Chapter Sixteen
Skylar pressed trembling fingers to her face as hot tears carved trails down her cheeks. She folded a pale blue blouse with care, laid it inside the open suitcase, then slammed the lid shut. The snap of the latches echoed through the silent room before she clicked the lock into place.
Sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, she bowed her head and let her sorrow spill freely. How she hated leaving him, but fear clawed at her heart like talons. She prayed fiercely that Rawley would stay safe; those men pursuing them were merciless, and nothing short of a miracle could halt them.
When at last she got herself together, she lifted the suitcase and carried it into the living room, setting it beside the front door as dusk draped long shadows across the floorboards.
It would have to do; first light would find her on the road again.
She’d driven through worse snowstorms than this, but it was the thought of abandoning Rawley that set her pulse racing.
“Please let me get back to him soon,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Turning toward the bedroom, she yanked open the closet door and rummaged until she found Cosmo’s travel crate. There was no question she’d leave him.
A soft nudge against her shin made her jerk, then she looked down to see Calvin, his eyes full of concern. She bent and rubbed his muzzle. “Hey, boy, you miss your master, don’t you?”
Hobbs sprang across the room, tail wagging.
“Do you have to go outside?” Skylar laughed, as they ran to the front door.
“This way, babies,” she said then walked to the back door and eased it open.
A blast of frigid air caught them, swirling snowflakes into the warm light of the kitchen.
She ushered them into the fenced backyard, watching them leap and vanish into the drifts, emerging with snow-dusted muzzles and joyous yips.
“Do your business, please,” she called as they bounded here and there, their pawprints crisscrossing the sparkling yard.
Inside, Skylar fetched a few thick, worn towels from the laundry room.
She peered through the window and saw Calvin and Hobbs scratching at the door.
Unlatching it, she let them back in. They charged through like furry missiles and shook their bodies making snow fly everywhere. “Hey!” They flopped at her feet.
“You clever devils,” she murmured, gathering a towel in each hand. She rubbed them vigorously, fluffing their damp fur until they rolled onto their backs and paws in the air. “Spoiled, I see.”
She dragged the sodden towels to the washer, tossed them in and added detergent, then pressed the start button. Soon they would be warm and dry, for now anyway.
Once the dogs were dry enough, they ran to the living room and chased Cosmo around the house. Skylar sat on the sofa, pulled the blanket off the back and snuggled under it. She’d watch a movie or two and wait for Rawley to get here this evening.
****
Rawley heard the door open again and saw the man he’d talked to in the parking lot slink in, shoulders hunched against the biting winter wind. His pale face was pinched with anxiety, eyes darting like a cornered animal, so Rawley rose from his chair and strode toward him.
“I appreciate you coming in, especially in this snow.” Rawley fixed him with a steely gaze that made the young man fidget with his coat sleeve.
“I want out. They’re getting too dangerous,” the young man whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
“Come with me.” He guided him to the conference room and gestured toward a chair. “I’ll be right back.”
The man nodded but kept his bloodshot eyes locked on the surface of the table. Rawley studied his trembling hands for a few seconds, then left the room and rapped his knuckles sharply on Dave’s door. After entering the office, he sank into the sofa.
“So, our little songbird made it in through the storm, huh?” Dave asked, leaning back in his creaking leather chair.
“Yes. I’m going to record everything. Do you want in on this interrogation?”
“Hell, no. Your case, Rawley.” Dave’s weathered face split into a grin. “I know you can make him squirm.”
Rawley chuckled. “Looking forward to it.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“Yes, sir.” Rawley strode to his desk, yanked open the bottom drawer, removed a small silver tape recorder, then marched back to the conference room.
He pulled out a chair the wheels sliding along the carpeted floor, sat down, and turned the recorder on with a decisive click.
“Name and date of birth.” he demanded, voice clipped and professional.
“Jared Hill,” the man mumbled through chapped lips, then provided his birthdate, fingers drumming nervously on the table.
“Who are the other men?”
Hill took a deep, shuddering breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Axel Roby—”
“Is that the ringleader?” Rawley interrupted sharply.
“Yes, the others are, Hal White, Colby and Carson Jessup.” His words tumbled out in a rush.
“Brothers?”
“Yes.” A single bead of sweat trickled down Hill’s temple despite the room’s chill.
“Where are you all from?”
“Missoula.”
Rawley leaned back, the chair protesting under his weight, folded his arms across his chest and stared at him with the patience of a predator.
“Tell me about the truck. Who does it belong to?”
“The pickup?” Hill’s fingers twisted together.
“You can tell me about the semi too.” Rawley watched his eyes widen to saucers, pupils dilating with fear.
“Uh, we stole the truck,” Hill confessed, voice barely audible. “The semi belonged to Hal.”
“Where is it—” Rawley paused when the door opened and Laramie stuck his head in.
“Do you mind if I sit in on this?”
“Not at all.” Rawley looked at Hill. “This is Agent Saunders. Continue.”
Laramie pulled a chair out and sat down, keeping his eyes on Hill.
“We set it on fire.” The words rushed out now. “It’s deep in the woods, not far from the ranch we stole from, but it’s just a black charcoaled mess now. You won’t be able to get a VIN from it.”
Rawley leaned back in his chair, the low hum of the overhead fluorescent light flickering across the table. He tilted his head, as he smirked. “So, you removed every VIN on the truck?” His voice was quiet, but each word landed like a hammer.
Hill’s eyes darted to Laramie then back to Rawley, knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge. “Every VIN?” he whispered.
Rawley raised his brows. He tapped a steel pen against his notebook.
“On a semi-truck, you’ll find the vehicle identification number on the driver’s side, door, door jamb, dashboard, even the frame rail near the windshield.
Sometimes there’s a stamped metal plate above the sun visor or inside the glove box.
” He paused, delighting in Hill’s sudden pallor. “You removed every last one?”
Hill swallowed hard. “I wasn’t there, but Axel said it was taken care of and Hal said he’d report it stolen, said that would cover our tracks even if the truck turned up.”
Rawley shook his head as he folded his arms. “I gave you guys too much credit. Most criminals do their homework.” He leaned forward, voice cold. “Who’s pulling your strings?”
“I don’t—” Hill began, but Rawley sprang to his feet so fast the chair rolled back.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Rawley barked. Hill shrank back, beads of sweat forming at his hairline.
“Axel handled it all,” he managed.
Rawley muttered, “Shit,” and sank back into the chair, rubbing his temple. “So, you stole the pickup, slapped on stolen plates, and thought you’d slip under the radar? Have you been hitting ranches all over Montana?”
Hill’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. The first time it was a rush. But Axel wanted bigger scores, stolen cattle, rancher’s herds. He bought us off after he fenced the beef, and we got greedy.”
“And you call that a rush?” Rawley snapped. “You ripped a man’s livelihood out from under him. Ranchers lose thousands, maybe their whole operation.” He shook his head in disgust. “Insurance can take months to pay because they do a deep investigation.”
Hill looked down. “Axel said they’d manage.”
Laramie cleared his throat and Rawley looked at him and nodded. Laramie leaned back in his chair.
“Where did you steal the pickup from?” Laramie asked.
“Kalispell.”
“How? The tags are from Clifton County.”
“We would steal several tags so it would throw the law off.”
Laramie shook his head, then nodded to Rawley.
Rawley’s tone went icy. “Why were you tailing me and scaring the woman?”
Hill hesitated. “Since we knew you were a livestock agent, Axel wanted to rile you. He wasn’t worried about the woman at all. He just wanted to anger you.”
“He certainly managed that.”
“And the tires on the pickup, where are the original ones?” Laramie asked.
“Axel had them changed after we stole the cattle here. He knew someone would take photos and stuff.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know what he did with them.”
“Who installed the new ones?”
“There’s an empty warehouse in Autumn Falls next to the tire store. Axel drove there right after we stole the cattle from the Mitchell ranch.”
“Who owns it?”
Hill didn’t answer but jumped when Rawley slammed his hand the table.
“Who owns it?” he asked again.
“I really don’t know.”
“What’s next?” Laramie asked.
Hill exhaled. “The Moore Ranch. Friday night.”
Rawley stood, fists clenched at his sides. “Exact time,” he demanded.
“I’ll have to let you know,” Hill whispered.
“You’d better.” Rawley’s stare pinned him to the chair. “If you’re lying, I’ll see you in a cell first.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to Hill. “You can reach me at any of those numbers or text if you need to.”
“Will I be able to get a deal?”
“I’m not promising you anything until I arrest the others.”
Hill nodded, rose, and walked out into the office area, leaving Rawley and Laramie alone with burning questions, then he headed for Dave’s office again to tell him the details.
****