Chapter 4
JAKE
I’ve only been back in Iron Ridge for a week, but I know the truck belongs to Eli Turner and was paid for in cash. I also know that the Turner spread has steady cattle sales, but their operational costs are too high. His operation capital wouldn’t be able to sustain that kind of purchase.
If it’s too good to be true, it likely is.
I know that Eli’s older brother, Cole, who lives in Bozeman, manages a handful of shady corporations and has ties to some very bad men. Must be where the extra cash is coming from.
Not that it matters. Eli Turner won’t live through the night.
The truck door slams shut hard, and a man struts around the vehicle. I recognize the way he moves, pushing his way into the night like the bully he’s been since he was a kid.
Turner pauses, head down, staring at the cell phone in his hand. His laugh is loud and ugly as he taps something on the screen. Still focused on his phone, he continues toward the bar in that loose, swaggering gait—probably already half drunk and definitely full of himself.
I stay where I am, flexing my fingers in the gloves. My slow, steady breaths don’t stir the air.
He doesn't see me. He barks another laugh, muttering something as he puts the phone into his back pocket.
As he passes me, I push off the car and step forward, my boots silent on the gravel. "Turner."
He whirls to face me. Recognition hits, followed by irritation. Not fear—not yet.
"Jesus." He spits on the ground in my direction. "Jake Callahan."
I don't move closer. Don't need to. I don't say anything either. Like I said, I like the waiting.
"I heard you were back in town. Heard you were discharged." He sneers, the twisted smirk he perfected in the crib. "What? Not even good enough for the military, huh?”
A couple comes out of the bar. I move to the side to avoid being seen, but they’re making out, going into the alley behind the building, probably for a quickie, and oblivious to everything around them.
“Bet you came back for that Hayes bitch. You were always sniffing at her skirt, weren’t you, Callahan?” Turner sniggers, thinking he's clever. “Can’t blame you. Sweet piece of ass like that.”
I keep my expression static. I stopped letting fuckers like Eli Turner pull me a long time ago. Eighteen years in the military—ten of those as a Delta Force member—hones a man.
Turner watches me carefully. “And now her daddy’s dead and Emma’s on all that land, all by herself. Imagine what could happen to a woman all alone."
There it is.
The reason I'm here.