Chapter 14 #2
Tilting the box so Kip couldn’t see inside until he knew what was in there, he pulled open the top flap of the box. Red yarn hair practically exploded from the top as soon as he opened it. Grabbing a stray piece of yarn, he inched whatever this thing was out of the box.
When he took it out, he realized it was a cloth doll, like a tiny Raggedy Ann. It wore a pink dress and a small black apron, but that wasn’t what caught his eye. Someone had used a red marker to make the dolls throat appear to be slashed.
A note was pinned straight through the doll’s chest, right where its heart would be. A long, straight pin—like the ones he’d seen stuck in women’s hats at church when he was younger—that glinted under the hall’s sickly light.
The pin held a note in place that read, “Rios pays double for red.”
Kip’s sharp inhale sounded a thousand miles away. The words struck him like a branding iron behind the eyes. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
He wanted to crush the note in his fist, but he couldn’t. Sam Nelson, Wilder’s sheriff and a close friend, would need it for evidence.
Kip’s voice came out small and cracked. “Is… is that…that’s supposed to be me?”
“Yeah, baby.” He didn’t like the sound of his own voice either. His words came out flat, and his tone was cold and promised murder, which was exactly how he felt, but she didn’t need that from him right now. Trying again, he forced out, “It is.”
Stuffing the doll and note back into the box, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her, pulling her in tight against his chest. That also meant she couldn’t see his face.
“Get back to the car,” he ordered, already turning her. “We’re not standing in this fucking hallway one more second.”
“But my clothes—”
“Forget the clothes. You’re not going into that apartment any more than you’re coming back here again. Ever.”
Hard tremors shook her as he held her close. And though she didn’t make a sound, he felt those tremors in his bones.
He bowed his head until his lips brushed her ear. “Listen to me. Whoever did this just signed their own death warrant. I’m gonna find them, Kip. And when I do, there won’t be enough left to send in a fucking matchbox.”
Nodding against his coat, her fingers clutched the front of his shirt as if it were the only solid thing left in her world. He kept her moving, kept her shielded, and got them out of that hallway before the rage boiling in his gut exploded all over the walls.
After they reached his truck, he tucked the doll box into his upper coat pocket, the one next to his heart, where the weight of it burned worse than the barbed wire ever had. “You’re not staying here anymore,” he said, voice flat and deadly calm. “And if you need clothes, I’ll buy you new ones.”
She didn’t argue as Trace got her back in the truck, the doors locked, and the engine started.
Taking a moment to calm down, he stared at the snow piling up on the windshield.
Two attacks in one day, one on his herd and one on the woman he loved.
That was a huge coincidence. Something gnawed at his brain, but he couldn’t figure out what.
Once the heat began melting the snow, he pulled the crushed box with the doll and note from his pocket and laid them on the console like evidence in a murder trial. Before the blizzard could cut off the last of the cell signal, he grabbed his phone and dialed the sheriff.
“Sam, it’s Trace Daniels.” His voice came out rough, scraped raw. “Somebody left a package at Kip’s door. A rag doll with its throat slashed and a note pinned to it that says ‘Rios pays double for red.’”
“Ho-ly fuck,” Sam growled. “Can you tell where it came from?”
Trace shook his head, even knowing Sam couldn’t see it.
“No postage. It looked hand-delivered. I’ve got the box in my truck.
I want it dusted, I want it processed, and I want Wesley Zhou brought in for questioning.
Tonight. He’s tied to Rios, and he’s been sniffing around Kip for weeks.
You find him, you hold him, and you keep me in the damn loop every step of the way. ”
Sam started asking questions, but Trace cut him off. “I’ve got another emergency out here, Sam. Possible brucellosis outbreak. The state vet’s probably already at the ranch. I’ll be tied up, but this threat against Kip doesn’t wait. You call me the second you have anything, Sam. Anything.”
Ending the call, he tossed the phone onto the seat and stared at the doll’s black, threadlike eyes until they blurred. With a groan, he ran his hands over his face. Two crises—one with his land, one with the woman sitting beside him, shaking so hard he could hear her teeth chatter.
God help him if push came to shove and he had to choose between the ranch and Kip, he would let every acre go up in flames before he let anyone touch her.
His phone buzzed again. Javi.
“Boss, that bison’s down again. It’s bad, Trace. The state vet’s ten minutes out.”
Trace closed his eyes. When he opened them, the snow was coming down harder, erasing the world one white layer at a time.
“Lock the gates,” he told Javi. “Nobody in or out until we figure out what we’re up against.” Or who.
Kip sat huddled against the door... pale, trembling, with her arms wrapped around herself. Something inside him hardened into a shape he recognized — the shape of a man who would burn the whole world down before he let anyone touch what was his again.
He put the truck in gear and headed toward the ranch, toward the probably dying cow, the contaminated feed, and whatever came next.
Trace stood in the vet barn doorway, snow swirling in every time the wind gusted, watching the state veterinarian draw blood from the shaking bison’s neck.
Overhead, the fluorescents buzzed harsh white, turning the wet spots on the floor black.
An hour later, his phone vibrated against his chest like a second heartbeat.
Sam Nelson.
Stepping outside, he pulled the door half-shut behind him. “Sam, tell me you have him.”
“We have him,” Sam said. “Picked him up on County Road 79 with a bag full of cash and a fake Canadian passport. He’s in holding and screaming for a lawyer, but I can give you ten minutes before the public defender shows. I know you want in on this, but I can’t delay them long.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Ending the call, he turned around to see Kip standing right behind him, coat pulled tight, cheeks red from cold and fury.
“I’m coming, too,” she announced.
Chin already sticking out, she was geared up for a battle. It was one she wasn’t going to win. “No.”
“Daddy.” She stepped closer. “I can’t sit here waiting to find out if someone else is coming for me next. I’ll worry myself sick. Please, Daddy. Please take me with you.”
He looked at her, small and trembling, with eyes blazing, and the fight drained from him. “Fine. Let’s get you in the truck.”
They were halfway to town when it hit him: two attacks in one day. Ranch and Kip. What if Zhou in custody was the bait to lure them both into town? He jerked the wheel hard, turning toward the Broken Bridle so fast the back end fishtailed.
Kip braced a hand on the dash. “What are you doing?”
“Changing plans.”
He slid to a stop beneath the buzzing neon steer skull of the Broken Bridle. Tires crunched on fresh snow as he parked crooked across two spaces. He killed the engine, watching the neon OPEN sign flicker in the window, with half the letters already dead.
Inside, the jukebox was silent. The place reeked of strong beer and lemon polish. Running a white rag over already-clean glasses, Hank stood behind the bar, the silver in his beard shining under the overhead lights.
Without wasting time, he grabbed Hank’s elbow and pulled him toward the storeroom, updating him as they walked. Kip trailed two steps behind, arms locked tight around her ribs.
“Listen to me,” Trace said, voice low enough even the bottles wouldn’t hear. “She does not leave your sight. Not for a second. Bathroom, alley, office, nowhere. Anyone asks for her, anyone even looks at her wrong, you call me before you breathe. You get me?”
Hank took them both in. Trace waited, knowing what Hank would see. Kip stood pale as the snow outside, eyes too large for her face.
Trace held the older man’s gaze without flinching. Hank had known him since he was fifteen and running wild, so Trace knew Hank could read him.
“You go do whatever it is you gotta do. I’ve got her,” Hank said. Simple. Final.
Trace nodded once before turning to Kip.
Tears already streamed down her face. It killed him to make her cry, but he had to put her safety first. Cupping her cold face with his good hand, he brushed his thumb across the track of her tears.
“I need you to stay with Hank, babygirl. I promise I’ll tell you everything that is said.
But if this is a trap, you can’t be there. ”
“Y-you th-think it m-might be a tr-trap?”
He nodded. “I do. What I need you to do is mind Hank and stay where he can see you. I’m serious, little fox. If you so much as move an inch from him, Kip, I swear on everything I am—”
She pressed cold fingers to his lips, stopping him. “I won’t.” Her voice cracked. “Just promise me you’ll come back.”
She was breaking his heart.
Even though he didn’t have much time, he kissed her like it might be the last time. He kissed her hard and deep, tasting vanilla, salt, and fear. Then, forcing himself to let her go, he walked out before the sight of her standing small and terrified in that empty bar broke him in half.
Outside, the snow had turned serious, with wind driving it sideways and piling drifts against the tires of the trucks lined up along the street. He climbed into his cab, slammed the door, and sat there for a second, engine idling, wipers beating a frantic rhythm against the windshield.
If this was a trap, they’d picked the wrong bait. If it wasn’t, Wesley Zhou was about to find out exactly what happens when you threaten his babygirl. Either way, Trace was done waiting.
Dropping the truck into gear, he floored the gas and headed toward the sheriff’s office.