Chapter 12
His head hurt so badly that he thought he’d be sick, but as soon as the thought went through his mind, he knew he couldn’t throw up.
There was something across his mouth―most likely duct tape―and he’d aspirate.
It was a few more minutes before he realized he wasn’t in a room, but where was he?
He could feel grass under his cheek, and that meant he was somewhere outside, but god, it was dark.
It was also just a little chilly. Blood-deprived fingers felt around behind him, but his hands were tied tight, and from the feel of things, his ankles were bound too.
Worse yet, he was pretty sure the smell of shit in the air was his own.
Jensen tried to listen for anything that would give him a hint of where he was, but it was quiet, with only crickets calling.
No cattle sounds, no horses, not even air stirring.
Ankles bound tight, he could barely move, and it was cold there.
His own waste wasn’t the only smell in the air.
He could smell blood, and he had to assume that was his too.
He was thirsty, he was hungry, he was cold, and he needed a shower badly.
And some clean clothes would’ve been great too.
After struggling for at least an hour in an attempt to break free, he gave up.
There was no point. Unless someone came along and freed him, he was stuck there.
What day was it? He thought back as best his pounding head could.
He remembered finishing the bull riding event on Friday evening, but nothing after that.
Wait―was that Friday or Saturday? Or was there something else?
As he lay there, he tried to piece together the last few things he could remember.
He'd done okay. Shyanna hadn’t done very well. She was getting ready for the bull riding competition when they’d realized the chute boss hadn’t had her bull loaded. Being told they’d scratched her for no reason was the last straw, and he’d headed upstairs to talk to Dale and Jimmy about it.
Stepping into the little office, Max had stared at him as they stood near Dale’s body. He remembered them looking at each other, and Jimmy speaking from behind him.
And that was all he had. Based on the headache, he had to assume one of them had hit him over the head.
Must’ve been Jimmy, the son of a bitch, because he’d been the closest in proximity.
Max was somehow behind everything, but he wasn’t sure why or how, and it all had something to do with that pharmaceuticals company.
That much seemed obvious. Damn near killing him and leaving him for dead was a bit extreme in their attempts to get rid of Shyanna.
Shy. Lying there in his own piss and shit, covered in bruises, duct tape, and blood, she was all he could think about. It was obvious he’d been there for a while. Dale was dead, and they’d left him to die. But his situation was the least of his worries.
Shyanna would think he’d done what everyone else did to her―told her he loved her and bailed.
What little trust she’d developed would be crushed, and she’d be even more bitter than she’d been when he’d met her.
Jensen thought about that soft skin, that silken hair, and that determined look in her eyes.
She was tough, but this? This was too much.
It wasn’t about him. He sent up a little silent prayer …
God or whoever is up there, I don’t give a shit about myself.
I’m worried about Shy. If they’d do this to me, what are they doing to her?
And even if they leave her alone, what’s she going to think?
That I was one more person who said I loved her and walked away?
That she can’t trust anybody? That the world is full of people who don’t care and can’t be trusted?
So listen … I don’t care what happens to me, but please, let somebody find my body when I’m gone.
I need her to know I didn’t leave her, at least not of my own choice.
It’s the only chance she’ll have to believe somebody really did care about her.
Wherever you are, please, give her that.
It’s all I really want, because she’s all that really matters to me.
“For the last time, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shyanna said, puffing up like a toad. “I don’t know how many different ways to say it.”
“So you don’t know where Jensen Strader is?”
“No, sir, I don’t. I was looking for him myself before you dragged me in here.”
The officer shot her a dirty look, which she ignored. “And you don’t know why he was in the office upstairs?
“No.”
“It was our understanding from the chute boss that you’d been scratched and Mr. Strader was pretty upset about it. What do you know about that?”
“Don’t know anything about it except that it’s true―they scratched me for the evening without my knowledge or consent.” Eyes narrowing, she stared at the officer. “Do you even know for sure he was in there? Or did that lying sack of shit Fuller just tell you that?” she spouted off.
“No, ma’am. And there’s no security footage, so we have nothing to look at. But Mr. Fuller said―”
“Did you bother checking the camera behind the arena where that back staircase comes out?”
The officer shook his head. “The camera wasn’t working.”
“How convenient. And by the way, where’s Max Barlow?”
“Max who?” the officer asked, still writing in his little notepad.
“Max. Fucking. Barlow. He and Jimmy Fuller are tight. I’m pretty sure he had something to do with this. If there’s some kind of nastiness going on, Max will be right in the middle of it.”
“Max Barlow, Max Barlow. Oh, here it is. He roughed you up earlier in the season. Is that true?”
“Yes. It’s true.”
“And you and Mr. Strader are in a relationship, right?”
“Yes.”
“And is it possible that Mr. Strader went up to confront the officials and he and Mr. Gresham got into a fight?” the officer said.
“No! That’s not possible. You don’t know Jensen.
He got mad because of what Max did to me, but he wouldn’t hurt Dale.
” Shyanna was growing more confused. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve got here against Jensen, but his truck and trailer are gone and his horse is still here.
He loves that horse. He would never leave Snowman behind―never.
Wouldn’t matter how much trouble he thought he was in. ”
“Miss, when a murder suspect’s running, he doesn’t always make good choices,” the officer said, scribbling on his pad. “Did Mr. Strader have a gun?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, not knowing if she should answer that question.
“What kind of gun was it?”
“A Smith & Wesson 1911.”
“And do you know where it is?”
Finally! Something she could answer! “Yes. It’s in my trailer.
He put it in my safe. Come on. I’ll show you.
” Standing, she waited until the officer stood and followed her out the door of the tiny supply room and down the stairs, then out through the alley at the back of the arena and into the parking lot.
But when she stepped up to her trailer and reached for the door handle, it swung open. “Oh, shit. I locked that before I left.”
The officer looked at it closely. “It’s been tampered with. Don’t touch it. Stay here.” He disappeared into the trailer and came back to the door. “No one’s here now. Can you show me where the gun is?”
“Sure.” Shyanna climbed into the trailer and went straight to the bedroom. Lifting the platform the mattress rested on, she opened the storage space. In the middle of it was a small safe, bolted to the floor.
To her horror, the door was warped and wide open, the front edges of the safe’s body were scraped and scratched, and the contents of the safe gone. “Oh my god,” Shyanna said, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Oh my god.”
“So Mr. Strader broke into your trailer, pried open the safe, and took his gun.”
Something in Shyanna’s chest boiled over. “Jensen wouldn’t bust open the door. He had keys! And he had a key to the safe too.”
“But what if he wanted it to look like a theft to cover for―”
“You said yourself, suspects in a murder just get going. They don’t always think clearly.
It took a lot longer to open the door and the safe with a crowbar or something like it than to just use his key, don’t you think?
” she asked, staring at him. Could no one hear what she was saying? “Would he really take that extra time?”
“If he wasn’t thinking―” The sound of his phone ringing cut through their conversation and while he answered it, Shyanna stared at the safe.
Her money and her good watch were gone. Jensen wouldn’t have taken that, even if he needed money.
Or would he? Checking under the dinette seat, she saw that her shotgun was still there, and she could see the edge of the holster for her Ruger .
380 as well. Jensen knew where she kept them.
If he’d been out to get things of value to sell, he would’ve taken those too.
What if he’d cut and run just like all the rest? The idea made Shyanna’s head swim. She’d believed everything he said, and he’d sounded sincere. A voice cut through her reverie. “Miss Owens?”
She spun to look at the officer. “Yeah?”
“Can you describe Mr. Strader’s rig?”
“Yeah. The truck’s bright blue, and the trailer is white with a big blue stripe down the side. And it has bright green lettering that says Strader Rodeo Company. Why?”
“They just found the trailer a few miles down the road, and they found the truck a few more miles away.”
“Which way?” she asked.
“West.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Shyanna said, thinking out loud. “He doesn’t know anyone who lives that direction.”