When her eyes finally adjusted, she found him.
Anthony straightened, sensing the current of urgency rolling off her.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, ma’am,” he said, voice low.
She pressed her lips together and moved past the desk before coming to stand near him. “Not a ghost,” she said. “News.”
He watched her carefully. “Bad news.”
Abigail nodded. Her hands lingered on the back of a chair, gripping it just long enough to steady herself.
“I went into town this morning,” she said. “To see for myself how things stood.”
Anthony tilted his head. “And?”
“The sheriff’s office is quiet, but too quiet,” she replied. “Muldoon was speaking with one of Vanburgh’s men. Nothing unusual on the surface, but...it looked like friendship. Comfort. Not law.”
Anthony’s mouth curled in a grim smile. “That surprises you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But it set the tone for what came after. Deputy Brigg stopped me outside.”
That name made him sit up straighter. Brigg was Muldoon’s shadow. He was a man Anthony had written off as too timid to matter.
“What did he want, ma’am?”
“To talk,” Abigail explained. “Privately.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes. “And you listened?”
“Of course I listened,” she said. “He was nervous, yes...but not a liar. He’s been watching more than I gave him credit for. And what he told me...it concerns Lyle Tate.”
Anthony’s jaw hardened at the name. Tate was a blunt instrument. If Tate was moving, it wasn’t for idle errands.
“Go on,” Anthony said.
“Brigg overheard a conversation last night,” Abigail replied. “Muldoon and one of Vanburgh’s men. They mentioned Tate leading a supply convoy soon. North road. Toward the creek.”
The words hung heavily between them.
Anthony rose to his feet, pacing a few steps before stopping by the shuttered window. His reflection was faint in the glass. He was a shadow of a man worn thin by pursuit. He stared at it as he spoke.
“A convoy,” he said. “With Tate at the front. That’s no simple haul of grain or lumber. That’s the barrels.”
Abigail’s voice was soft but steady. “That was my thought. Supplies...or poison.”
He turned back to her, studying the tension in her posture and the way her hands still gripped the chair.
“And you believe Brigg?”
“I do.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “He’s frightened, but he’s tired of silence. I saw it in his face. He doesn’t want to keep serving Muldoon’s lies.”
“Maybe so,” Anthony exhaled softly. “Or maybe he’s being used to bait us out. Either way, it doesn’t matter. If Tate’s moving a convoy, it needs watching.”
Abigail stepped closer, lowering her voice though they were alone.
“Anthony, if you go after him now, you’ll be walking straight into their jaws,” she said. “Muldoon knows you escaped. Vanburgh knows. They’ll be setting traps.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “They’ve been setting traps since the first day I stepped into this valley. I’d be more worried if they weren’t.”
