Chapter Ten #2
Rawley grinned. “She’s a beautiful woman. Seth’s a lucky man.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a warm kiss against her palm, his eyes never leaving the road. “But so am I.”
She beamed a smile at him. “I am too.”
“I’d like to go riding tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
“We’ll go early. It’s supposed to be hot but only about eighty. Do you fish?” he asked as he traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.
“I do.” She nodded, leaning her head back against the headrest.
“Okay. We’ll take poles with us too.”
“Can’t wait.” Her voice was soft with anticipation.
Rawley glanced at her and turned back to watch the ribbon of road unfurling before them. Then he saw it. The pickup truck with the oversized mud tires barreling past in the opposite direction, its headlights momentarily flooding the cab with harsh white light.
He wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he’d bet it was nothing good.
Monday morning, Rawley pulled open the heavy metal door of the stairwell and stepped into the fluorescent-lit corridor.
He crossed the gleaming floor until he reached the glass door of the department, pushed it open and entered.
Nodding a silent greeting to the agents at their desks, he removed his hat and hung it on the rack.
He set his steaming cup of black coffee on the corner of the desk, the rich aroma mingling with the faint tang of printer ink.
Then he pulled out his swivel chair and settled into it with a quiet sigh.
He flicked on the computer, its screen awakening and logged in with speed.
Opening the tire‐track analysis program, he glanced toward Dave’s office at the end of the room before plugging his phone into the USB port.
He tapped the gallery icon and selected the crisp photograph of those distinctive pickup truck tread marks. The image filled the screen.
Rawley looked up just as Agent Saunders strode through the glass door and repeated the same ritual, hat off, placed on the rack, chair pulled out, seat claimed, and powered up his own workstation, eyes fixed immediately on the monitor.
A knot of unease tightened in Rawley’s gut as he waited for the software to match the pattern. He felt a tug of impatience, he was sure of what he’d seen, but he didn’t dare march into Dave’s office with nothing more than a hunch.
“Morning, Rawley,” Killian said without looking away from his screen.
“Killian. Good weekend?” Rawley asked, not wanting to break eye contact with the loading bar creeping across his display.
“Yep,” Killian replied, glancing at Rawley’s coffee-stained mug as he pushed his chair back and walked to Rawley’s desk. “You?”
“Fine.” Rawley gave a quick nod. “Thanks.”
Killian leaned in, peering at the faint progress indicator, then shifted his gaze to Rawley’s face. “You get a hit?”
Rawley exhaled, rocking back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head.
He stole a glance toward Dave’s office door, still closed, and then turned back to Killian.
“A couple weeks ago, five guys were hanging around Dewey’s, hassling someone.
I warned them off, but the next week they tailed us from there to her place.
Didn’t do anything more than talk big, but Saturday night I saw a truck flying going the opposite way, wheels kicking up gravel like it was in a race. ”
“Flying as in speeding? Or running from somewhere?” Killian’s tone was low and cautious.
“Maybe both,” Rawley said. “They’re cocky, cattle‐rustler type, all swagger and threats.”
“You can’t run a trace without probable cause,” Killian warned, leaning against the edge of Rawley’s desk.
Rawley leaned forward, voice tight. “I’ve got cause.”
“Oh yeah? What, that they followed you?” Killian shook his head. “Dave will shut that down, no warrant, no match. Evidence like that won’t stick.”
Rawley cursed under his breath, yanking the phone from its port and sliding it into his pocket. “You’re right.”
“You could be jeopardizing a case, Rawley,” Killian said, moving back to his own desk. “Dave knows you’ve got instincts, but you have to do it by the book. And don’t breathe a word of this to him.”
Rawley watched Killian boot up his workstation, the low hum of it filling the silence. He ran a hand through his hair, then he squared his shoulders and prepared to find the proper channel to bring Dave into the loop, this time, by the rules.
At one o’clock he shoved his chair back, yanked his hat off the rack, and stalked out. He was meeting Skylar for lunch, and already he was late.
At the crosswalk he paused, then darted through the traffic and pedestrians, and pushed open the diner’s door. He sighed with relief when he spotted Skylar at the counter.
He slipped onto the stool beside her, pressed a hand to her trembling fingers. “What’s wrong?”
She swallowed, eyes darting over his shoulder. “Those…” She cleared her throat. “Four of those men from Dewey’s. Back booth.”
Rawley’s chest tightened. He rose, squeezed her shoulder, then threaded between tables. He stopped at the booth and touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
They looked up, laughter dying on their lips the moment their eyes hit his Kevlar vest, badge, and holstered pistol. The biggest one, cowboy hat low, lip curled, snorted. “Damned if we can even eat in peace without you breathing down our necks.”
Rawley folded his arms, every inch in control. “Small town.”
“Livestock agent, big fucking deal,” another sneered. “You gonna arrest some livestock now?”
Rawley’s fingers tapped the butt of his gun. “Damn, I haven’t heard that one before.” He narrowed his eyes. “I arrest rustlers.”
“How’s that going for you?” The first cowboy cracked a grin.
Rawley dropped his tone to a cold whisper. “Oh, it’s going just fine.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
A beat of dead silence and Rawley knew everyone in the diner was looking at them. Then the cowboy slid from the booth, glaring up at him. “I’m not afraid of you,” he snarled, glancing at Skylar. “We’ll have you begging when we’re done with that little piece of yours.”
Rawley slid his hand over his weapon. “Is that a threat against a law officer?”
The cowboy leaned even closer, his breath hot with whiskey already. “Take off that badge and holster, livestock boy, and we’ll see who stands last. Winner takes the girl.”
Rawley stared at them until they started to fidget, except for the one in charge. He didn’t move.
The man held Rawley’s gaze for seconds that felt like hours, then flicked a nod. The other three rose and swaggered toward the register.
Rawley watched them leave, each step echoing through the diner, then returned to Skylar’s side. The cowboy paid, smirked, and shoved open the door, then strode out.
Rawley settled onto the stool, still tense as a drawn bow. He cradled Skylar’s hand. “You okay?”
She exhaled shakily. “Yeah… but when they stared at me… I thought…”
“They won’t touch you.”
Her breath steadied as he held her hand, every sense alert, waiting for the storm to break, but determined it wouldn’t.
Skylar’s hands trembled against the cold ceramic of her coffee mug, her knuckles white with tension.
When those men pushed through the diner’s glass door, she ducked her head so fast her neck cramped, the curtain of her hair falling forward to shield her face.
The vinyl stool squeaked beneath her as she hunched forward.
She couldn’t believe how Rawley had simply risen from his stool and approached them, his shoulders squared but relaxed. She exhaled a shaky breath.
“I don’t know how you just talked to them like you were discussing the weather,” she whispered, her voice thin.
“It was nothing like that.” Rawley’s fingers drummed once against the countertop. “I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I kept my voice low. I doubt anyone could hear me.”
“Everyone knew something was going on. Connie stopped mid-pour at the counter. That older couple by the window froze with forks halfway to their mouths. God, it was scary to watch.” Skylar shook her head.
Rawley leaned close, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry. I wanted to let them know I was on to them.”
“On to them? For what?” Skylar widened her eyes, her cup suspended midair.
“I’m pretty sure they’re involved in the rustling case I’m on. Can’t prove it yet, but I will.” His jaw tightened as he tapped his fingers against the laminate countertop.
“Did you get their names?”
Rawley shook his head. “I didn’t ask. I don’t want to scare them. Not yet.”
“Are you two ready to order?” Connie asked, her pen poised over her pad as she stepped in front of them, apron stained with the day’s special.
Skylar set her mug down. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’m sorry, Connie.”
“I’ll take my usual to go, Connie.” Rawley’s voice was flat.
“Everything alright, Rawley?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled.
“Alright. I’ll be right back with that.” Her shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she retreated.
Once she disappeared into the kitchen, Skylar looked at Rawley. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not having lunch with you. This is the second time our lunch has been interrupted.” She twisted her napkin between her fingers.
“It’s alright. No need for you to apologize.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll just take it back to the office.”
“But, don’t you think you should have asked for their IDs?”
“I don’t have probable cause. They weren’t doing anything but having lunch. But I guarantee they will mess up, and I’ll get them.”
“Damn.” She glanced nervously toward the door. “I wish they’d go away. The first time he talked to me, he told me he was only sticking around for a little while. That was weeks ago.”
“That’s why my gut is telling me they’re up to something.”
“Cop instinct?”
“Call it what you want, but my gut is rarely wrong, and I don’t like them.” His eyes scanned the diner, watchful as a hawk.
“They’re scary, but they act like they couldn’t care less that you suspect them.” She shivered.