a sound. I don’t breathe. I keep my gaze trained on Ian. His expression is alert but calm. He’s sitting as still as a statue on his branch, his gun clutched in his hand. His quiet confidence grounds me.
Leaves crunch close by. Pinching my eyes shut, I reach for courage from deep within. My lungs burn from holding my breath. I don’t have a choice but to drag air into my lungs. My breaths turn erratic as my heart protests about the stress. Instead of inhaling noisily through my nose, I breathe through my mouth.
The leaves that had fallen under the tree with all my jostling scrunches under a sole. A black dress shoe appears in my vision. A blond head follows. Wolfe. He’s keeping low, creeping right underneath me with a Glock aimed in front of him.
The green leaves on the grass are a dead giveaway. Green leaves don’t fall by themselves. If Wolfe notices them, he’ll look up. I keep my weapon aimed at his head. With how much strain the simple act of breathing is putting on my body, it takes enormous effort to keep my hand steady. I tighten my finger on the trigger when Wolfe advances another step. Ian gives me a small shake of his head. My heart beats in my throat as I wait for Wolfe to spot the leaves, but he’s obviously not a good tracker. His attention is fixed on the cabin.
I have a good shot. I can pull the trigger now. The only thing preventing me from doing so is the promise I made to Ian, that I’d let him lead. A ship doesn’t have more than one captain. I promised Ian my trust, and I give it as I wait for his signal. Yet he doesn’t move. He sits immobile as Wolfe moves in a crouched position under his tree.
Do it. Give me the signal, Ian.
Wolfe moves toward the side of the cabin, and still Ian doesn’t make a move. A few more steps, and the opportunity is lost. I don’t question Ian’s decision. I don’t distract him by being rebellious. I continue to give him my trust. That’s what he needs to execute this mission. That’s how his gang operated successfully. They trusted each other. Until I came along and screwed it all up. Blinking sweat from my eyes, I suppress the thought as quickly as it has formed. What happened, happened. Harping on it won’t change anything. It certainly doesn’t help me to focus.
Wolfe sneaks around the cabin, looking through the windows. As we pulled the curtains, he can’t see inside. After doing a round, he stops at the door. Ian lifts a hand, motioning for me to wait. Will Wolfe kick down the door? Will he shoot open the lock and barge inside, hoping to empty his pistol in our bodies?
He looks around, searching for something. When he spots the brick structure of the barbecue next to the cabin, he runs over and takes a thick, long branch from the firewood stacked under the barbecue.
What is he planning on doing with that?
I soon find out when he plants it between the door handle and the ground, barring the door. He thinks he’s trapped us inside. I expect many things, for him to break a window or shoot through the glass, but not the lighter he pulls from his pocket. The thatch roof stretches low over the corners of the cabin. He first lights the corner on the left and then the one on the right.
Nothing burns like dry grass. In no time, flames leap up the sides of the roof. His plan isn’t to smoke us out. No. His plan is to burn us alive. That’s why he barred the door.
Stepping back, he studies his work as the whole roof catches fire. It goes fast. The cabin will be ashes in a matter of minutes. The noise of the flames and the grass groaning underneath the heat drown out the recording of our voices. He steps back farther, probably avoiding the heat. He’s planning on staying there, making sure we don’t get out.
With Wolfe’s gaze trained on the rapidly spreading fire, Ian slithers down the tree, lithe and quiet like a snake. In five long strides, he’s behind Wolfe, the barrel of his gun pushed against the back of Wolfe’s head. Wolfe jerks. He freezes.
“Drop it,” Ian says.
Wolfe’s arms stand wide at his sides, the Glock clutched in his right hand, but he doesn’t drop it. He knows he’s a dead man. Instead, he throws back an elbow. Ian is fast, jumping to the side and avoiding the blow. In the second Ian is distracted, Wolfe spins around. A scream is trapped in my throat. I let go of my hold on the branch, dropping to my feet at the same time a shot rings out. Wolfe stumbles a step. He drops the Glock on the ground. The barrel of Ian’s gun is smoking. Blood drips from Wolfe’s wrist, which hangs limp at his side.
I run with everything I’ve got while pointing my pistol at Wolfe in case he has another weapon. When I reach them, out of breath, the two men are facing each other in a hateful stare-off with the flames reaching for the heaven behind them.
Wolfe grinds his teeth and cradles his bleeding wrist against his chest.
Ian kicks Wolfe’s Glock toward me. “Get his gun.”
I pick it up without moving my gaze from the men. Wolfe wears a look that scares me. It’s the look of a man who has nothing left to lose.
“Really, Wolfe?” Ian takes a wide stance. “Did you have to stoop as low as murder? Is that how deep your obsession with nailing me goes?”
Wolfe winces. Blood drips through his fingers and stains his shirt. “Some sacrifices are necessary for the sake of justice.”
“Is that what Nick was?” I ask. “A sacrifice?”
Wolfe snarls. “It’s not as if the world is a worse place without him. Let’s face it. His sad existence isn’t going to be missed. On the contrary, I did his wife a favor. I heard she’s already remarried.”
“Who made you God?” I ask, perplexed.
Wolfe laughs. “Look around you. There’s no such thing as a god.”
I take a step closer, aiming my gun at his stomach. “Why Nick? What were you hoping on achieving by framing Ian?”
“Nick wasn’t personal,” he says with glee. “He just happened to provide the perfect motive by firing you. Murder always takes priority in the force.”
In other words his case got a higher priority. That wasn’t all he got out of the murder. He used Nick’s murder to manipulate me by pushing me into a corner. He used it to threaten me with an arrest as an accomplice to murder if I didn’t cooperate. He thought if I believed Ian killed Nick, I’d spy on Ian for him.
The cabin groans. The top of the roof caves, shooting sparks and smoke into the air.
Ian pushes the barrel between Wolfe’s eyes. “Who were the two men with you?”
That’s why Ian didn’t want to me shoot Wolfe on site. He needs answers first.
“Nobodies,” Wolfe says.
Ian presses the barrel harder, making Wolfe’s head jerk back. “I want names.”
“I don’t know their names.” Wolfe cracks his neck. “I picked them up in a casual workers lineup.”
“Where?” Ian asks.
“Where unemployed men gather outside the building sites in the hope of getting work for the day.”
Ian narrows his eyes. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing. I offered them a grand each. For a grand, they were only too happy to keep their mouths shut.”