Page 72 of Monk
Grunting and panting, I squeeze myself through the narrow window. I’m only about halfway through. Maybe not even that. My breasts are hanging me up and making it difficult to propel myself through. I draw in a deep breath and hold it, giving myself another push.
“Fuck,” I scream.
The door frame vibrates as it sounds like both Spencer and X are hammering on it now. The one thing I’ll say for old cabins is they knew how to build them. They’re sturdy as hell—a fact I’m absolutely grateful for at the moment.
“Come on, come on,” I cry as I give myself another push.
I can’t help but feel like a baby struggling out of the birth canal right now. And regretting having that third pancake this morning. I kick my legs, trying to give myself another boost forward, but I remain right where I am, stuck in the window by my tits. The only thing going for me right now is that if they get through that door before I manage to unstick myself, they’ll have just as hard of a time pulling me back in as I’m having pushing myself out.
Another flurry of blows lands on the door and I hear a sharp crack. That door is coming down in the next five seconds, I know it. With one Herculean push, I thrust myself forward and feel my breasts sliding over the windowsill.
“Yes! Oh my god, yes!” I cry.
The door crashes inward with a sound like thunder. I feel hands on my feet and hear Spencer shouting at me, though I can’t make out individual words. He’s so pissed, he’s screaming. Ordinarily, I’d stop to mock him, but I don’t hear X and have a very bad feeling that he’s finally figured out that he can go around the outside and cut me off.
I almost want to laugh that these two idiots didn’t come to that obvious conclusion earlier, and I may still. But not until I manage to extricate myself from this window once and for all and get the hell away.
To that end, with Spencer grabbing onto my left foot, I draw all the strength I can muster and piston my right foot backward. It hits something solid and I feel it give way beneath my shoe. The sound of something cracking fills my ears, and it’s quickly followed by Spencer’s howls of pain.
Knowing I’ll have to savor the moment later, I thrust myself all the way out and hit the ground, landing awkwardly on my shoulder. The pain flares up instantly and I have to bite back the cry and my tears. No time for that. I get to my feet and sprint for the tree line. I hear a man shouting behind me and then the sharp crack of a gunshot.
Expecting to feel a hot bullet punch through me at any moment, I run as hard and fast as I can. I pass the wide trunk of a sequoia just as something slams into it, sending chips of bark spraying everywhere. I feel a line of fire slicing my cheek, then the warm, wet flow of my blood. I yelp and push on, hearing the man yelling incomprehensibly behind me.
It’s only when I’m deep in the shadows and gloom of the forest, shielded by the massive trunk of a fallen giant hundreds of years old, that I dare stop. I lean out, peering around the moldering wood, and see that the trail is clear. Just in case the guy knows how to track, I make a circuitous route, doubling back over my tracks at some points, sprinting up small rises, and doing all I can to lay a confusing trail.
I let out a sigh of relief and try to catch my breath as long as I’m able. The muscles in my thighs are burning and my calves feel like they’re on the verge of cramping up. The only thing I’m running on right now is adrenaline. And I hope that can sustain me for a while longer.
The sound of Spencer’s and X’s voices carry to me. Those are followed by the sound of gunshots. I guess they’re firing at shadows, or maybe trying to flush me out. I can’t tell exactly where they are, though. The heavy air and the massive trunks of the trees play hell with the acoustics in here. But I have a general idea they’re a little way off, still, and to my right. I need to keep moving.
With a groan, I get to my feet and plunge deeper into the forest, running like the Devil himself is chasing me because in this case, he kind of is.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monk
“That’s the quick and dirty version of things, Sheriff Singer. And before you say a word, I want you to know that I did not bring this into her life. That was the doing of her husband,” I say.
Singer sits back in the chair, his face red, his eyes shimmering with tears. I’ve never seen an emotion other than anger from the man before, so it’s disconcerting to say the least. I clear my throat and take a long swallow of water.
“I knew she was keepin’ something from me, but I wanted to believe it was just this mess with her husband. None of this other stuff even occurred to me. I mean… a cartel? How in the hell did she get mixed up in this?” he says miserably.
Calling Singer in for a sit-down at the clubhouse was Prophet’s idea. I argued that we needed to get on the road, but he’d calmed me down and told me we needed to do this right. Which included filling Singer in on everything.
The guys we’re taking with us, twenty-five in all, are battle hardened. All of us have been in the service, and all of us have been in combat. We’re all soldiers and we’ve all been in the shit. If there was ever a group that I needed to pull my ass out of the fire, it would be these guys.
Singer looks at me and for once, I can’t read his expression. “I didn’t listen to her. Why didn’t I listen to her?” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “She tried to tell me he was a bad guy, and I didn’t fuckin’ listen.”
“The time for self-recrimination comes later. Right now, we need to go out there and put these fuckers down and bring her back to you. Prophet wanted to make sure you were in the loop because things out at the lodge are likely going to be noisy and you’re likely gonna get some calls. We thought if you knew in advance, you could run interference from your end.”
“I can’t let you guys take this one. I’ll call in all my deputies and we’ll go out there and handle this. I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, but this is police business, boys,” Singer says.
Prophet leans forward, his gaze intense. “Let me make this clear to you, Sheriff, if you and your deputies roll out there, every single one of you is going to die.”
“All due respect, Prophet, but I’ve got good men—”
“I’m not sayin’ you don’t. But your men ain’t ever been in a war. And when you’re goin’ up against cartel sicarios, that’s what it is. A war.”
“We can handle ourselves,” Singer says.
