Page 87 of Hidden Nature

“It’s all yours. And,” Elana added with a big smile of relief, “whew!”

He’d taken down two more trees, and when they topped the rise, she saw another down. And the man—big belly, big brown beard—using the axe to split the logs he’d made on the fresh stump.

Sloan judged him at mid-forties, five-ten, and carrying about two hundred pounds. He wore a flannel coat, yellow work gloves, and a ratty black cap.

He shifted when he spotted them, then gripped the axe handle with both hands.

Sloan put hers on the butt of her weapon.

“Get off my land!”

“Sir, this is public land.”

“I’m the goddamn public. My taxes pay for these trees, and I’m taking my share. Fuck off.”

Sloan kept her hand on her weapon, and her eyes on his. And blocked out the dread crawling up her spine as she had one quick flash of the mini-mart.

This was now, she reminded herself. Right here, right now.

“Sir, we’re with the Natural Resources Police. You’re not permitted to cut down trees on public land. Please put down the axe.”

He shook it. “Why don’t you come over here and take it? Try it, and you’ll lose an arm. No bitch is going to tell me my rights.”

“You’re threatening police officers with a deadly weapon. Please put down the axe and step away from it.”

“If I give it a toss, I’ll split your head in two where you stand. Get the hell off my land. I’ve got a right to defend it, and I damn well will.”

“No, sir, you don’t, but we do.”

Since he looked perfectly capable and just crazy enough to throw the axe, she drew her weapon.

“I really don’t want to fire my weapon, but if you make any threatening movements, I absolutely will. Now put the axe down and step away from it.”

“You gonna shoot me?” Through the thick beard, he bared his teeth. “You gonna shoot me over trees? A million goddamn trees around here, and you’d fucking shoot me over them?”

“No, sir. I’m going to arrest you for that. But I will shoot you if you continue to threaten us with that weapon.”

He did throw the axe, but down into the stump. Then he lifted fisted hands. “Come on and try it.”

Sloan holstered her weapon, pulled out her baton. As she approached, he charged forward. She ducked his wild swing, sidestepped.

Then whipped the baton hard against the back of his knees.

He went down like, well, a tree.

“Stay down!” She yanked his arms behind him, snapped on cuffs.“Officer, report in. We’re bringing a prisoner down Deer Track Trail. We need a team up here to record the scene, to confiscate the prisoner’s axe, chainsaw, snowmobile, and sled and to clear the downed trees.

“Sir, what’s your name?”

“Fuck you!”

“Fine, Mr. Fuck You, you’re under arrest for defacing public land, for threatening police officers with bodily harm, for assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. On your feet.”

She started to haul him up, waited to feel that snap and pain in her chest. It didn’t come, but neither did he.

She drew in another breath, relieved, so relieved, it came steady and clear.

“Give me a hand, Officer Sanchez. Mr. Fuck You’s still resisting.”

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