She tapped the pencil against her chin. “We document first. Every movement, every barrel, every man who handles it. That gives us a legal foundation. If we move too soon, we risk leaving nothing but our word.”
“I know, ma’am,” he said. “But the longer we wait, the more people are at risk. The creek isn’t forgiving. And Tate is not careful. Someone could get hurt before we even have our first witness.”
“I know you’re right,” Abigail replied. “But if we jump in without proof, we hand Vanburgh a reason to claim we’re lying. He’s powerful enough to manipulate the law. I can’t let that happen. Continue your observations, but you need to be discreet. No confrontations unless absolutely necessary.”
“Discreet,” Anthony said, chuckling. “Right. That’s a style I’m not used to.”
For a moment, they were both silent. Abigail stared down at their notes. Anthony tapped his foot against the floor.
His words came out like he had no control over them. They were so sudden, even he was surprised when he heard them.
“Sheriff Muldoon had me thrown in his jailhouse,” Anthony said.
It felt like Abigail stopped breathing. Her shoulders froze as she stared at him.
“Didn’t matter what I said. He wasn’t interested,” Anthony continued. “Vanburgh’s men came in the night to finish me. I didn’t have much choice but to leave.”
Her eyes widened. “You escaped.”
“Sheriff never saw it that way,” Anthony muttered. He pushed to his feet and looked out the window. The cottonwoods swayed in the morning breeze. Silver Cross was lying somewhere just beyond their branches. A place he couldn’t step foot in now without chains waiting. The law wasn’t on his side, and until Vanburgh’s shadow lifted, it never would be.
Abigail followed his gaze, then set the pencil down. “Then you can’t show your face there. Not yet. But I can.”
Anthony turned back toward her.
“I’ll go into town,” she said. “I’ll listen. See what people are saying, what Vanburgh’s men are doing, and whether Muldoon’s stirring the pot any further. Whatever I find, I’ll bring back to you.”
Anthony let out a slow breath, his hand resting against the window frame. For the first time since escaping the jail cell, he felt the tightness in his chest ease just a little.
Chapter 13
Abigail had risen before dawn, though sleep had been restless. The images from Anthony’s last visit—the strain in his voice, the wound on his arm, and the urgency in his eyes—kept turning over in her mind.
Now she needed answers. She needed to see whether the town hummed with its ordinary rhythm or whether Vanburgh’s men had already tightened their grip after Hawk’s escape.
So she left the clinic and walked the long road toward town. The mountains were behind her, and the little settlement unfolded before her.
Clapboard storefronts, a row of awnings shading the general store, the smell of bread drifting faintly from the bakery. From a distance, it looked like any other morning in Silver Cross. But she felt the current beneath it.
Abigail moved with purpose. She kept her shawl pulled close and her steps even, though her heart quickened when she neared the sheriff’s office. The building squatted on the cornerof the main street, with its porch shaded and its windows dark. A fresh horseshoe hung crookedly over the doorway, but otherwise, nothing suggested alarm.
Still, she lingered and pretended to fuss with her satchel so she could peer inside.
Through the glass, she caught a glimpse of Sheriff Muldoon leaning back in his chair with his boots propped on the desk. His hat shaded his eyes. Another man stood near the wall, speaking in a low voice. Muldoon only nodded.
The sight settled like a stone in her gut. Anthony had told her plainly. The law in Silver Cross was bought and paid for. And here was proof, so casual it could almost be mistaken for friendship.
“Morning, Miss Abigail.”
She startled slightly and turned. Deputy Thomas Brigg stood just down the boardwalk with his hat in his hands. His voice was soft. Most folks hardly noticed Brigg, the deputy who trailed after Muldoon, scribbling notes or fetching coffee.
Abigail studied him for a long moment, then inclined her head. “Deputy.”
“You’re out early,” he said, glancing past her toward the sheriff’s office. “Everything all right?”
For a heartbeat, she considered brushing past him. Brigg was Muldoon’s shadow, and Muldoon was Vanburgh’s. She had no reason to trust the man. But something in his manner gave her pause. The nervous hands, the searching eyes, as if he was asking more than he said aloud.
“Not particularly,” Abigail answered at last. Her voice was calm but edged. “I heard things I wish I hadn’t. Saw things too.”
