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    Paradise Valley
    Paradise Valley
    Paradise Valley
    Ebook412 pages4 hours

    Paradise Valley

    By C.J. Box

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Investigator Cassie Dewell is on the trail of the Lizard King, in the series that inspired Big Sky.
    It's the end of the road.

    For three years, Chief Investigator Cassie Dewell has been hunting the Lizard King. Twice she's nearly had him and watched him slip through her fingers, but this time, the trap is set and she's certain she'll catch him.

    But when the plan fails, and three policemen die in the chaos, Cassie loses her job. But she won't – she can't – give up the hunt. So when two teenage boys go missing and it looks like the Lizard King is involved, Cassie takes to the road.

    A road from which, quite possibly, there is no return.

    A road that ends in Paradise Valley.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury Publishing
    Release dateJul 25, 2017
    ISBN9781786693174
    Paradise Valley
    Author

    C.J. Box

    C. J. Box is the author of more than thirty books, including the Joe Pickett series and the Cassie Dewell series, and a story collection. His books have been translated into twenty-seven languages. He has won the Edgar, Anthony, Macavity, Gumshoe, and Barry Awards, as well as the French Prix Calibre .38, and has been a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist. A Wyoming native, Box has also worked on a ranch and as a small-town newspaper reporter and editor. He’s an executive producer of ABC TV’s Big Sky, which is based on his Cody Hoyt/Cassie Dewell novels, as well as executive producer of the Joe Pickett television series for Spectrum Originals. He lives with his wife on their ranch in Wyoming.

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    • 4/5
      4.5 stars.

      In Paradise Valley, C.J. Box pits intrepid investigator Cassie Dewell against her longtime nemesis the Lizard King, a long haul truck driver and serial killer who has eluded capture for several years. This final installment of the Highway Quartet can be read as a standalone but I HIGHLY recommend the entire series.

      Cassie's patience has finally paid off and Ron Pergram aka the lizard King has finally taken the bait she has been dangling  for the past the several years.  With the trap set, Cassie, her boss Sheriff Jon Kirkbride and the rest of the Bakken County Sheriff's department are poised to take Pergram into custody. However, the Lizard King cleverly turns the tables on them and in the process, kills and wounds several members of law enforcement. A month later, Cassie and Sheriff Kirkbride become political scapegoats for slimy and ambitious county attorney Avery Tibbs and Cassie resigns in order to protect Kirkbride's career. She then turns her attention to finding two missing teenagers, Kyle Westergaard and Raheem Johnson, who vanished the same day her plan to capture Pergram went horribly awry. When she discovers local woman Amanda Lee Hackl also disappeared the same day as well, she is convinced her hunch that Ron is still alive is correct. Deeply worried that  Kyle, Raheem and Amanda might have somehow crossed paths with the psychopathic serial killer, Cassie begins investigating the suspicious disappearances.

      Cassie is a topnotch investigator with highly honed instincts and she leaves no stone unturned as she begins trying to locate Kyle and Raheem. She immediately  stumbles onto a discovery that finds her traveling to the isolated small town of Ekalaka, MT.  From there, Cassie uncovers evidence that solidifies several of her theories and her dogged pursuit of Pergram leads her to a place that reminds her of a tragic loss and bring to mind numerous recollections of the lessons that her old mentor Cody Hoyt taught her.

      Interspersed with  Cassie's investigation are chapters about the Lizard King as he continues evading capture for his horrific crimes. He is still the same depraved and brutal man he has always been but he feels a surprising affinity for one of his victims. Pergram relies on cruel methods to keep his prey under his control but will he cover his tracks well enough to prevent Cassie from finding him?

      Paradise Valley is an absolutely riveting mystery that is also quite suspenseful. Cassie is merciless in her attempts to find Kyle and Rasheem and she is definitely in her element as she wends her way across the vast and oftentimes desolate countryside while following every lead she unearths. Although somewhat bittersweet, Cody Hoyt's presence is also keenly felt throughout Cassie's hunt for the prolific serial killer that has eluded capture for so many years.  Longtime fans of the Highway Quartet will also be delighted to be reunited with colorful characters from some of the earlier novels in the series.  This newest release by C.J. Box is a marvelous conclusion to an engaging series that old and new fans are going to LOVE!
    • 5/5
      The feminist side in me must be getting stronger the older I get. C.J. Box's Joe Pickett series is one that I've read in the past and enjoyed, but for some reason, I'm just not passionate about keeping current with it. It's as though I know it can wait patiently until I'm ready to read it again. However, when I found out that Box was starting a new series with a female lead, I perked right up. When I did a little research, I discovered that Cassie Dewell isn't a new character but one that's been in Box's Highway Quartet books. Lo and behold, the last book in that quartet went on sale, and I snapped it up so I could see whether or not Cassie is my type of character. She most certainly is.I didn't feel at a disadvantage beginning with the last book in the Highway Quartet. On the contrary, Box's fantastic opening scenes and pedal-to-the-metal pacing grabbed me right at the start and kept me reading. Several characters made me sit up and take notice. Yes, Cassie is relentless and just the type of person that I want to read more about. The Lizard King is appropriately creepy, young Kyle can break your heart while impressing you all at the same time, and that crusty old guy known as Bull reminded me of my grandfather.When you put this high-octane story in a setting that stretches from the oil fields of North Dakota to Yellowstone National Park, you've got a winner. Now that I've been formally introduced to Cassie Dewell, I'm ready for The Bitterroots. Bring it on!
    • 4/5
      PARADISE VALLEY is a fine finish to Box's Highway books. Cassie Dewell is back on the hunt for the Lizard King and this time she just might have him. Probably reflecting the author's predilections, the FBI gets it's comeuppance and a couple of local sheriff's assist heroically. The aging outfitter, Bull, plays a hilarious role. Of course, we see into the crazed killer, too. Great book...wonder if there will be another in this series?
    • 5/5
      Paradise Valley is probably C J Box's best stand alone book. The story starts slow but then moves at a fast pace, can't put down story.
    • 4/5
      This is an outstanding audio adaption. Christina Delaine gets the pacing and the tone perfect. She does great justice to Box's characters and his prose. Sign me up for the next one.
    • 4/5
      A second novel with a new lead character by CJ Box. The book is very light on her back story & needs the reader to have read the other two books that led to this one . A fast paced but rather simplistic plot.
    • 5/5
      PARADISE VALLEY By C.J. Box is a fine finish to his Highway books. Cassie Dewell is back on the hunt for the Lizard King and this time she just might have him, until he kills himself and a batch of police officers. Sad, dejected, and on the bring of being fired for the fiasco that was supposed to be the culmination of her career, Cassie resigns and is asked to look into the disappearance of two teenage boys. Not exactly the story you were hoping to read, but something much better. Packed with surprises, twists and terror, Paradise Valley again shows that Mr. Box is the top gun when it comes to writing mysteries in the Open Sky Country. But read the other Cassie novels in order to get the full feeling out of this one. While it stands alone nicely, it is the cherry on top of the sundae. I listened to the audio disc version, read by Christine Delaine and her take on the tale was dead on adding immeasurably to my enjoyment of the story. Wonderful job.
    • 5/5
      I love C. J. Box's stand alone novels and this one did not disappoint. An action thriller that had my heart pounding as I ripped through the pages. Investigator Cassie Dewell is on a mission. She failed to capture the "Lizard King" years ago and it has been bugging her ever since. Now, they have found him again and he's still abducting "lot lizards" who no one ever hears from again once they are inside his truck.Cassie just knows that this time they have him and the latest "lot lizard". He's going to be arrested and hopefully rot in jail. Unfortunately, the elusive and always thinking of ways to keep himself out of prison is one step ahead of them. His latest plan has Cassie losing her job and even more determined to get this guy.Filled with action, suspense, unusual predicaments and one that will have you staying up WAY past your bedtime this is one I highly recommend. I read it in one sitting while the pages just flew by. A sicko with an unusual technique that I couldn't wait to see him caught and put away!Thanks to St. Martins Press and Net Galley for providing me with a free e-galley in exchange for an honest, unbiased review.
    • 5/5
      This book is a fitting end to this series. The first book I read by Mr. Box was The Highway. I absolutely fell hard for the author's writing. Since, than, I have read many other books from this author. Yet, this is probably my top favorite series. The Highway is where I first was introduced to Cassie. She was just a rookie back than. Yet, she has come a long way since that book. Cassie is confident, intelligent, and the bad guys better be scared. This book nicely ties up everything in this series to come full circle. Look no further for the perfect read than Paradise Valley! I inhaled this book. Literally, could not stop reading it. The Lizard King and Cassie play the ultimate game of cat and mouse for an great ending. Oh, there will be explosives.
    • 4/5
      This Book was sent to me by the publisher St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley. Thank you.The Lizard King, the long-haul trucker serial killer who escaped justice in Box’s The Highway is back and Cassie Dewell is determined to get him this time. As Chief Inspector of the Bakken County Sheriff’s Department headquartered in Grimstad, North Dakota, she has been tracking the murderer of dozens of prostitutes and using very good circumstantial evidence has succeeded in setting up a sting operation to lure him to Grimstad. But the crafty killer not only evaded the trap but caused mayhem at the sting site and kidnapped two locals, housewife Amanda and Kyle, a 14 year old who is her son’s best friend.As a result of her miscalculation, Cassie is fired and only the pleas of Kyle’s grandmother get her to pursue the case as a private investigator. What follows is a tense pursuit that does not let up until the final page. On her way she finds allies who believe in her theory; a cantankerous old wilderness guide with possible early stage Altzheimer’s, a Montana sheriff who is willing to bend the rules to help her, and an old friend who might become more to her. The suspense does not let up from page one to the end. To discuss the mystery any more would be a discredit to the reader. Suffice to say, it is a book worthy of Edgar winner Box.

    Book preview

    Paradise Valley - C.J. Box

    cover.jpg

    PARADISE VALLEY

    C.J. Box

    Start Reading

    About this Book

    About the Author

    Table of Contents

    www.headofzeus.com

    About Paradise Valley

    img1.jpg

    A KILLER ON THE ROAD

    He’s the Lizard King – a serial killer who haunts North America’s highways and truck stops, preying on runaways and prostitutes. After years on the road, he’s tired. The net is closing around him. It’s time to end it.

    For three years, Chief Investigator Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Dewell has been hunting the Lizard King. Twice she has come close to taking him, but this time she surely has him. The trap is set and baited.

    What happens next will cost three policemen their lives and Cassie her job. But she can’t give up the hunt – she refuses to believe the charred body they pull from the flames is the Lizard King’s. Tracking two missing fourteen-year-old boys, Cassie – alone – takes to the road. A road from which, quite possibly, there is no return. A road that ends in Paradise Valley.

    Contents

    Welcome Page

    About Paradise Valley

    Dedication

    Epigraph

    Part 1

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 3

    Chapter 4

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    Part 2

    Chapter 8

    Chapter 9

    Chapter 10

    Chapter 11

    Chapter 12

    Chapter 13

    Part 3

    Chapter 14

    Chapter 15

    Chapter 16

    Chapter 17

    Chapter 18

    Part 4

    Chapter 19

    Chapter 20

    Chapter 21

    Chapter 22

    Part 5

    Chapter 23

    Chapter 24

    Chapter 25

    Chapter 26

    Chapter 27

    Chapter 28

    Chapter 29

    Acknowledgments

    About C.J. Box

    About the Joe Pickett Series

    Also by C.J. Box

    From the Editor of this Book

    An Invitation from the Publisher

    Copyright

    For boys who dream…

    and Laurie, always

    And much of Madness, and more of Sin,

    And Horror the soul of the plot.

    —EDGAR ALLAN POE, THE CONQUEROR WORM

    There’s a killer on the road

    His brain is squirming like a toad....

    —JIM MORRISON

    PART

    ONE

    GRIMSTAD,

    NORTH DAKOTA

    2017

    CHAPTER

    ONE

    The trap is set and he’s on his way, Cassie Dewell said to Sheriff Jon Kirkbride. She was out of breath from mounting the stairs to the third floor instead of waiting for the elevator.

    Kirkbride leaned back from his desk and cocked an eyebrow. His thick gunfighter’s mustache obscured the expression on his lips, but his eyes narrowed. The Lizard King?

    Cassie nodded her head furiously. She was both excited and scared. She was also hot and she peeled off her Bakken County Sheriff’s Department fleece.

    You’re sure it’s him?

    She said, I sent you a video link in an e-mail five minutes ago.

    He frowned. The sheriff disliked communicating by e-mail. What’s in it? he asked.

    Let me show you, she said. She shed the fleece in a chair and quickly advanced around the desk, and he rolled his chair back to accommodate her. She reached across him to toggle the space key on the keyboard to wake his computer up. She was aware that her hip was pressed against his right shoulder but she didn’t care. Not now.

    *

    It was Tuesday, September fifteenth. Cassie had left the first set of footprints in the frost across the still-green grass of the Law Enforcement Center that morning. She hadn’t even heard the loud honking from a V of geese descending through the river cottonwoods to the Missouri River. All indications were of an early winter.

    Thirty-nine-year-old Cassandra Cassie Dewell was the Chief Investigator for the BCSD, and she knew the sheriff would be in his office early. He always was. Even though he had horses to feed and stalls to clean out, he was at his desk hours before the morning shift showed up. Judy Banister, Kirkbride’s office administrator and the only other female within the agency, hovered just outside the door.

    Cassie had been three years on the job. The apartment unit she’d first moved into when she arrived was in view outside Kirkbride’s window, although it was now occupied by a deputy hired straight out of the law enforcement academy in Minnesota.

    Kirkbride had been the sheriff when Grimstad had 8,000 residents and was losing population every year. The demographics of western North Dakota at that time were a mix of German and Scandinavian farmers and a few Scot ranchers. That was before hydraulic fracturing in the Bakken Formation produced twenty percent of the nation’s oil and the county boomed beyond anyone’s imagination. He was still the sheriff when the unofficial census swelled to 45,000 in town and 80,000 in the county, and his department had grown from four deputies to forty.

    The sheriff had hired Cassie away from the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department in Helena, Montana, and had made her promise she would stay with him until his official retirement at the end of the year—three and a half months away. Since his announcement, he’d made it clear to anyone who would listen that he wanted her to be his hand-picked successor. What he’d not done was ask Cassie what she thought about that.

    Recently, she’d let her short brown hair grow to her shoulders and was debating with herself whether to color it to hide the gray strands that seemed to have shown up overnight. That, along with fifteen pounds that strained at her underwear and once-tailored uniform. Her own body, she thought, had recently conspired to make her unattractive and uncomfortable. Just in time for her wedding.

    That’s why she had sat down at her home computer that morning: to compose an e-mail to the dress shop in Bismarck asking them to delay sending her wedding dress until she could get up there and get re-measured. It was a miserable admission to make. But before she keyed in the request an incoming e-mail arrived.

    It was from Wilson, North Carolina.

    When she opened it an electrical charge shot through her.

    Then her cell phone lit up. The call was from Wilson County Prosecutor Leslie Behaunek.

    It’s him, Behaunek said. She was calling from her cell phone and Cassie imagined her walking fast down the courthouse hallway. "We’ve got him this time..."

    Cassie forwarded the e-mail to her address at work as well as to Kirkbride.

    *

    The sheriff had 198 unopened e-mails on his computer. Cassie guessed that was fewer than usual. She scrolled to the top of the list until she found her own address as sender. She clicked on the file.

    It took a few seconds to load.

    I really need to get Judy to weed through those e-mails, Kirkbride grumbled. Then, Okay, what are we looking at?

    The view was of dozens of tractor-trailers parked shoulder-to-shoulder in a lot. It was obviously nighttime. The viewing angle was from above the vehicles. The video feed was dark and grainy, and it appeared at first to be a still photograph. After watching it for a few seconds, though, exhaust from the stacks of the trucks curled up into the night air and occasionally a curtain would part from one of the sleeper cabs. There was no audio. The timestamp in the bottom right-hand corner said 10:53 PM.

    She said, This is from a closed-circuit security camera at a truck stop outside of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, last night.

    Kirkbride was still. He was concentrating on the monitor.

    Watch the top left, Cassie said, pressing the tip of her index finger on the screen on a distant truck cab. Beneath her finger the passenger door opened and there were a few seconds of illumination from the inside dome lights as a thin woman appeared, framed by the door. She wore a short skirt that hiked up her thighs as she climbed down from the cab. In the harsh half-light her pencil-like legs looked as white as chalk. She vanished in the shadows between the trucks for a moment. A meaty naked arm appeared from the sleeper section of the cab and shut the door behind her.

    She’s a truck-stop prostitute, Cassie said.

    I figured.

    They call them lot lizards.

    Got it, Kirkbride said. That’s where the guy gets his name.

    Right, she said. Now I’m going to speed it up a little.

    She clicked on fast-forward and the prostitute appeared to comically teeter from truck to truck on high heels. One by one, she sidled up to the driver’s side of each vehicle and apparently knocked on the doors. The driver in the first truck didn’t respond. The second driver flashed on his lights, saw who was out there, and turned them off again.

    Before the prostitute could approach the side of the third truck someone—either a wife or companion driver—apparently saw the prostitute coming and unfurled a brassiere out the driver’s side window and pinned it in place by rolling the window back up.

    "That means, ‘Beat it, lot lizard, there’s a woman at home,’" Cassie explained.

    Gotcha.

    Three refusals, Cassie said. But now watch.

    The prostitute moved parallel to the front bumper of the truck with the bra in the window and turned and walked between the third and fourth trucks. She was blocked from camera view by the side of the fourth truck.

    We can’t see her, but we can assume she’s standing between the two trucks negotiating with the driver in the fourth truck. If you watch closely, you can see the curtains rustle in the sleeper cab. Cassie pointed it out. He’s going to invite her in, Cassie said.

    There was a glimpse of the prostitute through the passenger window—just a smudge of white—as she entered the cab and turned toward the sleeper cab.

    I couldn’t see her very well, Kirkbride said.

    That’s because he must have disconnected his dome light so none of the other truckers could see her get in. Why do you suppose he did that?

    Kirkbride didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

    Note the time, Cassie said, pointing toward the time stamp. It reads 10:58 PM.

    Kirkbride nodded.

    I’m going to fast-forward again but it doesn’t matter. You can see that nothing happens... until 11:17.

    The only movement in the nineteen minutes was the crazy swirling of exhaust from the stacks of the idling trucks, a cat that seemed to skip across the pavement going left to right, and a vibration in the curtains of the sleeper cab.

    Cassie poked the icon to slow the video to normal speed.

    At 11:18, the headlights came on from the fourth semi followed by its running lights. The truck slowly pulled out of the slot, turned sharply, and drove out of camera view.

    The space left by the departing truck was empty.

    She didn’t get out, Kirkbride said. She’s still inside.

    We know his MO, Cassie said. "He’s done this dozens of times—maybe hundreds of times. He gets them inside his truck and injects them with a syringe filled with Rohypnol. When she’s comatose, he binds her up and drives her away. Either that, or he stashes them in the kill room he’s built in his trailer that we discovered in North Carolina. But in this case, he can’t risk taking her outside to put her in there... So he drives down the highway to a pull-out or rural road and then stashes her.

    It’s his truck, she said. Bright yellow Peterbilt 389 with a Unibilt Ultracab pulling a reefer trailer. North Dakota plates. It’s him all right.

    Where did you get this clip?

    Her name is Leslie Behaunek, Cassie said. She’s the county prosecutor in Wilson County, North Carolina. I met her last year when they flew me there to try and identify the Lizard King. Leslie felt guilty that he got away on a technicality and she blamed herself. Since then, Leslie and I made a pact to stay in touch and to finally get this guy. She’s made contacts with law enforcement and truck-stop owners across the country. Her contact in Eau Claire sent her this just a couple of hours ago.

    Kirkbride shook his head. Why didn’t this contact call the Wisconsin Highway Patrol?

    Because by the time he saw this clip he knew the Lizard King was likely out of the state and hundreds of miles away. That’s the thing—he’s always moving. He’s five states away by the time anyone realizes a prostitute didn’t come home. That’s why he’s been impossible to catch.

    Do you think she’s still alive?

    I do, Cassie said. "He doesn’t kill them right away. He likes to make videos of himself while he does it to watch later. The videos are his trophies. He assaults them, sometimes for weeks. That’s his history. Then they disappear."

    And he’s headed here to Grimstad?

    Yes, sir.

    What’s his ETA?

    She shot out her arm and checked her wristwatch. Three hours, fifteen minutes. He should be here by eleven this morning.

    How do you know that?

    Cassie spoke fast. He stopped at the weigh station in Hudson, Wisconsin at 1:10 AM. As you know, weigh stations are the bane of every trucker’s existence and every state has to have them to make sure trucks are safe and overweight rigs don’t pulverize their highways—and so they can check driver logs to make sure the truckers are in compliance and their log books are up to snuff. The truckers call them ‘coops’ like ‘chicken coops’ and the ones in Wisconsin are called ‘badger coops.’ Anyway, the station is unmanned that time of night but truckers have to drive through it and get weighed. When they’re on the scales they get a photo of the DOT number of the truck on the door and the license plate and they go after the driver later if there’s a weight issue.

    She took a breath and tried to be calm. Kirkbride watched her warily.

    Anyway, she said, it’s ten hours from that weigh station to Grimstad. That puts him here at eleven.

    Assuming he drives the speed limit, the sheriff mused.

    Oh, he does, Cassie said. And he never misses a weigh station, either. One thing we know about this guy is he’s a stickler for rules and regulations because he doesn’t want to get pulled over for something trivial. He knows that the only serial killer truck driver ever caught red-handed was when a state trooper in Arkansas pulled a guy over for a busted taillight and saw a human leg inside the cab. So our guy obeys every traffic law and regulation. When he drove through Hudson his gross vehicle weight was seventy thousand pounds. So he was ten thousand pounds light.

    And you know he’s coming here?

    Yes.

    Cassie, how do you know that? Kirkbride said, genuinely puzzled. Then: Oh yeah, I remember now. You set up a scheme to lure him in.

    And he finally bit, Cassie said. I actually talked to him myself.

    When?

    Yesterday afternoon. He called from somewhere in Michigan. He said he was headed west. I didn’t say anything to you at the time because there was no way to promise he’d follow through. Sometimes he’s called—I recognized his voice—but he was shopping rates for the best deal and he never came. He’s done the same to Leslie. But this time he texted a confirmation. He’s coming. I alerted the highway patrol but told them not to intercede in any way. They’re to report his progress only. He’ll show up at Dakota Remanufacturing to pick up the load.

    Kirkbride stroked his mustache. If he texted you then we have his cell number. We can track down the location of the phone.

    No we can’t, she said. He uses burner phones he buys in bulk at truck stops. They don’t have GPS chips. So when he calls the display reads UNKNOWN CALLER.

    I should have known, the sheriff said. He’s always a few steps ahead of us.

    Until now, she said.

    Have you called Tibbs?

    Avery Tibbs was the new county attorney. They both knew he might be a problem.

    Not yet.

    The FBI?

    Not yet. I just got that confirmation text from him ten minutes ago and I came straight to you.

    Kirkbride thought about that for a moment. Then he reached forward and plucked the handset from his landline. Before he hit the speed dial, he said, I’ll handle Tibbs. You call your Fed.

    Special Agent Craig Rhodine, Cassie added.

    Yeah, him.

    He’s got a special team on call. I don’t know how long it’ll take him to get them geared up and on the plane.

    "He’s got a plane?" Kirkbride scoffed.

    A Boeing 727, Cassie said. It’s reserved for the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group.

    His eyebrows rose. Kirkbride was always immediately suspicious of federal law enforcement intervention.

    The what?

    The Critical Incident Response Group, she said. From what I understand it’s a group made up of a tactical assault squad, snipers, criminal profilers, attack dogs, and crisis managers. They show up in a 727 with blacked-out windows. Plus Rhodine himself, of course.

    Sounds like overkill, the sheriff said, more to himself than to Cassie.

    Don’t forget who we’re up against, she said.

    I haven’t. How many years have you been after him?

    Four, she said. Well, three and a half.

    Will they get clearance at Sloukan?

    Sloukan Field Airport had once been located on the northeastern town limits of Grimstad before the growth of the community had overrun it. It was now in the middle of town surrounded by still-to-be-completed subdivisions.

    I don’t know, she said, flustered. I assume they’ll take care of that themselves. I’ll ask them.

    Don’t forget we have commercial flights now, Kirkbride said.

    She had no response. She had no idea why he was focusing on the flights that had been introduced to Bakken County by Delta and United to service the traffic generated by the oil boom when the Lizard King—also known as Ronald Pergram and Dale Spradley—was finally on his way directly to them.

    Jon...

    I know, I know, he said, holding up his left hand. I just worry about logistics. That’s a lot of firepower coming into my little town.

    As Cassie strode to the door Kirkbride called out to her to stop.

    When she paused in the doorway, he said, I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Cassie.

    Please don’t say that. It hurt that he said it.

    Don’t get me wrong, he said. I’m with you. I trust you. I’ve got your back all the way. But this is happening fast. You’ve told me the Lizard King is smart as hell and he’s gotten away more than once. He knows the law and he knows how to hire the best defense lawyers to keep him out of jail. I worry about not building a careful box around this guy. We can’t screw up. We can’t let him escape again.

    Cassie turned and narrowed her eyes. He won’t get away this time.

    How do you know that?

    Because, she said, we’re going to kill him if we have to.

    Kirkbride was still. The phone was still in his hand, still poised halfway between the handset and his ear.

    Good thing I didn’t hear that, he said.

    CHAPTER

    TWO

    Cassie looped through an empty roundabout in her department Yukon and caromed out of it onto a wide suburban street called Abell Drive, after George T. Abell. She took a right on Erle Halliburton Way up to the driveway of her home, which was the only occupied house in the cul-de-sac. All of the streets in her new subdivision had been named after members of the Petroleum Hall of Fame based in Midland, Texas. One of the city council members had come up with that during the apex of the boom.

    She’d purchased the split-level home before the bottom fell out of oil prices. Time had proved that she’d paid too much for it but she was stuck. There were five empty but finished houses on the cul-de-sac and scores of them within the subdivision. She’d wanted Ben to live in a real house with a real yard in a real neighborhood with other kids around, because he’d been the only boy his age in the county housing complex next to the Law Enforcement Center. Not that Ben seemed to mind, though. He liked interacting with the officers he saw in the elevator and hallways—all those uniforms and guns—and they seemed to like him.

    Unfortunately, there were no other boys his age in the subdivision and only one other family, and they had a FOR SALE sign in their front yard.

    She left the Yukon running and her door open and was about to charge up the steps to the door when she paused. Her heart was racing and she took a deep breath to try and calm herself.

    Cassie turned on the porch and looked out at the Missouri Breaks in the valley below her. It was a cool and still fall morning and quite a contrast to the way she felt inside. Thick river cottonwoods fused with yellow and red clogged the banks far below and extended in a multicolor ribbon to the east as far as she could see. In the early mornings or at dusk she often saw white-tailed deer in the meadows beyond the trees, and there were always geese and ducks cruising above the treetops. One of the reasons she’d jumped at the chance to buy the house was because of the view. It reminded her a little of Montana, her home state, but with no mountains or elk. And in the fields beyond the river in every direction, oil wells winked at night, making Grimstad look much bigger from the air than it actually was.

    *

    Where did you go? her mother Isabel asked as Cassie entered the house. I heard you talking to someone on your phone early this morning but when I got up and looked around you were already gone.

    The Grimstad Tribune was opened in front of her on the kitchen table. The kitchen smelled of fresh coffee.

    The office, Cassie said, looking around for signs of Ben.

    He’s getting dressed, Isabel said.

    Cassie looked at her watch. They usually left for school by this time.

    You’ll make it, Isabel said. Just drive like you normally do.

    "Ben, Cassie called in the direction of the stairs. Let’s go."

    Coming, mother, Ben responded from his bedroom upstairs. There was exasperation in his tone, plus the word mother, which was an unwelcome new addition to his repertoire.

    Coffee? Isabel asked, not getting up.

    No time.

    Of course not, her mother said. She disapproved of people in a hurry, especially Cassie.

    Isabel—she had always insisted Cassie call her by her made-up hippie name from the sixties instead of mom—had settled into Grimstad much better than Cassie had anticipated she would. The go-go atmosphere of rampant maleness and naked capitalism had somehow energized Isabel to become even more of a bulwark against both. Rather than throw up her hands in despair, Isabel had founded a small group of disaffected newcomers called Progressive Grimstad to agitate for larger budgets for social workers, homeless shelters, and a cooperative grocery store that sold non-GMO organic food. Cassie found herself agreeing with the need for the first two projects but was not enthusiastic about the third. Progressive Grimstad had made the proposals at county commission meetings and suggested that the funding should come from the bloated sheriff’s department budget. The proposal was shot down although Cassie had hoped it would pass, and Isabel vowed to raise funds to renovate an empty building downtown to house social workers. Still, Sheriff Kirkbride was annoyed about the potential raid on his budget.

    Plus—although Isabel wouldn’t admit it to her daughter—Cassie suspected Isabel enjoyed the attention she received from oil field and construction workers when she ventured out in public with her flowing robes and waist-length silver hair. Although Isabel had always looked like an individual in Montana, she really stood out in North Dakota. And she was surprisingly effective in obtaining funding commitments from area businesses and newly wealthy landowners in the area.

    Isabel liked standing out. Cassie often thought that if Isabel wasn’t her mother she wouldn’t have much to do with her at all. Too much drama, too many sharp opinions, too many high-minded causes that rarely produced any tangible results—until now. Isabel was on a mission.

    Isabel had dragged Cassie around with her for eighteen years and when Cassie got her position in Grimstad she felt she needed to return the favor. And Isabel truly loved Ben.

    *

    Did you get breakfast? Cassie asked Ben when they were in the Yukon. He was wearing his daily uniform: baggy jeans, high-top Nikes, Grimstad Vikings hoodie, unshaped trucker cap. His backpack was on the floor near his feet.

    Not hungry, he said.

    "That doesn’t matter, Ben. We’ve talked about this. You need breakfast."

    I’m fine.

    I don’t care, she said, shaking her head. Tomorrow, you eat something. No argument.

    He shrugged and looked out the window. Then: So what’s going down?

    What do you mean? she asked, stalling for time until they got to school.

    I’m not stupid, Ben said. I know you’ve got those two cell phones. One is a normal phone and the other is for that trucker. I know you’ve gotten calls on that trucker phone and I can tell you’re all worked up.

    I’m not worked up, she lied.

    So what’s going on? he asked.

    She couldn’t tell whether he was concerned for her or curious about the law enforcement operation itself. She guessed a little of both. She hoped it was more of the former since Cassie was all Ben had except for Isabel.

    Ben’s father and Cassie’s husband Army Sergeant Jim Dewell had died during the Battle of Wanat in Afghanistan in 2008. Ben had never met his father but he always kept a photo of him in the camo uniform and helmet on his desk. Ben had recently written a paper for his English class entitled Jim Dewell: Wartime Hero for Our Time. Cassie had read it with tears in her eyes. Ben wanted his father to be heroic in every sense. Cassie saw no reason to correct Ben’s hopes, and she’d vowed to never do it although in fact Jim had enlisted in the military the

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