“Speak of the devil,” Seth said, nodding toward the long gravel driveway where two dust-trailing pickup trucks appeared, their engines growling as they pulled up to the weathered barns. A swirling cloud of golden dust rose behind them, backlit by the sun.
Hours later, as Rawley guided his truck along the winding road back to his ranch, he glanced over at Skylar. Her silhouette was outlined against the passenger window, her ponytail catching the occasional flicker of moonlight through the trees as she stared into the velvety darkness.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said.
“Are you saying I’m usually loud?” Her voice had that tease to it he’d grown to crave.
“Did I say that? I just mentioned that you were quiet.” He adjusted his grip on the leather steering wheel.
“Which means, I’m usually not.” She turned her face toward the window, but not before he caught the mischievous curve of her lips in the dashboard light.
“Those are your words, not mine.”
“Whatever.” She traced a finger along the condensation forming on the window.
“Is there some reason you want to have an argument?” He chuckled when she snorted out a laugh that filled the cab.
“No. I just like giving you a hard time.” Her eyes sparkled with playfulness.
“Baby, I love givingyoua hard time,” He whispered.
Skylar laughed, then looked at him. “Ryan thinks you’re gorgeous.”
Rawley grinned. “She’s a beautiful woman. Seth’s a lucky man.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a warm kiss against her palm, his eyes never leaving the road. “But so am I.”
She beamed a smile at him. “I am too.”
“I’d like to go riding tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
“We’ll go early. It’s supposed to be hot but only about eighty. Do you fish?” he asked as he traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.
“I do.” She nodded, leaning her head back against the headrest.
“Okay. We’ll take poles with us too.”
“Can’t wait.” Her voice was soft with anticipation.
Rawley glanced at her and turned back to watch the ribbon of road unfurling before them. Then he saw it. The pickup truck with the oversized mud tires barreling past in the opposite direction, its headlights momentarily flooding the cab with harsh white light.
He wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he’d bet it was nothing good.
Monday morning, Rawley pulled open the heavy metal door of the stairwell and stepped into the fluorescent-lit corridor. He crossed the gleaming floor until he reached the glass door of the department, pushed it open and entered. Nodding a silent greeting to the agents at their desks, he removed his hat and hung it on the rack. He set his steaming cup of black coffee on the corner of the desk, the rich aroma mingling with the faint tang of printer ink. Then he pulled out his swivel chair and settled into it with a quiet sigh.
He flicked on the computer, its screen awakening and logged in with speed. Opening the tire-track analysis program, he glanced toward Dave’s office at the end of the room before plugging his phone into the USB port. He tapped the gallery icon and selected the crisp photograph of those distinctive pickuptruck tread marks. The image filled the screen.
Rawley looked up just as Agent Saunders strode through the glass door and repeated the same ritual, hat off, placed on the rack, chair pulled out, seat claimed, and powered up his own workstation, eyes fixed immediately on the monitor.
A knot of unease tightened in Rawley’s gut as he waited for the software to match the pattern. He felt a tug of impatience, he was sure of what he’d seen, but he didn’t dare march into Dave’s office with nothing more than a hunch.
“Morning, Rawley,” Killian said without looking away from his screen.
“Killian. Good weekend?” Rawley asked, not wanting to break eye contact with the loading bar creeping across his display.
“Yep,” Killian replied, glancing at Rawley’s coffee-stained mug as he pushed his chair back and walked to Rawley’s desk. “You?”
“Fine.” Rawley gave a quick nod. “Thanks.”
