Sheriff Emilee Gebhart was the first to arrive on the scene.
At the age of twenty-seven she was the youngest person to hold the position of Sheriff of Tillamook. Some said she had won the elected position because of her father, who had held the position for nearly twenty years. In some respects, Emilee believed that herself. Fact was, some people looked at the name of Gebhart and simply took it as the name they could trust. But truth be told, she earned the position as much because of who her father had been as because of his reputation. She had grown up as the daughter of Tillamook’s sheriff, with all the expectations in terms of discipline, duty, and honor that her father instilled.
It was because of this, that she had lived her life, both professional and private, in such a way to set her up perfectly for the role. Whether or not she was voted in because of her father or not had soon become moot, as to anyone and everyone who now knew her in the position discovered she was the right person for that role.
She had already clocked off for the day, and was heading home, when the call came in.
It had taken her just twenty-two minutes to reach the old man’s garage along the Wilson River. She pulled the Ford F150 Interceptor off the blacktop onto the dirt entrance to the garage.
In those twenty-two minutes, everything had changed.
While racing to the site, she’d been contacted by both Senators from Oregon, the head of the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, and a senior official from the FBI. The general consensus was unanimous. No one had a fucking clue what was going on, but whatever it was, one thing was for damned certain. She needed to keep a lid on it, before journalists around the world had a field day.
She glanced overhead.
There were more Sikorsky Blackhawks overhead, most likely carrying another team of Delta Rangers, brought in to do God knows what in order to shut down whatever this was. The entire response was massive overkill for some coyote that had gotten into its head a desire to kill humans.
Which meant someone was lying to her.
And this whole thing had nothing to do with a rogue predator animal.
She considered waiting for her deputies to arrive. They might still be another twenty minutes behind her. It would be better practice in the event this thing turned out to have nothing to do with a wild animal, and everything to do with some homicidal psychopath. Hell, even one of those she could confront. What had her really spooked was the military’s involvement. There had been Sikorsky military choppers in the sky all afternoon, as though they were searching for something.
Of course, if it turned out to be all a lot of fuss about nothing more than a starving mountain lion that had decided to attack a lone mechanic, and she hadn’t even attempted to confront it on her own… well, that just wouldn’t do for the brand-new Sheriff in town. Especially not one that was trying to prove she won her position out of merit, instead of nepotism.
That thought finished any concern about her own safety.
She switched the engine off, and retrieved her shotgun from its holster where it rested in the spacing between the two front seats. It was a Mossberg 590A1 Tactical, twelve-gauge, six shot 18.5-inch barrel, with a collapsible stock. She unfolded herself from the driver’s seat. At her hip holster, she wore a Sig Sauer P220 semiautomatic.
At six feet exactly, she was tall and lithe, with long arms and legs more akin to a model than a sheriff. But there was strength behind those arms and legs. She was disciplined, and a lifetime of trying to live up to her father’s expectations meant that she was tougher than any other law enforcement officer out there. Her face was set with the hard determination of someone who knew she had everything to prove.
She took in the scene at a glance. The garage was old and dilapidated. Its night time sensors had switched an overhead security light on, that lit up the entire driveway and parking area, like a photo shoot. The general store had glass windows and from what she could see was completely empty. The door to the log cabin — presumably where the mechanic had lived — was open, with a line of string beads in place to keep the flies out.
“Hello. This is the Sheriff. Is anyone in there?”
There was no response.
She felt the strange sensation of being watched. It was teasing at her, like a sixth sense, and she didn’t like it.
Emilee turned around.
The place was well lit, and there was no one to be seen.
Yet still, she felt as though something was watching her.
She still didn’t like it.
It felt sinister somehow. Worse than that. It felt evil.
“If there’s anyone in those bushes, I suggest you come out now before I fire off a couple rounds.”
It was an idle threat. There was no way she was going to go off idly firing into the woods at something she hadn’t even seen — although she sure as heck felt it watching her.
Emilee aimed her Mossberg shotgun toward the dense section of forest across the road. Although the sky had already turned dark, that area was in the darker shadow of the mountain range. It would have been the perfect place to hide. Definitely her choice if she was the predator.
She was even close to squeezing the trigger.
A moment later, she saw the headlights of a car. She lowered the barrel of her weapon and glanced at the vehicle as it slowed to a stop in the middle of the road house’s parking lot. It was a yellow Ford Thunderbird. Looked old. Something her father’s parents might have driven when they were growing up.
It was the same one she’d passed on the side of the road earlier.
There was a man and a woman with a dog — a golden retriever by the looks of it — in the middle of the two. It was the dog that put her at ease. If these were the people responsible for murdering the mechanic, there was no way a dog like that would have been sitting comfortably, without a care in the world.
She watched as the man climbed out.
He was in his mid-thirties. The man carried a Remington 12-gauge shotgun, with its barrel pointed toward the ground. The golden retriever followed him, and the woman stepped out and stared into the woods at the identical place where Emilee had been staring a moment earlier.
Sheriff Gebhart met the man’s eyes. He must have been the one to call it in. “Sam Reilly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze drifted from her back to the woman who he’d arrived with. “This is Guinevere Jenkins. She was hiking in the forest when it happened.”
“My name’s Emilee Gebhart, sheriff for Tillamook.” She glanced at the dog. “Your dog?”
“No, ma’am. I found him in the woods. He protected me from something evil, and then followed me back here.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled with incredulity. “Something evil?”
“I don’t know what else to call it. It’s just a feeling I got from whatever it was out there in the woods that’s killing people.”
“I was told it was most likely a coyote or a cougar. It’s been a dry summer. Their natural food supplies have been down, so it’s being forced to take risks by attacking humans. There’s nothing evil about that. Just a predator animal, trying to survive.”
The small lines in Sam Reilly’s face hardened. He opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped himself, as though thinking better of his first decision.
“What?” she asked. “You don’t think we’re dealing with a coyote?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
She glanced at him. He had an intelligent face, with dark blue eyes, and a strong jawline covered in two day’s stubble. “Why?”
He filled her in about everything from the events of the past few hours, including the wild birds fleeing the forest, the golden retriever trying to protect him, and the strange evil creature in the woods. He spoke with confidence, and was able to articulate the events like someone used to being in a position of command, confidently reciting facts as opposed to fleeting thoughts and imaginings.