Winterkill - C. J. Box [126]
“Didn’t make the turn, huh?” Joe said dully, lowering the muzzle of his shotgun to Munker’s forehead. Both heard the dull snap of the safety being thumbed off.
Munker started to say something, but decided against it. His sharp eyes moved from the muzzle to Joe’s face. Joe noticed that a little clump of snow was packed into Munker’s nostril.
“You murdered my daughter,” Joe said. “No one in that compound needed to die.”
“She wasn’t even yours, was she?” Munker asked weakly. His eyes showed contempt.
Joe grimaced. This man wanted to die.
“Joe, don’t do it.”
It was Nate. He must have shut off his machine in the trees and struggled back through the snow on foot to check on Munker. Joe hadn’t heard him coming.
“Why shouldn’t I, Nate?” Joe said, feeling strangely giddy. He looked down to see if Munker was moving yet, trying to slap the shotgun away. But all that moved were Munker’s sharp eyes.
Nate stopped to catch his breath. He leaned against one of the downed trees, puffing steam that billowed like a halo around his head.
“Because you’re not scum like Munker. You don’t murder people in cold blood.”
“I do now,” Joe said. God, his head hurt.
“You’re a good guy, Joe. You don’t do things like this.”
Joe looked up. “I’m tired, Nate. I just lost a daughter.”
Nate nodded. “If you shoot this guy, who will take care of Marybeth? What about Sheridan? And Lucy? Her name’s Lucy, right?”
“Right.” Joe thought Nate was being horribly unfair.
“Who will take care of them? They need their dad.”
“Goddamn you, Nate.”
Romanowski grinned slightly.
“Besides, I think Munker here severed an artery, and he’s probably a few quarts low already. My guess is that he’ll go naturally and quietly in your heroic attempt to rescue him.”
Joe looked down, and knew that Nate was right. Munker’s eyes blazed, but his face was ashen. His lips were already blue. The snow packed into his nose had not melted.
Joe cursed bitterly, raising the shotgun.
“Can you help me lift him up, please?” Joe asked Nate.
As Joe roared away from the blowdown with Dick Munker slumped in the seat in front of him, he had second thoughts about Nate’s idea. As far as Joe could tell, Munker’s life was worth nothing. Joe couldn’t think of any value that Munker had brought into the world. Nevertheless, he gunned the engine, hoping against hope that he could deliver the FBI agent to the skirmish line alive. It was more than acceptable if Munker died while Joe transported him, he thought. But he had to give it his all. He couldn’t deliberately slow down and dawdle while Munker suffered. That went against his grain, as much as Joe hated the man. Joe knew it didn’t make sense, but he would have rather blasted Munker with his shotgun than be responsible for his death because he’d driven back in a half-assed way.
But Dick Munker died before Joe even got him as far as the meadow they had crossed. Joe knew it the instant it happened, because Munker stiffened and then went limp and heavy and nearly fell off of Joe’s snowmobile. Joe stopped, and used his bungee cords to secure the body before continuing on to the compound.
Joe Pickett leaned against his snowmobile and watched the deputies load Munker’s body into the back of the only Sno-Cat that was still operational. Across the fence, the compound was deserted. Joe watched a few of the assault team check out trailers and RVs that were now empty. Nate’s intervention, and the chaos that resulted, had allowed the Sovereigns to proceed with a clearly well-rehearsed escape plan. They had vanished, leaving their belongings and vehicles. Nate’s disabling of almost all of the sheriff’s Sno-Cats and snowmobiles had prevented any attempt at chasing them down. All that was left were their deserted homes, dozens of exiting snowmobile tracks, and the smoking remains of Wade Brockius’s trailer.
“You tried to save him,” Elle