Chapter 9 #2
Cecily finished her assessment, and they were walking back toward their vehicles when the sound of hoofbeats caught Sierra’s attention. She turned to see Rowan riding hard toward them, his horse’s hooves throwing up clouds of dust as they approached at a pace that made Sierra’s pulse spike.
Something was wrong.
Rowan pulled up short, the horse dancing beneath him as he swung down from the saddle as if he’d been born in it. His face was grim, jaw set in a way that made Sierra’s stomach clench with dread.
“Sierra.” He glanced at Cecily, his voice low. “I need you to come with me.”
“Why? What’s wrong? More cattle missing?”
Rowan’s eyes met hers, and she saw something there that made her blood run cold.
“No,” he said quietly. “Worse. We have half a dozen head of cattle in the southwest pasture. And they’re all sick or dying. Whoever is stealing your cattle has escalated to simply killing them.”
Someone was winning the war on the woman he loved.
The cow’s labored breathing filled the South Eagle Veterinary Clinic as Rowan watched the vet examine Sierra’s sick Hereford.
“When did you first notice the symptoms?” Dr. Chen pulled on latex gloves, her movements efficient as she approached the examination table where they’d managed to get the sick heifer positioned.
She was younger than Rowan had expected, maybe early thirties, with long black hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and intelligent dark eyes that missed nothing.
Her white lab coat was pristine over navy scrubs, and everything about her demeanor spoke of competence.
The clinic was a far cry from the old-fashioned country practice most people expected.
Dr. Sarah Chen had built a state-of-the-art facility that could handle everything from routine checkups to emergency surgery.
Stainless-steel examination tables dominated the main treatment area, surrounded by gleaming cabinets filled with medical equipment.
The sterile white walls were broken by digital monitors displaying vital signs and X-ray-viewing boxes that cast blue light across the polished concrete floors.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in harsh white, making the animal’s distress more apparent. The heifer’s flanks heaved with each difficult breath, foam collecting at the corners of her mouth.
“This morning.” Rowan’s jaw tightened as he watched the cow struggle. “Found her and five others down by the pond, all showing the same signs. Excessive salivation, lying on the ground. Three were already dead.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dr. Chen ran her hands along the cow’s neck, checking lymph nodes with practiced efficiency. “And they were all near your water source?”
“The stock pond, yeah. Fed by the creek that runs through our—through Sierra’s south pasture.”
“Did you bring water samples like I asked?” Dr. Chen straightened, pulling off her gloves and reaching for fresh ones.
Rowan held up a small cooler. “Three different collection points along the creek, plus one from the pond itself.”
“Good thinking.” Dr. Chen accepted the cooler, immediately pulling out the labeled vials. She arranged them on the testing station. “This isn’t the first case I’ve seen like this in the past month.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tom Hendrick’s cattle up north of town had similar symptoms three weeks ago.
Lost two head before we figured out it was their water source.
” Dr. Chen moved to her testing station, a sophisticated setup that looked more like a hospital lab than anything Rowan had seen in a rural vet clinic.
“Took the water to Denver for analysis. Results came back showing elevated lithium levels.”
“Lithium?” Rowan stood back, arms folded. He hated standing here without anything to do. “Is that a problem around here?”
“Shouldn’t be, no.” Dr. Chen began preparing samples. “But with all the mineral exploration happening lately, sometimes things get stirred up underground.”
“Or someone’s stirring them up deliberately.”
Dr. Chen paused in her work, studying his face with those sharp dark eyes. “You think someone’s contaminating water sources on purpose?”
“I think someone’s been targeting specific ranches for the past few months, and now they’ve escalated from rustling to poisoning livestock.” Rowan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How long does it take for the poison to work?”
“If it’s lithium toxicity, the animals showing symptoms now have maybe twelve to twenty-four hours before organ failure sets in. The ones still mobile need to be moved away from the contaminated source immediately.”
Rowan pulled out his phone, dialing Morrie’s number. The foreman picked up on the second ring.
“How’s the cow?” Morrie said, his voice gravelly.
“Poisoned. Lithium in the water.” Rowan kept his voice level despite the storm building in his chest. “I think we need to move the entire herd away from the south pasture. Get them to the north section, away from any creek water.”
“Already on it. Jake and Tomás are helping me move them now.”
“Good. I’ll be back shortly.”
Rowan ended the call and turned back to Dr. Chen, who was running tests on the water samples. Her equipment hummed quietly, digital readouts flickering as the analysis progressed.
“How definitive will these results be?” he asked.
“If there’s lithium contamination, I’ll know within the hour,” Dr. Chen said. “But based on what I’m seeing with your cow and what happened to Tom Hendrick’s herd, I’d bet money we’re going to find elevated levels.”
And Rowan didn’t say it, but what if the man had discovered just who had poisoned his cattle and went after them?
And ended up dead in a creek bed.
“The Hendricks’ ranch is near Sierra’s. Anyone else been affected?”
“Not that I know of, but I only treat livestock. Could be other vets have seen cases.”
Rowan’s phone buzzed with a text from Saxon.
Saxon
Meet me at police station. Have information re: Elway Blackwood.
“Dr. Chen, I need to step out for a bit. Can you call me the moment you have results?”
“Of course. And Mr. Wallace?” She looked up from her testing station, her expression grim. “If someone is deliberately contaminating water sources, they’re not just killing cattle. They’re destroying livelihoods. People’s entire way of life.”
“I know.” Rowan’s voice carried quiet menace. “That’s exactly what I intend to stop.”
He texted Sierra as he walked back to the truck.
Rowan
Where are you?
No answer. He pocketed his phone.
Saxon’s truck was already parked outside the South Eagle Police Station.
Rowan spotted him through the glass doors, talking with someone in uniform.
Saxon looked more polished than usual in dark jeans and a button-down shirt under his leather jacket, his dark hair freshly cut, and his beard neatly trimmed.
Everything about him projected competence and authority—so look who really was diving into the PI world. Interesting.
Detective Michael Martinelli looked like he’d aged five years since Rowan had seen him yesterday after coming out to survey the destruction of Sierra’s house. His white shirt was wrinkled, tie loosened, and dark circles shadowed his eyes as he gestured toward a stack of files on his desk.
“Wallace.” Martinelli stood when Rowan entered, extending a hand. “Saxon here’s been filling me in on what you’ve discovered.”
“And I’ve been learning some interesting things myself.” Saxon nodded toward a chair, his expression grim. “Sit down. This is bigger than we thought.”
Rowan remained standing, too wired to relax.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows, and the smell of old coffee and paper filled the air.
“The vet thinks it’s lithium poisoning. She was able to save our cow, but she thinks it’s deliberate.
Says there was another case north of here three weeks ago. ”
“Tom Hendrick’s place,” Martinelli said, consulting his notes. “We investigated but couldn’t find evidence of deliberate contamination. Figured it was environmental. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“What changed your mind?” Saxon asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“You asking questions about mineral rights and land acquisitions.” Martinelli rubbed his forehead, exhaustion evident in every line of his face.
“I started looking at patterns. Sierra’s place, the Hendricks’ spread.
Tom’s death. He also had a suspicious fire last month.
And all of them have been approached by the same real-estate company in the past six months. ”
Saxon leaned forward. “What company?”
“Rocky Mountain Land Development. But that’s where it gets interesting.” Martinelli pulled out a manila folder, spreading documents across his desk. “When I ran the incorporation papers, the company traces back to one corporate umbrella.”
“Which is?”
“Meridian Holdings. It’s a conglomerate. Land. Biotech. Even commercial properties.”
“How many ranchers have they approached?” Saxon asked.
“At least eight that I can confirm. Maybe more.” Martinelli’s expression darkened. “And here’s the kicker—every ranch that’s been hit with ‘accidents’ refused to sell.”
Rowan’s hands clenched into fists. “This is organized corporate terrorism.”
“That’s what I’m starting to think.” Martinelli gestured toward another stack of files.
“Problem is, I’m stretched thin right now.
Had two teenagers OD this weekend, both in critical condition at Renegade Mercy General Hospital.
Parents are demanding answers, and the DEA’s breathing down my neck about drug trafficking. ”
Saxon and Rowan exchanged glances. “Any connection between the overdoses and this land grab?” Saxon asked.
“No. It’s just a growing problem. A new drug we can’t identify.” Martinelli’s jaw tightened.
Saxon had pulled out his phone to consult his notes. “Ever heard of a guy named Ralph Rousseau? He’s at the helm of Rocky Mountain Land Development.”
“I think we need to have a chat with Ralph Rousseau,” Rowan said.