Cole just nodded. He’d been in a dark mood all morning. Josh had a feeling it had something to do with Brittany, but he didn’t ask. Cole wasn’t the type to share his feelings, at least not often. Hell, neither was he.
Which made him think of Tory and what had happened between them last night. As soon as she’d figured out the bikers could have been hired by Damon, he’d known she was going to run.
What he hadn’t known was how much it would upset him. He tried to tell himself it was just his protective instincts kicking in, but it was way more than that.
He cared for Tory and little Ivy. The thought of Damon Bridger hurting either one of them made him physically sick. That she would put herself and Ivy in danger to protect him made him a little crazy.
Fortunately, she was staying. She had given him her word and Josh knew she would keep it. He trusted her in the same soul-deep way he trusted the men who’d fought beside him in the war. He didn’t know how it had happened, only that it had.
Ty brought the horses in and he and Josh saddled them. Josh retrieved the hunting rifle he kept in the gun safe in the bedroom he’d set up as an office, a .308 Winchester with a Sightron long range scope. You never knew what you might run into out there. Snakes and wild boars could be a problem.
And there was Damon Bridger.
He slid the rifle into the scabbard at the front of his saddle and swung aboard. Ty swung up on Red. As they rode away from the barn, the kid sat straight in the saddle yet relaxed, holding the reins loosely but clearly in control.
Josh gigged the buckskin, heading for the trail that wound through the grasslands. There was an old cabin out there that overlooked the river, a place he liked to go when he wanted to think. He’d check the stock ponds on the way, make sure they were accessible.
They had just reached the first gate when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. “Hold a minute,” he called out, pulling rein.
The buckskin danced, eager to get moving, a little uneasy with the uncertain weather. The sorrel snorted and sidestepped, but the kid held him easily.
Josh looked at the screen but didn’t recognize the caller number. He pressed the phone against his ear. “Josh Cain.”
“Josh, it’s Iceman. I’ve got bad news.”
His stomach contracted. Iceman was Kirby Waldruth, a marine vet and friend. They’d talked at Pete’s funeral. “What is it, Ice?”
“Coy Whitmore is dead. Rifle shot through the driver’s-side window of his pickup. Bullet struck him in the temple.”
His mouth went dry. “Jesus. Jesus, Ice, what the hell happened?”
“Not real sure. Cops haven’t figured out who did it.”
“Sonofabitch.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “First Pete, now Coy. What the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Neither do the cops. They think the killings are unrelated. Just coincidence. They’re calling it a possible hunting accident. The police in Gainesville are all over it, but so far no leads.”
“Two of our guys murdered in just a few weeks? Doesn’t sound like coincidence to me.”
“Two different towns, hundreds of miles apart. Two different weapons used in the murders. It could be.”
Josh made no reply. His instincts were screaming. He had learned to listen to them a long time ago.
“Can you make it to the funeral?” Kirby asked.
“A hundred armored tanks couldn’t keep me away.”
“I’ll call as soon as I get word when it is.”
“Thanks, Ice.” Josh ended the call. Coy wasn’t married, didn’t have any kids. But his parents were great people and they would be devastated.
Josh softly cursed.
“Bad news?” Ty asked.
“Real bad. Friend of mine was murdered.”
“Jeez, that’s fucked up.”
