10 Tahoe Trap (18 page)

More running footsteps went by. Heavy. A big guy. And whimpering sounds. A car door slammed shut over in the dark forest. Engine roared. Wheels spun.

I reached Spot, pulled at the fishnet. The cords of the net were hooked on his claws and elbows. One of his ears poked through a small opening, his ear stud flashing in the night. He was chewing on the cords, but it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere until I cut him free. But my pocket knife was on my night stand with my other pocket stuff.

I grabbed at the net over Spot and tried to tear it. The cords cut into my skin. They were much too strong to rip apart.

Spot would have to wait.

I put my hand on him. “I’ll be back, largeness. You be good.”

I stumbled toward the cabin, my legs still barely working. The front door was standing open. I went in, turned on the light.

Paco was gone.

I dialed Street.

She answered on the second ring.

“Listen carefully, sweetheart.” The words came broken. The Taser had affected my vocal cords just like the rest of my muscles. “Men broke in and took Paco. They are coming down the mountain. If you are very fast, you could turn up my road and...”

“And park sideways at the narrow place near the giant boulder,” she finished. “I’ll do my best.” She hung up.

Street was fast, nimble, and most important, she was quite functional within a moment of waking up.

I struggled back outside, limping, dragging my left foot which was still most affected by the shock. I got into the Jeep and drove down the mountain. At the second curve I saw their headlights three switchbacks below. Driving fast. They might get through the narrow point before Street could block it. Worse, Street might block it as they were approaching. She could get rammed. Her little VW Beetle would collapse when hit by their truck. She could get killed.

I tried to focus on driving.

I’ve driven the twisty, private mountain drive that I share with my neighbors thousands of times. I’m not a professional driver, and my Jeep is not designed for fast cornering. But I can get down the mountain faster than most. I had a hope that I could catch them.

At the big curve below the switch backs, there is an overlook of sorts. Visible in the distance, but closer than before, was the headlight glow of the other vehicle. It was still upstream from the narrow place that Street was heading for. I saw brake lights flash bright red in the night just as I came to another curve and lost my view. Maybe that meant that Street had already gotten there.

I pushed it harder. I careened around the next two curves and accelerated down the straight before the narrow spot. Up ahead were distant red lights. I turned off my headlights. The red lights up ahead turned white.

A vehicle moving in reverse. Coming up toward me.

Brake lights flashed again, and the white lights went out. They’d shifted into drive.

They turned left off the paved road. I knew where they were going. There is an old trail, easy to see, easy to navigate. It looks like a good way through the woods. But in the interest of preventing erosion and soil compaction, the Forest Service blocked it with boulders. It gave me an idea.

I continued to drive my road by starlight and by feel. I raced past the place where they’d turned off. I stopped before I came to the narrow place where Street’s car would be parked. I couldn’t see their lights through the forest, so I hoped that they couldn’t see my brake lights.

I jumped out and did a wobbly, limping jog into the forest.

I headed for a walking path where I remembered a little raised section that crossed a miniature ravine. To help hold the dirt fill in place, the Forest Service had put down a log on each side. If my memory was correct, the logs were just the right size for what I wanted. More important, I remembered that the logs were just fitted into the dirt and hadn’t been staked in place. When I got there, I knelt in the dirt and felt for one of the logs. It was about the size I remembered, eight inches in diameter and ten or twelve feet long. And while I didn’t feel any stakes, it was completely packed into the dirt. I couldn’t get my fingers around it to lift it up.

I stumbled two steps away from the trail and felt a nearby tree for low, dead branches, found one, and broke it off. The sound was loud. The men probably heard it.

 By gouging the broken end of the branch into the dirt around the edges of the log, I was able to excavate a trench in the hard-packed dirt. I worked fast. I knew I was nearly out of time. I dug and stabbed and scraped with my little stick. When I had enough dirt removed to get my fingers under the log, I tried to lift. It didn’t budge. I squatted down and put my forearms across my thighs for support.

At first, it didn’t work. Then I shifted position and tried again at the very end of the log. It shifted, then came free. I lifted the end up until the log was vertical, then lowered it back down at an angle so that the middle of the log rested on my shoulder. The log teeter-tottered on my shoulder. I shifted it a bit for balance, then jogged away toward the vehicle that contained Paco.

The log was a good hundred pounds, heavy to carry while jogging, but perfect for my needs. I cut through the woods toward the old trail. The vehicle’s taillights appeared in the distance. I tried to speed up.

As I got closer I could see a figure in front of the vehicle, illuminated by the vehicle’s headlight. I couldn’t see well through the trees, but he appeared to be a very big guy. Maybe a huge guy. Big enough to move boulders. Like a bad superhero. He was bent down, rolling one of the boulders that blocked the trail. Another boulder had already been moved. As soon as he got it out of the way, the trail would be clear.

I ran faster, huffing so loud that I was worried I’d give myself away. But their engine was loud. I hoped it would provide sound cover.

I didn’t know for certain if the man rolling the boulders was alone or had a partner. As I got closer, I angled my course to let the illuminated scene be visible through the vehicle’s front and rear windows.

Silhouetted against the light was the shape of another man in the driver’s seat. Another big guy.

I couldn’t see Paco’s shape. Maybe he was too short. Maybe he was down on the floor.

I angled into the woods, moving slower, trying not to hit anything that would make noise and alert the men.

Up ahead was a pickup. The woods were so dark that I couldn’t see the color or make.

I circled through the woods until I was about twenty yards straight out from the driver’s door.

The man moving the boulders had the second one out of the way. He straightened up. “Okay,” he shouted. “You can come on through.”

I was too late. I started running toward the pickup. If the driver drove away, I was out of luck.

“C’mon!” the boulder guy shouted, gesturing.

As I got closer in the dark, I saw the driver gesturing, waving the boulder guy to the pickup.

Maybe the driver sensed me coming at the last moment. He started to turn. Lifted his arm.

My log crashed through the driver’s window, hit the driver on the tip of his shoulder, then glanced off and struck his head, snapping it sideways.

I pulled the log out and leaned it against the truck. I jerked open his door and grabbed him by the same arm that took the blow from the log. He yelled in pain, reached his hand over to his injured shoulder.

 He was as advertised, superhero-sized, with the body weight to fit. I had to pull hard to dump him out on the ground where he writhed and moaned.

In my peripheral vision, I sensed the other man running toward me through the headlights. He would get to me before I could escape with Paco.

I picked up the log, held it at my side as a battering ram, and made another, stumbling run, hoping he was blinded by the headlights.

His running was jerky. I came out of the dark and into the light from the headlights just as he approached the front corner of the pickup. The headlights caught his face. The guy had a feral look, like a bull who wants to gore his tormentor. His eyes were small and close-set.

When I burst into the light beam, he tried to dodge.

The log caught him on the side of his abdomen. He went down and curled up and howled. I raised the log high and dropped it onto his body. He yelled.

I ran to the passenger door and opened it.

“Paco, where are you?” I reached in. Felt the seat. Waved my arm through the space just above the floor. He wasn’t there.

TWENTY

“Paco!” I yelled.

“I’m here,” came a small voice from the darkness of the woods.

I turned.

Paco stepped out from behind a tree.

I picked him up and ran with him through the black forest, putting distance between us and the men. I kept going until I got to the drive up to my cabin, then turned and trotted to where I’d parked the Jeep.

Street was waiting there in the dark.

“Thank God you found him!” she said.

I set Paco down. Street hugged him.

“You okay, Paco?” I asked. “They didn’t hurt you?” I figured that the greatest hurt was his fear, but I wanted him to focus on something better.

He nodded.

“Are those the guys who chased you before?”

He nodded.

“Okay, let’s get Street’s car, and she can come up and help Spot.”

“Is Spot hurt?” Street sounded horrified.

“No. He’s just tied up.”

I took Street forward to her car. She got in and followed us up the mountain. I parked at an angle so my headlights would shine toward Spot.

Street ran over and pet Spot. “He’s trapped in a fishnet!”

“I walked right into it,” I said. “I heard a noise and walked out. Spot pushed out past me. They dropped the net on him and hit me with a stun gun.”

“That’s why you’re walking strange!” Street sounded horrified.

“Let’s get inside.” I took Paco by the hand, and we ran into the cabin. “Call Diamond,” I shouted while I fetched my pocketknife from the bedroom.

“I already called Diamond after I blocked the road,” Street said. “Lucky for us, he’s working graveyard. He’s on his way.”

“Lock this door behind me.” I ran outside.

Spot hadn’t moved. He was still chewing on the cord. Unlike some people, dogs don’t give up until they have exhausted themselves.

I was careful with the knife, working away from Spot, careful not to cut him. I had him freed in a minute.

He immediately ran toward where the men had parked their pickup, then he trotted toward the cabin, following their scent trail. I went with Spot up the short steps onto my deck and peered down the mountain. I saw the flashing lights of two patrol units as they turned up the private drive 1000 feet below. There were no other vehicle lights. Maybe the men were hiding in the woods, lights off. More likely, they had gotten away.

Still without my keys, I had to knock on the front door to get Street to let me in. She opened the door. Her hand was locked hard onto Paco’s as if she wasn’t going to let go no matter who tried to take him.

We sat down, me on the rocker, Street and Paco next to each other on the little couch.

Paco’s eyes were wide and worried underneath an intense frown. He still held Street’s hand, but he kept some distance between them. Street probably wanted to pull him into her lap, but she was a good judge of these things. Give the boy time and space. Be there, but don’t push.

“Maybe Diamond’s boys can pull some prints,” Street said.

I looked around the cabin. The men hadn’t ruined anything except maybe Paco’s psyche. Paco seemed fine, but no kid can be fine after what he’d been through.

There was a knock on the door. Spot didn’t bark, so it was okay. I opened it to see Diamond. Two Douglas County vehicles were in the road. I stepped outside and gave Diamond the whole story while his crew collected evidence, took photos, filled out forms.

“Both of the kidnappers are wounded in some degree,” I said. “And I broke the left front window of their pickup. But I’m sure they are gone.”

Diamond walked over to my deck and looked down the mountain. There were no vehicle lights in the forest.

“Sergeant,” one of the deputies said. “Something here.”

We walked over. The deputy shined his flashlight on the fishnet, then moved it so the beam traced the edges of the net.

“This was carefully set up,” he said. “The net was rigged with a line that laced through the perimeter of the net. See how these cords are all gathered together? It looks like they held the net up loose and tossed it over McKenna’s dog. Then they pulled on this cord, and it snugged the net up, kind of like a drawstring on a mesh bag. The cord goes to this slip knot so you can tighten it, but it won’t loosen.”

“Good work, Denny,” Diamond said. “You find any sign of what made the squeaking noise?”

“Yeah. Real simple, but kind of brilliant, too, if you know what I mean.” He shined his light on the ground near the middle of the net, right about where I’d cut Spot free. “Simple rubber-duckie squeeze toy,” he said. We could see it in his flashlight beam. “I figure one guy steps on the duckie. Spot runs up. Maybe he couldn’t see the guy in the dark, but he probably smelled him when he got close. But by then it was too late, and the guy tossed the net over him. Meanwhile, the other guy hits McKenna with the Taser.”