guy wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt on the porch handing out cookies. If you find anyone drifting in and out of consciousness or acting confused, escort them to the porch and leave them with Spider-Man. He’s Cole Wyatt, the off-duty cop. He’ll keep everyone corralled until Conroy or MacBain can check them out.”
Gunnar clenched his jaw. He’d managed to go for weeks without seeing that son of a bitch Wyatt, but now wasn’t the time to chew on old grudges.
Ike squinted at the darkening woods. “Higgins, grab some flashlights out of the engine because I think we’re going to be here awhile.” He looked at Mason. “You’re not licensed in Maine yet to do more then put a Band-Aid on anyone, so take that jump bag to Conroy or MacBain. They may need an extra Narcan kit. Okay,” Ike added with a grin, rubbing his hands together, “let’s go hunt us down some stupid people. And whoever finds the most gets a prize.” He slid that grin to Gunnar. “Anything you want to add, Chief?”
“How does eight hours of comp time sound for a prize?”
“Works for me,” Skip Mason said, grabbing a flashlight from Higgins and heading down the driveway, followed by Bean. Higgins handed out the other flashlights, then jogged after them.
“Whoa,” Russo said, grabbing Welles when he started following. “You’re with me.”
“Aw, come on, Captain.”
“Rule number one,” Ike said, slapping a hand on Welles’ shoulder and guiding the kid down the driveway, “never question a captain’s orders on scene. Ever. You got a gripe, you take it up with him after.”
Chapter Ten
Gunnar clicked on his flashlight and swept the powerful beam back and forth through the woods as he ambled along the driveway, reminding himself not to go anywhere near the porch. It wasn’t that he expected he could put off seeing Wyatt indefinitely. He simply preferred not to have any witnesses to their . . . happy reunion.
Keeping an eye out for both vertical and horizontal partiers, he went on to wonder if he could mark this down on Gilmore’s stats sheet as multiple runs, since they had multiple patients, or did he have to list it as a single call? Because he was pretty sure the more runs he could show, the easier it would be to justify their worth to the good citizens of Spellbound Falls. Not that it was any of his business, since he didn’t intend on being around for next year’s budget meeting.
That brought him to an abrupt halt.
So where exactly did he intend to be a year from now? Or even three months from now? In another dark alley or stinking jungle chasing power-hungry assholes? Or maybe trying not to die from a gunshot wound in some third-world hospital that never even heard of antibiotics? Honestly, none of that sounded appealing anymore. And he knew he couldn’t count on another Markov Lakeland coming along and pulling him out of the ocean the next time he got run over by an aircraft carrier while fleeing for his life.
He sighed and resumed looking for partiers. Some Renaissance man. Even Sheppard and Wyatt had enough intelligence to get out of the game before someone permanently took them out.
Gunnar really couldn’t see himself being a cop, though. Hell, he’d probably spent more on jet fuel just getting here than they now earned in a year. Not that he was worried the bastards were living paycheck to paycheck, figuring they hadn’t kept exact records of all the contraband they’d handled. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn Jake had paid for that well-equipped home right on Bottomless with solid gold ingots.
So was there a reason he hadn’t made plans beyond meeting Miss MacBain? Such as what he intended to do if he actually liked her? Not liking her was as simple as jetting back to Shelkova to throttle Jane, then going to hang out with Anatol and his womanless tribe of nomads until he gained back at least some of his faculties.
Except half the men were no longer bachelors. Markov had also told him that Anatol, with his rusty manners, freshly barbered hair, and weatherworn but still manly physique, was still trying to charm Irina into leaving behind family, social stature, and most of the trappings of civilization for the elemental freedom of nomadic life. The really scary thing was Markov had said that even though his aunt was leading Anatol on a merry chase, it appeared the old bear was actually making progress.
So, what was