Chapter 19
The cocking of the revolver in the quiet morning hours halted Freddy in his tracks. His hands flew up by his ears. “It’s just me, Mr. Gomez.”
A light clicked on, showing Isaac Gomez reclining in his chair with his feet on the desk, and the revolver pointed at Freddy’s chest. “I know it’s you. Why do you think I got the gun?”
“I-I don’t understand. I did what you wanted.”
Ice spread through Freddy’s veins at the glacial scowl. Isaac put on a show for his clients, appearing congenial and accommodating. But Freddy had always seen another side of Isaac. A side Freddy’s momma would’ve called the Devil before crossing herself and kissing her rosary.
It was that frightening side, that evil side that Freddy found himself staring at now—and he was terrified.
From the day he had walked into Isaac Gomez’s law office, Freddy’s life had gone to hell in a handbasket.
No doubt his mother was rolling over in her grave.
Freddy had wanted to stop doing Isaac’s bidding, but he was in way over his head.
The ground beneath him was like quicksand. There was only one way out—down.
“Did what I wanted?” Isaac asked in a calm voice.
Freddy moved his head up and down quickly. “You wanted the Young woman out of the way. You told me to take care of her.”
Isaac simply stared.
Freddy’s knees started to knock together as fear rose, choking him. “I-I promised I’d make my mistake right.”
“Did you?”
Freddy swallowed, the sound loud to his ears. He glanced at the pistol the lawyer still pointed at him. He should’ve left town. Why had he come here? There was no way Isaac would let him off easy this time.
“I take your silence to mean that you failed. Again.”
“She moved at the last minute.”
Isaac drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “Do you know why I’m so good at my job?”
“Because you know the law.”
“Anyone can memorize laws. No, Freddy, I’m a great lawyer because I see people’s weaknesses and use them to my advantage. Most times, it’s against my opponents and their clients.”
Most times. Yeah, Freddy knew Isaac never hesitated to use his particular skills on his clients when the need arose.
“Do you know what your weakness is?”
Freddy told himself not to answer, but just like with every other decision he’d made since meeting Isaac Gomez, he couldn’t help but obey. “No.”
A cold, calculating smile split Isaac’s face. “You’re spineless. You can’t think for yourself. You’re a follower.”
Each word was like a punch to his gut. Freddy desperately wanted to tell Isaac to go to Hell, but the words stuck in his throat.
“My point exactly,” Isaac said.
Freddy glanced at the floor, noticing for the first time that plastic covered it. His stomach dropped to his feet. When he lifted his gaze, he knew he was going to die.
Isaac sighed wearily. “You had one job, Freddy. One job. And you couldn’t manage that.”
“Give me another chance,” he begged.
“Too many people are sniffing around. I can’t take the chance of things leading back to me.”
Freddy felt tears gathering in his eyes. “I’ll leave town and never come back. I swear.”
“And why would I take your word for it?”
“Because I’m a coward, and I’m scared shitless of you.”
Isaac tsked. “Ah, Freddy. You had an opportunity to get away, but you couldn’t do it. And I’m all out of chances.”
Hank paced the area in front of his bed. The minute he’d gotten word from his contact at the sheriff’s office that someone had taken another shot at Dillon, Hank had been on edge. He didn’t know if Dillon was dead or not. He couldn’t do anything until he knew one way or another.
He’d brought up Isaac’s number numerous times but always decided against it right before he initiated the call. Things had gotten infinitely more volatile with the arrival of the TSCRA ranger. He was sniffing around, making the plans put into place more difficult to carry out. Then there was Cal.
“What the fuck are you doing, Cal?” Hank asked aloud.
He wanted to talk to Cal privately. He needed to know what Cal was thinking—and, more importantly, what he was doing. Hank hated that Isaac had brought Cal into their scheming. And the way Cal looked at him made Hank uneasy. Actually, nothing about any of this was good.
Hank halted and sank onto the bench before his bed.
If he could only go back to that day two months ago when he’d vented about Dillon while Isaac had been at the house to finalize some legal papers.
If Hank had been at Isaac’s office, he never would’ve mentioned any of it for fear of someone overhearing.
But at his house, he hadn’t held back when Isaac prodded.
Even after he realized what Isaac had been doing, Hank hadn’t been able to help himself and had told him everything. The minute Isaac realized the kind of money they could make, he’d offered Hank a deal he couldn’t refuse—one only a fool would accept.
Yet, Hank had. He’d regretted it the very instant the words had left his mouth, but there was no backing out. Isaac had promised to offer assistance when Hank needed it but to otherwise stay out of the situation. When, in fact, Isaac had done anything but.
Isaac’s persistence in making decisions without talking to Hank about them first was putting everything in jeopardy.
But what was he to do? He couldn’t cut Isaac out now.
Isaac had too much on him. No doubt the bastard had taped their conversations to ensure that Hank wouldn’t try to double-cross him.
“I should’ve done the same thing,” Hank mumbled.
He’d never foreseen things spiraling so out of control as they had. Cal, the ranger, someone shooting at Dillon, stealing the stallion. Each new day brought something more outrageous. At this rate, Hank would find himself in jail. He couldn’t spend his money on much if he were behind bars.
There had to be a way out. Unfortunately, the only way he saw was to go to the ranger and tell him everything. Hank would do it in a heartbeat if he knew he wouldn’t go to jail, but he knew that probably wasn’t possible. He was so close to getting everything he wanted. Why stop now?
His plan would’ve taken him a year or two. While he disagreed with Isaac’s motives, they were getting results. Hank didn’t like how he was under the microscope. The only thing that kept him relatively calm was knowing that if he went down, he would bring Isaac with him.
Yet not even that could ease his sour stomach at the idea of Dillon’s possible murder.
He wanted the land, but he wasn’t prepared to take her life for it.
The fact that Isaac was, told Hank everything he’d ever speculated about his lawyer.
And it made him look at Isaac differently.
It took a special kind of person to willingly take someone’s life—whether you were the one who pulled the trigger or ordered the execution. Both were the same in Hank’s eyes.
He turned his head to look out his window toward Bar 4 land. He couldn’t see anything, but he imagined sheriff’s deputies were all around gathering evidence. Whether Dillon was dead or not, Hank would demand that Isaac send whoever had pulled the trigger out of the area. If Dillon were alive . . .
Hank’s thoughts halted as his gaze dropped to the carpet.
Dillon’s death would make it easy to buy the ranch from whoever she left it to.
They never had to know anything. It would be much simpler and quicker than his attempts to ruin her so she was forced to sell.
Maybe Isaac’s idea wasn’t such a bad one, after all.
Not that Hank condoned murder, but it wasn’t as if this were his plan.
He hadn’t ordered someone to kill Dillon.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his hands were clean. A smile pulled at his lips. Maybe he’d been thinking about this all wrong. Isaac had never steered him wrong in business before. Why would he start now? Especially when they both had so much to gain.
Hank rose and removed his robe, tossing it onto the bench before climbing into bed.
He lay on his back and stared at his ceiling, dollar signs flashing in his mind.
There was no way the shooter would attempt a second time and miss.
Dillon’s death would be announced tomorrow, which meant that Hank needed to act accordingly.
He would ensure that he didn’t say or do anything that would cause the ranger to look at him suspiciously.
With Dillon dead, there was a chance the ranger would leave.
It would take some time for the will to go through probate and for the new owners to take control.
No doubt Isaac already had a letter drafted, waiting to be sent with Hank’s offer.
And with Isaac’s connections, there might even be a way to speed up the probating of the will.
All of that meant that Hank could have what he’d been trying to claim for months now.
Chet Thompson sat in his truck in front of the hotel and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d had some bizarre cases, but this one topped them all. The only one he believed in all of this was Dillon Young.
He lifted his cell phone and placed a call to Marty, another ranger he trusted implicitly. It rang twice before the call connected. “You still up?”
“Kinda hard to sleep with everything going on,” Marty replied. “There’s been no movement around Ivy Ridge.”
Chet flattened his lips. “None that we can see, that is.”
“Yeah. I heard the chatter on the scanner about what happened at the Bar 4. Was the shooter found?”
“Not yet.”
“This is becoming a shit show. Should we call in more help?”
“No,” Chet said, harsher than intended. “I got the feeling Sheriff Felps and Hank Stephens go way back.”
Marty grunted. “Something the sheriff said?”
“Just a gut feeling.”
“We’ve been doing this long enough to trust those.”
It was Chet’s turn to grunt. “Don’t remind me about my age. This case isn’t going to be what I expected. We need to adjust for that.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I’m still working that out.”
Marty was silent for a moment. “Ms. Young has been shot at twice now. I doubt they’ll miss a third time.”
“My job is to find the stolen stallion, not prevent her death.”
“Yeah, but we both know what you’re going to do.”
Chet removed his hat and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “My old bones need some rest. I’ll check back in a few hours.”
“We’re getting too old for this shit, Chet.”