Chapter One
Agent Rawley Bowman leaned against the brushed metal wall of the elevator, holding a steaming cup of black coffee. He took a tentative sip as the polished brass doors slid open with a soft chime, and a woman in a crisp navy pantsuit stepped inside. He touched the brim of his white Stetson when she looked at him with curious hazel eyes.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.
“Morning,” he replied.
“Do you work in the building?” She fidgeted with a pearl earring.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a livestock agent. This is my floor.” He straightened when the elevator jerked to a stop and the doors whooshed open with a mechanical sigh; he nodded at the woman. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
“Thank you. You do the same.” Her smile revealed a small dimple in her left cheek.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped out onto the beige marble floor, walked across the sun-dappled hall to the glass door of The Montana Department of Livestock, entered, then strode to his cluttered desk. He nodded at each agent he passed, most buried in paperwork or hunched over ringing phones. Thank God it was Friday.
When he got to his desk, he set the Styrofoam cup down on a ring-stained coaster, removed his hat and hung it on the tarnished brass hat rack behind him. He pulled his creaky chair out, sat down with a soft grunt, turned on the computer that whirred to life, and looked through cases. He shook his head when he saw five more were added since Monday, each folder thicker than the last.
“Rawley.” The voice cut through the office buzz.
Glancing up, he saw his boss, Dave Merkle, at his office door, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
“Yes, sir?”
“In here, please.” Dave’s weathered face was unreadable.
Rawley sighed, pushed his chair back with a squeak, stood and walked to Dave’s office. He saw Dave wave him inside, and Rawley opened the door then took a seat on the leather sofa in the office.
“What did I do?” Rawley asked, running a hand through his hair.
Dave chuckled, crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. “Nothing. This time. I have a case for you.” He slid a bright yellow Post-it note across the mahogany desk. Rawley got up, walked to the desk, picked it up, and read the hastily scrawled address, the blue ink smudged at the edges. He looked at Dave, brow furrowed.
“Why does this address sound familiar?”
“It’s The Mitchell Ranch.” Dave leaned back in his chair, which protested with a squeal.
Rawley looked at Dave. “Preston?”
“Yep. Twenty head of cattle are missing. They discovered the fence down about an hour ago and did a head count. They came up twenty short. A big section of fence was down; posts snapped like toothpicks. Had to be one big trailer or more than one.”
“Alright. I’ll head out there.” Rawley folded the note into his shirt pocket.
“You be damn careful,” Dave said, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“I’m always careful.” Rawley opened the door, then strode to his desk. He grabbed his hat off the rack, settled it on his head, then walked out of the office to the elevator. When the doors opened with that same soft chime, he stepped inside andrealized he had left his coffee on his desk, but he wasn’t going back for it. He was done with it anyway.
Dust particles danced in the morning sun as Rawley slid behind the wheel of his Chevy Silverado. The engine growled to life when he turned the key. He eased the truck out of the parking lot, grit crunching beneath the tires, and headed down the road toward Preston Mitchell’s ranch.
By the time he rolled up to the wide double doors of the main barn, the sun was setting higher, and he knew it was going to be a hot August day. He killed the engine, and the sudden quiet pressed in, only the low murmurs of cattle and the distant creak of a windmill punctuated the air. Rawley climbed out, dust puffing from his boots, and peered around the open yard. No one stirred, so he pushed through the barn doors.
Inside, the smell of hay and manure hit him first. Strands of dry straw lay scattered along the wide center aisle, barn cats slipped away into shadow, and the beams overhead groaned as he walked. He let his eyes adjust, then strode forward, the soles of his boots scuffing against the cement floor.
“Is there something I can help you with?” A familiar drawl called from somewhere ahead.
Rawley’s shoulders relaxed. He spotted Arch Baldwin stepping out of the shadows, a broad-shouldered man in a faded T-shirt and scuffed cowboy boots, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped forward. When Arch saw him, his grin matched Rawley’s.
“I doubt it,” Rawley teased.
Arch closed the distance, chuckling as he reached out. “Rawley. I couldn’t make out who you were in the dark.” They shook hands. “How you been doing?”
