Chapter 13
Fury—and a healthy dose of panic—assaulted Hank Stephens as he looked at Isaac over the rim of his tumbler. His legs shook, threatening to fold and drop him to the floor. He lowered the glass, his heart thudding loudly. “What?”
“My contact at TSCRA confirmed that Dillon filed a report,” Isaac replied from his position on the plush leather couch.
Hank’s chest hurt. He set the glass on his desk and leaned a hip against the corner in a bid to stay upright. Why wasn’t Isaac freaking out? He had as much to lose as Hank did. There must be something Isaac knew that he hadn’t yet shared. At least, that’s what Hank hoped.
“How worried do I need to be?” Hank asked.
Isaac snorted, his brows raised as he crossed one leg over the other. “I’d say very. The ranger is Chet Thompson. From what my contact said, he’s a by-the-book cowboy. If you try to bribe him, it’ll only make things worse.”
“Me?” Hank said, anger surpassing the apprehension. “I’m not in this alone. Or do I need to remind you?”
Isaac eyed him dryly. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“A ranger from the TSCRA isn’t coming to your place of business to investigate a theft. I can be as fucking dramatic as I want.”
Isaac lifted one of his hands, palm out. “Whatever you say.”
He hated when Isaac patronized him. It made Hank want to punch him in the nose.
For all his bluster and strutting around town, Isaac had never been in a real fight.
He didn’t know what it felt like to have his kidneys punched or his nose broken.
Maybe it was time that happened. As much as Hank wanted to give in to the impulse, he also knew Isaac would press charges because that’s just the kind of man he was.
Come hell or high water, they were in this debacle together. Somehow, they would have to find a way out of it. Because Hank wasn’t going down on his own. If he were charged, he would turn on everyone in the group and alert the authorities to everyone’s role in things.
Isaac uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, setting his empty glass on the table before him. “I’m not leaving you hanging out to dry.”
“You’re damn right, you aren’t. I told you it wasn’t smart to take the stallion.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know it was such a rare-colored horse?” Isaac snapped, finally losing his temper.
Hank bit back his smile. Isaac prided himself on keeping his cool.
To see him rattled for anything was an event that always pleased Hank.
They grated on each other’s nerves, which had been acceptable when they had little association except for business.
Despite their differences, they had somehow become friendly through the years.
Hank wouldn’t necessarily call Isaac a friend.
He really didn’t know what Isaac was, but he knew enough to watch his back.
Isaac looked after one person first and foremost—himself.
“Sell the damn horse,” Isaac ordered as he sat back with a huff.
Hank dropped his arm, thankful that his chest had stopped hurting. He straightened and shook his head. “I can’t. Nor can I keep him here. Every hour the horse is here, there’s a chance for someone to see him and tell someone.”
Isaac’s dark eyes were cold and merciless as his attention turned to Hank. “Then you only have one other option. Kill it.”
Hank had seen the stallion with his own eyes. He was one of the most magnificent animals he’d ever seen. He would bring in tens of thousands of dollars in profit. The thought of ending the horse’s life didn’t sit well with him.
Then again, neither did being charged with a felony or going to prison.
What most people didn’t realize was that, in the eyes of the law, a horse thief was the same as someone who stole cars.
Isaac must have sensed Hank’s indecision. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Isaac said as he stood, his lip curled in a sneer, and disgust darkening his face. “If you allow that horse to live, you’re on your own.”
“You can’t walk away from this. We’re both in too deep.”
Isaac laughed, a confident smile curving his lips. “Do you want to test that theory? Let’s see who ends up in jail, and who ends up getting the Bar 4 Ranch.” His smile vanished. “Kill the goddamn horse and save your ass.”
Hank watched Isaac stride out of his office and then the house. It wasn’t long before he heard the roar of Isaac’s Mercedes Benz S-class starting and then driving away. He remained standing, going over the conversation in his head.
While he might not be the smartest man in the county, he was far from stupid.
He had built a ranching empire with his blood, sweat, and tears.
He’d known what he wanted from an early age, and he hadn’t let anyone or anything stop him.
Not bull riding, not women, not ethics. He’d had a chance at love once, but he had given it up for his dream.
Nothing had stopped him from achieving what he wanted.
Dillon Young, the TSCRA, and Isaac weren’t going to start.
Stealing the stallion hadn’t been Hank’s idea, but now that he’d seen the horse for himself, he wanted it.
Since he couldn’t offer Dillon money for it without alerting her that the stallion was on his property, he’d just have to be creative about where he housed the animal.
The fact that Ivy Ridge was so large would give him plenty of time to move the horse around when the ranger asked to search.
Of course, he’d allow the ranger to search.
Denying it would only cause more issues and raise suspicions.
The ranger would get a search warrant and force the situation anyway.
Hank sighed as he thought about the TSCRA.
If things had stayed at the local level, he could’ve swayed things in his direction.
Campaign contributions went a long way to create ties with the sheriff.
He and Bill went back a long way, too. He’d helped Bill out on many occasions.
Bill had a hard time keeping his dick in his pants when it came to pretty, young girls.
Fortunately for the sheriff, those instances occurred on Hank’s ranch and away from the general public’s eyes—and Bill’s wife.
It also meant that Bill owed Hank.
Why hadn’t the sheriff stopped his deputy from contacting the TSCRA? If Bill had, then Hank wouldn’t feel as if everything he’d worked so hard for was shifting uneasily beneath his feet.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Hank didn’t answer it, preferring to allow his housekeeper, Nancy, to do the chore.
Hank listened, nonetheless. As if his thoughts had conjured him, Bill’s voice reached Hank.
Hank walked around to his desk and sat just as Nancy poked her head through the open doorway.
“The sheriff is here to see you,” she said.
Hank nodded. Nancy stepped aside to allow Bill into the office. Their gazes met. Hank noted that Bill looked apprehensive. A part of Hank wanted to let Bill stew in his juices, but time was of the essence. Besides, there still might be something the sheriff could do.
“I’m sure you’ve heard,” Bill said.
Hank motioned to a chair before his desk. “Right down to business, is it?”
“I thought you’d prefer it that way.”
“I do. Tell me what happened?”
Bill sighed as he sank into one of the chairs.
“It was Bobby Jo Smith. He gave Ms. Young a business card to the TSCRA after documenting the crime. Deputy Smith also filed the report in our office and then sent the pictures to the TSCRA. Dillon Young called the TSCRA before I had a chance to talk to her.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good. Thanks to your deputy being so . . . accommodating, the TSCRA was already notified.”
A frown marred Bill’s aging face. “He was doing his job, Hank.”
“I thought we had an understanding.”
The anxiety was back, causing Bill’s gaze to drop to the floor. “We do. I know you’ve helped me keep my office.”
“And your marriage.”
Bill nodded and dropped his chin to his chest as he folded his hands in his lap. What Bill hated more than his wife was that her family’s money paid for his campaigns. Without it, he never would’ve been able to run for sheriff. Bill might be a decent police officer, but he was worthless with money.
“What do you want me to do?” Bill asked as he met Hank’s gaze.
Hank slowly let out a breath. “I’ve never been involved in one of these investigations. Do you have any insight?”
“These special rangers are about as thorough as the Texas Rangers. They run solo or with another of their team. They don’t like—nor want—outside involvement. None of that should matter if you’re innocent.”
Hank smiled. “Exactly. But we both know how authorities can zero in on culprits. I assume you read the report.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Bill shrugged half-heartedly. “The ranger will see the cut fence and the tracks going onto your property.”
“Do you think I did it?”
Bill opened his mouth and blinked, but no words came out.
Hank nodded and smacked his lips. “I see. Did it ever occur to you that Dillon Young and her employees could’ve staged all of that? She’s still angry that I wanted to buy the Bar 4.”
“You still want it,” Bill stated.
Hank drew in a sharp breath at the direction the conversation was going. “What do you mean?”
“What?” Bill asked with a forced chuckle. “Everyone who knows you knows that once you set your sights on something, you don’t back down until you have it.”
Son of a bitch. Hank clenched his teeth in an effort not to lose the last shred of his calm and bellow to the heavens. “So, I do.”
“But I know you. You’d never steal livestock,” Bill added quickly.
Hank forced a smile. Maybe he’d made a dreadful mistake in taking Isaac on as his partner. Not only was Isaac making decisions without talking to him, but he’d also brought in others to do different jobs.
Every time Hank thought about Cal, he wanted to punch something.
Cal was the closest thing to a son he would ever have.
Isaac had known that and had used it against them.
After Cal had shown up earlier with Dillon, Hank wasn’t sure which side of things Cal would fall on because it looked as if he were completely taken with Dillon.
Hank needed to talk to Cal. He needed to know if Cal was playing a part or if he was going against him. Because if Cal sided with Dillon, Isaac wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.