Free Virtue Falls by Christina Dodd Page B

had taken that away from him, kind of like ripping the badge off an old-time Western sheriff. Garik had bought this piece at a pawn shop, though, and the Colt felt good in his hand. Solid. Cold. Uncaring. Unthinking …
    He felt at rest with his decision.
    Margaret would be angry, grieved and hurt, and he regretted that. He knew Elizabeth would mourn him, too. But Margaret wasn’t related to him, for all that she’d cared for him so diligently, and Elizabeth was no longer his wife. He’d gone over the logic a hundred times, and he couldn’t live with the knowledge he had started down the road in his father’s footsteps. That he was a killer. Inadvertently, but a killer.
    He unmuted the TV and turned up the sound. It wouldn’t muffle the shot, but it might make it sound like he was watching another version of The Punisher .
    Lifting the gun, he placed the barrel in his mouth.
    He lowered it, and grimaced. For all the many times he’d handled a gun, he’d never tasted one. Metal and gun oil had ruined the savory, lingering flavors of his meal.
    Tough shit, huh.
    He lifted the pistol again. That flavor wasn’t the worst part of this.
    The worst part was getting distracted by those phony newscasters.
    The guy with the carefully applied blond streaks in his hair and dutiful concern announced, “An eight-point-one earthquake struck off the west coast of Washington State, shaking an area extending from Alaska to San Francisco and wreaking havoc in Seattle where it knocked bricks off of buildings and killed sixteen people in a bank collapse.” Photos and videos took over the screen. “A massive tsunami struck the coast, tearing into the beaches.” The feed switched to helicopter shots of the incoming waves battering the low-lying beaches. “The town of Forks was hard hit, and there we begin our coverage—”
    Garik put down the pistol. He sat forward. “What about Virtue Falls?” he asked aloud.
    The picture switched to a wide-eyed female, standing in front of a collapsed building illuminated by floodlights. “As you can see, in this small rural community made famous by the Twilight books and movies, the earthquake damage has been substantial—”
    “How much truth are you telling, and how much is news hype?” Standing, Garik headed for his jacket, pulled his cell phone, and called the Virtue Falls Resort.
    No connection.
    He called the Virtue Falls sheriff’s office.
    No connection.
    The news babbled on, abandoning the earthquake in Washington State and moving to the story of a local woman who had inherited a guitar once played by Bob Dylan. Because, you know, that was important.
    Garik hit the Internet to get the earthquake details.
    The news was right about one thing. Helicopter footage showed a huge tsunami striking the coast, rushing up rivers and swamping low-lying areas.
    Elizabeth.
    He’d been married to Elizabeth. He knew the theory about Virtue Falls Canyon. He knew Elizabeth was working down there on her father’s project.
    Had she been in the canyon when the earthquake hit?
    Surely not. It had struck late in the day.
    But he knew her. When she was obsessed with her rocks, time passed and she never noticed.
    What about Margaret? The resort hung precariously over the Pacific. Margaret had paid for the resort’s refitting, but could it withstand the assault of the ocean?
    He called the airlines.
    They weren’t flying into Seattle right now. Not until the aftershocks stopped. They weren’t flying into Portland, either. Damage at the airport.
    Going into the bedroom, he pulled out his duffel bag; he had always kept it packed for unexpected trips for the FBI, and old habits died hard.
    He pulled on socks and his running shoes.
    He’d take his truck, a white Ford F-250, powerful as hell. After all, Nevada had a top speed limit of seventy-five miles per hour, and he still held an FBI ID.
    He had claimed he lost it in the fight.
    His supervisor had claimed he believed him.
    So even figuring he’d get