“Fuck!”he roared, smashing his fist into the steering wheel and white-hot pain lanced up his arm. Now the bastard knew exactly where to find him.
Rawley sat hunched at his desk and clicked through file after file, waiting for the program to confirm what tires matched those treads, when abruptly the display froze on an image of pickuptruck tire treads. A low hum rose from the printer as he tapped ‘Print’. Leaning back, he pushed his chair away, rose to his feet, and stalked toward the whirring machine.
“I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched. He folded his arms and impatiently watched the paper slide into the tray.
Just then, Agent Saunders strolled in through the door, removing his cowboy hat and hanging it on the coat rack. He hauled out the chair from under his desk and dropped into it.
Rawley returned to his desk, paper in hand. “Rough night, Laramie?” he asked.
Laramie ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “I didn’t get much sleep. This case is kicking my ass.”
Rawley flicked the printout at him. “Not just yours. But I finally got information on what those tire tracks fit. Now I need to trace where those tires were bought. They’re for Ford F-150 trucks. Exactly what those men drive. It’s red, sets high and that would get them through mud or anything else.”
Laramie nodded. “There probably aren’t a lot of those around here.” He toyed with a paperclip.
“I was pulling into my driveway, walked across the road to get the mail, and that prick rolled up beside me. He must’ve been heading back to town but coming from where, I have no idea. There are a lot of cattle ranches out that way.”
“Shit, Rawley,” Laramie warned, folding his arms. “They know where you live. Be damn careful. They could have been out scouting for their next victim.”
“I thought the same thing. I’ll be as careful as I can be.” He headed to Dave’s office, rapped on the glass door, and waited.
Dave waved him in from behind a towering stack of case files. “What’s up, Rawley?”
He laid the paper on Dave’s desk. “Those tire tracks in the pasture, they match these exactly.” He explained about the red pickup.
Dave leaned back. “We still have to follow protocol. We can’t pull that truck over unless he actually breaks the law.”
“I know, damn it, Dave. But now he knows where I live.” Rawley’s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained the confrontation.
Dave’s eyes flicked with concern. “Be damn careful. Especially since they know something’s up.”
“Yes, sir. I will.” Rawley looked at his watch. “Hey, I’m heading out for lunch.”
Dave rubbed his temples. “Alright. Grab me a burger while you’re at it? I’m here until quitting time.”
“Sure.”
“Just tell Connie my usual.”
Rawley left the office, collected his hat, and crossed to the elevator. When the doors slid open, he froze, his father stood inside in a charcoal suit, arms folded.
“In or out, Agent Bowman?” his father asked, stern yet calm.
Rawley stepped in. “Heading to lunch, Your Honor?”
His father’s gaze softened for a moment. “Not quite. I need to speak with Judge Carlton.”
“Carlton?” Rawley frowned. “That man is far from my favorite.”
J.B. sighed as the elevator descended, fluorescent lights gliding overhead. “I know you don’t like him, Rawley, but he’s fair.”
“I disagree,” Rawley said, leaning against the polished wall. “He’s stubborn. If he thinks someone’s guilty, no argument will change his mind. He’s handed down harsh sentences, like for those two kids last month.”
“How are they supposed to learn it’s wrong, if they don’t face consequences?” his father asked.
Rawley crossed his arms, remembering Gibbs and Tillman ordered community service instead of jail. “Some of them do learn. Case and I knew those two we arrested had made amistake, got in too deep. They’re genuinely sorry and they won’t do it again. Good people can do terrible things, but they can change.”
His father stared at him as the elevator chimed as the doors slid open. Rawley waited for his father to step out into the bright hallway, then he folded his arms, leaned against the wall, and grinned.
