Chapter 2 #2
Almost everyone in the area knew the Salieri family owned the Stronghold ranch, so it wasn’t a surprise that this man used their name. He could have found that out anywhere from the feedstore to the sheriff. “Why are you looking for the Salieris, Mr. Moore?”
“I need their help,” His voice cracked a little, like he hadn’t slept in a while. “My daughter’s missing. I was told they might be able to help me find her.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “You were told wrong. This is a horse ranch, not a recovery outfit. You want help, call the cops.”
“I know it’s a horse ranch. I bought a stallion prospect from your folks about ten years ago for my daughter.
They won the Average Champion title at The Grande International Finals in El Paso the night she went missing,” Moore said quickly.
“I called everyone I can think of. Local police, my representatives, and even some private investigators. Nobody will touch it, or they say they can’t find anything.
I’ve walked all over El Paso myself. It’s like she vanished. ”
While owning a horse bred by his parents shouldn’t have made a difference to his normally practical nature, for some reason, this one did.
Rowan watched him for a long beat. The man’s hands were steady, and his voice wasn’t rehearsed.
Desperation sat under his words, but he wasn’t quite on the verge of panic yet.
“How’d you even think of coming and asking us for help?”
Moore rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I found the name Stronghold R+R on the internet. It was listed in a forum I was searching for someone to hire. A post mentioned your group. Said if the regular channels couldn’t find someone, Stronghold could.
” He shifted on his feet as if he realized he was taking liberties just by showing up on their doorstep.
“I remembered your folks said their sons were deployed overseas when we came to buy Rain, and I hoped it was the same place, and you were the same people mentioned on the forum.”
“That’s a hell of a rumor to chase.” Gael’s hand touched his shoulder a split second before he spoke. Habits born from more than a decade in warzones were hard to break, even after a couple of years at home.
“I’ve tried everything else I can think of,” Moore said.
“I have to find my girl. She’ll be counting on me coming to get her.
I once promised her that I’d always come for her.
Please, I’m begging you, help me keep that promise.
Don’t let her disappear into a roll of statistics on some sheriff’s computer. ”
Hell, man, she’s probably already one of those statistics.
Rowan exhaled slowly. He’d heard enough people tell stories like that to know when they were telling the truth.
His gut told him this man was a father desperate to find and save his child.
He’d been around the block enough times to know the longer someone was missing, the less chance there was of finding them alive, and even if they were alive, even less chance they would ever be the same again.
“Wait here,” he said finally. He turned toward the truck.
“Gael, send his license over to Fumes. Let’s see if this guy really is who he says he is.
” If Joel couldn’t find anything on him, then he’d have to call his mom and double-check Moore was a straight-up human and not an asshole.
She’d remember him for sure. The fact she sold him a horse in the first place was a point in his favor.
Gael nodded, stepped back, and pulled out his phone. “On it.”
Rowan looked back at Moore. The man hadn’t moved. He stood beside his truck, shoulders straight, even from this distance, his eyes looked tired but steady. “Stay put. Don’t move until we tell you.”
“I won’t, son.”
Rowan climbed back into the cab, pulled the door closed, and let the engine idle while Gael attached the photo of the license to his message string with his man and started typing out the message.
They both watched Moore through the glass as the phone buzzed once, sending the image halfway across the world to Task Force Honor and their intel division, Black Squadron.
It didn’t take long for Gael’s phone to buzz in reply.
He glanced down and held the screen so Rowan could see it.
Joel: Clear
Talkative as ever, Mac.
But when the response came from his almost-brother-in-law, one word was enough. Rowan stepped back out of the truck and walked toward the gate controls. He tapped the code into the keypad, and the gate rolled open.
The man didn’t move until Gael gave him the nod. “Step forward. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Moore did what he was told. “Turn around,” Gael ordered. “Hands on the hood of our truck.”
Rowan watched the man closely as his brother frisked him quickly, placing items on the truck as he pulled them out of Moore’s pockets: wallet, phone, keys, and a pocketknife. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed there were no weapons or surprises or not.
“He’s clean,” Gael glanced at Rowan, then to Moore’s truck, and back to Moore.
The rancher clearly figured out what he was thinking and answered before either of them could ask the question. “I have a shotgun on the rack in my truck.”
It wasn’t a surprise, as most ranchers and farmers around here were pretty much armed all the time. It was one thing for city folks not to need a weapon, but out here, there were snakes, wildcats, and a whole host of other wildlife that could kill or maim you without a second thought.
“If it’s secure, lock your truck,” Rowan told him. “If not, we’ll grab it and you’ll ride with us.”
“It’s secure, it’s in my lockbox.” Moore reached for his keys, then paused and glanced at Gael, waiting for his nod before he picked them up and locked his pickup.
Rowan stepped aside and motioned to his truck. “Front seat.”
Moore climbed in without a word and settled into the passenger seat.
Gael opened the rear passenger door and got in directly behind Moore, as Rowan once again slid behind the wheel.
He turned the truck around and headed back up the winding road to the house.
Moore stayed quiet. He didn’t ask questions.
He didn’t comment on the ranch or the armed escort or the silence. All those things worked in his favor.
Rowan drove steadily toward the house, his eyes flicking to the mirrors, then the ridgelines, then back to the road. He hadn’t made a decision yet. All he’d done was let the man through the gate. That didn’t mean anything. Right?
Behind him, Gael sat still. Like him, his brother was watching and ready as always. If Moore so much as looked sideways at Rowan, his twin would have a forearm around his throat before the man could blink.
They cleared the last bend, and the main yard opened up in front of them.
The barn sat off to the left. The round pen where Rowan had started the morning was quiet; he couldn’t see the mare over the high fence, but hopefully she was having her breakfast hay and learning that maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.
If she’d managed to jump the eight-foot fence, he was going to be so fucking pissed.
The main house, with its rocking chairs on the big porch and wide windows that watched out over the stunning views of Bell County, stood solid in the middle of the spread.
Gravel popped under the tires as he threw the truck into park beside the house and shut off the engine.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at his twin, but didn’t move until Gael gave him a nod.
All clear.
“Come on in the house.” He didn’t bother watching Moore climb out of the truck as he knew Gael would be behind their visitor, walking just close enough to remind him not to be a problem.
Rowan led the way up the steps, and the screen door creaked as he opened it and led the way into the kitchen.
“Welcome back to the SHR, Mr. Moore. Have a seat.”
Rowan dropped his gloves on the counter beside the half-empty coffee pot and reached for the mugs. The only sound for a moment was the slow tick of the wall clock and the faint shuffle of boots on wood as Gael settled himself into a spot where he could fix a problem if it were needed. “Coffee?”
Moore hesitated, his eyes tracking the photographs on the wall that he and Gael had never gotten around to taking down when their parents retired to Europe, then he took the chair in the center of the table.
He sat straight, hat in his hands, his fingers working the brim the way men do when either they were nervous about what was to come or had nothing left to hold onto.
If he’s here, he probably doesn’t. We are the last resort when nobody else will help.
Rowan poured three mugs of coffee, handed one to Moore, one to Gael, and carried the third to the table for himself. “We’re listening, Mr. Moore. I’m not promising you anything, but start from the top and tell us what’s going on.”
As if he needed a second to gather his thoughts, Moore took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and reached for the sugar bowl, then sipped again and nodded. His voice was rough, as if he’d gone days and miles without sleep.