The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

though, and Tyler knew it. Murdering a police officer would be difficult even for him to cover up. This deputy, however, was a thorn in his side. He'd have to think of another way to get rid of him. An accident, perhaps.

Tyler put up his hands and eased to the right. "Step aside, boys," he ordered. "Let this lawman do his job. We were breaking the rules, after all."

"Thank you," Andy said, though suspicion still filled his veins.

When the four men were a good fifteen feet from the weapon, Andy shuffled over to it and lifted it off the ground.

"You can come get this at the office later," he said. He removed the magazine and checked the weapon to make sure there were no more rounds chambered.

Satisfied, he backed over to the patrol car and laid the rifle in the trunk.

"That it, deputy?" Tripp asked. "Or are you going to arrest us?"

Andy knew he couldn't do that. Tripp was the sheriff's son. He should have taken the keys to their jeep, called in for backup to arrest all of them. But none of that could happen.

"Let's call it a warning," Andy offered.

"That what this is? You warning me?"

Andy opened his door and put one foot inside. He locked eyes with Tripp for a long breath, then exhaled. "Yeah. It is."

The four men watched as the deputy drove away, not taking their eyes off the vehicle until it disappeared around the bend, behind a patch of spruce trees.

Tyler sighed, his breath coming out of his mouth in a chilly cloud.

"He's got a lot of nerve," Steve said. "Sometimes I think he forgets his place."

"My dad will make sure he remembers," Tripp threatened.

"No harm, boys," Tyler said, his voice as cold as the snow on the ground. "Like he said, I can get the rifle back later. Let's finish these beers and head to the bar. Might be a few early snow bunnies in town from the city."

Three

Cuchara

Dak peered around at the surrounding forest, full of aspens and Piñon pines. The silent serenity overwhelmed him and for a moment, he felt at total peace.

The unfamiliar, strange feeling unnerved him in a way. He could ill-afford to let down his guard at any time, especially when on the hunt—and he was certainly hunting.

He climbed the wooden steps to the cabin and crossed the creaky porch planks to the door. Stopping, he entered the prescribed code on a keypad next to the doorknob.

An electronic beep, followed by a mechanical whir, unlocked the deadbolt. He stepped inside and closed the door behind, keeping his rucksack snug against his shoulder.

Dak surveyed the cabin from the narrow foyer. An open door led into a bedroom to the left. To his right, key hooks hung from the wall next to a coat hanger made out of faux antlers. At least he thought they were fake.

He continued farther into the kitchen on the right that merged with the living room. Deep, brown leather couches surrounded a thick rug topped with a rustic, wooden coffee table. The gas fireplace beyond was framed with mountain stone and a timber mantle that matched the beams supporting the cathedral ceiling overhead.

"This'll do," Dak muttered.

It was way more than he needed in terms of space and amenities—though the hot tub on the front porch overlooking the valley beckoned to his sore muscles. Travel had taken a toll on him and he yearned to relax.

Perhaps he could take a soak after doing a little recon in town.

He didn't dare to hope. In fact, Dak couldn't recall the last time he—yes, he could. That annoying tug at his heart jerked painfully at his chest. Before he went away to join the army, Dak and Nicole took a ski trip up to Snowshoe, West Virginia. Their chalet was much smaller than this one, and far more modest, but it had a hot tub—as seemed standard with all cabins.

That was the last time he'd been in one.

He sighed at the memory and let his gear bag slump onto the couch. He patted the concealed subcompact pistol on his hip—an old habit he'd forged long ago. With his outer shell jacket over a hoodie, no one would notice the weapon. And as long as he didn't run face to face into Billy—or Tyler—no one in the little mountain town would know who he was. To them, Dak would be just another traveler coming through in search of adventure or some peace and quiet.

Dak wandered over to the island in the kitchen and found a welcome basket with a couple of bottles of water, some candy, chips, and tips on some of the local things to do. He looked through the list and found a couple of places he knew he'd need to visit. One was the general store. He would pick up some additional supplies in case his stay would last more than a few days. Dak was certain it would.

The only bar in the town looked like an interesting place on the list. In the summer, people were welcome to bring their dogs there to hang out on the patio. Dak had seen a place like that in St. Pete Beach, Florida, once, though it was late at night and only one person was sober enough to bring their dog out at that hour. Or maybe they were drunk enough. He figured the local bartender would have at least a little information that might prove helpful, though he knew he'd have to play it cool.

Small towns like this one could have allies or enemies mere inches away, and it was always difficult to tell which was which.

Dak walked around the rest of the cabin, inspecting the upstairs bedroom, the loft, and the deck out front. He rested his hands on the newly fallen snow along the rail, letting the cold stab into his fingers. He looked down into the valley, his gaze sweeping over the slopes. To the average observer, they may have believed he was simply enjoying the view.