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Traeger

M y phone starts ringing in my back pocket, breaking the silence of the morning. Disturbing the peace up here on this mountain. Disrupting my calm. It’s my burner phone, which means whoever is calling needs something from me. Only a select few have the number, and if any one of them is calling, then shit is going down. Shit I don’t want to be a part of. I left that life behind for good reason and I’m not interested in going back.

I tug on the rope one last time, making sure it’s strong enough to hold whatever comes walking into my trap. Even the largest bear up on this mountain couldn’t stand a chance against my knots, so it should be good to go. I pick up my tools and tuck them into my belt, then start heading down to check the next trap. My phone starts buzzing again, burning a hole in my conscience with every ring. It could be an emergency. A life-or-death situation. And how am I going to feel if I ignore the call and find out that one of my good friends has died on account of me not answering?

“Hello,” I grunt, sounding as though I haven’t used my voice in ages. Guess it has been a few days. There aren’t a whole lot of animals crossing my path to converse with, so my vocal cords don’t get stretched much.

“Took you long enough,” the old familiar voice rumbles through the line. “I was beginning to think I needed to send search and rescue up to that mountain of yours to find your corpse.”

“If I were dead, the coyotes would’ve eaten me by now. Why are you calling, Ryker?”

“Really? That’s how you’re going to greet your old friend?”

Only when I know that old friend needs something from me. If this were a friendly check-in to shoot the shit and see if I’m still kicking, he would’ve sent me a damn email. But whatever he wants to discuss can’t have a paper trail.

“You calling to ask how many buzzards I saw flying over top the mountain today?” I saw three circling this morning, which means some kind of animal met its fate. “Or are you calling to invite me to a barbecue? Sorry, but I’m a little busy this weekend and won’t be able to make it.”

“Busy doing what? Wrangling bears? Bird-watching?” He thinks I twiddle my thumbs all day long, but I’ve got plenty to occupy my time with. And believe me, after everything I went through, boredom is welcome. “It’s not a barbecue, but what do you say to having dinner with me tonight? I’ll take you out to the nicest place in town and buy you a steak. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

He acts like I’m living off MREs up here. I grow what I can in the way of vegetables, and drive into town to stock up on dry goods, meat, and whatever supplies I need, so I never go without.

“Breakfast,” I grunt. “I had myself some deer sausage and a quail egg omelet.” And it was better than any fancy-ass meal I can get in town.

“Yeah. Well, when was the last time you ate a meal you didn’t have shoot and skin first?”

“You going to tell me why you’re so interested in feeding me?” It’s about time he gets to the real meat and potatoes because I know there’s a reason brewing behind this friendly get-together.

“Can’t say. I’m on the clock.” In other words, Uncle Sam is listening and it isn’t safe for him to talk. He’s a cop, and down at the station, you never know who’s eavesdropping on the line. The place is crawling with bugs. “But I’ll tell you this…” His voice drops and I can tell he’s covering his mouth. “I’ve got a dirty pen out on the land, and I need some help handling the rabid pigs.” Which is code for the fact that he’s dealing with some dirty cops.

This is the exact reason I moved off grid. I lost faith in people. The agents I worked with, the ones meant to serve and protect, were just as crooked as the criminals we were investigating. In fact, they were worse. There was no one I could trust. And the few I could were dropping like flies. So, I fled before they could eliminate me too. Sounds like Ryker’s now dealing with the same. Only these fuckers are carrying police badges.

“Nothing ever changes, does it?” I sigh. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” As much as I don’t want to get involved, this man took out the drug dealer who had his gun pointed right at my forehead, so I won’t turn my back on him.

“How about we say seven at the finest steakhouse in town? Means you’ll have to dust off your old suit and shave that beard of yours.”

Nah, I’m not shaving for shit. I’m not trying to impress anyone or find myself a woman. I just need to get the information from him and then I’ll be handling everything else from behind my computer screen.

“I’ll see you at seven.”

I cut the line and stare out at the mountain ridge, taking in a deep breath of the clean crisp air. Listening to the quiet. The calm. Feeling the cool breeze whip across my skin. It’s peaceful up here. No noise. No drama. And no fucking crooked agents breathing down my neck, wanting me to break the law for them, wanting to ensure I fall in line. I worked so damn hard, feeling proud of protecting my country, but then the truth was revealed, and I realized exactly who I was working for: criminals.

It’s just a dinner with an old pal and then I’ll be back up here breathing steady again.