By Wednesday, Rawley was beginning to think Hill wasn’t going to let him know when on Friday they were going to rustle cattle from Calder Moore’s ranch, so he got back into looking for auto thefts throughout the state.
An hour later, his cellphone vibrated and he picked it up to see Hill’s number. He pressed answer.
“Agent Bowman,” he said.
“It’s Jared Hill. One a.m. Friday night.”
“Is it Friday night or Saturday morning?”
“Technically, it’s Saturday morning, but we’re going out there Friday night around midnight to wait for the opportunity.”
“Alright. They’d better be there and you’d better not be setting me up.”
“They will be and I’m not. I have to be there too. I can’t make them suspicious.”
“Yeah, I understand that. Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will.” Hill disconnected.
Rawley slid his chair back, stood and headed to Dave’s office to tell him. Once he did, Dave told the men to head to the conference room so Rawley could tell them about the stakeout.
In the conference room, Rawley, Killian, Beau, Creed, Hud and Laramie hunched over the table, their faces illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead as they reviewed their plan. Eli had to work on another case, so it was just the six of them.
“He said they planned to hit the Moore ranch tonight around one a.m. but would be there around midnight. Calder has atleast five hundred head of prime Angus worth a small fortune,” Rawley said, his finger tapping on a satellite map.
“Is Calder aware?” Creed asked.
“Yes. Dave called him personally so his ranch hands wouldn’t be caught in any crossfire.”
“I bet Calder’s not happy,” Killian muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Dave said he wasn’t, but he knows we’ll do everything possible to keep his livestock safe,” Rawley replied.
They dissected the tactical approach for another hour, before dispersing to prepare. Stakeouts were grueling work, cold coffee, cramped muscles, and the constant threat of danger, but catching these rustlers was worth it. Rawley didn’t trust Jared Hill’s information completely, but the snitch’s intel was all they had.
“What’s the ringleader’s name again?” Hud asked.
“Axel Roby.” Rawley slid the manila file across the table, the folder making a soft scraping sound. “Declan got photos of them.”
“Mean-looking son of a bitch. No priors though. That accurate?” Hud squinted at the photo.
“Yeah, someone’s greasing palms somewhere. He’s a pro, slips in, loads the cattle onto a semi and vanishes before the first hint of dawn.”
“Let’s hope that streak ends tonight,” Beau said.
“Parking lot at eleven-thirty sharp. That will give us time to position ourselves. This could go sideways fast. Make sure your radios and earpieces are charged. Get some shut eye if you can.”
The agents filed out, shutting down laptops, gathering documents, and retrieving their Stetsons from the racks before heading into the cold late afternoon air.
Hours later, they slithered through the tree line, boots crushing frost-covered pine needles that crackled like tiny bonesbeneath them. Fingers numb, weapons gripped white-knuckles tight. Rawley held his hand up, freezing them mid-step. The silence wasn’t just quiet, it was predatory, a vacuum sucking at his eardrums until they throbbed. Moonlight knifed through gnarled branches, turning the forest into a gallery of skeletal guards with twisted arms. His lungs burned with each inhale of air so cold it felt like swallowing shards of broken glass.
“I don’t trust this son of a bitch. I think he’s setting me up—”
The rifle crack exploded like thunder, the bullet’s heat searing past Rawley’s cheek before wood erupted in splinters that sliced his face as they hurled themselves behind the nearest tree trunk, but he saw Beau fall and hoped he was alright.
Rawley slammed his back into the massive oak’s rough bark, every fiber of it digging into his spine as he fought for breath. He looked to where Beau had fallen and sighed in relief when he saw Beau crawling on his stomach to the trees.
“Beau, are you alright?”
