Manhunter

Gabe’s knuckles turned bone-white as he struggled to grasp what he was hearing. Steiger was being held in that institution while lawyers wrangled over his extradition and jurisdictional issues. He vaguely noted Donovan staring at him through the glass. “Go on,” Gabe said, words like gravel in his throat.

“Steiger took advantage of the outage, stabbed an inmate with a spoon, it looks like. Sparked a riot in pitch blackness. Two wardens are dead, several others in critical condition. The bastard actually stripped one, put on his uniform, and drove the prison van right out of the main gates of the pen. No one saw it coming—they thought he was one of their own. Steiger dumped the van off the highway near Manning Park. Looks like he ducked into wilderness there, heading south for the U.S. border.”

“With a U.S. court martial hanging over his head?”

“Borders don’t matter to that guy.”

No. Everything mattered to Kurtz Steiger. Gabe knew him too well now. He’d studied—memorized—everything the RCMP criminal investigative analysts had come up with. He’d looked right into the monster’s eyes himself that snowy night in the woods. He’d almost taken his life. Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s all over the news,” said Tom. “I…thought you might have heard.”

“I’m in the bush, Thomas. North of bloody nowhere.”

“The CBC is working up a feature that will air during their regular news slot tonight. I…I wanted to be sure you knew. They’ll probably bring up…Gia, and all that.”

An inexplicable emotion welled up through Gabe’s chest and burned into his eyes. He felt so damn defeated.

Having Steiger behind bars was his way of rationalizing Gia’s murder. And the loss of those officers’ lives. It was his sole foundation for going forward.

Now it was gone.

He sank down, leaning against his tiny new desk. “Where are they looking for him?” he asked quietly.

“They’ve got a major manhunt going down in Manning Park along the U.S. border. Dogs, choppers, military, the works. They’re expanding the search over the border into Washington state with the cooperation of U.S. authorities.”

“Why?”

A puzzled silence hung for a moment. “That’s where his trail leads.”

“Steiger doesn’t leave a trail,” Gabe said even more quietly. “Not unless he wants you to find it.”

Tom paused. “They’ve got him this time, Caruso. He was shot in the prison riot. He left a ton of blood in that van. He’s injured and on the run. The dogs are on him.”

“Right,” said Gabe. Kurtz Steiger could survive anything. It’s what he did. Survive. And kill.

“The guy is not superhuman, Gabe. They figure they’ll have him in a matter of hours.”

“Right,” he said again.

Silence hung for several beats. “Is everything okay up there?”

Up there.

It sounded like something Gabe’s Roman Catholic mother would say in reference to limbo—that peculiar place where doomed souls were destined to hang between hell and heaven for eternity.

“I’m fine,” Gabe lied. “You’ll keep me updated, Tom? I…I’m kind of out of the loop right now, and…I’d like to know.”

“Hey, it’s why I called, buddy.”

Gabe hung up, his knuckles bloodless. He flexed his fingers, stared at his hands, then looked up at Donovan who’d moved into the doorway.

“He got out,” said Gabe. “The Bush Man.”

Donovan’s features were grave. “I gathered.”

Gabe launched to his feet suddenly, pushing off his desk. “Is there a television set anywhere in this town?”

Donovan eyed him steadily. “We have Internet. You can get the news on—”

“I want a television. I want to see the CBC feature airing on Steiger tonight.”

And he wanted a beer. No, a couple of beers. He wanted to drown himself in whiskey—and this was a dry town.

“Mae Anne’s diner has TV. She gets the two Yukon channels. There are satellite systems in private homes and one at the Old Moose Hunting Lodge, which is outside the town boundary. They serve a pretty decent meal there, too.”

Gabe checked his watch as he stalked through the reception area. Shoving the door open, he stepped out onto the small log porch that fronted the detachment building. He needed air. What he got was a surprise.

The sinking sun had brushed the rugged, snow-capped massifs with a soft peach alpenglow, and the air had turned heavy and cool. Gabe drank it down hungrily as he braced his hands on the wood balcony, heart thudding in his chest. It was so beautiful it had shocked his mind clean for a moment.

“Sergeant?” Donovan said from just inside the door.

Gabe tightened his hands on the balustrade. “What is it, Donovan?” he said quietly, without looking at the man.

“I know you’re technically not on duty until tomorrow, but Chief Peters at the band office is expecting you, and I…uh…mentioned you might come around and meet with him this evening.”

Black Arrow Nation Chief Harry Peters functioned as a small-town mayor would. His band had contracted the RCMP to police their community, and, as the new sergeant in town, Gabe would need to liaise with Peters in the same way a top cop would work with any local mayor and council.

“Not right now,” said Gabe, trying to control the rage mushrooming steadily through him. His short fuse, the murderous impulse that could fill him instantaneously, had become his weakness, a black cancer he couldn’t cut out. And he felt it now.

Taking life went against everything that had defined Gabe as an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police force. But if his corporal hadn’t arrived when he had the night Gabe had chased Steiger, Gabe knew he would have killed Steiger.

He’d have ripped out the bastard’s sick throat with his bare, bloodied hands.

And now he wished he had.

The violent strength that had coursed through Gabe’s veins that night had startled him. The sheer power was almost intoxicating.

Locking eyes with Steiger in the woods on that snowy night in Williams Lake just over a year ago had unearthed something dark and atavistic in Gabe.

Because he still wanted to kill him.

It was this that made him question whether he really was still fit to wear his red serge and carry a gun.

“I’ll see him tomorrow,” he said coolly without looking at Donovan. He didn’t want to talk to anybody right now. What he needed right now was to find his cabin, get out of his uniform, and find a television and a beer.

He cursed to himself.

They’d locked Steiger in prison, but Steiger had locked him in one, too. Now the bastard was free.