Kitabı oku: «Colorado Abduction», sayfa 3
Her hidden vulnerability appealed to him. Behind her facade, he caught glimpses of a touching innocence that made him want to gather her into his arms and promise her the world. Which still didn’t excuse him for kissing her forehead. He wasn’t usually so unprofessional, but he didn’t regret that kiss. Her skin tasted spicy—warm and soft.
“What do you need?” he asked.
She started. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Just resting.”
“I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
She placed her cell phone down on the table and approached him. “What if I can’t put together the ransom by the deadline?”
He’d prefer that she not pay ransom at all. “Problems?”
“We don’t have a million dollars in liquid assets, so the ransom requires a loan against our collateral, which, in turn, requires a ton of paperwork. Also, my financial adviser tells me that the local banks, even in Delta, can’t pull that much cash from their reserves. We’ll have to use a Denver bank and fly the money over here.”
“I’m impressed that you found out that much tonight.”
“I get things done, Burke.”
She wasn’t bragging, just stating a fact. He had no doubt that Carolyn wouldn’t hesitate to wake up the entire Colorado banking community to get what she wanted.
“If you can’t get the money, explain it to the kidnapper. Ask for more time.”
“And if he refuses?”
“He won’t.”
She turned away from him and wandered around the table, checking out the equipment. When she came to the screen with the map and the red dots, she pointed. “What’s this?”
“A map.”
“I can tell it’s a map,” she said with some exasperation. “And not a very good one. If you want more detailed maps of the area, we’ve got plenty. Dylan uses them to keep track of the different fields, pastures and grazing rotation.”
He hauled himself out of the comfortable chair and went to stand beside her. The top of her head came up to his chin. In her boots, she was close to six feet. A tall woman. He liked that.
He pointed to the red markings. “These dots represent incidents of sabotage.”
She counted. “Seven incidents. Since my brother hasn’t seen fit to keep me informed, can you tell me about them?”
Burke had plenty of details. During the interrogations, he’d listened to dozens of complaints from ticked-off cowboys. “Like you said before, it was just petty mischief until the barn burned down.”
Her soft pink lips frowned. “I still don’t understand why. We’re good neighbors. We provide employment to the people in this area. Why would anybody do this to us?”
“You want motives?” He flipped open the notepad where Silverman had recorded their notes. “There are over twenty names listed. People who bear grudges against the Carlisles.”
She leaned over the table. Her manicured fingernail—a feminine contrast to her ranch clothes—skimmed down the list. “I don’t even know half these people. How did you come up with this list?”
“Your employees told us about them. By the way, all the ranch hands were quick to say that they like their jobs and your brother is a good, fair-minded boss.”
She pointed to a name on the list. “Who’s this?”
When he bent down to see where she was pointing, her ponytail brushed against his cheek. The scent of lilacs from her hair distracted him and it took a moment for him to read the name. “He works for an oil company. Your brother wouldn’t allow his equipment access through Carlisle property.”
“That hardly seems like an incitement to vandalism. Or kidnapping.”
Though Burke agreed, he knew better than to overlook any motive, no matter how slight. Some people could work themselves into a homicidal frenzy over a stubbed toe.
She read another name. “Nate Miller. That’s no surprise. He’s hated us forever, blames us for his father’s failure on the Circle M.”
“There are a couple of other ranchers on the list who don’t like the competition from Carlisle Ranch.”
“It’s business,” she said. “Why make it personal?”
“Your success hurts their bottom line. People tend to take bankruptcy personally.”
“But we’re always fair. Always.” She tapped the name with her finger. “Dutch Crenshaw runs the meatpacking plant in Delta. We’ve given him millions of dollars in business over the years.”
Burke considered Crenshaw’s motive to be one of the best. “But you’re thinking about building your own slaughterhouse.”
“I gave him a chance,” she said. “I told him that we wanted to use state-of-the-art humane technology, but he refused to modify his plant.”
“So you’re going to put him out of business.”
She frowned. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point.”
His focus on the list was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by the sound of gunfire. The shots came from the front of the house.
Chapter Five
Burke’s risk assessment had been dead wrong. They were under attack. He caught hold of Carolyn’s upper arm and turned her toward him. “Go upstairs. Don’t turn on any lights and—”
“The hell I will.” She wrenched free. “Those were gunshots. Somebody’s firing at my house—the house that’s been in my family for three generations, the house my grandpa built. Don’t ask me to hide behind the lace curtains in my bedroom.”
Stubborn woman. “I go first. Stay behind me.”
“Of course. I’m not going to put myself or anyone else in danger.”
He grabbed his handgun from the shoulder holster slung across the back of a chair, aware of seconds ticking away. Whoever fired that shot would be making his escape. Moving quickly through the house, Burke turned off lights as he went. Carolyn followed in his footsteps.
Her brother staggered into the moonlit hallway, rubbing his eyes. “Carolyn? What’s going on?”
“Stay with him,” Burke ordered as he flipped the latch on the front door. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving Carolyn behind—thank God—he slipped outside onto the veranda. Aware that he might be the next target for a man with a rifle and a nightscope, Burke stayed low. He dodged around the rocking chair and porch swing. At the end of the veranda, he jumped over the railing and ducked into the shadows.
Wind rustled the bare branches of a cottonwood. Nothing else appeared to be moving.
“Over here, Burke.”
Burke followed the sound of the voice and saw a security guard crouched behind a truck that was parked on the wide gravel space beyond a hitching rail. Burke hustled toward him. “Where’s the shooter?”
“Didn’t see him. I was behind the house when I heard the shots.”
His heavy jaw was thrust forward. His name, Burke remembered, was Neville. He’d been in the Secret Service for five years before joining Longbridge Security. “What about a vehicle?”
Neville shook his head. “I didn’t hear a car.”
Cautiously, they peered around the truck. The driveway leading to the house was a long gravel lane. The yard was about an acre of winter-brown grass, separated from the road by a whitewashed fence. On the other side of the road, the land turned rugged with lots of trees and rocks—plenty of hiding places for a sniper.
“He could be dug in behind those rocks,” Burke said.
He nodded. “A decent rifle would be accurate from four, maybe even five hundred yards away.”
After that first burst of gunfire, no other shots had been fired. Likely, the shooter had already hightailed it out of there. “Do you think he’s gone?”
“I don’t want to test that theory by taking a bullet,” Neville said.
“Let’s find him,” Burke said. “You go right. I’ll go left. We’ll meet at the fence by the road.”
As Burke moved across the yard, he scanned the cold, moonlit landscape. There was virtually no cover. Burke longed for the city streets, crowded with parked cars and doorways to duck into. This sniper was probably an expert hunter. Not like the city punks who held their guns sideways, more concerned with looking cool than taking careful aim.
When he reached the fence and no other shots had been fired, he was fairly sure that their sniper was gone. He heard the door to the house open. A mob spilled onto the veranda. Carolyn and her brother were both carrying rifles. The other three FBI agents accompanied them.
Lucas and two other cowboys—also armed—charged toward the veranda from the two-story bunkhouse.
“There are way too many guns on this ranch,” Burke said. This was the land of the Second Amendment where the right to bear arms would not be infringed upon. He turned and looked across the road. From where he stood, he spotted four good positions for a sniper to hide, if he’d even bothered to take cover. With Neville behind the house and no one else keeping watch, the sniper could have stopped in the road, dropped to one knee, taken aim and fired. But why? What did he hope to gain by rousing the household?
“Sorry I missed him,” Neville said.
“Not your fault. One man can’t patrol an area this size.”
As he and Neville walked up the drive toward the house, Burke shivered in the December cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or hat, and hadn’t bothered to put on gloves. Responding to the threat had been his sole focus.
The gunfire bothered him because it didn’t make sense. As a rule, kidnappers kept close tabs on their hostages.
But two men had abducted Nicole. One could be with her while the other came here. Why? By now the kidnappers had to know that the FBI had been called in. Why take the risk of coming close?
He stopped behind the black rental van he and his men had driven from the Delta airfield. The back window was shot out, and there was a neat bullet hole in the rear license plate. None of the other vehicles showed signs of damage. The FBI van had been the target.
Carolyn stepped up beside him. Her rifle rested on her shoulder. “Looks like a pretty clear message, Burke. Somebody doesn’t like you.”
For a moment he grinned. He liked a challenge.
AFTER SHE’D HERDED EVERYONE back into the house, Carolyn took Burke and her brother into the office to talk strategy.
Somehow Carolyn had to turn the situation around and make it work. But what can I do? She couldn’t put in extra hours to get the job done. It didn’t matter that she was smart and strong. She couldn’t change fate.
Pacing on the carpet, she snapped at her brother, “Don’t drink that coffee. Caffeine keeps you awake.”
“Somebody needs to be alert.” He leaned against the desk and faced the sofa where Burke sat. “Looks like we made a mistake.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The kidnappers don’t want the FBI involved.”
“Of course they don’t.” Her temper flared. “That’s exactly why Burke and his men are staying here. We need their expertise.”
“Why? We’re paying the ransom. I’m not taking any chances with my wife’s safety.”
“You want reasons?” In spite of her brother’s distress, she had to be brutally honest. “I don’t think I can get my hands on a million dollars in cash by the deadline.”
“Why not? I’m sure there’s a way.”
“Even if we pay, there’s no guarantee that the kidnappers will bring Nicole back.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I know.”
“We’re ranchers, Dylan. We don’t know squat about crime. The best way to deal with these kidnappers is to follow the advice of experts. Right, Burke?”
He didn’t bother to nod. Instead, he sat in self-contained silence. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but hoped he had some kind of plan that involved more than sitting here waiting for the next call from the kidnappers.
Lucas Mann poked his head into the office. “I got a question for you, Carolyn. The men are asking if maybe you could see fit to give their guns back.”
“Seems to me that you’ve got plenty of other guns.”
“Well, sure.” He raked his fingers through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Most everybody has backup weapons. But we want all the firepower we can get. Especially since some polecat is shooting at us.”
“And I suppose you’re missing your pretty new Glock nine millimeter?”
“Ain’t she a beaut?” A proud smile stretched his face, and she noticed the wad of chewing tobacco that made a pouch in his cheek. “I bought it when all this sabotage started up. Gave my old piece to MacKenzie, that new kid.”
“I’m assuming,” Burke said from the sofa, “that you legally transferred ownership.”
“Speaking of sabotage,” Carolyn said, quickly changing the subject. If Burke got official about the paperwork for all the firearms on this ranch, there would be trouble. “What’s your opinion, Lucas? Who do you think is behind it?”
“Don’t know who,” he said, “and I don’t know why. But it all started when we moved a couple hundred head onto the south grazing pasture, near the Widow Grant’s property.”
Dylan grumbled, “Don’t start.”
“Carolyn asked a legitimate question,” Lucas said. “And she deserves an answer.”
Apparently, there had been a dispute between these two. “Please, Lucas, continue.”
“The first time I found a fence post torn down, I told Dylan that we should herd them cattle to a different area. He wouldn’t hear a word of it. Then we had another incident. And another. Dylan still wouldn’t change his mind. He sure can be pigheaded. Not meaning any disrespect.”
“I didn’t move the cattle,” Dylan explained, “because I’m trying a new system of rotating the herd.”
On the sofa, Burke leaned forward. His heels hit the floor with a loud thump—a subtle but effective way to get their attention. “Lucas, can you tell me why having cattle in that pasture might provoke vandalism?”
“Don’t know why. I just wanted to keep the herd safe.”
“They weren’t in danger,” Dylan said.
“We were damn lucky we didn’t lose any cattle when they broke through the fence.”
“Stop bickering.” Carolyn felt her temperature rising. “I don’t give a damn about what happened yesterday or last week. We need to concentrate on now. Right now. This very minute.”
Lucas took a backward step, hoping to escape. She caught him with a glare. “How do you explain this, Lucas? When you put those cattle in a pasture that’s usually empty, our men would be paying more attention to that area. Right?”
He thought for a moment. “Yep.”
“So, these vandals would be more likely to get caught when the cattle were there.”
“Guess so,” Lucas said.
She spread her hands, palms up, presenting them with her conclusion. “It’s counterintuitive to attack there. Why would they take the extra risk?”
“Because they’re not very smart,” Dylan said.
Clever enough to burn down the stable without being caught. She turned away from her brother before she snapped his head off. “Lucas, tell me about the fire.”
“It was late.” He shifted the tobacco wad to his other cheek. “And damned cold. Everybody was in bed, but I couldn’t sleep and I remembered Polly had left some peach pies. So I came back here to the house for a midnight snack. That’s when I saw the flames.”
“You raised the alarm?”
“Yep.”
“I’m sure the sheriff investigated. Did he say how the fire was started?”
“Nothing fancy. That stable was dried-out wood. All it took was gasoline and a match.”
Burke unfolded himself from the sofa and stood. His height made him an impressive presence. “I have a plan.”
Her automatic reaction was to object, but Carolyn was desperate to make some kind of forward progress, even if it meant stepping back and letting Burke take charge. “I’m listening.”
“If we were in the city right now, I’d call in every free cop and state patrolman to provide surveillance and protection on the ranch.”
“We ain’t in the city,” Lucas pointed out.
“But we have resources. A lot of men and a lot of guns.”
She watched as her brother turned his attention toward Burke. Their gazes locked. They seemed to be communicating at a level she couldn’t comprehend. Man to man.
Dylan gave a slow nod. “I think I know what you’re planning.”
“We need to set up a perimeter around the ranch,” Burke said. “Deploy men at every place the security could be breached.”
“All around the ranch?” She hated this idea.
“The house, the barn, the bunkhouse, all the nearby structures. The center of activity.”
“You make it sound like we’re under siege.”
“Maybe we are.”
“I like it,” Dylan said. He set down his coffee, pushed away from the desk and took a step toward Burke. For the first time since Nicole’s kidnapping, he grinned. “The next time these guys get close, we’ll catch them.”
Though the two men didn’t bump chests and exchange high fives, she felt the testosterone level in the room raise by several degrees. Deploying armed cowboys sounded like a shortcut on the road to disaster.
Chapter Six
The next morning after she showered and dressed, Carolyn went downstairs to the kitchen where Polly had four burners and a grill fired up. With the efficiency of a short-order cook, she assembled breakfast burritos and wrapped them in foil. “Good morning, Carolyn. Hungry?”
“All I want is coffee.”
Though she was trying hard not to show her agitation, her insides churned like a washing machine. She couldn’t stop thinking about the sabotage, the list of enemies and the million things she needed to do today. Most of all, she was concerned about Nicole.
“How are you holding up?” Polly asked.
“I’m worried.” Carolyn filled a mug from the coffee urn. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m sorry I missed Thanksgiving.”
“It was quite a feast,” Polly said. “I even made that oyster dressing that Nicole likes so much. I don’t think anybody else took a bite of it.”
“Cowboys don’t eat sushi. Or anything that resembles it.” She sipped her mug, amazed that Polly could make gallons of coffee in an urn taste like custom brew. “How’s Juan doing?”
“My husband is full of energy this morning. He walked down to the bunkhouse. Using his cane, of course.” She paused her whirlwind of activity to pat Carolyn on the cheek. “We’ve all got to keep up our strength. Now, what can I get you to eat?”
Her stomach was far too tense to consider food. “Just coffee for now. But I’ll be back.”
Taking her mug, she went down the hall to the office, looking for Dylan or Burke. Instead, she found Lucas, Neville and the new kid, MacKenzie. They’d set up a whiteboard with some kind of schedule. One of Dylan’s detailed topographical maps was spread on the coffee table with chess pieces scattered across it.
MacKenzie jabbered into a walkie-talkie. His language was vaguely military, using terms like “Roger that” and “Bravo team” and “Boots on the ground.”
“What’s this?” she asked as she pointed to the whiteboard.
“A surveillance schedule,” Lucas explained. “We set up a perimeter. All these chess pieces on the map are different guys. Neville used to be in the Secret Service. He showed us how to maximize our security.”
Neville, the Longbridge security guard, gave a sheepish shrug. “As you can see on the hour-by-hour schedule, I’ve worked in downtime so the men can rest, but nobody wants to take a break.”
“Cowboys aren’t always good at following orders,” Carolyn said. “Too damned independent.”
“So I’ve learned,” Neville said.
Lucas chuckled. “I’ll tell you what, there ain’t going to be nobody taking potshots at this ranch house.”
Which still didn’t put them any closer to finding Nicole. She turned to MacKenzie. With his brown hair flopping over his forehead and freckles across his nose, he looked about twelve years old. “Where did you get the walkie-talkie?”
“I found them,” Lucas said. “Remember a few years back, before everybody got cell phones, we tried using these things. Didn’t work too good.”
She remembered. Several of the walkie-talkies got lost or thrown away, mostly because the men didn’t like having somebody check up on them. Consensus among the ranch hands had been that the old ways of communication were the best. Everybody had cell phones now, which were mostly kept turned off unless a cowboy on the range wanted to make a date with his honey in Riverdale.
MacKenzie obviously enjoyed this opportunity to play G.I. Joe. He turned away from her and spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Listen up, y’all. HQ is awake and on the move.”
Amused, Carolyn asked, “What does that mean? HQ?”
“We gave everybody nicknames,” MacKenzie said. “You know, like the real Secret Service. When they talk about the President, they call him POTUS. It stands for President Of The United States.”
“I thought HQ would mean headquarters. Is it a person?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s you.”
She glanced over at Lucas and Neville who appeared to be doing their best not to laugh. “What does that stand for? HQ?”
“That’s not important.” MacKenzie looked a bit scared. “We had to come up with a whole lot of code names really fast. Like your brother. He’s BB for Big Boss. And Burke is TF for Tall Fed.”
“And HQ?”
“Ma’am, it stands for Heifer Queen. And that’s not saying you’re a cow or a heifer, which is a cow that hasn’t had a calf. It means you’re the queen of the whole ranch, cattle and all. And that’s accurate because you’re—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand to forestall further excuses. “My code name from now on is…Carolyn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pivoted and left the office. Heifer Queen. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d been called.
BURKE CHECKED HIS WRISTWATCH. Approximately one hour and ten minutes ago, the first gray light of dawn had crept across the windowsills in the dining room. He’d pulled up the shades and given tasks to his three agents. Dylan had joined them.
After they had coffee and something to eat, Corelli, dressed in his suit and tie, had cleared away the plates. Agent Corelli was a bit obsessive-compulsive—an appropriate character disorder for someone who worked with complex and often frustrating electronics.
Now, they had settled into a routine of monitoring phone calls, studying maps and pacing. Waiting.
Burke looked toward the door to the dining room, anticipating the moment when Carolyn would appear. In addition to the pleasure of seeing her, he needed her help to execute a plan that might bring her sister-in-law home safely. Only Carolyn could help him; she held the key.
When she finally came through the door with coffee mug in hand and her smooth black hair falling loose to her shoulders, her gaze went straight to him. Without speaking, she seemed to be asking a question. Without threatening, she threw down a challenge.
How the hell would he convince her to do something she most likely wouldn’t want to do? Sweet talk wouldn’t work; she’d see right through him. Nor could he scare her into going along with his plan because this woman was fearless. Burke figured his best tactic was honesty.
Dylan slung his arm around her shoulder. “About time you got up, sis. It’s almost half past eight.”
She hugged him back. With their long lean bodies, matching black hair and green eyes, they looked like a male and female reflection of each other. The yin and yang of the Carlisles.
“Anything happening?” she asked. “Other than a bunch of crazy cowpokes yakking on walkie-talkies and pretending to be surveillance experts?”
“Don’t be snippy,” Dylan said. “Setting up the perimeter gave the men something to do. It’s not like anybody can concentrate on work while this is going on.”
Burke noticed that neither brother nor sister had mentioned Nicole’s name. They held the anguish he knew they must be feeling at a distance, and he appreciated their tough, taciturn attitude. In other kidnapping cases he’d worked, the families had been devastated to the point of breakdown. This was better.
“Good morning, Carolyn,” he said, remembering to be polite. “Deploying the ranch hands might look crazy, but you’ve got to admit that we’re well protected. Nobody’s going to get close enough to take another shot at this ranch.”
“I’m sorry about your van,” she said.
“It was a rental.”
Dylan directed her to a computer monitor where Agent Corelli sat with headphones. “Let me show you the setup. All of the landlines for the phones are routed through this monitoring station. The ringers are turned off, which is real good. Everybody we know has been trying to get in touch with us. Those calls are going straight to voice mail.”
“How will the kidnapper get through?”
“If the number he used last night comes up, Corelli will let it ring. He does the same with any call that isn’t from a familiar number.”
Burke circled the dining room table and stood beside her. “Dylan and I practiced how to handle a call from the kidnappers. The same way I showed you last night. I think your brother should take the next call.”
“I want to hear his damn voice,” Dylan said.
She lifted her chin and studied her brother for a long moment. She approved of what she saw, and nodded. “Fine with me. In about a half hour, I need to get busy talking to the bankers about that million-dollar ransom.”
Burke stood close enough to smell the lilac fragrance of her shampoo. He needed to get her alone to make his pitch. “Before you get started with the finances,” he said, “I want you to take me to the field where all the sabotage started.”
“Shouldn’t you be here at the house? If the kidnappers call, Dylan might need your expertise.”
“Agent Silverman is a trained negotiator. And Dylan knows how to handle himself.” Burke checked his wristwatch again. Managing time gave him the illusion that he was in control, even though he knew that the only agenda that really mattered was dictated by the kidnappers. “If we leave now, we can get back by the time the banks open.”
“I suppose I could take you over to the south pasture. Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting outside.”
Dylan dug into his pocket, took out a set of keys and held them out. “Use my truck. It’s parked in front.”
“Burke, you can drive,” Carolyn said as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “That way I’ll have my hands free to get started with my phone calls.”
They made their way past the two cowboy bodyguards with their walkie-talkies and rifles on the porch, and then drove to the front gate where they encountered two more cowboy guards. Both of them tipped their hats to Carolyn.
“Take a right, Burke.” She cast a rueful gaze at the guards. “With all these guns and the surveillance, it feels like we’re conducting some kind of military operation. Baghdad in Colorado.”
He appreciated the protection, even if it was excessive. But that wasn’t what he wanted to discuss with her.
Burke needed to get inside the SOF compound and take a look around. Using force was out of the question. Survivalist groups were notoriously volatile, and he didn’t want to provide an armed standoff. Carolyn had a natural inroad. She could use her influence with Sam Logan to set up a meeting. Unfortunately, from what she’d said yesterday, he didn’t think she’d be too keen on talking to her former boyfriend.
The two-lane road curved around a thick stand of pines. When they came around the trees, the view took his breath away. Snowcapped peaks reached into a cloudless sky of pure blue. Forested foothills bordered a terrain of brownish grass and shrubs. The leveled, cultivated earth beside the barbed wire fence was surprisingly verdant with long rows of two to three inch shoots. “Green? In December?”
“Winter wheat,” Carolyn said.
When Burke was growing up with his single mother in Chicago, he’d spent several summers in Wisconsin dairyfarming country with his grandparents. They were schoolteachers and lived in town, but he’d spent enough time with local kids to learn the basics of riding horses and life on a farm. “I’ve never seen the winter wheat.”
“Soon enough this crop will go dormant when we get more snow, but I love the way it looks right now. The green promises new life. And hope.”
They were approaching the herd. Across an open space, he saw the boxy black silhouettes of Angus cattle. He’d been told there were only a couple of hundred head on this pasture. Only? It looked like a lot of cattle to him. The magnitude of this sprawling ranch operation impressed the hell out of him. “How far does your property extend?”
“Far enough,” she said. “Slow down. Here’s where we turn.”
He made a right onto an unpaved gravel road. The truck tires bounced over a cattle guard. At the metal fence, Carolyn hopped out to unlatch the gate for the truck to drive through and closed it behind them. Though she was bundled up in a black shearling coat and wearing a flat-brimmed hat, he’d never confuse her with a cowboy. Her gait was purely female.
She climbed back into the truck. Her eyes were bright. “Thanks for bringing me out here, Burke. I needed to smell the land, to hear the cattle lowing. Music to my ears.”
“Another golden oldie?”
“How about ‘Moo-oo-oon River?’”
“Very funny,” he said. “There’s another reason I wanted to get you alone. I need your help, Carolyn.”
“Hold that thought,” she said. “We’ve got another gate to go through.”
As she repeated the opening and closing procedure on the second gate, he reconsidered his plan. He had no right to ask her to get involved with Logan and the SOF. She wasn’t a trained investigator, and he might be leading her into danger.
Instead of getting back into the truck, she motioned for him to drive forward and get out. “Come with me, Burke.”
She strolled through the field toward the herd.
In Wisconsin, he’d seen plenty of cows, but those were friendly black-and-white-spotted Holsteins. These heavy-shouldered Black Angus looked rugged and undomesticated. Beef cattle. Western cattle.
Her cell phone rang, and while she answered, he stroked the solid flank of a steer that turned, glared and ambled toward a water trough. The south pasture wasn’t open range. A barbed wire fence ran from the road to the rugged cliffs of the foothills. He noticed a trail outside the fence.
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