Blood Trail – Matt Query

Clark looked over at him then, an almost boyish mistrust in his hard face, gauging Harry for a few moments before looking back at the horse. “That’d be good of ya.” Harry watched the game warden. Remembering what he’d seen at a glance in the subterranean charnel house after the raid near Fort Peck Lake, what he’d said to Charlotte a few hours later, he felt an urge to ask him if he, the leader, had been here before.

He shook the ridiculous thought away. It was nonsense, and Harry knew it. Rickert was a stark contrast to the usual profile of someone on a task force like this, but that’s really all that was special about him. He’d found some footprints, could track well, had a knack for crime scene deduction, seemed to have an unshakable demeanor no matter how much chaos he’d been exposed to, and displayed a rustic charm and vibe that —evinced by his little horse rehab showcase—had a positive effect on morale.

But that was it. It had been a very long time since Harry Jacobson had been smitten with or intimidated by another man. It unsettled him, and he welcomed a swell of confidence that this guy was just an amusing but genuinely ignorant person, not some goddamned soothsayer. He was about to turn and head back to his staff when Clark spoke.

“Can I ask you something, Harry?” Harry raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised, then nodded. “Go for it.” Clark looked over, then gestured at the land around them lazily with an open hand. “Why was I put onto the task force leadership team? And please don’t tell me it’s just protocol to include a local law enforcement liaison among the command, because I know it isn’t. I understand why the lawyers would want me on the ground, rolling with the assault teams. That makes sense, but the command element?

With you, Benson, Bishop, Nowell, and the rest? It just doesn’t track. And it may well be that you don’t know why, and if you honestly don’t, at least tell me who ordered you to do it.

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1kitap1.com/en 1kitap1.com/en This book is dedicated first and foremost to our parents, and all others raising their children to love the mountains. As well as the women we love who keep our feet on the ground and our heads from ascending into orbit, Sonya and Chelsea. Lastly, to the next generation for whom these books will be around long after we’re gone, Clark and Quinn.

1kitap1.com/en PROLOGUE FLANNEL SHIRTS AND NECK TATTOOS. To Clark Rickert, sometimes it felt as though his entire career had just been a bloody, churning cauldron of flannel shirts and neck tattoos. Throughout the seventeen years he’d held this job, Clark had encountered many other things far more frequently: guns, violence, screaming packs of hounds, bears, bone saws, gut piles, steep mountain passes, the frosted predawn darkness.

Even so, there was something about these two specific things—when adorned by the same person in the specific places Clark worked —that dilated his pupils, quickened his heart rate, and set his teeth to grinding. Clark owned flannel shirts himself. He’d known people with neck tattoos over the years who were pleasant enough, and assumed that they, likewise, owned a flannel shirt or two.

He felt absolutely nothing when he saw someone with a neck tattoo in a flannel at a fly shop or a bar. But whenever he was in the kinds of places his job sent him, and he encountered someone with both these characteristics, he knew it meant things were probably about to go to shit, and fast. Clark knew this was unfair profiling. He knew this was a flagrant social or implicit bias.

He had no doubt about it. All the implicit bias, cultural competency, and scenario-based DEI trainings he’d completed over the years confirmed as much. He just didn’t care. It was his only organic, unflinching prejudice, and he’d keep space for it with no shame.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 441
• Language: English (en)

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