Blood and Bravado (Sagebrush Cowboys #3)

1. Eli

Chapter 1

Eli

“ W hat do you mean the books are wrong?!” I cried, staring at the SEC agent across the table. “I did them myself! They’re prefect!”

“I'm afraid that's not the case, Mr. Daniels,” the agent said, his voice calm but firm. “Our audit has uncovered significant discrepancies in your company's financial records.”

I felt my heart racing, sweat beading on my forehead. This couldn't be happening. I'd been so careful, double and triple-checking every entry. “There has to be some mistake,” I insisted, my voice wavering slightly. “I'm an experienced accountant. I’ve been doing this for almost ten years! I know what I'm doing.”

The agent slid a folder across the table. “These are copies of the irregularities we've found. Multiple instances of inflated revenue, hidden expenses, and what appears to be a shell company used to funnel funds.”

My mouth went dry as I flipped through the pages. The numbers swam before my eyes, each one a damning piece of evidence. How could this be? Unless...

I felt the blood drain from my face as realization dawned. Unless someone else had tampered with the books. My mind raced, thinking of who could have access, who would want to frame me. Then it hit me - Mark, the finance manager. He'd been acting strange lately, asking odd questions about our accounts that he should’ve known.

“I... I need to make a phone call,” I stammered, reaching for my cell phone with trembling hands.

The agent's eyes narrowed. “Mr. Daniels, I'm afraid that won't be possible right now. We need to continue this discussion.”

“You don't understand,” I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice. “I think I know what happened. Just let me call my manager-”

“Your manager, Mark Thompson?” the agent interrupted, his tone suddenly sharp. “I'm afraid Mr. Thompson is unavailable. He's currently being questioned by our colleagues and will most likely be imprisoned by the end of the week.”

My jaw dropped. “Mark's being questioned? Imprisoned? What... what are you talking about?”

The agent leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. “Mr. Daniels, we've been investigating your company for months. Mr. Thompson's involvement in this fraud scheme goes far deeper than you realize. In fact, we have reason to believe he's been manipulating you this entire time.”

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. Mark, my mentor, the man who'd given me my big break in this industry... had been using me? “That's... that's impossible,” I whispered, but even as the words left my mouth, pieces started falling into place. The late nights he'd ask me to work, the odd requests to adjust certain entries, always with a plausible explanation...

“We have evidence that Mr. Thompson has been embezzling funds for years,” the agent continued. “He's been using your expertise and trust to cover his tracks. We believe he manipulated the books after you'd completed them, counting on your reputation for accuracy to deflect suspicion.”

I slumped back in my chair, my mind reeling. Everything I thought I knew about my career, my company, my mentor - it was all crumbling around me. “So, what happens now?” I asked weakly.

The agent's expression softened slightly. “That depends on your cooperation, Mr. Daniels. We need to know everything - every irregularity you've noticed, every unusual request from Mr. Thompson, every detail that seemed off, no matter how small.”

I nodded numbly, trying to process it all. “I'll tell you everything I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I swear, I had no idea this was happening. I would never knowingly participate in fraud.”

“Don’t worry Mr. Daniels. We’ve already ruled you out as a suspect.” He paused for a moment, shuffling some papers. “But once we’re done here, please be aware that you are not allowed back on company property again or to speak of this publicly to anyone. Non-compliance will be treated as obstruction of justice. We’ll mail you your office things once we’re finished.” He glanced up at me, clicking his pen against a blank sheet of paper. “Shall we get started?”

I nodded, my entire body deflating as I realized I’d not only lost my job, but my career was over. Nobody hired accountants from companies that were shut down for accounting fraud. I’d never get another job in my field again.

“Good,” the SEC agent said. “Let’s get started.”

I left the police station several hours later, thoroughly drained. The sun was setting as I stumbled out onto the street, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. My mind was still reeling from everything I'd learned and shared during the interrogation. I felt hollow, betrayed, and utterly lost.

As I walked aimlessly down the street, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it, but some small part of me hoped it might be good news - though I couldn't imagine what that might be at this point. I fished it out only to find a notification from a social media app. My mother had posted a photo.

I flipped the screen open, a picture of myself on the family farm back in Sagebrush in high school. I was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. Back in those days, things were so simple. I didn’t have to worry about jobs, corporate scandals, or losing everything at the drop of a hat. And the longer I stared at that photo, remembering everything before I’d run off to Dallas, the more an idea began to form in my mind.

Before I could overthink it, I flipped open my contacts and hit my mother’s number. The phone began to ring as I pulled it up to my ear.

“Hello?” My mother's warm, familiar voice answered after a few rings.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you?”

“Oh, honey! What a nice surprise. I'm doing just fine. How are things down there in Dallas? I heard y’all are having some good weather.”

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “Actually, Mom... things aren't great. I've run into some trouble at work. It's... it's pretty bad.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened?”

I took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “It's a long story, Mom. But the short version is... I've lost my job. And I don't think I'll be able to find another one here in Dallas.

“Oh, my poor boy,” she said, her voice full of concern. “What are you going to do?”

I swallowed hard, steeling myself for what I was about to say. “Mom, I was wondering... is my old room still available?”

There was a brief pause, and I could almost see the smile spreading across her face. “Of course it is, honey. It's always been there for you. Are you thinking of coming home?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “I think I need to get out of Dallas for a while. Clear my head, figure out my next move. Would that be okay?”

“Okay?” she exclaimed. “It would be wonderful! Your father and I have missed you something fierce. And you know there's always work to be done on the farm if you're looking to keep busy.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, overwhelmed by her immediate acceptance. “Thanks, Mom. I... I really appreciate that.”

“Of course, sweetheart. When do you think you'll be coming?”

I glanced around at the bustling city street, suddenly feeling suffocated by the tall buildings and endless concrete. “Is tomorrow too soon? I’ll need to break my lease, but the apartment came furnished, so all I need to do is pack my clothes.”

“Not at all! We'll have your room ready and waiting. Oh, your father will be so excited!”

“And you’re sure it’s okay I’m there?” I asked again. “It might be a couple of months or more.”

“Of course, honey. You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thanks Mom.” I paused for a moment. “How is Dad doing, by the way?”

Her voice shifted to a more somber tone. “He’s doing the best he can. Some days are better than others, but I guess that’s the way it is with all of us.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s true I guess.”

“He’s still as stubborn as a mule, though. Doesn’t like help from anyone.”

“That sounds like him.”

“But I suppose it’s a good thing. The doctor down at the VA upped his dosage recently, so he’s been better. The nightmares have happened a lot less recently.”

I felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Dad's struggles. I'd been so wrapped up in my own life in Dallas, I hadn't been there for them as much as I should have been.

“I'm glad to hear he's doing better,” I said softly. “I'll do whatever I can to help out when I get there.”

“Oh, don't you worry about that now,” Mom replied, her voice brightening again. “We're just excited to have you home. You being here will brighten him up, I’m sure of that. You just focus on getting here safely, and we'll figure out the rest later.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, discussing logistics and reminiscing about old times. By the time I hung up, I felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since leaving the police station. The future was still uncertain, but at least I had a direction now. A place to go, to regroup and heal.

But for tonight, I needed a bar. A stiff drink felt like the only thing that would make me feel any better.

As I walked down the dimly lit street, searching for a bar that looked inviting enough, my mind raced with everything that had happened. The weight of the day's events pressed down on me, making each step feel like I was trudging through mud. I thought stuff like this only happened in the movies or garbage daytime television. But now I was living it. How long would it be until the news story broke? Before everyone in my world knew what I’d inadvertently been involved in?

I finally spotted a hole-in-the-wall place with a flickering neon sign that simply read “BAR.” It looked appropriately dingy for my current mood. I pushed open the heavy wooden door and was greeted by the familiar smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

The bartender, a grizzled man with a salt-and-pepper beard, barely looked up as I took a seat at the far end of the bar. “What'll it be?” he grunted.

“Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double,” I replied, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

He nodded and poured me a generous glass of amber liquid. I took a long sip, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. The whiskey's warmth spread through my chest, offering a temporary reprieve from the cold dread that had settled in my stomach.

As I nursed my drink, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the other patrons. Talk of jobs, relationships, everyday problems that now seemed so trivial compared to what I was facing. I felt a pang of envy for their normal lives, untouched by the chaos that had just upended mine.

I was halfway through my second drink when a man slid onto the barstool next to me. He was younger than me, wearing a knock off cowboy hat and boots that were far too clean. Dallas cowboys were always like that, all show and no substance.

“Rough day?” he asked, eyeing my drink.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.”

He nodded emphatically. “I've been there, handsome.”

I lifted an eyebrow in his direction. So he was that kind of cowboy. That explained the perfectly manicured mustache and the hint of eyeliner to darken his already thick lashes. His eyes flicked up and down my body, lingering too long on the bulge in the front of my slacks. A thought struck me as I downed the rest of my drink in a single gulp.

“Want to help me take my mind off it, cowboy?” I asked, playing into his obvious proposal.

His smile widened and he grabbed my hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling me off my barstool. “My apartment’s close by.”

I allowed myself to be pulled along by him, the whiskey already working its way into my bloodstream. What little control I had left melted away. I was too stressed, too exhausted, and soon I’d be too drunk to tell this handsome stranger no. Besides, I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. Sagebrush wasn’t exactly full of men like me.

Hell, it wasn’t full of anything except dust and cows.

Hardly a gay man’s paradise.